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keelywolfe · 3 years

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FIC: Welcome to Backwater ch.15 (spicyhoney)

Summary: Stretch is still dealing with the fallout of the last chapter. Like he needs anything else to happen right now?

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Read ‘First Step’ on AO3

Read it here!

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As hot as the days were, these last, lingering sticky days of summer, the nights in Backwater tended to cool off as soon as the sun began to dip below the horizon.

It made for a good time to sit out on the back porch for a quick smoke. Usually only tobacco, Stretch didn’t have Red’s resilience when it came to getting up the next day after smoking his atom bomb version of weed. The last thing he wanted was to give the local kids their first view of an ugly hangover, he’d leave that sort of education for their parents to dole out.

Most of the time, Stretch kept it to one cigarette. His first paycheck was better than he’d expected but it was still wiser to be frugal, so he stuck with his one cig and tried not to think about how that would have pleased his brother. Blue’d been trying to get him to quit for years now and in the past months whenever his bro brought it up, his ex always chimed in with a similar opinion on it, both of them citing statistics as if they were practicing for a damned public service announcement.

Quitting his smokes was something Stretch resisted for no damn good reason other than he didn’t want to quit, thanks, sorry for him trying to adult a little around here. All the nagging did was take the joy out of it and left him smoking out of resentment rather than recreation. Cutting down to one a day was milestone he’d never managed to get to back in Ebott. Not even when the Docs told him it might help with—well.

Anyway, tonight he’d decided to indulge himself; after the day he’d had, he figured he deserved to go through a whole damn pack.

The porch light was a stark, sodium-yellow and the furniture cast strange shadows in it, bones of the true darkness that lay beyond. Stretch sprawled out on the dusty old sofa, blowing lazy smoke rings up at the overhang covering the porch and occasionally tapping ash into the rusty old Maxwell coffee can that Red kept around as an ashtray. The other skeleton had already gone inside, and the living room windows were dark, a pretty big clue that he’d probably already headed off to bed. Early for him, but, eh, Stretch figured he’d had a hell of a day, too, and his guilt over his own involvement in that sat in his chest like a lead brick.

At his feet, the dog curled up in a tight little donut of fluff and Stretch absently pet him with his bare foot, wincing as strands of hair caught in his bony joints. The dog didn’t seem to care about the little yanks and tugs, only huffed out a contented sigh, pushing demandingly into the touch.

“dunno if you deserve pats,” Stretch told him absently. He tried for something resembling stern, though he didn’t stop petting, “you weren’t being too friendly out at edge’s place.”

The dog only snorted and rolled to his side, giving Stretch access to his belly for more rubs.

Stretch hadn’t even realized Red brought the dog along at first. Not until he hauled his bike over to truck bed, still flustered over the almost-could be-kinda-a-something that his boss/landlord’s timely arrival interrupted. Before he could even start heaving the bike in, the dog popped up like a slobbery jack in the box and began attacking Stretch’s face with kisses.

“wha—stop, you shit!” Stretch sputtered, laughing and trying to fend off the dog’s eager advances. The bike was heavier than a normal one and awkward to hold, and between that and the doggy love attack, Stretch lost his grip. The handbars swung into the side of the truck and shrieked their way down in a scrape of metal against metal as it fell, the rest of it finishing off with a loud clang. Not that it did any damage; Red’s truck probably only qualified as one by a technicality, held together by vague hopes, rust, and the liberal use of miles of duct tape.

Behind Stretch, Edge spoke up, “Here, let me help.” But the moment he stepped forward, the dog’s excited wriggling screeched to a halt and morphed into stillness couched with a sudden, unexpected growl.

“woah, hey, boy,” Stretch said with surprised caution. The dog hadn’t even growled when those guys in town were trying to use him as a pinata, too scared, maybe, but Edge wasn’t a threat so why the hell—

A low, deep throated snarl came from behind Stretch and the dog yelped, ducking down into the truck bed, cowering. Stretch whipped around to stare at Edge in disbelief, okay, yeah, that one wasn’t on his bingo card for weird happenings. "did you just growl at my dog?"

Edge only looked back steadily, "You have to assert dominance."

Well, uh, that was…it did seem to work, sort of. The dog chose that moment to abandon ship, scrambling up and wriggling through the little back window that led into the cab to curl up against Red. The moment he was safe, he looked at Stretch and Edge with wounded betrayal, like he hadn’t started it, the little shit.

Good thing the dog didn’t know what the memory of that growl was doing to the inside of Stretch’s pants, (fucking rawr). The pooch would never forgive him.

“quit traumatizing mutt," Red snorted. He ruffled the dog’s ears soothingly and the pup settled, resting his chin on Red’s femur as he looked up with a mournful ‘the big kids are pickin’ on me’ expression. "c'mon, armstrong, let’s hit the road, s’getting dark."

That woke Stretch up from his dual versions of shock and unf!shock. He grunted with the effort of heaving the bike into the truck bed, mumbling a grateful ‘thank you’ when a second pair of strong hands helped out, and he really, really tried not to feel the way Edge was pressed up against his back, a line of warm moving against him as both of them settling the bike securely in. It was only when Edge stepped back and took his fatal distraction with him that something clicked.

Wait. Not the mutt, but—

Stretch stuck his head in through the open window, looking at the skeleton and his dog, who pointedly weren’t looking back. “you named the dog mutt?”

“didn’t name it anything,” Red scoffed. He scruffed the dog, whose name was totally Mutt, gently.

“technicalities won’t save you,” Stretch told him gleefully, “there was a list on the counter, you had options, and you still named the dog…dog.”

That got finally got him a look, or more precisely, a glare. “could always let you walk home.”

That was true. Stretch abandoned ribbing without even getting to pun about it and climbed hastily into the truck. The door hinge squalled when he pulled open the door, flakes of rust falling in a shower as he slammed it shut. No wonder Red didn’t drive around much if this was his primary vehicle, but in the interest of not getting kicked out, Stretch decided it would be for the best to not bring up the rubber banded pile of newspapers Red was sitting on. He definitely wasn’t gonna ask how Red was reaching the pedals.

Edge rounded the truck to Red’s side, briefly outlined in the glare of the headlights. With the remains of the sun at his back, his eye lights were stark in the growing darkness. Bright crimson glaring in at his brother as he stood next to the truck, his arms crossed over his chest. “You could always come in for coffee.”

It wasn’t a question and Red didn’t answer it. “tell the kid i said hi.”

Edge replied tartly. “Tell them yourself.”

“heh.” A strange laugh, humorless and somehow still tinged with amusement. “see ya around, bro.”

Yeah, there was some kind of story there, all right, and Stretch was the guy who waited too long at the concession stand and came into the play during Act 3.

There was only one person who might give him any answers, since two-thirds of the people involved already turned him down and it was the same guy who didn’t even give Edge a chance to say goodbye, only threw the truck into reverse and with a clumsy three-point turn that barely avoided any of the flowerbeds, they were headed back down path that led to town, out of the woods.

The ride back wasn’t exactly quiet, the bumpy road and rattling complaints of the truck took care of that. But it was wordless, for a while. Until they got closer to the main road and the bumps smoothed out a little, droning hum of tires on asphalt an invitation.

“red—” Stretch started, slowly. He wasn’t even sure what he was gonna say yet, uncertain if he really wanted any other revelations tonight. He was feeling a little epiphanied out.

Red only sighed deeply, “pretty sure you, the kid, and my bro had a helluva chat, you sure you really wanna talk to me about it now?”

No. Yes. “maybe?”

The newspapers under him made a dry shuffling sound as Red shifted his weight to change gears. “one question, kid, that’s all i got answers for. choose wisely.”

Great, now he was on an impromptu grail quest.

Stretch hesitated over his options; there were so many, how could he pick only one? Like, why didn’t Red live with Edge and Frisk, why had he refused to even go into the house, and what the hell was up with Edge being so salty about it? Hell, there were deeper question than that, if he wanted to dig. How had they gotten out of their Underground to here, what happened to Red’s leg, so many whats and wheres and whys.

A look at Red showed he was grinding his teeth, his crimson eye lights focused solely on the road and at the end of the day, there was only one question Stretch really needed an answer to tonight, for reasons he desperately didn’t want to talk about.

He ran his tongue over his teeth nervously, looking down at his hands in his lap rather than the passing blur of road in the headlights out the windshield. “you knew who i was when you first saw me here, didn’t you. edge said you watched the tv when we first came to the surface.”

The joints in his hands creaked as they went tight on the steering wheel and Red exhaled with weary slowness. “yeah, i knew.” He slanted a brief glance at Stretch, eye lights flicking between him and the road. “gave me a hell of a start, don’t mind tellin’ ya. you were busy chasin’ beer cans and didn’t notice me almost fallin’ on my ass.”

“that’s why you helped me, isn’t it, when i first came to town?” The accusation that Red was ‘adopted’ him because he looked like Edge stung, but it was true enough, wasn’t it. Someone with his kid brother’s face, someone to feed and clothe and take care of, like he couldn’t with his own bro for whatever their secret reasons were. Like he was a fucking pet, another dog, woof woof, and the care that seemed so genuine that morning felt suddenly tainted, as stifling as his own brother’s.

“heh,” Red’s mouth twisted into a sneering smile, “kid, come on.”

Stretch said nothing. He could see the neon sign from ‘The Whistling Cow’ slowly approaching, looming closer, blurring in his vision and there was no subtle way to wipe at his sockets, he could only do it quickly and hope it wasn’t noticed.

A failed hope, like most. Red made an impatient sound, loud enough that the dog sleeping his lap stirred, then he said roughly. “yeah, okay, you reminded me some of my little brother, but that ain’t why i let you stay.”

Let it go, let it go, Elsa, you don’t have anywhere else to go. “then why?”

“‘cause i like ya, that’s why!” Red snarled. His ever-present grin curled into a grimace, tight and strained, each word as sharp as one of his jagged teeth. “been rattling around alone in this old shop for awhile now. been kinda nice to have someone underfoot, since i ain’t got goddamn feet. good enough?”

“yes,” Stretch admitted, a threadbare little word. It was, helped ease some of the pained tightness surrounding his soul to know that Red wasn’t simply another person who wanted to be around him not out of friendship, but mere circumstance. He’d had plenty of that in his life and all it left him with was an empty contact list on his phone and an emptier ache in his soul.

He startled at a hand awkwardly touching his own, bony fingers briefly squeezing before they withdrew. “stretch? you and my bro ain’t nothin’ alike. c’n trust me on that much.”

“is that good or bad,” Stretch couldn’t help asking. He thought of the little borrowed room he was sleeping in at night, his part time job hawking groceries, of Edge’s home in the woods with its beautiful gardens and delicious meals.

Red shrugged. He turned the wheel, guiding the truck into a parking spot that was nearly hidden on the other side of the shop. “beats the fuck out of me, just is, and it don’t matter, anyway. don’t care what the charts and graphs and shit say, ain’t no reason to compare ya. ya ain’t the same person. you’re you and bein’ you should be good enough for anyone.”

The engine ticked slowly as it cooled and Stretch thought of the way their landlord back in Ebott kept mistaking him for Papyrus, of getting bitched at once for a window he hadn’t broken or thanked for muffins he hadn’t brought. Not anybody or nobody, only himself, at least here in Backwater. “thanks.”

“s’fine,” Red grunted. “just don’t forget i ain’t your bro.”

“oh, fuck, no,” Stretch blurted out. He winced as he realized how that sounded. “i mean, you’re more like a mom, anyway.”

“heh,” That laugh was more a little more genuine, not much, but it was something. “fuck you.”

“nah, that wasn’t in the rental agreement.”

“and thank the fucking angel for that.” With a groan of hinges and a slam of the door, Red got out of the truck, the dog at his heels. He didn’t turn back to see if Stretch was with him, only went as fast as he could, cane swishing at his side as he practically ran into the house, the screen door banging shut behind him.

Stretch followed more slowly, stopping off at the porch and that was where he stayed, thinking about having a cigarette and not at all about giving Red some time to himself after having the asshole he was trying to help question his motives, exactly like an asshole would.

Mutt hesitated, debating for a minute over choosing between them before finally decided that Stretch was the victor, and whether or not that was because he thought Stretch needed watching over more didn’t matter. Stretch appreciated the company, anyway.

That left him here, smoking and watching moths flutter suicidally close around the porch light.

Stretch dropped a used butt into the coffee can and debated lighting another. On one hand, he was starting to feel a little nauseous from so much smoking, on the other, he sort of wanted to feel nauseous. Wanted to feel something that he could name.

What was the proper term for how to feel when you were living in a weird town with alternate version of yourself and your bro, which, by the way, one out of the two has been crawling up your top ten list of spank bank partners? If there was a definition for it, it was gonna take more than a quick google search to ferret it out.

He still hadn’t decided whether or not to light another when at his feet, the dog suddenly lifted his head, ears perking up.

“what is it, boy?” Stretch leaned up on his elbow, squinting out into the darkness outside the protective ring of porch light. “if this is about a kid in a well, you can tell timmy he’ll have to wait, this is not a good time—hey!”

A threatening line of fur rose up on the dog’s back as he let out a low, deep woof, nothing like the little growl at Edge earlier. Before Stretch could grab for him, Mutt was scrambling to his feet. He leapt off the porch and ran off into the night, fuck, in the direction of the forest.

“hey, wait! no, no, no, damn it!” Stretch shoved his feet into his shoes, wincing at the friction and almost immediately tripping over the laces. “not that way!”

There was barely time to hope he didn’t break his damn leg as he chased after the dog, following the little puff of whiteness through the dark as he tried not to go facefirst into anything. It was sheer luck there weren’t many obstacles in the path; town was in the opposite direction and there was nothing much behind the shop but parched earth and dead grass. Right up until the edge of the woods where saplings rose up in clusters, little ponds of greenery that led to the ocean of trees and that was where Stretch skidded to a halt, watching helplessly as that patch of white disappeared into the darkness.

Yeah, okay, he wasn’t about to go in the woods, ignoring warnings around this place was bad for life expectancy and Stretch wasn’t the kind of guy who’d feed weird critters after midnight.

“fuck, fuck,” Stretch muttered under his breath, pacing right outside the treeline and slapping away any sapling that tried to get in his way as he wracked his brain for what the hell he could do now.

Maybe if he stood outside and shouted at the damn mutt, he’d at least have something to follow back out. He wasn’t sure there was much else he could do, the townsfolk were nice, but he didn’t think asking them out for a midnight search party for a dog would go over very well.

Overhead, the bloated circle of the moon faded in and out from behind the clouds. He didn’t even have his phone, it was still in his bag on the porch, safely beneath that splash of light that seemed so far away now. Stretch dug into his pocket for his lighter, the rasp loud over the faint rustling of leaves overhead. It flared to life and the tiny flame barely illuminating the space around him, but it was better than nothing.

“mutt?” Stretch called tentatively, then more coaxingly, “c’mon boy, come back out!” He tried a few iterations of that with increasingly sappy endearments, feeling as stupid as he had when he’d tried them on his ex. The dog responded about as well, stubbornly refusing to bow to any version of baby, sweetums, or snooky that Stretch tried.

“damn it all to hell,” Stretch cursed softly. First, he’d gotten caught nearly macking on Red’s little brother when he’d said he wouldn’t, not a broken promise but still, then he’d blunder into giving Red’s traumas a quick poke, and now he’d lost the dog that he’d only just gotten for Red. He was obviously already pretty attached to the so-named Mutt and after hearing him vague about how he’d been lonely, it wasn’t much of a surprise.

But going into the woods after him felt a hell of a lot like making a bad situation worse.

Stretch sighed heavily. Nope, better not to chance it. Maybe if he brought out a bowl of food, the dumb mutt would smell it and head for home and—wait.

…what was that? Stretch tipped his head to the side, straining to listen.

He hadn’t really even notice that soft sound at its beginning, the soft lilt of a melody winding its way through branches and leaves out of the woods, a song he almost but didn’t quite know. It was the seductive peal of a silver laugh of delight, it was the delicate caress of the wind, the chuckling burble of a cool stream pouring invitingly over smooth rocks, and the intangible caress of unearthly desires

It was the alluring sweetness of a siren, the song of a temptress calling one who was no sailor into a dry sea and doom.

His vision was cast into paleness like the bloom of the moonlight, filling him to the brim until nothing was left within but that endless song. Without a single thought of his own left crowded in amongst the tangled notes in his head taking mastery over him, Stretch took his first dazed step into the woods.

tbc

#spicyhoney #papcest #keelywolfe #underfell #underswap #underfell papyrus #underswap papyrus #underfell sans #welcome to backwater

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whitecrowapothecary · 3 years

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Like A Dream

Jaskier has had dreams for as long as he could remember- of monsters and magic and all the things that go bump in the night. He dreams of golden eyes and silver swords and honeyed ballads.

AKA the modern immortal/reincarnation AU no one asked for but I’m writing

Read it on AO3 here!

There’s music around him. Coming from him, his throat warm and honeyed with the lyrics he sings. Not him- the bard, the unknown man who captures his mind at night when he closes his eyes. He- they- are playing for an audience. Jaskier is used to this, the wayward looks, captured attention, but it’s… new. There’s an instrument in his hand he’s never learned to play and lyrics on his lips he’s never written, clothes resplendent of another time, another world, and he drinks it in with abandon. Full, flowing skirts, jackets made of the richest silk brocade in all colors, though all are muted compared to the bright, rich amethyst ensemble he seems to have donned for the performance.

He’s deep into his set, if he should call it that, singing about a fishmongers daughter just to get a laugh out of the crowd when his eyes catch on a small, insignificant detail. Jaskier sings and sways among the royalty around him, but all he can see is gold with flecks of amber, curious cat eyes watching him from the shadows. He takes a step closer, then two, then three until he’s propelling through the crowd, and just as a jaw covered in a neat snow white beard is unearthed from the shadows, a blare sounds, and the image shatters.

He gasps awake, clutching at his chest and trying to quell the shaking of his hands. Sweat sticks his hair to the back of his neck and his forehead in small curls which Jaskier rakes a hand through. On the nightstand, next to the bed, his phone vibrates, clanking softly against the wood until Jaskier scoops it up and hits answer. There are only a handful of people who will actually ring through.

“What, Pris?”

“Ah, woke you up huh? Touchy touchy. You haven’t forgotten about our brunch date, have you?” The voice on the other end is perky, far too awake for Jaskier’s liking right now.

“No, no of course not. You aren’t here yet, are you?” He slips from bed, grimacing and rummaging through his closet for something to wear, phone pinched between his ear and his shoulder.

“Almost, a block away.”

“Shit, okay, let yourself in?” The woman on the other end hums, amused, and Jaskier hangs up. Leave it to him to fail to set an alarm for something like this. He drags his sorry carcass into the bathroom, intent on getting a shower. He feels cold and sticky for all the wrong reasons, and when he looks at himself in the mirror the blue in his eyes is offset by the purple bags underneath. It’s… not an attractive look for himself. The hot water pounds against his back when he hops under the spray and he groans, letting it wash over him. Praying it’ll wash away the dream that seems to cling to him, digging at his bones and refusing to leave.

He’d had the dreams for as long as he could remember- at first they were nothing more than terrors, dreams of hideous, foul smelling creatures with sharp claws. Claws that regularly tore into the soft flesh of his belly, or the tender meat of his thigh, leaving him to wake up screaming and thrashing in bed. His parents, bless them, had tried everything to help, from heavy medication to therapy to a stint in a mental facility, but nothing took the monsters away. Medication only trapped him within his dreams, unable to wake up until he was well and thoroughly taken apart, and therapists only insisted the monsters were representations of some trauma he’d sustained as a child. The stay at the mental facility, well, that was more a break for his parents than thirteen year old Jaskier.

He’d learned to hide them, since then, to hold people at arms length and keep them from seeing what he truly was. The monsters rarely followed him into real life, but on the occasion he saw mention of a kikimore on the news, or a striga cropped up in Germany somewhere, well, it was all too easy to flip the channel and pretend. Now though… it was becoming harder and harder to leave his dreams behind when the sun came up. The dreams had shifted when he was almost eighteen, from monsters hunting and maiming him to something else- instruments and performances and gaudy, awful clothing he had no name for. Days spent walking and walking and walking, sweating under the sun but grinning like it didn’t bother whoever was in his dreams. It was harder still, to pretend that the performer in his dreams didn’t have his hands, his wonderful, skillful fingers, or the voice he’d spent years fine tuning.

He’s knocked from his reverie by the sound of his front door opening and clicking shut and the smell of food drifting in. His stomach growls loudly, protesting it’s current situation, and Jaskier hurries to finish his shower and get dressed. He’s got a towel in hand, scrubbing at his hair when he pads out barefoot and spots the blonde currently tinkering with his tv remote. Her blue eyes are bright, friendly, and she motions to the spread of food currently piled on his coffee table.

“Got you coffee.”

“Thank Melitele.” He makes a beeline for it, not caring the way it burns his tongue as he gulps it down. That draws a laugh from his companion, and he throws himself onto the couch, settling his legs across her lap and tossing his towel onto the chair nearby. He’ll get it later. “You’re a godsend, you know that Priscilla?”

A small smile plays on the woman’s lips, colored by rouge lipstick, and she raises a brow. “I do, but it’s nice to hear. Did you not sleep at all last night, Jaskier?”

“Ah, I’m afraid my muse kept me up, as usual.” He grins at her, reaching out to snag a strawberry from her plate before bending to get at the french toast on the coffee table. It smells absolutely divine, and maybe some food will make him feel more like himself and less like a shell of someone else.

“You really need to learn how to prioritize sleep.” Priscilla says, shaking her head fondly and digging into her eggs. He hums, half paying attention to the news on the screen. It’s nothing new, stocks going up and down, the latest in sports, and something about him, actually. Talking about his newest single that’s put him up in the top ten- Her Sweet Kiss. Jaskier clicks away before they can play the music, drawing a laugh from Priscilla. “You know, you never told me where the song came from.”

“Didn’t I? A whirlwind affair in Europe, during my last tour. She was… incredible, shall I say? Truly someone never forgotten.” He’s bullshitting and Priscilla knows it. The song had come to him, as most do now, in his dreams. Ringing through his ears in a voice so close to his he can feel his throat burning when he wakes up. She doesn’t press though- she knows better than to push Jaskier too far. The glassy, far away look he got when thinking about whatever it was that inspired his songs was sad, old, and lingered on Jaskier’s face the rest of the day. Jaskier focuses on eating now, barely tasting bite after bite and only stopping when his stomach is full. Priscilla does much the same, but she chatters through the melancholy.

Jaskier stops himself on a random show, listening to Priscilla but staring at the screen. It’s something nonsense, talking about old instruments, but his hand stops mid bite, the french toast falling back onto his plate with a wet smack. He stares, wide eyed, at the wide, oval bowl of the instrument and the short, sturdy neck. The strings, there are more than a guitar but not nearly enough- no, his had more. Six pairs, one singular. His?

“-ier? Jaskier, what is it?”

“What is that?” His voice sounds strange, words twisted faintly by an accent he’s never had before, and he sets his plate down as Priscilla looks between him and the tv.

“An instrument? You put on the show.”

“But what kind?” At this Priscilla frowns. She doesn’t seem to know either, and she shrugs reluctantly.

“We could ask Essi, I’m sure she knows more. Why, do you recognize it?”

“No.” He says softly, switching the tv off. He ignores Priscilla’s worried look and goes instead to put on socks and shoes, grabbing his jacket and pulling it on. It’s big, engulfs his frame, but there’s something about it he couldn’t get out of his head when he’d seen it in a thrift shop off of 28th. It’s also entirely too hot outside to need it, but he feels naked without it, and the hood will give him a better chance at remaining hidden. Not that that happens much anymore. Priscilla has the food cleaned up when he steps out of his room, and she swings her keys around her finger, lingering near the door.

“Where are we going today, my famous friend?” Jaskier rolls his eyes, shoving his hands into his pockets.

“Anywhere but here. I think I’ll go mad if I hide in bed anymore.”

“That’s the spirit! There’s this new music store on Madison we could check out, and then that little bistro for a late lunch-” Her words fade from his ears as they merge into the crowd outside of his apartment building. He slips on sunglasses, nondescript ones he’d gotten from a random gas station, and prays that today he looks like anyone else. With Priscilla at his side, arm looped through his, no one pays much attention to the couple wandering down the street, chattering away. Jaskier feels a rush of gratitude for his friend, for the unwavering presence she is in his life. He’s not sure how he would have managed his budding fame without her, or handled being recognized everywhere once his face and name and music became more common knowledge.

“You’re the one who wrote the songs.” A rough voice reminds him, teasing.

“Yes, well, I didn’t expect them to break into my HOUSE for an autograph!”

“Get better doors. And a guard.” He drowns in those eyes, an endless pool of gold, and he reaches up to brush a stray lock of hair away, a smile stretching his lips wide.

“Why would I need anyone other than you?”

Jaskier stumbles over a crack in the sidewalk, pitching forward, and it’s only Priscilla next to him that keeps him standing. He rights himself, cheeks pink, and laughs despite his heart pounding in his chest.

“Ah, rather clumsy today. I probably should have had more coffee.”

“Or more sleep.” She counters, Jaskier laughing again and nodding in agreement. More sleep is definitely what he needs. A nice, dreamless sleep. Maybe if he gets that, he’ll be able to function like a human being again, instead of walking through the world with half a mind stuck firmly in fiction. The music shop is a quaint, cute little building tucked in a strip of other quaint buildings, and Jaskier ducks into the dim light of the shop. There are rows and rows of cds, vinyls, movies and more, and his eyes track along them all, taking in the sights and colors. There are plenty of instruments on the wall, guitars, basses, a couple of keyboards and a few sets of bongos even. There seems to be little rhyme or reason besides the alphabetical arrangement of the displays, and Jaskier spends his time wandering while Priscilla goes straight for the vinyls.

He’s near the back of the shop, by the counter when he spots an instrument on display behind the glass display. The sight is enough to make him freeze, and he stares at the smooth wood, the graceful curve of the instrument, finding that his fingers have begun to twitch. This can’t be a coincidence.

“Do you play?” A voice breaks through to him, and he has to blink a few times before he can focus on the man standing before him. His dark hair curls rather attractively, falling around his face and framing rather striking hazel eyes. Jaskier’s countenance sours immediately, and he squints suspiciously. It takes the man a moment, but he grins wide when he recognizes Jaskier. “Dandelion! A pleasure to have you here.”

“Valdo. This is your shop?”

“It is indeed, opened it up after my last album.” He’s proud, almost annoyingly so, but Jaskier begrudgingly has to admit the shop is rather nice. His eyes wander back to the instrument behind Valdo, and Valdo raises his brows. “You never said if you played. Would you like to hold it?”

“You’d let me?”

“I’ve seen how you care for your guitar. I’d warn you it’s expensive, but I know you’re good for any damages.” Jaskier snorts as the other man goes to grab the instrument, and his fingers drum against his thighs. “Do you even know what this is?”

“Not a clue.” Jaskier’s hands are reaching for it as soon as Valdo holds it out, and he tucks the strap around his body. The neck settles into his hands, fingers resting on the strings, and a line of tension holding his body razor tight snaps.

“It’s a-” The soft sound of Jaskier plucking out a melody stops Valdo short, and Jaskier closes his eyes to ward off the dizziness.

A fire crackles merrily in front of him as he plays, tinkering away at a tune with his notebook close by. He isn’t sure about the harmony of the piece, the way the notes blend together. There’s something missing, and he can’t figure out what it is. He stops with a heavy sigh, scrubbing at his face and wracking his brain.

“You’re missing the lowest note in the harmony.”

“Pardon?” He looks up, sees the sensual curve of a small smirk on a very ruggedly handsome face, and those eyes, always those eyes staring back. The man comes over, reeking of pine and metal and home, and reaches to softly pluck at one of the strings. The note rings out and Jaskier latches on.

“Try.” The man whispers, and Jaskier does, drawing the note into his harmony and grinning at the fully bodied life it brings.

Jaskier’s head is spinning when he finally opens his eyes again, Valdo staring at him with unabashed surprise. Priscilla is at his side, hand on his elbow to hold him steady, and he glances down at the familiar way in which his hands hold the lute. Because that’s what it is- his favorite instrument, the thing that made him coin and granted him fame and found him a-

Jaskier’s heart cracks in his chest, and his breath punches out of him in one big whoosh. He lifts the lute over his head, pressing it back into Valdo’s hands before turning to bolt out the front door of the shop. He doesn’t know where he’s going, merely that he has to get away, to find somewhere safe. He feels a thousand eyes on him, whispers following his frantic fleeing, and he ducks into an alleyway, hiding behind a trash can and pressing his back to the brick wall. There’s a stitch in his side from his frantic running and his hands won’t stop shaking as he rakes his fingers through his hair. The song rings through him, as fresh as the day it was written, and the lyrics come to him unbidden.

He’s crazy. He’s well and truly crazy, because there’s no way what he’s seeing can be real, but it’s so vividly him, buried so deep in his heart that there’s no way it could be fake either. His breath comes from him faster and faster, and tears blur his vision as he folds his knees up to his chest and rocks. Priscilla finds him that way, huddled in a ball amongst the trash, sobbing and muttering to himself, and she uses the large hood of his jacket to hide his face as she gets him home. Jaskier has calmed enough to get himself up the stairs when they manage to stumble their way back, and his chest aches from the pounding of his heart.

The tremor in his hands hasn’t abated yet, but the mug that’s pressed into his hands doesn’t shake, so he just enjoys the warmth that it brings him. Priscilla seems at a loss for words, but Jaskier knows what she wants to ask. “Just say it, Pris.”

“What happened? You haven’t been yourself all morning- first with the tv, and then the lute in the shop? Jaskier, I’ve never seen you like this.”

“I have dreams.” He says, voice so soft it’s almost lost in the sound of his heartbeat. “And lately, I can’t tell what’s real and what’s not.”

Priscilla reaches out, touching his shoulder lightly, and her face is soft, sad. “They’re just dreams. What you do here, the music you make, that’s what’s real.”

Jaskier nods, but his heart is plummeting in his chest and he doesn’t know why. Priscilla’s words should be a comfort, someone rooted in his reality telling him that his dreams are just that- dreams. The result of an overactive imagination. That’s all they are, all they’ve ever been. Jaskier tries not to let the thought suck him down somewhere he doesn’t want to go, but it’s near impossible to fight the tide rising in him. “They’re just dreams.”

He takes a sip of his lukewarm drink to find that it’s tea- the stuff he usually drinks as a last resort before bed time. It’s never worked before, but Jaskier downs the rest of it and hopes that this time, it will. Priscilla waits until he’s finished to take the cup, and when she comes back she’s holding a very large, very lute shaped object in her hands. Jaskier frowns, confused, but takes it from her anyway, tracing fingers over the lacquered wood. It’s smooth and warm under his touch, and he finds himself picking at the strings just to hear the sound. “Valdo said that it was yours.”

“I didn’t pay him.”

“He knew you’d say that. He said, and I quote ‘I’ve only been holding it for him.’ Whatever that might mean.” Jaskier schools his features into careful indifference, trying not to let his discomfort show. What in the hell does he mean by that? He’s going to have to go back to the shop and talk to him to find out, but he’s not inclined to leave his apartment for the foreseeable future. Priscilla, sensing the mood has gone down, ruffles Jaskier’s hair and gives his shoulders a squeeze. “Take some time, Dandy, get some sleep, then come back.”

Jaskier makes a soft noise in his throat at the silly nickname, but it’s sweet and Jaskier has never told her to stop. He watches her duck out of the apartment with one last look his way, and once the door clicks shut, locking behind her, he grips the lute tighter. He hasn’t ever played formally- has never been trained, and while a guitar is similar, there’s more strings than ever and he expects to fumble.

He doesn’t.

His fingers know what to do even without his brain, and he hums along to the melody from before. Here, in the safety of his apartment, he plays and plays until the song is firmly committed to memory and he’s written down the lyrics to go along with it. A song about the monster of the wood, a cruel, hungry creature with the head of a deer, stalking him in the night.

“You need to listen to me-”

“I’m your barker, for better or worse. How can I bark if I never see anything?”

“You stay alive for a day longer.” His hands shake with anger, chest burning with it, and the man in front of him, golden eyes fierce and animal, glares back just as hotly. They’re nose to nose practically, and his head pounds in time with his heartbeat as his hands come up, shoving the man away and watching in shock as he goes.

“Go then. I’ll be here, tending your fire and watching your horse, as that is all I am good for.” He turns then, but a hand grabs at his arm, turning him around on his heel. He pulls against it, fights to be released, but Geralt’s hand bunches in his shirt above his heart and holds him. “Geralt-”

“For better or worse, Jaskier.” His eyes meet gold, molten and scalding, and he’s speechless at the sincere intensity in Geralt’s gaze. “I would rather it be better.”

“You don’t get to decide that-” Geralt cuts him off with a kiss, lips hard against his own. It’s awkward, a bit painful, but Jaskier tilts his head, pulls back a bit and Geralt responds in kind. He kisses, Jaskier decides, like a man who has been kissed not nearly enough, and he commits himself to fixing that immediately. Geralt’s grip loosens in Jaskier’s shirt, but Jaskier’s hand comes up to bury in snow white locks, keeping him close as his heart rockets into his throat.

The strings of the lute dig painfully into his fingers when he comes to, and he shakes himself, releasing his tight hold and groaning when blood rushes back into the pads of his fingers. He tucks the lute back away in its case, not wanting to look at the flowers painted onto the wood along its wide belly. He tells himself not to touch the lute, to leave it alone so that all this will go away, but the longer he sits on his couch, leg bouncing and tv on some awful movie the more his fingers itch to play.

Instead, he forces himself to get up, to pull out his vacuum and mop and cleaning supplies. He spends the afternoon scrubbing down every inch of the apartment, puts away his laundry, and even tidies up his desk, which is a rather artful disarray of papers. Some, like Priscilla, call it a mess, but Jaskier knows where each piece of paper goes, and he prefers it stays that way. Cleaning can only distract him for so long, and once the smell of lemon cleaner becomes too much he caves, grabbing the lute and ducking out onto his balcony.

The sun is beginning to descend on the city, and he allows it to warm his bones and loosen his muscles as he plays. Each song that comes from him is new and old and entirely his, each rich, resounding note a piece of him. The instrument is no more a stranger to him than his guitar, or his flute, or any of the other instruments he’s picked up and enjoyed along the way. Its weight, the feeling of the double strings pressing under his fingers is home to him, and he plays long after the sun is set. There’s a reckoning, a righteousness within this instrument that calls to the deepest parts of Jaskier’s soul, and he finds himself crying with no real reason as to why.

He cries silently, holding the lute close to him and staring out over the city. Cars rush past his building, far below, and somewhere nearby a dog barks. But it’s all background noise- it’s nothing compared to the harsh intake of his breath or the way that it shudders out of him. When he can’t stand it anymore he retreats back inside, leaving his lute on his dresser before stripping down and crawling into bed. There, buried under blankets and utterly, terribly alone, Jaskier closes his eyes and dreams.

“You’re alive.” A low, rough voice breathes behind him. He turns, but he already knows what will be waiting for him, and he can feel his face lighting up in a grin.

“Geralt! Of course I’m alive, how could the world bear to part with me just yet?” His heart jackrabbits in his chest at the sight of the man before him, clad as always, in dark armor and a stormy, conflicted expression. Well, the expression is new. The armor, not so much. He finds himself smiling for no real reason as to why, but Geralt’s face is open and honest and terrified, and he can’t keep from reaching out to gently touch his cheek.

“There were rumors- about a bard, having been murdered by a beast.”

“As if I could be harmed by a beast with you protecting me.”

“But I wasn’t.” Jaskier takes a step forward, cupping his witcher’s cheek and smiling when Geralt leans into the touch.

The dream dissolves as Jaskier shifts, drifting between consciousness and unconsciousness. The latter wins out, and his body drifts away while his mind slips again.

Blue eyes stare at him through the mirror. It isn’t a great mirror, small and cracked and woven with imperfections, but he won’t need it for long. He only needs to make sure his hair is presentable, his golden doublet unmarred by any stains, and that his smile, when shown just so, is as charming and delightful as always.

“You’re fussing.” Geralt says, and Jaskier knows, his heart knows that voice and the hand that slides over his hip better than anything. He finds himself leaning back against a strong chest, laughing and tipping his head back.

“Some of us care for our appearance before a performance.” An amused hum, and then lips on his neck, gentle and sweet, kissing a trail up toward Jaskier’s waiting lips. He sinks into the kiss, turning as Geralt’s arms come up and around him, careful not to crease Jaskier’s clothes.

“How long will you be gone?”

“Most of the night. You’re free to come, love. I’m sure they’d love to pester the White Wolf himself.”

“Mmm, pester is right.” The warmth in his chest is softer now, with no edges of anger, and he knows what this is. It’s love. Pure and unfettered by doubt.

That same warmth burns in his chest when he jerks up in bed, leaping from under the covers to run into his bathroom. The mirror he has now is perfect- gleaming with the fresh cleaning he’d done just today and showing his reflection without any defects. The same blue eyes stare back, sweeping over the same lips, the same cheekbones and nicely shaped jawbone. The same messy, tousled brown hair as the bard in the dream. As him . Whoever he was- is- is long gone- left behind in another life completely. That isn’t him anymore, it can’t be, but when he thinks, and thinks hard, they’re there. All the memories, the times in between his dreams. The first time he’d seen Geralt, sitting in the back of a tavern refusing to meet anyone’s eyes, to draw any unwanted attention to him. The feeling of his hair, so devoid of color, twisting around his fingers as he washed blood and viscera from them. His friends- Priscilla, in her blue and red ensemble with the poofy shorts, Essi, a near twin to Priscilla, only shorter and plumper. Valdo, his rival, the troubadour who writes songs without any meaning but somehow comes out on top.

Valdo.

Jaskier scrambles for his phone, dropping it twice before finally swiping open the screen. He has his number, more to make sure he never answers than anything, but now, now he needs it more than anything else. He hits dial without letting himself think, holding his phone to his ear and shifting nervously from foot to foot. The line rings and rings, and just as he thinks it'll go to voicemail he hears a soft click.

"Dandelion? It's nearly three in the morning, what could you-"

"I'm not crazy."

"Debatable." Valdo's voice is amused, but when Jaskier doesn't respond he quickly grows serious.

"You said you were keeping the lute for me." His words are rolling in his mouth, voice mangled by an accent that he can't seem to keep away or bring back. He hears a sharp intake of breath, and then a long, shuddering sigh.

"I was, Julian. For far, far too long. Meet me at the diner on Broadmoor." The line goes dead and Jaskier is left to get ready, a long, long dead name ringing in his ears.

-*-

There are three diners on Broadmoor. Jaskier curses his luck, but only one seems to have the lights on and so Jaskier heads that way first. He pulls on the door and is hit in the face by the smell of stale coffee and hash browns. He glances around, searching, and spots Valdo in a booth back in the corner. His face is drawn, hair a mess, but he has a cup of coffee waiting For Jaskier when he slides into the cheap plastic booth. Valdo slides the mug toward him and he clasps it in his hands, sniffing lightly. He debates putting sugar or cream in it, but he needs the caffeine too badly right now to care much about the bitter taste. Valdo watches his internal debate with a raised brow, leaning back in the booth and sighing.

“You remember.” Jaskier accuses, wincing at the way his tone sounds. Valdo takes it in stride, tilting his head in a small nod and sipping at his coffee.

“I always have. I didn’t know if you would this time around.”

“This time?” Valdo nods again, and Jaskier is quickly becoming frustrated by the non answers. “Valdo, what the fuck is going on?”

“Reincarnation. You’ve heard of it before, yes?” Jaskier nods, and Valdo continues on. “There are some of us who keep coming back. Not always with memories, not always whole. I seem to have no problem keeping them, but others like Priscilla, or Essi, or-”

“Are they really reincarnations?” Jaskier frowns- how much is it reincarnation if you’re just the same body without knowing if your consciousness is the same?

“I said that, didn’t I?” His glare is enough to set a house on fire, but Valdo doesn’t fold under the pressure, instead waving for menus to be brought over. “For decades I was unsure why. Why us? Nothing seemed to connect us together, just random strangers being brought through life. Until I found out you came along as well.”

“You’re saying that I’m the link?”

“You know us all, have some kind of connection. You are the one constant in each of our lives.”

“But the others, they don’t remember?”

“They never have.” Valdo orders something for the two of them, waving away Jaskier’s protest, and plows forward in his conversation. “You don’t always either. I’ve held that lute for the past two reincarnations, neither of which you retained memories for. But you remember now, or are beginning to.”

“Yes.” Jaskier’s voice is a whisper, and admitting it, saying that it’s real takes a weight off his shoulders he didn’t know he was carrying.

“Tell me how?” It’s phrased as a request, and Jaskier nods, staring at his coffee to try and ward off his tears.

“I was seventeen when my dreams started feeling real- performances or days on the road, nights spent stitching wounds or bandaging cuts. Lately they’ve-”

“Been bleeding into your waking hours. Like when you played in the shop.” Valdo’s interrupting makes irritation flare in the back of his mind, but he tamps it down. He’s only trying to help, and is filling in more details than Jaskier would have gotten on his own. Their food comes then, and Jaskier watches as some kind of breakfast scramble is placed in front of him. It’s heavy with hashbrowns, eggs, bacon and cheese. It looks awful. Jaskier digs in hungrily, groaning at the heavenly taste- shitty overnight diners always have the best food. They eat their food in relative silence, too hungry and tired to care much to continue with something else in front of them.

This all seems fake, too good to be real. Valdo’s instant reassurance of what he’s feeling, what he’s dreaming, it has to be some kind of con, some way to get dirt on him. He expects the other man to laugh any minute, to call him crazy and tell him he needs serious help. He’s waiting for a punchline that isn’t coming, and it makes him anstier and anstier by the second. It explains so much- the old, old memories he has of a time before electricity, or running water, of nobles and peasants and monsters. Of witchers and sorceresses and bards. There are newer memories too- of him in a diner much like this, sitting across from a man with white hair and shining golden eyes. Of dancing in a club to his own music, standing alongside all the others in a rally, holding a sign protesting the inequality that ruins his life while cameras show his face. Through it all, his companion is there- a silent, steady presence.

“There’s- a man. Who I am desperately in love with, no matter who I am.”

“Your witcher. White hair, cat eyes?” He doesn’t need to nod for Valdo to know the answer, and he grins. “His name is Geralt of Rivia, though Rivia is long gone now.”

“Is he…”

“Alive? Of course. They, unlike us, do not die.”

“They?” He doesn’t even get a chance to let Valdo talk, his vision going blurry and ears ringing.

“C’mere asshole!” Jaskier laughs, darting away from the witcher intent on catching him. It isn’t Geralt- his hair is dark and cropped short, voice smoother, less gravelly. He’s also much, much more expressive.

“Catch me if you can!” His lungs hurt from running and laughing so much, and he squeaks as hands grab the back of his doublet and yank him to a stop. Jaskier squirms as arms wrap around him, and he pouts, letting himself go deadweight. “You aren’t supposed to use your witchery powers, you know.”

“Oops.” He’s let go then, and Jaskier shoves the other man lightly, grinning.

“Ass. Maybe I’ll go find Eskel, at least he follows the rules of the game.”

“Rules are for peasants.”

“Then you should fit right in, Lambert.” He dodges a swat to the back of the head, laughing and disappearing further into the keep.

Valdo is staring at him expectantly when he blinks, the stone walls and cold breeze fading away from his mind. His food is lukewarm in front of him, and he takes a big bite just to avoid having to say anything yet. Valdo is too smug for his own good though, and he sits forward, grinning.

“Jogged your memory, eh?”

“Shut up.” His insufferable grin only grows bigger, and Jaskier wants to smack it off his face or strangle him. Either would work, honestly. “Is there some way to contact him, or any of them?”

“Not unless you’re a government official, or happen to know someone who had a pest problem. But, there is something that might work.”

“What?”

“Your songs. I'm sure you've already written new ones with the lute- release them in an album. If they’re listening, which is near impossible not to with your reputation, they’ll find you .”

“What if they don’t?”

“Then I suppose you’ll have to bed a government agent.” Jaskier scoffs, wrinkling his nose, but Valdo wags his eyebrows and he can’t help the laugh that bubbles up from his chest. He falls into silence then, staring down at the rest of his food, and his voice is soft when he finally finds the courage to speak.

“Thank you. For keeping it safe.” When he glances up, Valdo’s eyes are bright, shining with relief.

-*-

Jaskier does what he does best- he writes a few songs, then writes a few more, until he’s bursting with music and lyrics and ideas. He gets himself into his studio and doesn’t leave until he’s recorded an entire album, with his lute being the main focus. It brings with it a new, exciting kind of charm that his producers eat right up, a kind of mystical energy that isn’t present in any of Jaskier’s other songs.

It’s also a release- he lets go of the monsters that haunted him, bringing them roaring into his music instead and letting them run wild. His dreams are still plagued by memories, but the more he plays, the more he tries to remember, the easier it gets. Turns out when you stop fighting against a piece of yourself, letting it in is much, much easier. The music videos are his favorite part of the whole process- he crafts one specific to each song, embedding as much of a message as he can in the hopes that one of the witcher’s will see. Will see him and know him, and extend a hand.

He tries to look up the witchers, to see if there’s any kind of way to find them online, but Lambert is too common a name and he has no clue what last name he would use, if any. Eskel’s name yields less results, but still too many for him to narrow down, and he’s left back at square one for them. Geralt’s name? Now that pulls up results.

‘ The witcher, most formally known as Geralt of Rivia, is one of the world’s only practicing monster slayers, and a bit of a recluse. He was last spotted hunting some kind of sea serpent along the mediterranean, and then boarded a plane bound for America.’

‘Geralt of Rivia, White Wolf, was allegedly seen decapitating a local woman at a train station in France. When questioned by police, they were informed that the woman was a bruxa who had been preying on locals. Mr. Rivia was released without further incident.’

That article makes Jaskier laugh, and he prints it out to tack above his desk on his cork board. Leave it to Geralt to scare everyone around him while doing his job. Any article related to Geralt gets its spot on the board, actually and he’s fairly certain he looks like a stalker, but they’re his only glimpse into what Geralt has been up to. It makes the pain easier to handle, knowing he’s just been too busy to seek Jaskier out, and certainly not ignoring the neon signs that are his music. Half of them are Geralt’s exploits, after all, and if he doesn’t recognize them then Jaskier has failed to faithfully recreate them.

But the songs work- somewhat. In a small town somewhere in the midwest, a witcher hears Jaskier’s music, and begins to hunt for his white haired brother.

Jaskier, in the meantime goes about his life, bouncing from interview to interview, one of which he’s in now. The chair is somewhat uncomfortable and the lights are a little too bright, but the woman interviewing him is new, nervous, and he does his best to put her at ease.

“You’re doing great, love. What were you saying?”

The woman blushes, tucking a lock of hair behind her ear before asking again. “Your newest album, it pulls away from the bouncier, lighter tone of your second album. Why?”

“Good question. Writing fun music is wonderful, lovely, but I, and I’m sure you’ll be surprised, have my own fears. Monsters that haunt my dreams, who begged to be put into song.”

“So the songs are based on dreams?”

“Now you’re catching on.” Jaskier winks, drawing another giggle from her, and he leans back in his chair, tilting his head. “No one can tell me they don’t dream of dark and twisted things sometimes. Of wanting a knight in shining armor to come save them.”

“That’s an incredible way to put it. Are any of the monsters in your songs real?”

“Oh yes. The leshy, or leshen is a forest spirit that is said to roam the deepest parts of a forest. There are also ghouls, terrible hunchback creatures who stalk battlefields, and basilisks, large winged creatures with iridescent scales and scalding breath.”

He sees his interviewer shudder, and his gaze goes soft, a wistful smile tugging at his lips. “Where did you hear about these monsters?”

“From a friend, years ago.”

"Do you still talk to them?"

Jaskier's eyes find the camera, and it's a terrible cliche to spike the lens, but he does it anyway. "We lost contact a while back. I'm hoping that… through my music, I can find him again."

"Well, I'm sure your fanbase can help!"

"That they can." Jaskier grins, glancing back at the interviewer, and he hears someone yell cut behind them. He stands, shaking her hand and giving her a quick hug. He murmurs a few words of encouragement, and when he ducks into the room they've designated for him he tells his producer to send her something. Flowers or a gift or anything. She handled him like a champ. It's thankfully his last interview of the day, and he grabs his lute, which he brought just in case before ducking out the door. He makes his escape from the building out onto the street with relative ease, slinging his lute across his back to navigate the crowds easier. The amount of times he’s had to refuse security before they learned was more than he could count. He's stopped a few times by fans, asking to take pictures, and he glances at them on his phone once his Twitter dings.

@dandelion stopped and took a picture! Best day ever!

The rest of the post is filled with heart eye emojis and hashtags, but Jaskier stares at the photo. The awful stripes and swirls on his button up are reminiscent of a bowling alley floor, but his jeans are cute and his boots top the whole outfit off. He thought it'd looked cute when he put it on, and is pleased to see that others agree. He looks better in general- the bags under his eyes are all but gone and there's a confidence in the set of his shoulders he hadn't noticed before. Like knowing who he is has completed a puzzle he didn't know he'd lost a piece to.

He tucks his phone back into his pocket as he skips down the steps to the subway, whistling merrily the whole time. The public transportation in the city had to be his favorite thing in the world, aside from jelly donuts and Geralt's eyes. It makes going from place to place a snap, and he doesn't have to constantly tell people he can't drive when they ask where his car is. The train is running a minute behind, as usual, but Jaskier books it down the rest of the stairs and through the turnstile, jogging up just as the doors slide open. People file on quickly, taking their seats, and Jaskier moves to step on when he spots snow white hair.

That in itself isn't unusual- plenty of old people ride the subway, but it's a man who looks no older than his mid thirties. He's dressed in all black, jeans and a heavy sweater, and strapped to his back are twin swords, their pommels shining dully in the fluorescent lights of the train. A duffle bag hangs from one shoulder, nondescript, but a pale, scarred hand hovers over it protectively. Jaskier is aware he's staring, holding up the train, but his feet are rooted firmly in place as his head begins to pound. The man- Geralt- irritated by the lack of movement turns to see what's going on, golden cat eyes cold and hard. The sight sends vertigo crashing through Jaskier so wildly that he feels his knees give out, and his vision blurs as he collapses onto the ground.

-*-

"No, no. He's fine. Don't hold the train for us." A voice, rough and low and heavenly drifts through his consciousness and he groans, burying his face in a warm, nicely toned chest. Strong arms wrap around him, holding him, and he sinks into the embrace without really thinking. When he moves the arms tighten around him, holding him closer, and he finally rouses.

He cracks an eye open to see an officer in front of them, debating with Geralt about getting him medical care, and he groans, sitting up and plastering his best smile on his face.

"Sorry love, my sugar dropped again. Was I out long?" The officer stops when he speaks, and Jaskier tilts his head curiously. "Tell me you didn't call them, you know I don't want the attention."

He looks up at Geralt, false frown on his face, and Geralt shakes his head. "Another passenger. I told them you were fine."

"That I am! I'm very sorry for the confusion, I just got off of a rather long interview and was a bit hungrier than I expected." The officer looks between them, brows furrowed, but tucks his notepad away and nods reluctantly.

"If you're sure you'll be alright."

"Feeling loads better already! Sorry again Officer!" Jaskier watches until the officer leaves the platform, and then shoves his way out of Geralt's arms. Geralt lets him go without a fight, sitting on the bench and watching as Jaskier paces the length of the platform, ranting. He's speaking in a language he knows but doesn't know, but it's better than letting everyone else hear him.

" I dreamt about you for years! Years, and the first thing I do is pass out when I see your goddamn face. Son of a bitch." Jaskier glares accusingly at him, but the corners of Geralt's mouth tug up in a smirk and Jaskier can feel his heart going a mile a minute. " I could have broken my lute, or-or been cut in half by the doors all because you were on the subway you big old insufferable-"

" You dreamt about me." Geralt's voice is soft, fond, and Jaskier loves and hates the way his voice curls around elder speech. " Jask, I didn't know you'd come back."

" Didn't- didn't KNOW? I am, and I am going to brag here, insanely famous, Geralt. Like on the news famous. How in the WORLD did you not know?"

" I don't watch the news."

"Of course you don't- of course I would get the one witcher in the whole wide world who doesn't watch the news ." He's cut back into English at some point, and he stops, fists clenched as Geralt stands up with his palms out. It's something he's seen Geralt do with Roach a thousand times when she's being antsy, and it drives him up the wall. "I am not a horse , Geralt, I am your fucking barker."

"You're acting more like my horse right now." Geralt is close enough now Jaskier can smell the soft cologne he's wearing, and his knees go weak again with the fact that he's actually here.

"You jackass -" Jaskier launches forward, throwing his arms around Geralt's neck and pulling him down to kiss him senseless. Geralt takes it in stride, scooping Jaskier off his feet and spinning with the momentum. He's careful of Jaskier's lute, but his hands are strong and firm as Jaskier is thoroughly crushed to his chest, held so tight that neither of them seem to be breathing. Jaskier doesn't care- his feet are off the ground completely, a fistful of white hair in his hands again and Geralt's lips on his. He has a beard, neat and taken care of, and Jaskier's other hand slips down to cup the side of Geralt's neck, thumb brushing through the coarse fibers.

Geralt is the first to pull away, Jaskier tipping forward blindly to kiss him again, huffing when Geralt smiles and bumps their noses together.

"Train is coming. As much as I've missed this, I'd rather not miss the next one."

"Tell me you aren't leaving me." Jaskier presses their foreheads together, eyes closed to keep any potential tears at bay. “Please.”

“I have to check into my hotel.”

“Geralt of Rivia, if you think for one minute you aren’t coming home to sleep in my bed you’re a fool. Fuck your hotel room.”

“It has a jacuzzi.” Geralt laughs when Jaskier pulls back to glare, and Geralt holds onto Jaskier’s hand, guiding them through the throng of people and onto the train. Geralt motions towards a seat, but Jaskier stays plastered resolutely to his side and just rests his head against Geralt's shoulder. He sways with the movement of the train, but Geralt’s arm is around his hip, holding him steady as the train goes around a curve and slows a bit. He feels more at peace with Geralt next to him than he has in years, and he’s drifted off to sleep when Geralt moves just a bit, dipping down to whisper in his ear. Elder speech brushes against him, trailing down his spine, and his eyelids flutter as he leans in to hear him better.

“What stop do we get off at, Jaskier?”

And oh, if hearing his name from Geralt’s lips isn’t sublime. “Two more.”

“ You were asleep.” Jaskier chuckles softly, turning his head and kissing him lightly.

“ I’ve lived here for years. I know how long I have.” His elder isn’t nearly as pretty or fluid as Geralt’s but he seems to enjoy it all the same, pupils widening at the sound, the sight of Jaskier’s lips moving. He feels like prey being hunted and he loves it. True to his words, two stops later Jaskier is the one to lead them off the train and up the many, many stairs to the street above. His hand never leaves Geralt’s, afraid that if he lets go the man will disappear into the crowd and leave him alone again. His apartment building isn’t far from the station, and he has to pass through three different checkpoints before he’s even flagged into the building. All of the security guards eye Geralt with barely hidden suspicion, but Jaskier is either oblivious or doesn’t care. The hot, possessive kiss that Jaskier pulls Geralt into while waiting for the elevator is answer enough.

Jaskier’s head is spinning again by the time they make it to his door, and he sags against it, panting lightly and trying to get his key in the lock. Geralt’s hand comes up, guiding the key in as he stands just close enough for Jaskier to be intimately aware of every inch of him. Jaskier gasps, shakes against the door and finally manages to shove it open. He hurries into the room, past the kitchen and into the living room. His lute is slung onto the cushions gently just as his knees give out again, and he catches himself on the arm of the couch, Geralt at his side a moment later.

He can’t feel his legs- he really, really can’t feel his legs, and he isn’t sure that it should seem like such a good thing. Geralt is a hard, hot presence between his thighs, and he arches up into Geralt’s touch, whimpering his name. He wants, he wants so desperately and he feels like he could fall apart at any moment, his breaths coming faster and faster as Geralt grins down, at him teeth sharp and glistening and begging to be buried in flesh. He reaches up, brings him down and kisses him, lapping into his mouth just to taste and let a fang scrape against his tongue.

His chest is heaving when he blinks from his memory, and oh, oh he’s embarrassingly, frustratingly hard. How in the hell does he explain something like this? His knees smart from where they’ve hit the floor and he pitches himself forward, out of Geralt’s surprised hands, his palms slapping against the wood of his floor as he pants. It’s better than letting Geralt see him, worked up over nothing. But he doesn’t get the chance to even think of a lie- he hears Geralt’s sharp intake of breath, the soft huff of a stunned laugh. Geralt is on his knees next to him before he can move, lips on his neck and teeth digging just so into the pale, unmarked flesh. Jaskier keens without meaning to, the noise spilling from his lips, and his cheeks flush when Geralt makes a triumphant noise, pulling back and using a hand on the small of Jaskier’s back make him sit back.

“If you say anything smart, Geralt, I will throw you off my balcony.”

“You don’t have to hide from me.” Is all he says instead, and he takes Jaskier’s hands, guiding him to sit on the couch while he takes care of Jaskier’s lute. Jaskier watches, knees pressed to his chest to hide his slowly dwindling erection as Geralt hunts around his apartment, breathing deep and seeming pleased at what he finds. He lingers briefly by the bedroom door, but seems to think better about exploring there just yet. Instead he reaches up, undoing the clasp across his chest and letting his swords slide from his back. He places them on the coffee table and pulls his sweater up and over his head. Jaskier watches it all, eyes wide, and he jumps as the sweater is tossed at him. He catches it with only a minor fumble, pressing it to his face and breathing deep.

He can almost feel the growl that rumbles through Geralt at the sight, and he grins, toothy and bright, sniffing again. It’s easy to lose his train of thought at the sight of Geralt- Modern clothes suit him well, from the cut of his jeans to the way his t-shirt shows off the rather lovely shoulder to hip ratio he has. Practically perfect. What really arouses him, and this shouldn’t ever be admitted out loud, is the amount of weapons Geralt has on him. There are two pistols tucked into sheathes under his arms against his sides, at least two knives tucked into each boot, not to mention the swords he’s already discarded.

“How do you draw the pistols with your sweater on?”

“I don’t.” Geralt’s voice is amused, and he reaches to unbuckle the leather harness, silver rings glittering along his fingers. There are no fingers that are bare of rings, whether they’re smooth, simple bands or ones studded in small spikes. It’s… ridiculously attractive and Jaskier fears for his heart at this rate. The holsters slip off of his shoulders and they too are left on the table with his swords, though he doesn’t go for the daggers in his boots at all. “You’re staring.”

“I’m allowed to.” He breathes out, reaching a hand out as Geralt pads over. His fingers splay against Geralt’s chest as the older man leans down, kissing him slowly, the warm metal of his rings sliding across Jaskier's cheek. Jaskier shivers at the sensation, making a soft noise as he stretches up further to try and get closer. Geralt pulls back too soon, always too soon, and Jaskier groans with disappointment.

“Tell me what happened when we came in.”

“Do we really have to talk about that now?” Geralt leans back, eyes searching his face, and Jaskier sighs dramatically, tugging Geralt to sit next to him on the couch so he can lean against his chest. "I wasn't born with my memories. I had- it feels stupid to repeat this all- I had night terrors as a child."

"Of monsters." Jaskier nods, pressing Geralt's sweater to his face and speaking through the fabric.

"Particularly of me being eaten by them. When I got older, graduated high school, they shifted focus. They showed me, or the bard I thought was haunting my dreams, following you, performing at a banquet, being chased by a farmer's husband. Within the past few months they got worse. They slipped into my daydreams, took them over, until I could hardly go outside without seeing something that would set them off."

"Is that what happened on the platform?" Jaskier shakes his head, sighing.

"I don't know what that was- a reaction to seeing you again, after only seeing you in dreams maybe? All I remember is getting hit by the worst vertigo I've ever felt, and then I was waking up in your arms. This last time- I'm not sure. I really don't want to keep collapsing though, my knees won't be able to take it."

His joke is weak but Geralt chuckles anyway, pressing his nose into Jaskier's hair. "I'll get you kneepads."

"My hero." He feels a rumble go through Geralt's chest and that brings a smile to his face. "What about you?"

"What about me?"

"Tell me about you, what you've been doing. I, for one, have been struggling with my memories and made it as a musician. But you, last of the witchers, are impossible to find info on."

"How do you know I'm the last?"

"Internet speculation. Don't worm your way out of this." Geralt sighs heavily, shaking his head and muttering to himself before Jaskier turns and plops himself into Geralt's lap so Geralt has to look at him.

"Eskel and Lambert retired a few years ago. Contracts are few and far between."

"What do you do then when you aren't fighting monsters?"

"I… Translate." Jaskier doesn't think he's heard right, and he tilts his head.

"Pardon? Was my very sexy boyfriend about to tell me something even sexier?" Geralt raises a brow at the word boyfriend, but Jaskier can see that he's pleased by the automatic assumption that they're together. Like they were never apart at all.

"I interpret. Mostly for doctors offices or business meetings. I'm occasionally called to the field when researchers need help."

"What languages?" Geralt doesn't say anything, cheeks flushing a faint pink instead. Jaskier grins then, pleased as all get out, and he leans forward, bumping their noses together and watching the way Geralt's pupils open wider at the contact. "What languages, Geralt?"

"There- aren't many I don't know."

"Someone's been busy."

"I had time. And language barriers make hunting harder." Jaskier laughs at the defensive tone to Geralt's voice, leaning their foreheads together and laughing until Geralt kisses him to shut him up. And even then he giggles against Geralt's lips, wiggling when Geralt tickles at his ribs.

"No wonder your elder is good." Geralt huffs out a laugh, shaking his head and leaning back so he can look at Jaskier, gaze sweeping over Jaskier's face slowly.

"My brothers and I are the only ones fluent."

"In the world?"

"There are small elven communities hidden around, but other than that, yes."

"Where are your brothers?"

"Somewhere in the midwest." Geralt says it with a shrug, as if it isn't a big deal. "They move frequently."

"Too used to being on the Path." Jaskier muses, though it's truer than he might realize. “What about you, where do you settle?”

“I don’t.” Jaskier tilts his head, thinking about that. He isn’t sure why Geralt would ever settle down, since he’s the last witcher active apparently. It would make sense for him not to have any place to call home, but the thought bothers him. A lot more than it should.

“You have a home here, if you want it.” He whispers, heart in his throat, and Geralt’s whole demeanor softens. His eyes look more amber in the setting sun coming through his balcony, and Jaskier leans forward, lips brushing Geralt’s at the same time his phone rings. He groans, intent to ignore it, but Geralt’s fingers dip into Jaskier’s back pocket to pull it out. He hits answer, holding the phone up to Jaskier’s ear as he glares.

“Jaskier, who the fuck are you kissing?”

“Hello Priscilla, nice to see you again, I’ve been just dandy since we last saw each other.” Jaskier takes the phone from Geralt, pressing it to his ear on his own.

“Jaskier, Twitter is in an uproar, there are pictures everywhere.”

“Naughty pictures?” Jaskier puts the phone on speaker while he moves over to Twitter, scrolling through the thousands of tags he’s gotten in the past two hours alone. They’re all the same picture, which Jaskier saves immediately, some better quality than others. There’s him in his bowling alley button up, held aloft in Geralt’s arms, kissing him senseless. It’s a rather artistic photo, the contrast between his bright colors and lute and Geralt’s stiff black clothing and threatening swords. “Ah.”

“That’s all you have to say? You haven’t seriously dated anyone since high school and that's what you say?” Priscilla is pissed, rightfully so, and Jaskier winces.

“Look it’s not that I didn’t want to tell you, I just-”

“I asked him not to.” Jaskier can hear the sharp intake of breath over the phone from Priscilla when Geralt talks, and she’s much more pleasant this time when she speaks. Traitor.

“Oh. And you are?”

“Geralt.”

“And where are you from, Geralt? How long have you been dating my best friend?” He sees Geralt’s lips quirk in a smile, and he rolls his eyes, letting Geralt do the talking. At least that way he isn’t getting yelled at.

“Rivia. We’ve been seeing each other for a few years now, I would say.” Jaskier snorts at the lie, except well- it isn’t really a lie. They’ve been together for years and years over entire lifetimes.

“Rivia?” A distant quality overtakes her voice, and Jaskier winces, clapping a hand over his ear as Priscilla squeals. “Jaskier, please tell me you aren’t dating Geralt of Rivia.”

“Uh.” Geralt’s lips twitch upward as he raises a brow at Jaskier’s hesitation, but Priscilla is laughing, wheezing out little breaths, and Jaskier waits for her to calm down before he answers. “Is that a bad thing?”

“No, no it’s just unbelievable.”

“Hey!” There’s offense in Jaskier’s tone, and Geralt’s hand rests on his hip, squeezing lightly. Jaskier shudders at the touch, scowling, but his witcher is the picture of innocence. “I guess the cats out of the bag, eh love?”

“Mhm.” Gods Jaskier has missed those little sounds, the answers but not answers.

“You have to say something on Twitter before your fans break the site. And introduce us properly.”

“Right, right. Dinner okay?”

“Only if I get to pick the place.”

“Deal. I’ll call you later, okay?” Priscilla gives an affirmative and hangs up, Jaskier tilting his head at Geralt with his brows raised. “So, Geralt of Rivia, ready to be official with a popstar?”

“Not really. But with you? I’ll manage.” Jaskier rolls his eyes, moving to tuck himself against Geralt’s side. Geralt’s arm snakes around him, hugging him a bit closer as Jaskier raises his phone.

“Say cheese!” He grins wide, waiting until Geralt isn’t glaring to snap the photo. It’s a good one, Geralt’s eyes liquid and warm, the corners of his mouth tilted up in the smallest of smiles. It’s definitely going to be his wallpaper. Jaskier posts it onto Twitter with a simple caption.

My knight in shining armor.

#geraskier #geralt x jaskier #jaskier x geralt #modern au #reincarnation au #immortal geralt of rivia #flaskbacks #popstar Jaskier

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sharinluna · 5 years

Text

MLQC Chapter 17 Translation Excerpt Part 2

DO NOT COPY, QUOTE, REPOST OR REBLOG THIS ANYWHERE. Links are okay but I don’t want this post to spread too much in other communities or websites.

Also, I seriously recommend that you read Ch17 translation part 1

https://sharinluna.tumblr.com/post/188228508783/mlqc-chapter-17-translation-part-1do-not-reblog

Translation of excerpts from chapter 17 part 2.

This is not a full translation, only some parts. It’s more like a abbreviation/summary/paraphrasing of some parts of the story. Do not ask me to translate more or reveal more plots in the story.

The translation is based on KR version text. I’m not a professional translator and get things wrong. So do not regard this as the actual canon story.

I used Yōurán as the name of MC because that is the unofficial default MC’s name in CN version.

If you want to read chapter 15 & 16 translations, I tagged them under #mlqc translation

**********************

(Previously on Ch 17 part 1)

I thought back to the day when we said goodbye on the TV tower. When his golden eyes looked at me and smiled.

Kiro: Wait for me, Miss Chips.

I’m sorry. I don’t think I can go on waiting…

Like a fish losing water, I breathed my final breath.

**********************

Yōurán: Please don’t’ leave me…

The black cloth covering my eyes was unraveled. Bright light came to my world again. I managed to open my eyes and I saw a familiar set of eyes.

For a moment, I thought I finally met that person that I wanted to see for so long. He was all smiles like he always was. The familiar warmth when he embraced me, the resolute way when he left me, I could feel it all.

I have dreamed about this so many times. My hero would stand radiant in the sunlight and say:

Kiro: I’m back, Miss Chips.

Yōurán: …Kiro?

I wanted to reach my hand out to touch his face, but the shackles binding me reminded me of the reality.

??: Who is Kiro?

The person in front of me stared at me coldly shattering my illusions.

??: Eat this.

He shoved a capsule into my mouth. Unlike most medicines, it wasn’t bitter at all, rather sweet. I slowly began to regain my strength.

He silently freed me from the shackles and with effort, I was able to sit up and look at him properly.

The man in front of me was very familiar, but he was also a stranger. He was holding a strange metal box.

Yōurán: Aren’t you…

??: I don’t know what you’re trying to say, but you’ll have to shut it for now.

His eyes roamed over me coldly and narrowed slightly. Before I could react, he suddenly pulled me toward him causing me to lose balance and almost fall. There were two bullet marks where I’ve been just seconds ago.

??: Hide. And don’t get in my way.

I could see men approaching us with weapons. There was a click and everything went dark.

Man in Black: Helios, stay out of this. She is none of your business.

??: She is now, sorry to disappoint you.

Man In Black: A dead man should not reappear on this earth. Aren’t you aware of this simple truth?

Suddenly a bullet whizzed past me and broke a sharp object. The shards fell down and cut my foot. I couldn’t hold back a scream as sharp pain overtook me.

Instantly a pair of strong arms pulled me into his arms. The sudden movement made my head swim and I could only be swayed helplessly as he moved this way and that.

He handled me very roughly. His arms around my waist was painfully tight and he moved about wildly and didn’t stop even when a heavy lamp crashed into my arm.

Finally everything stopped. The arms grabbing onto me let go and I sagged down to the floor.

Emergency lights turned on and I could see the man in black lying on unconscious on the floor. I couldn’t tell whether he was still breathing or not.

??: Hold on to this.

He threw me the metal box and started to tie the man with electric cords.

Yōurán: What’s this?

??: The virus.

Yōurán: What?! You… you mean this is really…

??: Hold on to it tightly. Don’t drop it. Otherwise we’ll be both dead.

His face was stern though his eyes held a hint of mischief. I felt like there was a bomb in my arms. I nodded nervously.

Yōurán: I’ll hold on to this with my life then.

??: It’s a joke.

He said this matter-of-factly. I suddenly felt I was being stupid and overly theatrical.

Yōurán: R-really?

??: You get fooled easily.

He snatched the box out of my hands. He typed something into the monitor on the wall, and then a door appeared.

??: Don’t just stand there. Come.

He motioned for me to follow. I went into the elevator after him. I kept eyeing the metal box in his hands.

I felt the familiarity again. His personality was different. The way he talked and held himself was different. But… he somehow reminded me of Kiro. Was it really just a coincidence that two people would be so alike?

Yōurán: …Kiro?

I spoke up suddenly hoping for some reflex action but he only looked at me nonchalantly.

Yōurán: Aren’t you really Kiro?

??: How long are you going to keep calling me by that wrong name?

He didn’t sound particularly annoyed, but I felt saddened.

Yōurán: I…

I looked at his face. Every line, every feature, they resembled Kiro, but at the same time didn’t.

Yōurán: I’m sorry… I must be wrong…

I hung my head down. His face may resemble Kiro, but his expressions were so unlike Kiro and I didn’t want to see that.

We walked out into the deserted corridor.

Yōurán: What’s going on here?

??: You saw for yourself. There’s no one here.

Yōurán: But… what happened?

He didn’t bother to answer and kicked open the door.

As we exited the hospital building I could see that even the parked cars were gone. Only the trees and the moon greeted me in silence.

??: Leave this place right away and never come back.

He gestured the way out. It seemed like he wasn’t going to leave with me.

Yōurán: But what about you? Aren’t you coming with me?

??: I have some things left to do.

Yōurán: But you could be in danger…

??: It’s none of your concern.

I grabbed onto his hand impulsively. I couldn’t explain the reason behind my actions, but I didn’t want to let him go.

Yōurán: You are Kiro, right? Kiro, please… why are you pretending not to recognize me? On that day, you told me to wait! You told me that you’d come back!

Sorrow and doubt poured out of my voice.

??: I told you. I am not him.

He shoved my hand away harshly. The tears welling in my eyes flooded out. He walked away from me and disappeared into the hospital.

**********************

On the way home, I tried to calm down and settle my thoughts.

Helios. A name I’ve never heard before. I remembered that Black Swan called Lucien “Ares”. Was Helios also a member of Black Swan? Then why did he rescue me? Was he really not Kiro after all?

I slowed to a stop. I didn’t give up thinking that he was Kiro. Although he was adamantly denying it and his demeanor was nothing like Kiro at all… But my intuition told me that my hunch was not wrong.

If my guess was correct, then my path was already sealed in one way.

I turned around and ran back to the hospital.

Yōurán: I am going to ask him again. This time I am NOT backing down…

As soon as I was about to go inside, a thunderous noise shook the ground. The vibration swayed my balance.

Yōurán: An earthquake?!

The ground cracked underneath my feet and the hospital building started to collapse in front of my eyes.

Yōurán: Kiro!!!!

I thought of him still trapped inside and my mind turned blank. All my sense of self-preservation evaporated from my head.

Yōurán: Kiro! Where are you! Answer me!!

I saw a familiar shadow on the collapsing corridor. He ran fast and dodged a falling debris. It seemed like he was flying. The building was falling down behind him.

He landed next to me and raised himself up.

??: Why are you here?!

He was close enough for me to see the minute cuts and ashes on his face and his eyes were filled with unbridled fury.

Yōurán: I was worried about you.

He didn’t wait for the rest of my answer as he dragged me away from the explosion. He shoved me into a black jeep parked on the road. The car sped away into the night.

When we were far enough away he stopped the car.

Yōurán: Why did the building suddenly explode? Did you get hurt?

??: I’m fine. They almost had me this time.

He looked out the window. Police cars and fire engines were speeding toward the hospital. The flames colored half of the sky red.

I looked at the man sitting next to me in the car. His long eyelashes fluttered every time he blinked, making him look somehow fragile.

??: Don’t ask.

I opened my mouth but he already cut me off.

??: I’m not answering the same question twice.

Busted, I abandoned what I was about to ask and changed the subject.

Yōurán: Are you Helios, then?

??: Do you know what Helios means?

The mocking in his face returned. He suddenly came close and placed his hand on the window behind my back. I was imprisoned in his arms and couldn’t move. His eyes drilled into mine.

I felt that, if I showed even the smallest hint of discomfort or fear, he would use that as an excuse to push me away.

Yōurán: I do.

My voice shook. I could faintly smell blood and sweat from him. But I vowed that I would not back down. That I would get him to let me in.

Yōurán: Helios is the sun god from Greek mythology-

??: I don’t like that name.

He cut my words mid-sentence and put his hands away casually.

Yōurán: Why did you save me?

??: I just did.

I couldn’t understand. He was probably part of Black Swan, and Black Swan was trying to capture me. Why would he rescue me then?

Yōurán: How should I address you?

??: Don’t. After this, we’ll never meet again.

The way he spoke sent chills to my bone.

??: Take this.

A small knife with a golden handle landed on my palm. I took it and put it in my pocket.

Yōurán: Thank you…

??: Tell me where you live. I’ll drop you off along the way.

I hesitated, then gave him the address that was a bit further away from my home. He started the ignition without being suspicious. I was starting to doubt my convictions that he was indeed Kiro.

We drove in silence. He smelled of burnt gunpowder and blood. So different from the sweet fragrant of Kiro from my memories.

??: Stop staring at me.

I flushed and looked away.

Yōurán: Do you watch TVs a lot? You… I mean, Kiro… is a very famous world star.

??: I don’t care about such things.

Yōurán: Then do you like sweets?

??: No, I don’t. Are you interrogating me?

He looked at me, his tone mocking.

Yōurán: Do you know anything about transmitting quantum source codes?

??: No.

Yōurán: In computer programming, there’s-

??: I only use guns.

He interrupted me again brusquely. Silence returned in the car.

Yōurán: When did you dye your hair?

??: What makes you think it’s dyed?

Yōurán: It’s not? But…

I looked at his silver hair. It looked very natural with no signs of hair dye. In the serene moonlight, it was very beautiful. It wasn’t dyed, and it didn’t look like it turned silver because of a disease or something.

??: Don’t try to trick me into giving you the answer you want.

He’d already figured out what I was up to.

??: I’m not the person you’re looking for. If you’re going to keep doing this, then get out of the car.

I looked out the window. I didn’t want him to see my red-shot eyes.

Just then my phone rang. The call was from someone unexpected.

Yōurán: Hello? Uncle John?

He was a biology professor at Loveland University and my father’s old friend. He was like a family to me. He looked after me when my father passed away. And he advised me to seek out a professor named Lucien when Miracle Finder was in danger of ending.

I haven’t got in touch with him recently because he was researching abroad. I wondered what was up.

Uncle John: Yōurán, are you busy?

Yōurán: Uncle John, what’s the matter?

Uncle John: I just arrived at Loveland City this evening. If it’s not too much of a bother, could you see me right now?

Yōurán: Now? Is it really that important?

I was skeptical until he said quietly:

Uncle John: It’s about your father. I found something, and I think it’s related to your father’s death.

Yōurán: Are you sure?!

My voice was shaking uncontrollably. Even Helios on the driver’s seat spared a glance at me. After all this time looking for clues for my father’s death, it suddenly came to me like this.

Uncle: Could you come? I think it would be better if I showed it to you in person.

I looked out the window and the place was nearer to the address that Uncle John gave me.

Yōurán: I’m sorry. I’ll get off now.

He stopped the car on the sideway without a word.

Yōurán: Thanks for the ride.

And also for saving me. And for other things as well. He may be Kiro, he may be not. Still, I was grateful. He may be part of Black Swan, but I held nothing against him.

He drove away after giving a careless wave.

**********************

Uncle John and I met in a café nearby. It had been so long since I last saw him, but his eyes were benevolent as ever.

Uncle John: Yōurán, long time no see. It’s been two years. How have you been?

Yōurán: I am doing great. And the company is doing well too. Thank you for asking.

Uncle John: I was too busy to properly look after you. I’m so sorry.

Yōurán: Don’t say things like that. You were always helpful. Anyway, what is this thing that’s related to my father’s death?

Uncle John: I’ve wondered for a long time if I should tell you…

He was still hesitating.

Yōurán: I want to know. Please, Uncle. It’s important to me…

Uncle John: One thing is certain. The car crash that killed your father was definitely not an accident.

I already suspected as much, but it still shook me to hear it outright.

Uncle John: The driver and your father died on the spot. The police said it was due to extreme fatigue of the driver. But there is something suspicious about it.

Yōurán: What is it?

Uncle John: The driver’s time of death. I looked into this for a long time and I have enough evidence. The driver actually died forty minutes prior to the car crash.

Uncle John handed me the papers containing the evidence.

I cried silently. I was one step closer to finding out the truth, and it reopened the wound from two years ago. I thought I could face this stoically, but my father’s death still left me raw and hurt.

Uncle John handed me a tissue and gently tried to take the papers from my hands.

Yōurán: Uncle, may I hold on to this for a little while? There’s something that I want to do.

Uncle John: Yōurán, do you know something about this?

I opened my mouth, but I didn’t want to involve him with Black Swan.

Uncle John: Look at me, Yōurán.

I looked at him. His eyes were benevolent as ever.

It suddenly occurred me that I had seen that flash in his eyes before. Warm, yellow lights wavered in his eyes.

I gradually lost my strength and fell down unconscious onto the table.

**********************

When I regained my consciousness I was not in the café.

I forced myself to sit up. And then I saw what was happening.

Yōurán: Stop!

Helios turned his head and looked straight at me. His icy stare was terrifying. He was strangling Uncle John’s neck with his other hand.

Uncle John: S…save me.

Why was he trying to kill Uncle John? I stood up and ran toward them.

Yōurán: What are you doing? Let him go right now!

I grabbed his arm but then a wave of visions flashed before my eyes. They were all in fragments and sped by too fast for me to figure out what they were. I could only read his complex emotions. They were familiar…but also alien at the same time.

As I was standing there dumbstruck he dragged Uncle John further away. I ran after him.

Yōurán: I said, let him go!

But Helios only put more strength into wringing his neck. I stood there, afraid to get closer.

Helios: I have my reasons for doing this. Get out of here immediately. Don’t make me force you.

Yōurán: I’ll leave when you let him go! You wouldn’t do this… Not really…

I pleaded but his eyes were unwavering.

Helios: What makes you think that I wouldn’t? You already know where I belong. Why are you so naïve?

I shook my head.

Yōurán: Kiro wouldn’t do this to me…

An unknown emotion flashed in his eyes. Suddenly, he loosened his grasp and Uncle John fell down to the floor, coughing.

Yōurán: Uncle-

I froze and rest of the words died in my throat. He was glaring at me with cruel eyes that was so different from the Uncle John I used to know. Fear made me rooted to the spot as he grabbed me and placed a sharp knife to my neck.

Uncle John: Don’t move, Yōurán.

Yōurán: Uncle John?

I couldn’t understand what was going on.

Uncle John: Did you forget that I’m the one who introduced you to Ares?

He said Ares, not Lucien! My heart fell to abyss as I heard him say that.

Uncle John: You are just as naïve and trusting as your father.

Yōurán: Are you the one who’s behind my father’s death?!

Uncle John: Aren’t you supposed to be worrying about yourself now?

Yōurán: He was my dad! Tell me the truth!

I shouted as I struggled against him and the blade cut into my flesh.

Uncle John: Your father was a fool seventeen years ago and he was still a fool when he died fifteen years later.

Yōurán: How could you do this to him, he was your friend! I won’t forgive you…

With a trembling hand I discreetly took out the golden knife from my pocket.

Helios: What do you want?

He asked calmly but his voice sounded strained.

Uncle John: I think you already know what I want. Hand me the keys, now!

Helios: How he did you find out about that?

Uncle John: It took twenty years. And I’m not late yet. I don’t care about Hades or Ares. The final victory shall be mine!

He yelled ecstatically, and his blade left my neck for a short second.

Now! I grasped my knife firmly and plunged it into his chest. I shook out of his grasp and hurried away from him.

Helios: Yōurán. Step a meter away from him, and close your eyes.

The golden flashes in his pupils were the last thing I saw before I closed my eyes.

Helios: I command you…

!!!

It seemed as if my heart stopped beating. I was afraid to open my eyes. Afraid that this was just my fantasy and would vanish when I opened them.

I was finally reunited with the person that I have missed day and night. Although he kept denying it and I had doubted myself, it was him.

I opened my eyes and met with those familiar golden eyes. They shined brightly as ever like that day on the TV tower.

Yōurán: K…Kiro?

Yōurán: Kiro…

Yōurán: Kiro!!

My world was bright again. Every lie and every denial were shattered to pieces. He really was Kiro! He was safe! He came back!

Yōurán: Kiro, you came back…

Kiro: Yes. I came back to you.

The voice was Kiro’s voice too. With no more need for words, I hugged him tightly. No matter how different he was now, he has always been my hero and he always will be.

He hesitatingly put his hands on my shoulder, then threw caution to the wind and embraced me fully into his arms. His strong grasp made me gasp for breath but I didn’t care.

All my uncertainties and insecurities went into shadows in his light. I knew that as long as he was next to me, I could battle any fear, any chaos.

Kiro: Yōurán?

Yōurán: Yes, Kiro?

I was still in his arms as I looked up at him smiling. He smiled back at me in such a Kiro-like way. My heart fluttered. I wanted to etch this smile onto my memory forever.

Kiro: I’m sorry.

He was still smiling as he said this. I shook my head. There was so many things I wanted to say to him-

Kiro: I command you…

His tone was light, but it was firm. The sense of déjà vu was overbearing. My eyes widened in despair.

I silently mouthed the word “why” but control left my body and I could only stare at him as he went on shattering my heart with his command again.

Kiro: I command you to forget what just happened. And I command you to forget about me. Remember, I’m just Helios.

My memories were being erased bit by bit. Kiro was fading from my sight. His smiles, his eyes, his warmth… all of them became vague like a fog and disappeared. I tried my best to grab at them, but it was all in vain.

Kiro… Even the name I tried to hold on till last was wrenched away from me.

He watched silently as she closed her eyes and blacked out in his arms.

Kiro: I’m sorry…

He apologized again quietly. His eyes that once held warmth and brightness were now filled with shadows.

Kiro: I will find the truth that you’re looking for. I don’t want you to bear that heavy burden. I’ll come back to you some day, but not today. Don’t remember my dark sides. In your eyes, I will always remain Kiro to you. After I take care of everything, things can go back the way they were between us. This time, I’ll make sure that you don’t have to wait long.

**********************

When I woke up, the sun was already up. I didn’t remember what I dreamed about, but I woke up with tears and my pillow was soaked.

There was a void inside my heart like I lost something very important. I felt numb. Inexplicable waves of sorrow crashed over me.

I managed to remember that I went into a hospital to look for Doctor Song, and that the hospital exploded, and that I met a man named Helios and he sent me home.

He looked a lot like Kiro. But it wasn’t him.

Looking for clues, I put my hands inside the coat pocket that I wore yesterday.

Yōurán: Where did I get this?

In my palm was a small candy glistening in the sunlight. On impulse I unwrapped the paper and put it in my mouth.

Yōurán: Apple flavor…

It somehow crossed my mind that it was Kiro’s type of flavor.

*********************************

Rambling Time

Who is crying? I am crying as I’m typing this...

KIRO YOU STUPID FLIGHT RISK!!!!! Next time I lay my hands on you I’m putting you on a leash and tying it to a post!!!!! Do you realize how many chapters I had to wait before I saw Kiro again?! Not Helios-Kiro or dream/illusion-Kiro but just Kiro-Kiro? The answer is at the end of chapter 24! The blond cinnamon roll left me in chapter 14 and didn’t come back until ten chapters later! That’s it, I’m putting him in a cage!

Okay, rant time over.... (takes deep breaths) I really felt for Yōurán in this chapter. Imagine waking up and realizing that you cried in your sleep but you don’t know why. You feel hurt and your heart is broken but you don’t remember what is making you so sad. Your memories of the day before are unclear and you don’t know what exactly happened to you. And you have no one to talk to because people you care about are leaving you one by one.

In chapter 15, Gavin left you leaving behind his ginkgo bracelet.

In chapter 16, Lucien left you leaving behind his “iridescent” pen.

In chapter 17, Kiro left you leaving behind his apple-flavored candy.

(Victor is not present because he’s time-travelling, trying to find an answer. I didn’t include it in my translation but he does get in touch with you once in a while but even then, he’s mostly absent.)

The Special Task Force turned out to be an enemy along with Black Swan. You can’t rely on your colleagues or the police since they don’t know about evols. You also learn that your father’s old friend who was like family to you, betrayed you and your father and he was the one behind your father’s murder.

If I were Yōurán I would be terrified and have a panic attack. She barely manages to hold it together for now but you can see that she’s slowly on her path to breakdown.

That is the end of my Chapter 17 translation. There are some parts remaining but I think it would be better if I grouped them with Chapter 18 for plot consistency.

#mlqc #mlqc translation #mlqc spoiler #mlqc kiro #kiro is a flight risk #poor Yōurán

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popatochisssp · 5 years

Note

Obviously no pressure, but if you wanted to share your ideas on house pets, there would be great interest from at least one person. But headcanons are closed and I totally respect that (this very ask aside sorry). No pressure to do anything!!! just wanted to let you know that it seems like fun info.

Sans (Undertale): Strongly inspired by a fantastic fanfiction I can’t recommend enough, he has a cat affectionately named Catsup (Norwegian Forest Cat). Of course he does. Pretty typical story here, he more or less went to a shelter, locked onto the biggest, fattest cat there, and filled out the paperwork to damn her to a life of having a pun for a name. He...may have only gone to the shelter because he was hardcore struggling with depression and his brother read somewhere that pets can help a little, but that's...that’s neither here nor there. Catsup turned out to be a perfect fit for Sans in spite of his initial attitude of, 'I'm only doing this to make Papyrus happy'-- she's probably just about as chill and lazy as the skeleton himself, content to flop over just about anywhere, anytime and hang out. Her laidback nature was a blessing for Sans, a first-time cat-owner who didn't really know what he was doing or what she needed right away. A more high-maintenance cat probably wouldn't have been as forgiving and there'd have been a lot more stress on everybody before he got it figured out. Now, he considers Catsup his best little pal and doesn't even need to be reminded to change out her bowls and her litter. He's surprisingly responsible, when he actually really cares about something.

Catsup’s Quirks: Likes it when you gently slap her belly, always gravitates towards the room with the most people in it, often appears in unusual places that it seems like she shouldn't have been able to get to

Papyrus (Undertale): He...begrudgingly missed working with the Canine Unit once the Royal Guard was officially disbanded... It took him awhile to be able to openly admit he was interested in getting a dog, and when he did, he had standards-- it had to be a smart dog, one that could learn tricks and follow rules, unlike a certain annoying creature that’s plagued his life and home and special attacks in the past!!! So he did a lot of breed research, found a local, ethical breeder for the kind he was looking for, and went to pick out a pup. Spike (Border Collie), so named for his incredible coolness, is a perfect fit for his energetic skeleton friend and loves to run, exercise, and learn new tricks all the time!

Spike’s Quirks: Learned to wipe his feet before coming inside just by watching Papyrus do it, hams up his tricks and sometimes does them without prompting, never leaves the park without an impractically large stick to bring home

Sky (Underswap Sans): You will literally never get him to admit the real reason he got a dog companion because he knows in his heart of hearts that it’s such a silly reason... He saw a video online of a dog delicately eating a watermelon and while most people would’ve had a kneejerk reaction of, “I NEED TEN,” but not gotten any, he had the same reaction and just...talked himself down to one. And so came Poff (Samoyed), a big ol’ floofer who’s a lot like her master when it comes to levels of energy and affection. She’s happy to follow him around on patrols, training sessions, and even through obstacle course...so of course, she tends to get very dirty very quickly. Luckily, Sky’s diligence in grooming her keeps her coat as white and fluffy as her namesake!

Poff’s Quirks: Loves baths, tap dances at the mention of treats, doesn't chew her toys and just hoards them instead

Paps (Underswap Papyrus): He wasn’t really in the market for a dog, himself. He was just along for the ride when his bro was picking up Poff, when he happened to hear the most hilarious sing-screaming sound he’d ever heard in his life. He followed it all the way to the little fellow who would soon be known as Smoochie (French Bulldog), and he sure seemed upset about...something? He never really figured out why, he was laughing too hard from hearing a sound like that come out of something so small and weird-looking. He didn't try to adopt Smoochie that day, much as he loved his sound, but he found himself going back to the shelter a couple times just to check on and play with him. After two or three months with no one else adopting the little prima-donna, he figured he might as well commit and take him home. He's a fun little dude and Paps hasn't regretted it for a second, but he's forever in denial about just how much of a Dog Dad he's become since. It's totally normal to carry your dog around in the hood of your sweatshirt, isn't it???

Smoochie’s Quirks: Screams a lot, will eat food out of peoples’ hands if they’re not paying attention, jumps higher than it seems like he should be able to

Jasper (Underfell Sans): Like most things in his life, he didn’t put a whole lot of planning or forethought into getting a dog. He was out one night, decently drunk, and a friend of a friend of a friend of a coworker was talking about this dumb dog he had that was supposed to be a guard dog but couldn't do it worth a damn because he was too friendly. The guy was yammering about how to get rid of it and something about that struck a chord with Jasper. It was pretty soon after monsters surfaced and maybe that's why it felt...important to him? He was probably just drunk and emotional and soft that he even stepped in or said anything, but it is what it is. He’s a skilled enough conman that it didn't take him long to talk the guy around in circles until he was willing to pay Jasper for the privilege of taking this animal off his hands and in short order, he was almost bowled over by the big dog that planted its paws on his shoulders at their first meeting. Jasper immediately renamed him from something cliché and 'intimidating' to Tubbs (Rottweiler) for how heavy the goofy bastard was and then brought him right home. His brother wasn't particularly pleased and swore he would not be caring for this beast, but he never had to; Jasper kinda missed having something trusting and affectionate to take care of, and Tubbs has been daddy's little fatty ever since.

Tubbs’ Quirks: Shreds even the heaviest duty toys, lays on people as if he were a lap dog, drools rivers if somebody's eating food around him

Pyre (Underfell Papyrus): Who am I to defy literal years of fanon...? His first meeting with Doomfanger (Persian) was about as clichéd as it gets-- a scrawny, dingy, scraggly and matted cat scurrying out of an alley in the rain. She went right up to him and, well... it was love at first mew. He scooped her right up, bestowed a fittingly intimidating name upon her, and took her home with him, in spite of the fact that she looked more like a mutant rat than a cat at the time. After shaving the mats off, bathing the dirt away, and getting her some regular food, though, Doomy actually ends up being an exceedingly beautiful feline! He credits his attentive care and grooming for her pristine, silvery fluff and will brag about it at a moment's notice, but he's just ever so slightly in denial about her sweet and gentle nature. Doomfanger is a vicious killing machine, a true apex predator that nothing stands a chance against! That's...that’s obviously why he carries her around so much... And why he plucks her away from any other animal that comes near her like some sort of mother hen-- he's minimizing the bloodshed! If he let her loose, there would be no survivors!

Doomfanger’s Quirks: Meows in peeps, avid shadow-chaser, extremely receptive to handling

Mal (Swapfell Sans): Hey, anyone remember FGTC? This one cameo’d in that fic, she may seem familiar~ So...he wanted a pet. At first, he thought a cat would be good, fierce independent hunters that they’re reputed to be...but after spending time with a lot of cats and not really clicking with any, he was forced to concede that he was just more of a dog person. In hindsight, of course that’s what he was looking for: a loyal companion to (literally, ha!) dog his steps and follow his orders. Before he can actually, intentionally start looking for one, though, the universe works its magic and he finds one digging around in the garbage out behind the house. The emergency vet he brings the scarred and skeletal stray to tells him that, judging by her injuries, she was probably bait in some dog-fighting ring somewhere and got thrown away when she wasn’t useful anymore. Well. Fuck that, Princess (Pitbull) deserves better than that, and she’ll have it! He takes on the duty of nursing her back to health and earning her trust and it isn’t long before she shows her true colors as the loviest sweetheart of a dog that ever was. She’s utterly useless as an attack/guard dog, but her barks are loud and intimidating, and she obeys commands at the drop of a hat, so Mal doesn’t hold that against her. She goes with him just about anywhere she’s allowed and he shows her off with the same enthusiasm you’d expect for a pedigreed Best in Show dog.

Princess’ Quirks: Wags with her entire butt, will kiss the moment someone’s face is in range, barks at doorbells both real and on TV

Rus (Swapfell Papyrus): He didn’t mean to get a cat, not really... He was just following along with his brother when Mal was kicking around the idea of getting one, and Mal may not have clicked with anybody there, but he sure did. Actually... Kitkat (Manx) may have picked him and he’s just along for the ride. Kitkat was kinda young at the time, a little smaller than all the rest and also...no tail??? But what a personality, loud and playful and super sweet and...when it was time to leave the shelter, he just...he couldn’t bring himself to do it without her, he was in love! It’s mutual, at least-- she latched right onto him pretty much instantly and is pretty much never not with him whenever he’s at home, following him around from room-to-room.

Kitkat’s Quirks: Bone-rattlingly loud purrs, loves to play fetch, prone to 3AM zest for life and zooming all around the house accordingly

Slate (Horrortale Sans): I actually wrote about this one! But the gist of it is...he likes cats. Eventually got confident enough to go get one and zeroed right in on the weirdest-looking, least adoptable cat in the shelter he volunteers at. Slinky (Cornish Rex) was deaf, kinda ugly, and a whole lotta weird, but hell, she’ll fit right in at home, yeah? And so she does! She wrecks a lotta shit and is loud as hell, but stuff is only stuff and Slate’s never had an issue with noise. Actually...she really helps him out with his sleep and focus issues, it’s hard to drop off or dissociate when you have a cat in your lap, yelling at you at batting your face because it’s Play Time or Dinner Time, wake the fuck up!!! She’s a bastardous gremlin, but he loves her to bits.

Slinky’s Quirks: Clumsy and bad at judging distances, loves ankle-looping, insists on sniffing all people-food but never actually tries to eat it

Papy (Horrortale Papyrus): Following the trauma of the underground and the ensuing massive outpouring of empathy from humanity at large, monsters were made aware of many therapeutic resources that they could take advantage of, one of which was therapy animals. Papy naturally thought this was a wonderful idea...for other monsters, who were of course far more psychologically-damaged and not quite so good at enduring as himself. But...his brother does volunteer at an animal shelter, and he goes to visit him on occasion so he's made friends with a lot of animal people. This is how he hears about a therapy dog in need of a new forever-home due to complicated circumstances with her former owner, and well... it would be rude not to offer the Lady (Borzoi) a place to stay! He’s surprised by her appearance at first, having expected something more like a golden retriever or some kind of shepherd??? But he's very quickly charmed by her and actually feels more than a little bit of kinship with her no stranger to being long and oddly proportioned, himself-- and they're both doing their best to make it look graceful instead of weird. Since Lady proves to be a sweet and gentle-mannered dog, Papy just sort of...never bothers trying to find other accommodations for her. She’s welcomed wholeheartedly into their home, which she repays with plenty of unconditional love and effortless emotional support!

Lady’s Quirks: Spins in circles when excited, very polite when begging for table scraps, never barks but howls often

#cinaminamin #headcanons #undertale #sans #papyrus #underswap #us!sans #us!papyrus #underfell #uf!sans #uf!papyrus #swapfell/fellswap #sf!sans #sf!papyrus #horrortale #ht!sans #ht!papyrus

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thebiasrekkers · 4 years

Text

Make It Right [BTS Mafia!AU]

Pairings: Jin x OC | Taehyung/Hoseok x OC | Yoongi/Jungkook x OC Genre: BTS Mafia!AU Warnings: Graphic Violence, Heavy Language, Angst, Smut, Slow Burn WC: 3,117 Prologue 1 2 3 4 5 6 7 8 9 10 11 12 13 14 15 16 “It’s always darkest before the dawn…” It’s a dog-eat-dog world in Seoul, South Korea. One has to dwell in the shadows in order to reach for the light. What are you willing to sacrifice in order to feel the sunlight on your face? What will it take to drag you back into darkness? How long will the journey be to make it right?

AO3 | WP

Chapter 16: Anpanman

"I’m not a superhero. Don’t expect too much from me."

Raelyn avoided Taehyung’s room for most of her shift.

It was no secret among her co-workers that she knew him. After all, he was always coming by the hospital when she was about to clock out for the day. It aggravated her that things were already starting to circulate around work; unwanted rumors because everyone wanted to gossip like a bunch of clucking hens in the chicken coop. This was the sort of mess she didn’t want to happen. This was the very reason why she didn’t make her relationship with Hoseok known to the people she worked with day in and day out.

When Taehyung was brought in by Jungkook and Jimin, the news traveled quickly to her. However, she refused to see him. She didn’t want to inquire about his condition and she certainly wasn’t about to go poking around his chart to see why he was even there. However, try as she might, Raelyn was unable to stuff rubber into her ears. She heard things she didn’t want to hear, resulting in her heart thudding heavily against her chest.

She was worried for a multitude of reasons. It wasn’t like she hated the Golden Jackals. They were her friends once upon a time; some still even were. But there were boundaries that needed to be set and every time she felt like she was about to escape from it, something came and turned her world completely upside down.

After he was fully checked in did Raelyn bother seeking out Jungkook and Jimin. They filled her in on the basics, not wanting to go into it. They respected her need for peace and privacy and she appreciated that. There was a part of her that would always worry for them, but she knew she had to keep her distance to a degree. Raelyn couldn’t involve herself too deeply. Not anymore. It would only cause her more problems and while things had been good with Hoseok, there were too many things she’d seen that left a lasting impression on her.

She couldn’t watch another person she cared about being ripped from her grasp – making her feel inept. Not again.

She was pulling another double. It couldn’t be helped. Another of her co-workers had a family emergency, swearing she would make it up to her for covering for her. Most people would complain, but it wasn’t like she had a family to go home to or any kind of pet to take care of. She could afford to be away from home for a day or two.

Raelyn sighed, grabbing a warm coffee from one of the vending machines in the break room. Her mind couldn’t help but go back to the night she was out with Eden. Yoo Kihyun’s face appeared in her mind and she frowned slightly, unsure of what to make of the entire situation. She couldn’t recall ever meeting him or any of the others of the Jade Fangs. She wasn’t good with names, but Raelyn was stellar when it came to faces.

So, how did he even know who I was? she thought, cracking the can open and taking a sip. We were only together for a little over a year.

Taking a sip, she slipped into one of the chairs at a long table. Had they kept tabs on her even after she ended things with Hoseok? It wasn’t outside of the realm of possibility, but it also seemed a little outlandish.

Hoseok made no bones about taking Raelyn around places. Back then, the Golden Jackals were just getting their names out on the streets. Gang wars were much more prevalent then and she got to see firsthand just how bloody their world was. Truly, it wasn’t like in the movies. She had no thoughts outside of the dangers of that world. Raelyn willingly went into that situation knowing what would happen. Promises were thrown and she believed them because she believed in Hoseok and the world he eventually wanted to be a part of forever. A world that didn’t involve having a target on his back.

It was something they were all striving for.

But it was too much. She tried to keep an open mind and she tried to maintain some level of positivity. Her work environment, however, wouldn’t allow for that sort of thing. As a registered nurse, her life was hard and while she loved her job, it was stressful. Hospital occupations weren’t for everyone. It took a toll on the mind and it took from the body. She could have left it all behind when things started to pick up for Hoseok and the Golden Jackals. The glitz and glam in those last months were experiences that most women didn’t get to have; not even in their entire lifetimes.

Raelyn, however, valued her freedom. She didn’t want to give up her job and her passion was always to help people. She couldn’t imagine herself walking away from that life, the life she worked so hard to call her own.

“Raelyn?”

Her eyes lifted towards the door and she saw her co-worker, Saeyeong, poking her head inside. Raelyn attempted a smirk as she set her can of coffee down.

“What’s up, Sae?”

“I’m glad I found you.” She paused, her brows furrowing slightly. “You’re not on break, are you?”

“Nah,” she replied easily, waving her hand back and forth, “just taking a breather. I was gonna hit the floor again in a few minutes.”

Relief covered her face and Saeyeong clapped her hands together. “Oh, good! Can you do me a favor and check on the patient in room 117?”

The smirk fell instantly from Raelyn’s face. “No.”

Saeyeong let out a pathetic mewling sound. “Please, Raelyn? I really have to go to the bathroom and I’m about to go on break in ten minutes.” She held her hands together like she was saying a prayer. “I’ll make it up to you, I promise! I’m not even going to be gone for the full hour. I’ll be back in thirty minutes to take over.”

Raelyn sighed, draining the can of coffee and throwing it into the trash. “Fine,” she said, making her way toward the door.

The girl hugged her, thanking her again, before running off to make a beeline for the restroom. Eyeing her watch, she sighed again and started heading toward the room she was currently designated over for the next thirty minutes. Raelyn pulled the chart off the wall just beside the door, knocked twice and announced herself before entering.

Taehyung, bandaged and braced, was propped up in the hospital bed. A table tray was in his lap where a laptop computer was propped. The television was off even though the remote was right beside the computer. He probably didn’t want to watch anything on TV after channel surfing. He clicked away on the keys, looking up as she walked inside – pressing his chart against her hip as the door shut behind her.

He flashed his trademark boxy smile and Raelyn rolled her eyes.

“Hey there, Rae Noona,” he greeted, lifting his one good arm up to wave to her. The other was in a sling.

“Don’t talk to me,” she said, a deadpan expression over her face, “you still owe me for my unannounced house call.”

He pouted. “Oh, come on, you know I’m good for it.” He closed the laptop. “Besides, I even made an appointment this time. See?” Taehyung gave a wide gesture with his good arm.

“Coming in all busted up is hardly what I’d call an appointment,” she said, looking over his chart, “in fact, I’m pretty sure that it’s still considered showing up unannounced.”

Taehyung huffed like a child, brushing some of his hair off his forehead. Raelyn ignored his sad attempt at a tantrum and scanned over the paperwork. According to the chart, he had one broken rib, a fractured arm, several contusions and slight internal bleeding. The patchwork done on him had been swift and the other nurses said that he’d clearly been in some sort of fight; a fight where he got his ass kicked from one side of the room to the other. Taehyung was certainly no pushover. He took a knife to the gut and practically shrugged it off when she fixed him up a few days ago.

He let someone do this to him, she deduced while turning another page.

She recalled Jimin’s hands were slightly swollen and Jungkook had no injuries of his own. It meant that Jimin had clearly been the one to administer the beating. There was a good chance that Taehyung deserved it, but the look on their faces was proof that it was something they weren’t too thrilled about.

Raelyn looked at Taehyung, his child-like pout still plastered over his face. Just what the hell did you do that you got punished?

It had to have been something serious if Hoseok issued for punishment to be placed on one of his top-tier men.

“What?”

She let the pages flutter against his chart as she set it down on a nearby table. “You look like shit.”

His eyes went wide, his mouth falling open. Blinking at her like a goldfish, he closed his mouth and opened it again until a sound of outright disbelief spilled from him.

“Wow, your bedside manner really is terrible!”

Raelyn went to the ECG to double check his vitals. She then began checking his IV and various other tubes so that the medicine being administered was the right dosage. Pulling out a blood pressure cuff from one of the pouches hanging from the ECG monitor, she motioned for him to hold his good arm out so she could check his blood pressure. After a few minutes, she looked and scribbled down his new vitals before slipping the cuff off his arm. Then she moved to undo his hospital gown so she could check on the brace he wore around his waist.

“I’m just honest.”

“No, you’re just mean. Aren’t nurses trained in being comforting and supportive? Give me some reassurance here.”

“I’m not in the business of telling lies.” Rolling her eyes, she scoffed. “Besides, you don’t need comforting. You needed this ass beating, one hundred percent.”

Taehyung gave a half scoff, half laugh. “You’re the worst.”

“And you owe me money.”

They looked at each other for a long moment. She could see the playful deviousness leaving Taehyung’s face and she saw it change to a serious expression. It surprised her, causing her spine to lock up for a moment. While she’d seen that look before, it was a look she didn’t see very often. Not from him, at least.

“I heard you were in Myeongdong, Noona.”

Her brows lifted slightly. Then they furrowed as her eyes narrowed. “Yeah? What of it?”

“Why would you go there?”

“A girl can’t go shopping?”

“Sure,” he said with a shrug, “but you’re not just any girl , Noona.”

Tossing the clipboard angrily onto the nearby table, she rounded on him. “Oh yeah?” Her tone was borderline seething.

“Yeah, you’re Hoseok Hyung’s ex-girlfriend.” He said it like he’d just swallowed a spoonful of bitter medicine.

“Ex -girlfriend,” Raelyn said through clenched teeth, “as in we’re not together anymore.”

Taehyung’s brows knit together. “That doesn’t matter, you should know that. Our world doesn’t care about that shit.”

“Well, it needs to! I have nothing to do with that circuit anymore, Taehyung!”

His eyes narrowed. “Then you should have done a better job of running from it. You should have cut us out of your life completely.” Taehyung shifted so he could sit up better. “You could have ignored us after you broke up with Hoseok Hyung. Why did you stay friends with us if you wanted to get out?”

“That’s—”

“If you’d done a better job of wiping us out from your existence, then maybe you’d be just like any girl instead of the girl.”

“So what? I’m supposed to just pretend that I don’t give a damn?” she snapped, feeling her heartbeat thundering across her chest.

“You value your freedom so damn much, then yeah, you should have.”

Anger flashed across his eyes, making Raelyn clench her jaw.

“Don’t.”

“You chose to stay connected to us. You broke up with Hoseok Hyung, but you didn’t push the rest of us away.”

Her eyes narrowed.

“Kim Taehyung…”

“You should have done a better job of telling us to fuck right the hell off!”

Raelyn’s hand went up and she had to stop herself. Her body vibrated from the willpower she mustered to keep her hand from swinging down across his face. A few breaths pushed from her lungs and she slowly brought her arm down, taking another breath to collect herself completely.

“Uh, am I interrupting something?”

Her heart immediately jumped to her throat and they both turned to look at the door. A tall, slim man wearing a pin-striped suit was now inside the room with them. He had bubblegum pink hair and was holding a vase full of flowers in one arm and a “Get Well Soon” balloon in his other hand. He wore hazel contact lenses and his full lips were slightly pursed together in a semi-confused pout.

“Hyungwon Hyung,” Taehyung said, shifting uncomfortably in the bed and Raelyn instinctively took a step back away from the person, “what are you doing here?” He paused, tilting his head as he looked through the window and saw that there was no one else there. “Better question: how are you even here?”

The man smirked, setting the vase down on the table. “Would you believe me if I told you I snuck in?”

Taehyung frowned. “Hell no.”

Hyungwon shrugged, holding the balloon out to Raelyn. She reached for it unconsciously, holding the plastic ribbon in her hand.

“It was worth a shot.”

“Excuse me,” she finally cut in, eyeballing Hyungwon. He turned to face her, surmising her just as much as she was him. “Who are you?”

He bowed his head politely toward her. “Chae Hyungwon,” he introduced, rising to his full height, “I’m a friend of Taehyung-ah’s.”

“Friend, my ass,” he said, causing both Raelyn and Hyungwon to look at him, ��we stopped being friends when you became the Jade Fang’s Snapping Turtle.”

Raelyn whipped her head around to look at Hyungwon, taking another step back. Taehyung asked the right question. Just how had he gotten there? Last time she checked, Gangnam was still Golden Jackal territory. He didn’t have any business being there.

“You shouldn’t be here,” Raelyn said evenly, “you’re not supposed to be here.”

“Relax,” came Hyungwon’s soothing voice as he held a hand up, “I promise that I have permission to be here.” He turned to look at Taehyung. “From both of our bosses.”

Blinking rapidly, Raelyn couldn’t hide her surprise. Hoseok allowed a rival gang member to come into his territory without an escort?

She looked at Taehyung and saw that he must have been thinking the same thing she was. Now her curiosity was screaming at her. Just what in the world was happening? When she last was deeply involved with their world, the Jade Fangs weren’t exactly on good terms.

Had something changed?

“Anyway, I just wanted to come by and check on an old friend.” Hyungwon’s voice cut through Raelyn’s thoughts, bringing her back to the current situation.

Taehyung scoffed. “You came alone?”

He brushed his fingers through his pink hair, his smirk remaining on his face as he did so. “I told my boys to wait outside. I didn’t want them causing a disturbance.” Hyungwon’s eyes shifted to Raelyn and she swallowed the lump forming in her throat. “This is a place of healing, after all.”

One of Raelyn’s hands curled into a fist.

“Besides,” he continued, looking back at Taehyung, “I wanted to come by and tell you to keep your nose clean. You were always a troublemaker, Taehyung-ah, but running around in someone else’s backyard without permission is a big no-no.” He waggled his finger, issuing several tsk’s in the process. “You know better.”

“Shut-up,” Taehyung snapped, his lip curling into a half snarl, “pretty soon none of that shit is gonna matter anyway and you know it. So just mind your own damn business.”

Hyungwon laughed, as if he’d just heard a very funny joke. Raelyn could only blink in mild shock. Just who the hell was this guy for him to laugh that way to a warning being issued against him?

“So close to your goals and you decide to get reckless? That’s just not like you. Not at all.” Hyungwon’s laughter eased off as he looked back at Raelyn, bowing his head politely again. “I’ll see myself out. Have a goodnight.” When he straightened his posture, his eyes moved to fall on Taehyung. “Behave yourself until your dreams come true, Taehyung-ah.”

Before Raelyn could demand for anymore answers, Hyungwon was already turning around and heading out the door. When the door finally closed, she craned her neck to look at Taehyung. His ECG monitor was beeping faster than normal and while the medical professional in her wanted to soothe him, to calm him down, she found that she was unable to find her voice at that specific moment.

Silence filled the room. She was processing what just happened and she could only assume that Taehyung was doing the same. When she was able to formulate the question in her mind, she reached for his chart and held it against her chest.

“…what did he mean by that?” He didn’t answer and Raelyn tried to rein her patience in. “Are you guys finally close? Is it going to happen soon?”

Taehyung looked at her and for a long moment, he didn’t say anything. All he did was look at her with a slightly pained expression painted over his face. After a moment, he sighed while shaking his head.

“I’m sorry, Noona, but could I be alone?”

She wanted to protest; to demand answers. But she also knew it wasn’t her place and she didn’t have that kind of authority over him. Not anymore.

“Get some rest, Taehyung. I’ll be back to check on you later.”

Raelyn slipped out of the room and was finally able to breathe easier. Her back pressed against the door and she slowly let the back of her head rest along the surface. Every single thought that raced through her brain was zipping around a mile a minute. Was it happening at last? Had Hoseok managed to achieve the promise that he continuously made to her when they were still together?

Is it…finally going to be over?

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hungryflowers · 4 years

Text

Let Me Fall In Love With You

RadioHusk Week Prompt Day 5: You’re Scaring Me

Chapter 5: Pains of Infatuation

Husk’s eyes snapped open, mouth opened to snort out a suffocating gasp while his limbs twitched. His eyes darted around the unfamiliar space, panic seeping into his blood as he tried his best to force his limbs to move. His legs felt like lead, arms were numb across his face. The only movements came from his heaving chest. Occasionally his ear would flick to an unidentified noise in the room. He felt alone. Shadows wriggled on the walls, dancing silently on the red, rustic wallpaper by a flame. A few flames at that. They could not have been lit for long.

His muscles started to get feeling in them again, humming in discomfort. Husk’s head turned about, eyes going to the architecture of the room he was inhabiting. He looked off to the farthest wall housing a massive solid hickory red door. Indentations aligned, decorated the door frame in winding patterns. Then he glanced to the wall light fixtures; sconce like lighting fixtures housing electric light bulbs. Black and red wallpapers shimmered in the structure of the room. To the next wall, a sitting room. Two oddly looking chairs cradled close to the wide simple brown table. A large sized coffee table stayed in the middle of the room.

Husk glanced down at where he was laying. He sat up slowly, allowing the fabrics to slide along his body. He felt like satin underneath his dingy fur, the deep red color blending with his wings. ‘This bed must be huge.’ Husk was sure that it was from how his feet didn’t come anywhere near the baseboard. He rolled onto his side, trying to get a better gauging of where he had ended up. He knew it was somebody’s house, but he was only with--

Husk sharply inhaled at the realization. Everything was coming back to him now. That piece of shit attacked him! He attacked him and must’ve brought him here!

His claw went to his nape, expecting there to be pain there. His eyes widened when he felt no blood. Nothing was ripped or pulled. Nor was there a pool of blood underneath where he rested his head. He had been seen to and patched up... by the very demon who had attacked him, no doubt. So where was he? Where could that son of a bitch had gone? Before he could decide on wanting to know, Husk climbed off the bed to vacate as fast as possible. The second his foot hit the floor however, a chest rumbling growl sounded up from underneath the floorboards as shadowy forms scattered across the walls, some skittering close to the bed without touching it.

He would have screamed in any other circumstances but, his fight or flight response switched to fight automatically at the unknown creatures. He hissed and snarled, hopping back on the bed, while his fur stood on end. His claws flew out to pummel at the figures, wings swatting uselessly at the forms as they surrounded him. All of them smiling, silent laughs, clicks and hissing. One shadow hovered a willow thin talon over Husk’s face before a static filled the air.

The monsters fell back, some looking around for the surfacing sound, a few cowering back to whence they came, as well a select few that bowed in knowing submission.

“Assez. Loin de vous tous.” Red aura emanated from the open door as the Radio Demon made his presence known to the shadow beasts in the bedroom. He clicked his mic stand twice, no more or less, as they fled into the crevasses of the room. Smile ever present, though he appeared to have dressed down in comparison to what he had on at Arch Duke’s; a simple black shirt that went up his neck was tucked into his pants with the showy red striped waistcoat. Long, sizable legs were covered by loose fitting trouser pants that were up to his waist. He appeared to be wearing his dress shoes still, the heels clacking nosily on the hardwood.

His features looked far fonder in the gleaming, softened light of the soft bulbs. Features not tight, or slouchy but his posture looked perfect in its form. Shoulders fitted back, chest out, neck craned slightly upwards as a gloved hand went into his red and black locks. The young man had antlers. An arbitrary detail Husk did not see, nor ask Alastor about the moment they went out. And he wondered if those were ears atop his head as well, or were they oddly placed flyaway with his hairstyle.

The man kept his sanguine colored, slanted eyes on Husk as he picked up his mic stand to go into the sitting room. His voice conveyed a jovial sound that Husk had heard while they were out at his Parlor. The same vacuum tubed sounding radio noises were still coming from him.

“Rude lots I know. Always too overeager when company is at hand. Why, I remember back in the day when I hosted an outrageously popular garden party. Only so with the ghouls, but boy! Was that a doozy of a time?!” The young man laughed as he manifested an old radio. The very first one. That old ass antique that Husk’s great-great-grandfather gave up to him as a fun ‘fuck you’ gift. It looked janky but it worked well, filling the room with a swinging jazz number that got Alastor bobbing his head to it.

“Do you like this kind of music, Husker?,” He got up from the sofa, making it over to him in a bouncing stride. He took the cat’s paw, feeling up the fur before pulling the poor old man along. Husk almost didn’t budge, stumbling over his feet as Alastor took him for a spin, “This! Oh, this was truly the music of its time!”

“The fuck’s your problem?! Get off me!” Husk snapped, taking back his paw. He glared at Alastor, who only laughed quizzically at him.

“Is something the matter, Cher ami? Lemme make you more comfortable. As a sign of my goodwill towards you, dearest.” He was walking into the cat’s personal space, grin widening.

Husk’s long, feathery eyebrow rose. He looked unsettled, and a bit too confused.

“Goodwill? To me? Motherfucker, you attacked me! You bit and threw me to the fucking floor! Then-then you transformed in-in into some fucking beast! Any ‘goodwill’ you want to have towards me is over, ass clown! We’re finished!” He began to stomp off, wings flailing high in intense agitation.

Alastor stayed still despite Husk’s rambling. He didn’t remember much before he brought Husker to his home. Though he looked in the mirror before he left Husk to rest, seeing the reddening slash marks on his cheek, where claws had bit into his face. They had long healed, not leaving a trace or record of the attack ever happening. Since he didn’t see or recall the physical marks, what Husk was going on about didn’t happen. It was a fatted fantasy in his thoughts. Another odd justification for Husk to not fall in love with him. He blinked suddenly as Husk began to walk away. An inaudible gasp puffed out as he teleported in front of the door, scaring Husk.

“Finished? Whatever could you mean? Beloved, you’re hysterical. I would never hit you. Our relationship is so brand new! I would never jeopardize the fragile, special being we have now,” Alastor grabbed at Husk’s paw again, this time with the intent of not letting him slip away, “Why don’t you just sit and relax? Listen to the radio with me? Let’s watch a picture show together! Did you know they have them in color?” He was pulling Husk back into the bedroom to sit down.

Husk struggled yet couldn’t pull away from the other demon. What the fuck was going on with him? He went on a full tangent about Husk not attacking him... and that was after the cat had slapped him. Did transforming into whatever thing that was wipe Alastor’s memory? He was sat down as Alastor kissed the male’s paw, his smile beginning to creep the older male out.

“Now, stay where you are. I’m gonna make us a perfect meal!” He chuckled as he deposited Husker on the sofa. His eyes closed as he pressed his lips to the upper part of Husk’s paw, lips grazing the nails before pulling away, turning back to head out into the remainder of his home.

‘Goddamn, this was weird. The poor cat looked over to the staticky TV in front of him. Could this night get weirder?

For over an hour, Husk just stared into the static. He didn’t move, nor dare himself to do so. He had been alone in this bedroom, still aware of the presence of eyes looming to him. He hardly spoke when Alastor tried to get his attention. His tail thrashed in discomfort, bones and muscles quivering with a palpable uncertainty. Nothing was making sense. Everything in his body yowled at him to get the fuck out as hastily as he could. But he sat there. Paralyzed with a fear he couldn’t justify. That he had no explanation for, or an understanding of. When he heard something, his ears darted right to it. Oval, crepuscular eyes looked off into what he imagined was darkness. But it moved. All of the shadows moved. Often times closer to him, on its own volition.

“Alright beloved, I hope you’re hungry. It’s last minute and I had more than enough for the both of us to share!” He came in, setting down a steaming pot of something. It was really a something all right. The male cat’s demeanor changed as he took in the aroma of spices and herbs. He picked off the top without Alastor’s say-so; looking in greedy awe at the collection of seafood, meats and rice. All put together in a mouthwatering brick-colored broth.

“This is my signature, dearest! My own take on my mother’s infamous Gumbo! And if you’re into that fancy, try some of her Jambalaya as well!” He laughed heartily as he whipped out another pot, peeling off the top to reveal another flavor Husk had never experienced before.

“Fuck...there’s so much. Al, I can’t.” He sounded nervous as he looked at the assortment.

“Now, these are just appetizers! Palate teasers if ya will. You’re gonna start doin’ flips over my Shrimp Etouffee! Oh and my Crawfish Monica!,” He pulled out a couple more dishes, both looking as hefty as the first two. One dish overflowing shrimp and assorted meats and greens, while the other was smelling delectably of cajun seasonings, crawfish brimming out of the top of the dish with tang of sauce dripping off it, “And let’s not forget about a wonderful wine to wash it down!” Alastor brought a dark red out of thin air, smiling the whole while Husk looked up at him.

The cat’s nerves began to settle; somehow some TV, food and booze didn’t seem so bad. He could shave off an hour or two.

He finishes his plate with a burp and the last swig of his wine. Never in his life had he ever had a meal like that. Even in his after life it couldn’t possibly be this good. Alastor made it good. He made this food good as shit. He was ready to go to sleep now after that meal.

“Did you enjoy everything?” He refilled Husker’s wine glass once more before topping off his own. He eyed the liquid as the cat nodded. He looked quite comfortable after his third glass of wine. It made Alastor chuckle knowing he had made his significant comfortable in his presence. He manifested another bottle of the red wine since Husk was liking it so much. He’d keep it on standby in case the male wanted more.

“That... That was, hands down, the best meal I’ve ever had,” Husk hiccuped as he took another sip of his newly filled glass, “Ain’t nobody able to cook like you can.” The cat snorted drunkenly. He put the glass down as he stretched his wings and wound up limbs.

“Haha! Such praise from my significant! I almost feel bashful!” Alastor laughed, his sound so honeyed and sugary. He didn’t even care as he placed both of his hands on Husk’s thighs, the gesture seeming sincere. He moved himself closer to the none too sober cat, close enough to smell the aged well wine on the other’s breath. There were too many elements that made this moment perfect; the well made food, the fine wine. To top it all, Alastor’s mate was endeared and made full by his home cooked meal. So many more things could have warmed his heart in this moment, but he didn’t think of those things... or anything else as his lips land on Husk’s. He keeps his red, saturated eyes open, waiting for the male cat’s reaction.

He goes in with full tongue, a soft growl rumbling forward as he pushes Husk down. His hands go everywhere, lurk on some muscles, go to the cheeks of the cat and then to his ears. He finally relishes in the kiss as Husk leans into it, showing no reservations beyond it. His talon-like claws groom the back of Alastor’s hair as he pulls him in more, lips sucking the leftover wine off them. A moan escapes and it is the best sound to grace Alastor’s ears. He gets more and more hungry as he leaves the lips to nip and suck at the male’s cheeks and neck. His hands end up in Husker’s chest, feeling for the erratic beating of his heart. His other hand goes to Husk’s waist, pulling him in closer. When he feels the male wrap his legs around him, the deer demon’s mind swims, the tethers of sanity slipping as he submerges himself in Husk.

A wandering hand daringly goes to the cat’s crotch; and then Husk awakens.

Previously drunken lust simmers away as he becomes alert, even shocked. He begins to fight against the young man’s advances. He couldn’t talk, too drunk to convey to Alastor that he wanted to stop. His claws go to Alastor’s wrist to try and pull him away, but the only way Alastor saw it was the cat wanted more. His teeth went into Husk’s neck; gingerly sucking at the flesh and fur there.

Wide, bleary eyes constricted at the tell-tale feeling of the teeth, and he snarled loudly, claws flying to the deer demon’s back to rake against the skin hard enough to puncture.

Alastor laughed into the kisses until he felt razor pain in his upper shoulders and lower back. He pulled off as soon as he felt the trickles of blood down his back. He was about to ask what was wrong when Husk shot up and bit him in the side of his head. A loud, surprised, panicked yelp came from Alastor as he shook the old man off him, blood pooling from the new wounds. He feels over the two worse marks near his monocle, on the sides of his chin. Arousal escapes from his eyes, summoning a near feral look as he snarls back with his marred grin.

“What the hell is wrong with you?! Alastor snaps, his softened tone breaking with static and loud whirring. He’s angry, even through the smile, Husk can tell he’s angry.

“I’m drunk as fuck! And so are you if you think this is gonna happen!,” The cat demon begins to puff up, feathers going ragged, claws extending, hackle raised. His tail doesn’t thrash this time, the appendage curled by his feet in an arch, “First you attack me, then forget about it and now you try and rape me! You’re sick as shit, Al. You need help!!”

He never lets his guard down-for very good reason this time- as Alastor lunges for him, teeth on full display. He towers over the older male as he snaps his teeth at him, close enough to graze fur but not grab at anything. A rippling static pulses through the room as Alastor moves to attack again, missing again as Husk’s claws hit Alastor’s side. In spite of it all, Husk remains calm. The male jumps out of the way with enough time to recover his pacing. Teeth shine in candescent lighting as he pounces on Alastor, back claws ripping into his hips. A powerful slap of talons knocks Husk backwards, the force jarring the male for a moment. A moment too long as Alastor lands atop him, teeth bared, a blackened sludge dripping to the floor, eyes shone as radio dials.

“What have I done wrong, beloved? Just tell me,” The voice is disembodied, sounding nearly nonexistent while Alastor’s mouth looked to be stapled shut, “What can I do to make this better? How can I be better for you?!” The last word sounded like a hiss.

Husk’s ears pinned completely, body trying its damndest to move, but locked up in a frozen stupor. “Alastor--” He tried.

“NO! I have done all of this for you! And yet you still don’t love me! What must I do to make you fall in love with me?!” Claws began to extend as they shred the wooden floor. Alastor leans too close to Husk, steam coming from in between his clasped teeth.

“You don’t even know what love is! You’re not comprehending that all that you’ve been doing is hurting what would have made this a good relationship. I can’t love anyone like that, or even you like this! Alastor, you’re scaring me.” Husk confessed, eyes wide but steely and determined. He was scared of the radio demon for sure, but he wasn’t about to piss himself, or beg the bastard.

The dials tuned out, deep red pupils reappearing as the form seemed to be pushed back. Said eyes did not reflect normalcy however. The seemed distant, cold feeling. He pulled himself up on his knees, one of his hands going to the undamaged part of his face. He scrubbed at his hair before getting off Husk fully.

“I scare you...”, The radio tone warbled as he turned his back to Husk, “I’m not surprised that I do. I scare everyone. I’ve always known that I do.” His last sentence had no radio filter to it, and for the first time Husk had heard the radio demon’s true voice. The room devolves into silence after that. The male cat is able to roll around on his knees as he looks at the others back. A brick wall is fortified between the two beings, the metaphoric building too strong to break by one’s will alone.

Husk saunters away on four feet, not trusting himself to stand just yet. His ear flicks to Alastor as he turns to him.

“Where are you going?” He asks, trying too hard to salvage whatever this had become. His ears go up, listening to the loud, long sigh coming from Husk. The male cat doesn’t turn to him, doesn’t even flinch his tail at him.

“I...don’t know. I just can’t be here.” The older man sounded tired. Could have looked tired. And for all that has happened, was tired. His head was kept pointed at the door of the bedroom as he walked. He half expected Alastor to stop him, to beg for forgiveness for his transgressions. Just maybe he could see what good there could be in him. He’d be getting his hopes up if he thought that. Husk didn’t see the glowing look in Alastor’s eyes fade as the deer demon got to his feet. He knew that he didn’t move from his place, even as he clipped off a sigh of his own. Nor did he see the way his head tilted to look down at the ground in a show of defeat. He saw nothing of Alastor because he didn’t want to see him. Not this way.

He bounded off, steps barely making a sound as he sprinted out of the house. He’d find his way out eventually, his wings catching the odd chill in the air as he took to the deep red sky.

A/N: A little late, but I think I did very good on this one! Enjoy!

#hazbin hotel #alastor #husk #hazbin alastor #hazbin hotel husk

6 notes · View notes

unpack-my-heart · 5 years

Text

Bend Over Backwards – Finished

I finished my Reddie yoga AU!

@xandertheundead @constantreaderfool @eds-trashmouth @violetreddie @tinyarmedtrex @mrs-vh

Read on AO3 HERE

Richie does not cancel the gofundme.

The day after the argument with Eddie is miserable. Richie comes out of his room in the morning, sleepy-eyed and heavy-boned, and is not greeted with Eddie’s sleeping form curled up on the sofa. There are only discarded throw pillows in the spot he used to occupy. Richie toys with the idea of texting Eddie, but he can’t bring himself to type anything into the empty text box. He opens and closes the gofundme campaign approximately nineteen times an hour, staring at Eddie’s smiling face in the campaign banner. The smile that Richie had gotten so used to encountering in his kitchen whilst Eddie was making protein pancakes, in the supermarket doing their joint shop, or on the couch in the evening, the sun in Eddie’s smile dazzling Richie as it’s reflected back at him.

Two weeks pass sluggishly, and Richie spends them on autopilot. He opens and closes Eddie’s campaign obsessively whilst he’s at work, finger hovering over the “close campaign” button but never quite being able to convince himself to press it.

Close Campaign. Are you sure?

The campaign ends exactly sixteen days after Richie last saw Eddie, and exactly sixteen minutes since Richie thought of Eddie last. He’s drunk, having raided Bev’s collection of vintage reds, and his laptop is balanced on his chest as he slumps down into the sofa crease.

Close Campaign. Are you sure?

Current Progress: $3,400 out of $10,000

Thank you for your donation of $6,600, Richard Tozier!

Current Progress: $10,000 out of $10,000.

Richie falls asleep on the sofa, credit card to his left, and laptop to his right.

– X –

Richie wakes up when something plastic and hard hits him on the head. He cracks open one eye, glares the TV remote that was now lying on the floor next to his head, and closes it again.

“Oh my god, you stink”

“Huhh, whazzit?”

“Richie!”

“Mmm’Bev?”

“You fucking reek! And you spilt wine all over the damn carpet”

Opening his eyes, Richie is confronted with an amused looking Beverly, who’s standing over him with a nearly empty bottle of wine in one hand, and his laptop in the other.

His laptop.

Vague memories of scrambling for his credit card come floating back into Richie’s mind like smoke signals, but they’re too vague to read.

He pulls his leaden body off the couch, immediately wincing as the familiar pain of dehydration and excessive alcohol consumption seizes his brain.

“You got white girl wasted last night, then?”

“I guess I did” Richie mumbles, rubbing his pounding head. His stomach churns angrily as nondescript foody smells waft into the sitting room from the kitchen.

Beverly places the laptop down next to him, and Richie glares at it accusingly. He knows that he did something on his laptop last night. Something important. Something that he remembers thinking would piss someone off.

Someone.

Eddie.

The name knocks all of the air out of Richie’s lungs.

Richie knows that he did something last night, something that would piss Eddie off, and something that involved his credit card. Something that he had to pay for. Something important. The important something doesn’t reveal itself to him in the eight minutes it takes him to drag his aching body to the toilet and back to the couch, so Richie is left lying in a pathetic heap, watching Bev flit around the room simultaneously tidying it and accusing Richie of being a messy lightweight.

Three hours later, when Bev has gone to meet Ben, and he’s left alone with his melancholy, aching brain, Richie remembers. Richie remembers the mysterious important something and almost breaks his ankle in haste, as he vaults over the back of the couch and charges into the kitchen where his laptop was now charging. He boots it up, impatiently tapping a jarring rhythm on the counter-top, before opening up gofundme. The name at the top of the page sends his stomach twisting like a tempest.

Welcome to your GoFundMe dashboard, Richard Tozier! What would you like to do?

With a shaking hand, Richie clicks through the drop-down menu to his past donations.

Recent donations:

$6600 to Help Save Eddie Spaghetti’s Yoga Studio

“Oh fuck, oh fuck, oh fuck, oh fuck, oh FUCK!” Richie babbled manically, as he stared at the laptop screen in horror. There it was, plain as the day and night and the moon and stars. He had not, in fact, obeyed Eddie’s demand and closed down the gofundme campaign, and had instead, in a drunken haze, done the exact opposite. Clicking onto the main campaign page, Richie is met with two large, sparkling red words,

CAMPAIGN SUCCESSFUL!

“oh fucking fuck fuck fuck”

Richie shoves the laptop off his lap and it lands on the floor with a dull thud.

CAMPAIGN SUCCESSFUL!

The words seem to leap off the screen, and beam straight through Richie’s ceiling and into the stratosphere for all to see.

CAMPAIGN SUCCESSFUL!

Richie wonders whether Eddie has noticed that his bank account has inflated dramatically, or whether it would take a few days. Whether a cheque he was expecting to bounce wouldn’t bounce, and then he’d run to his bank, and they’d tell him, “Oh, Mr Kaspbrak, you have a very healthy bank account indeed!” and then Eddie would know that Richie had lied to him for the second time.

For a brief moment, Richie convinces himself that Eddie would be grateful, that he’d realise that Richie only wanted to help, and he’d show up at the apartment and fall into Richie’s arms like a goddamn storybook. When someone lands three short, sharp knocks on the front door of his apartment, this hope swells in his chest.

When Richie opens the door, idealistically preparing himself to see a smiling Eddie Kaspbrak standing before him, he sees … nothing.

Eddie is not standing on the threshold, but nor is anyone else. Something is lying on the threshold, though. A bulging envelope stuffed to the brim lay on the floor outside Richie’s apartment, with “POCKET CHANGE” written on it in thick, black marker pen. Richie bends down and picks the envelope up, and opens it, even though he already knows what’s inside.

Approximately one hundred hundred dollar bills stare back at him.

– X –

Much to his chagrin, Richie decides to give up waiting for Eddie to contact him. He half expected to receive a text from Eddie, telling him that he’d left something outside of Richie’s door, in case someone stole the money. He received no such text. He toyed with the idea of sending a groveling apology, or leaving an apologetic voicemail, but decided against it. He didn’t want to annoy Eddie even more than he already had. He didn’t stop thinking about Eddie, though. He thought about Eddie when he stretched every morning, a habit he’d gotten into when Eddie had been staying with him. He thought about Eddie when he used the charcoal toothpaste Eddie had left behind when he’d ran out of the apartment and never came back for his things. He thought about Eddie when he lay in bed at night, staring at the lacquered shadows that danced across his ceiling.

The next few months passed languidly, and Richie continued to pine.

– X –

During one of his scheduled morning pining sessions, Richie notices that Bev has started to act strangely. It’s little things, at first, like guarding her phone when she gets a text, or taking occasional phone calls outside the apartment where Richie can’t hear her conversation. This carries on for a week or two, before she starts acting really strangely. She starts leaving the apartment at 6am at least four times a week, and Richie catches her a few times on his way to the bathroom. She always gives him the same excuses, that she’s meeting Ben for breakfast or that she’s going on a hike with Ben. Richie’s favourite of these excuses came at a time when he couldn’t sleep, so had decided to make himself some tea instead of staring aimlessly at his ceiling all night. He hadn’t bothered to turn the light on, and so when Bev had crept past the kitchen and Richie had coughed to announce his presence, she had practically jumped out of her skin.

“Jesus! You nearly gave me a fucking heart attack, Rich”

“You’re up mighty early, Miss Marsh”

“Uh, yeah. Ben and I – We’re going … to the movies. Yes. The movies. There’s a really early showing of some dumb romcom that Ben wants to see so … we are going … to the movies to see it. Bye!”

Before Richie could challenge her further, Bev had skipped out of the apartment.

Lies.

From the time he had accidentally woken Ben up at 5am when he had crashed through the apartment after a particularly heavy night, Richie had been acutely aware of the fact that Ben Hanscom does not wake up before 7:30am for anyone. Not even Bev, and especially not for a hike, or to go and see a movie. Before he can give it too much thought, or convince himself that it was a terrible idea, Richie decides to follow Bev and find out what she was really doing. He jams his feet in his sneakers, pulls on the first jacket he finds on the hook, and charges down the stairs.

It turns out it’s remarkably easy to follow someone. All he has to do is hang back several feet from Bev, who is speed walking through the streets at a pace that Richie can barely keep up with. They’re walking in the opposite direction to Ben’s apartment, and when Bev takes a sudden turn left, Richie is surprised to find that she’s led him to a somewhat dodgy part of town that they don’t normally venture to if they can help it. Several blocks later, Bev disappears into a run-down looking building on the corner the street. After a few seconds, Richie walks up to one of the windows, hoping to surreptitiously peer inside but he is distracted by a piece of paper he sees sellotaped in the window.

Yoga Studio.

Huh.

The obvious conclusion is that Bev has found a new yoga studio; a replacement for Eddie’s submerged place. However, that doesn’t explain why Bev didn’t just tell him that she had found a new studio, and had instead chosen to concoct all of these lies. Growing more curious by the second, Richie pushed the door open, and was greeted by …

Mike.

Eddie’s Mike, the Mike from Eddie’s studio, was standing behind a small front desk.

“Hiya, Rich! Are you here for a session?”

“…Mike?”

“That’s me! Are you here for the 6:45 class?”

“Uh… yes?” Richie replied dumbly, before digging a crumpled 10 dollar bill out of his pocket and handing it over to a very smiley Mike.

“Do you have a mat or do you need to borrow one?” Mike asks, kindly, gesturing to the stack of rental mats on the shelf behind the front desk.

“I – I don’t have one on me” Richie mumbled, staring at his hands as if a yoga mat might materialize in them if he concentrated hard enough.

“We don’t have changing rooms in this building, unfortunately, so you’ll have to use the toilets to get changed in,” Mike said, apologetically, pointing down the small corridor.

“No problemo, Mikey,” Richie replied, before walking off down the corridor.

Considering the fact that he hadn’t intended on taking a yoga class this morning, and the fact that he didn’t have anything to change into, Richie didn’t bother going into the toilets. Instead, he just walked straight through the only other door, which led him into a large, carpeted room with no windows or mirrors. The room smelt musty, like it had been locked ten years ago and not opened until three minutes prior, and the carpet was stained with suspicious looking sludgy marks. Despite the fact that it was nearly 6:45am, there were only three other people in the room.

One of those three people was Bev.

Richie marched through the room, and unfurled his mat right next to where Bev was sat on her own purple yoga mat in lotus position.

“Oh, fuck,” Bev swore under her breath, but before Richie could chew her out properly for lying to him, the door to the room opened and Eddie walked in.

Richie’s breath stuck in his throat like honey as he watches Eddie walk into the room and take his place at the front, smiling out at his small group of students, and it really was a small group. Four of them, including Richie, who can’t help but feel a stab in his gut when he thinks back to the crowded sessions Eddie used to lead in his now submerged studio.

“Good morning! It’s great to see some new faces here today, and even some familiar new faces too!” Eddie announces, sending a fleeting, but warm, smile in Richie’s direction.

The class begins, and Richie soon discovers that jeans are not the most ideal clothing choice when you need to spend an hour trying to bend your limbs in increasingly complicated ways. He huffs and puffs his way through the flow, movements severely limited both by the constrictive denim and the fact that, recently, he hasn’t been stretching as regularly as he should have been. Soon enough, as he always did at his original studio, Eddie starts to wander around the class, helping his students stand taller and stretch further. Due to the fact that there was such a small number of people in the room, it only took a few minutes for Eddie to get to Richie, who was bent over in a pathetic attempt at bridge pose.

Eddie squats down next to Richie, and gently grips Richie’s hips, pulling his pelvis higher, so that Richie’s butt was further from the floor, and his thighs were straining. It felt good. A smooth, satisfying stretch zipped down his spine, and Richie hadn’t realized how much he’d missed this.

“Good,” Eddie praised, releasing his grip on Richie’s hips but not standing from his squat, “your thighs have weakened a little, you’ll need to work on strengthening them again”

“Eddie, shit, Eds, I can explain, I need to –“

“See me after class, Tozier” Eddie cuts him off, with a surprisingly playful lilt to his voice that causes Richie to fall out of the pose, landing on his back with an ‘oof’.

– X –

When the class finishes, and the rest of the class (the other two people) have left, Richie finds himself hopping anxiously from foot to foot waiting for Eddie to beckon him over. Eddie was talking to Bev about something that Richie couldn’t quite make out, but they both looked relaxed and Eddie kept smiling at Bev with that ridiculous sun-smile that made Richie’s insides burn.

Eventually, Bev waves goodbye to Eddie and wanders out of the room, shooting a thumbs up to Richie over her shoulder before she disappears out of the door.

Richie waits.

Finally, Eddie finishes rolling his mat up, and leans against the wall.

“Hello, Richie”

“Should we do this in your office?” Richie asks, walking towards where Eddie was leaning against the wall.

“I don’t have an office, all I have is this room”

“Oh”

“I’m not mad at you about the money anymore, Richie,” Eddie says calmly, “Bev explained it to me. We went for coffee a few times, and I ranted and raved and told her that I hated you and that you were a wanker, and she agreed with me, sometimes. But she also told me about your background, and why you do the things you do, and why you sometimes might not understand why being so generous can be … insulting. She explained it all, and I listened, and I forgive you”

“… Really?’ Richie breathed, disbelievingly.

“Yes. I’ve forgiven you for that. What I haven’t forgiven you for was not closing down the gofundme campaign after I had explicitly asked you to. I was pretty fucking clear, Rich, and you left it open. Hell, you pumped more money into it!”

“I know, I know. I fucked up, Eds, I –”

“Do you know, though? Do you really know?” Eddie pushed, pushing himself off the wall and walking slightly towards Richie, “you gave me over six and a half thousand pounds after I explicitly told you I didn’t want any more of your money, and after you had already lied to me for weeks, Rich, weeks!”

“I do know, Eds, I promise I do, and I’m not gonna stand here like an asshole and try and justify it. I – oh fuck it, I miss you. I miss you more than is probably rational. I’m being ir-fucking-rational about this, but all I know is that I fucked up, I fucked us up before we’d even started, and I am really really really sorry”

A beat passes. Then two beats, and then three.

Richie waits.

“I believe you. I don’t think I can forgive you yet, but I believe that you’re sorry” Eddie acknowledges, face blooming into a small, hesitant smile.

Richie barely resists the urge to pump his fist in the air.

“How can I help you to forgive me? I’ll do anything, Eds, honest, I just – I miss you”

“Can you help me mount my new mirrors on the walls? I’ll think about forgiving you after that”

– X –

The large mirror slips from Richie’s fingers, and he drops it with a shout and a wince.

“SHIT!”

Small shards of mirror litter the floor, and Richie scowls at them. Eddie laughs, high and bright, before going to fetch the vacuum cleaner from the small cupboard in the corner of the room.

“Aw, shit. Eds, I’m so sorry, it just slipped outta my hands!”

“You’re a liability, Tozier”

“At least let me pay for a replacement?” Richie ventures, tone cautious.

“Uh, too fucking right you’re paying for it, you’re the klutz who broke it! That thing cost me more than my groceries for a month do”

Richie vacuums up the mirror shards, and they work on hanging the next wall-length mirror. They’d been working together for nearly a week, and in that time they’ve nearly finished the entire wall, and only have four more sheets of mirror left. Mike had popped in and out occasionally, holding the large sheets of mirror far more easily than Richie or Eddie could. For the most part, though, they worked alone.

“So, how’dya come to rent this place, then?”

“Uh, well, I let my place go a few months ago. I knew that I’d never save up enough money to fix it, so I flunked on the mortgage and the bank took it back. So I lost my entire investment, which … sucked. I still had enough of my initial bank loan to rent somewhere, and with my wages from the supermarket, I managed to convince the landlord of this building that a yoga studio really would be profitable enough in this location, but … as you know, I don’t tend to get much custom here so …” Eddie trailed off, voice growing smaller and sadder with every word.

The ancient yearning that had been brewing under the surface of his skin for the months prior won the fight against reason, and before he could convince himself it was a bad idea, Richie pulled Eddie into his arms. Eddie stiffened, at first, but Richie clung to him somewhat desperately and eventually Eddie relaxed, his arms snaking around Richie’s waist and clinging. Richie rested the side of his face against the top of Eddie’s head for a few seconds, before turning slightly to press soft, clandestine kisses into Eddie’s hair. Eddie’s shoulders began to shake, just slightly at first, but then the shakes became more and more pronounced and before long Eddie was sobbing into Richie’s chest.

“Sssh, love, it’s okay, I’ve got you, you’re gonna be okay, baby, I promise” Richie whispered into the shell of Eddie’s ear, hoping that the sweet nothings would calm the tempest currently spilling out of Eddie’s soul.

“It’s so fucked, Rich. It’s still fucked, I can’t – it won’t – why doesn’t anything work out for me”

“Tell me where it hurts, baby, I’ll make it stop. Please tell me what I can do to make it better”

Richie continued pressing kisses into Eddie’s hair, working his way down past the back of Eddie’s ear, hoping that with each kiss he could dissolve some of the sadness in Eddie’s heart. After a few seconds, Eddie shifted his face slightly, just barely, but enough so that the kisses that were being pressed behind Eddie’s ear were now being pressed onto the apples of Eddie’s cheeks. Eddie kept shifting his head, and Richie kept kissing him, and soon enough, Richie’s kisses started landing on Eddie’s mouth.

The kisses stayed small, barely-there touches of Richie’s lips to Eddie’s, and Eddie didn’t kiss back, not at first, but eventually Eddie’s lips started to chase Richie’s when they retreated, and the kiss became something … more. They stood in the middle of the musty, windowless room, and kissed, long and slow, deep and sweet.

At length they broke apart, and stared at each other.

“Richie,” Eddie cautioned, voice low, “Richie I don’t … I don’t know what I’m doing”

“What?” Richie responded, panic lacing his words.

“I’m – I’m upset. I’m not thinking straight, I … I need some time to think”

“I thought – I thought you liked me” Richie whispered, feeling everything the pining teenager.

“I do, and that’s the problem. I like you so much, Richie, I like you so much that when you’re here I can’t think straight and … my life is a fucking mess. A complete and utter mess and I need to make sure … I need to make sure I’d be doing this for the right reasons. Being with you for the right reasons”

“But – ”

“Please don’t fight me on this, because I’ll break and you’ll win. Please give me some time. Please, Rich. Two weeks. Can you wait for me for two weeks?”

“I’d wait until the end of time for you, my love” Richie muttered, resigned to the fact that he wouldn’t be walking out of the studio with Eddie on his arm.

He pressed one last kiss to Eddie’s forehead, letting his lips linger for as long as he could bare, before he left Eddie alone in the room.

– x –

A week and a half later, and Richie was startled by a pounding at the door. Richie heaved himself up off his bed, where he was writing a track list for his next radio slot, and drifted over to the door, expecting to open it to an apologetic Beverly who had forgotten her keys.

When he opens the door, Eddie literally throws himself at Richie, strong arms encircling his neck.

“Thank you”

“Wha? Eds? What’s wrong?”

“Thank you” Eddie repeated, voice trembling and reverential.

Richie pulled back from the embrace, just enough to shoot Eddie a quizzical look.

“Care to share what you’re thanking me for, spider-monkey?”

“Your radio show”

“Ah, you heard about that then, eh?”

Eddie presses his lips to Richie’s in a kiss that is far too hard, and far too fleeting for Richie to enjoy properly, but he tries his best to match Eddie’s enthusiasm before Eddie is barreling straight into the apartment.

“So my client numbers kept increasing, right? and I was happy, don’t get me wrong, but it came entirely out of nowhere. One day I’d have three clients, and then the next day I’d have ten, and the next I’d have nearly twenty and I was starting to have to run multiple sessions a day! Which … didn’t make any sense. So I asked one of my clients how they’d heard of the studio, and they told me they’d heard an endorsement on the radio. I thought … weird, right? I asked them to tell me the station, and they did. And then I listened and … lo’ and behold”

Eddie gestured to Richie with both hands.

“Guilty as charged”

“But why?”

“I love you”

“Um,” was all Eddie managed to say in response, eyes wide and ridiculous and Richie loved him.

“I know you probably can’t say it back. I know it’s been virtually no time at all since we met but… you’re fucking it for me, Eddie. I felt like someone had ripped out my spleen when you left and I don’t want you to leave again. I thought of you in that shitty room with that nasty old carpet … it kills me. I can’t bare it. I was so desperate to help you, but I knew throwing cash at you wouldn’t help so … I did the next best thing I could think of”

“You’re magical, Richie, you know that, right?”

“Ah, naw, Eds. That’s you”

“If we make a go of this, you’ve gotta promise me you’re not hiding anything else, that there aren’t any secret mansions or yachts or … hell, even private islands, that you’re keeping from me” Eddie demanded, swinging both of his arms around Richie’s neck once more, and resting his forehead against Richie’s.

“Well, there is this one yacht”

Eddie gawped at him.

“Kidding, kidding! It’s just a four person boat. With a cabin … and a bar … and a glass bottom … and …”

Eddie cut Richie off with a kiss.

#reddie #eddie kaspbrak #richie tozier #Richie Tozier x Eddie Kaspbrak #yoga au #bend over backwards #thefutureisbright

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agentwallflower · 4 years

Text

Supernova: Chapter 5

I’m sick with the aftereffects of high blood sugar, so I’m going to curl up in a ball and sleep it up. My sugar is low normal now because I’m pretty good at getting it down. Still... oof.

Kofi’s here if you’re interested in donating. That be cool.

Next chapter is up on June 27th. See you then.

“Stay in the car. I should be back in ten minutes.”

That had been the last thing Miri had said before she shut the car door behind her. Andy had watched her go, until she had disappeared in the distance. Her goal had been the abandoned warehouses, most of them decrepit and falling into disrepair. Ever since a giant explosion had turned the area into a no fly zone, people just didn't want to do business there.

She couldn't imagine why – a massive hole to nowhere was probably great for property values.

Andy rested her head against the window glass, staring out with a blank expression. The clock inside the car told her it had been fifteen minutes, and there was no sign of her aunt. Her cell phone was silent, too. Without updates, she was flying blind.

“I hate this.”

Funny; she had always wanted to go to work with Miri.

The warehouse looked quiet, but it wasn't like her aunt's powers were loud. The few times she had seen her at work on TV, there was only a slight hiss and the bubbling that accompanied acid eating away at things. Her hearing might have been good, but she couldn't hear that as far away as she was. For all she knew, it was a sea of acid inside.

“Could she even do that? Or would she get dehydrated?”

The air didn't answer – she probably would have been worried if it could do that. Instead, a thick tension had settled over the car that made it impossible to sit still, try as she might. Andy kept looking towards the horizon, then back to the clock.

It was getting closer to twenty now.

“Damn it, Aunt Miri... where the hell are you?”

Her hand twitched on the door handle. Years of her mother's lectures and warnings flooded into her mind at rapid pace – the stony glares and harsh silences did far more than her ineffective slaps ever could. Right then, her thoughts ceased, her hand went slack...

And then the explosion went off.

“What the hell?”

Andy rocketed up, almost hitting her head on the roof of the car. She could see the orange glow of a fire with dark, oily smoke rising above one of the remaining buildings. The dry weather and wind were doing wonders to spread it to the neighboring ruins – two were on fire now. There was something in the road, motionless and still smoking, with one outstretched hand trying to grasp for something.

The car door flew open and she broke out into a run. Twice she stumbled and almost fell, but saved herself at the last second. Before long, she was catching up to the figure groaning on the ground. They were burned badly, but alive.

She knelt down to hear them better. “What happened?”

A shaky voice from burned lungs answered in a cough. “We... couple guys. Small town shit... until the new guy showed up couple weeks ago. Pushed some weird product the freaks all wanted... Union got wind.”

They coughed, and blood came up with it. “Shit exploded when the boss powered up. That wasn't from anything we sold. They all gotta be dead...”

Their breathing grew shallow, and then it stopped. Andy was left with a corpse and more questions than answers. There was nothing she could do for the person but back away and run back to the car. Her aunt's duty phone was there – it went into her pocket as she locked the car behind her.

Now, she supposed in the event of an explosion, you were supposed to run away from it. That was probably the sensible thing. However, no one had ever called her that, and her social situation training was a bit lacking. Her mind kept screaming to find her aunt, so she kept running towards the quickly growing fire.

It was hot as she breached the perimeter, glancing around with wild eyes. There was another body laying close to the door, limbs twisted and curled in on itself. It was horribly burned, but enough remained to let her know it wasn't Miri – her aunt was bigger than that. Andy stepped over and kept going. Later, she could go back to them.

The warehouse had seen better days ,even before something set it on fire. The beams that had yet to burn were rotten, and piles of junk that were quickly turning to ash had insects scurrying from them. At one point, maybe it had been useful. Now it was just kindling that she was running through in order to find her aunt.

“Damn it, Aunt Miri, where the hell are you?”

Her first clue came from a subtle hiss towards the back of the building. There was a hole, untouched by flames, where a door had once been. Those had long since been blown off, and a puddle of acid lay on the ground in front of melted hinges. Andy cleared it in one jump and kept running.

Unlike the rest of the warehouse, this part looked newer – or at least it had before the fire. There were stills of something now leaking out on the floor below, thick and dark in color. It pooled in cracks in the floor created by the acid, reminding her of pictures of an oil spill she had seen once when she was younger. They both made her insides shiver, so she gave it a wide berth. Besides, it looked kind of flammable.

Hard to say in a warehouse on fire, but... it just made sense somehow.

She found another corpse – not Miri, too big. There were acid stains on the clothing, but it was the body itself that set the alarm bells ringing. Andy didn't know a whole lot about anatomy, but she was pretty sure joints weren't supposed to bend like that. Seeing the marks scratched into the floor around the body, filled with dried blood and bone matter, only made that obvious.

“You saw what it did to the other guy, you're insane if you do it!”

“Maybe, but if it beats you than it's enough!”

Voices echoed through another hole, one towards the back. That one led back outside, so Andy ran towards it. At the last second, she ducked behind the wall in order to listen. She knew one of the voices – the others were about to get their asses kicked.

From what she could see, Miri was a little roughed up but alive. She was wiping blood from her mouth as she glared down a man that was standing across from her. He was breathing hard and a little burned, but he too was alive. The same couldn't be said for the man writhing on the ground next to him, clawing at his own throat.

He had the black goo on his lips.

“Don't be stupid, Shadow. This isn't going to end with you walking out of here alive.” Miri's voice was shaking, and so were her knees. Andy didn't need to see her face to guess the expression as she gripped the side of the door. “Put the vial down and you can see tomorrow.”

Shadow laughed, but it wasn't a happy one. “And what? The shit in there will get me locked away for life. You know what they do to folks like me in prison? If I'm dying, at least I take you out with me!”

Her aunt shouted as he drank the vial he was holding, one filled to the brim with the dark liquid. Soon, he was doubled over on the ground, writhing as his entire body seemed to bubble over. Then both he and his partner stopped moving for a second.

Then they burst open.

“Oh what the-”

Miri's incredulous voice was covered by an inhuman roar that made Andy's fingers go through the metal door like it was tissue paper. The black goo covered both men's bodies like a second skin and twisted their forms into something that maybe once could have been human. It dripped from their appendages as they stood to full height, far taller than they could have been before. Then they rushed forward at a high rate of speed, trailing goo in the wake.

Her aunt threw acid as she dove out of the way, rolling behind a shipping bin. It made contact, but it splashed off into the dirt at the creatures' feet where it bubbled away. Andy took another step back, movements even more stiff than before, as she reached for the cell phone that had been in her pocket. It was a little dusty, but it was still showing their location.

Without thinking, she clicked it to the first name she saw.

The line beeped, and for a brief moment Andy feared it was broken from the heat of the fire. All the while, the creatures roaring outside made her wish even more frantically that it hadn't. She kept repeating the same frantic thought – please connect, please connect, please co-

“Yeah, PT?”

A young sounding voice echoed out of the other side. Andy's senses thudded back to life and brought her back to the storage room. She knew that voice, had heard it before on the news. If fire wouldn't work on the creatures, maybe he could.

“Is this Sky Rider? You need to get here now, we need help! Aunt Miri's boxed in and her powers don't work on them!”

She couldn't say more after that. The heat from the warehouse finally did the device in – the call dropped as the screen went dead. Andy stared at it, mind blank. Then to make matters worse, she felt something drip on the ground by her leg.

“Oh shit.”

Her voice was drowned out by the gurgling hiss of one of the creatures who had found her thanks to her distress call. Andy wheeled around to come face to face with it and its glowing eyes. There were too many of them to focus on, and with a wall of flame behind her there wasn't much else she could do. Mind reeling, she dashed as fast as she could. It tried to grab her, but she kept running. At some point ,the hand came with her.

Outside, a sooty sky and hot breeze met her as she fell in front of the warehouse. Behind her, the disarmed creature roared. Its hand oozed down her arm and into the ground, where it bubbled and hissed. As soon as it got off her, it was seeking to return to the one it came from.

“Shit!”

Andy scrambled to her feet just in time to avoid a swipe from a gooey hand. Dark matter splashed against her jeans as she dug into the earth to run. Something made a grab for her leg, but she kept going.

And then she was airborne.

The larger creature who had at one point been the boss had grabbed her by the leg and hauled her above its head. There was way too much distance between herself and the ground, and just looking at it made her vision swim. Somewhere off in the distance, she could hear someone screaming. Whatever they were saying was drowned out by the gurgling scream of the being in front of her.

Why did it still have teeth?

Andy struggled to get free, but the grip was iron despite the constitution. They were bringing her closer – horror seized her at the thought they might try to eat her. With the fire and everything else going on, it was just so... bright...

Bright.

A calmness settled over Andy as she felt quite outside her body. Something was causing her to raise her hands, but it wasn't her. Then everything felt warm as light twinkled in her palms. All of a sudden, the warmth left her in a sudden blast of pure light, twinkling in subtle shades of blue and violet.

The creature hissed in agony and dropped her, its parts scattered about the yard in a mess of darkness that was slow to return. Enough was left to cause a problem, but it was no longer the massive size it had once been. She landed on her feet, still not quite in control of herself. Wherever she was, she got to watch as she raised her hand again. Someone was saying something – was it her? What were they saying?

“I'm putting you down.”

The second blast was at close range. It ripped straight through the creature and hit the already burning warehouse. Maybe she should have cared about that, but whatever was controlling her made her wheel around and face the remaining nightmare. That one, perhaps with some sense left, was backing up and shrinking in on itself.

She raised her hand and saw the light begin to gather. The bright glow was every color of the rainbow and then some, twinkling in a way that made the creature shrink down to almost human size. Andy tried to pull her hand back, but the current pilot of her body had other ideas. Palm out, it was ready to fire a third shot.

And then she hit the ground.

---

“Scan, have you gotten a trace on them yet?”

'Before PT's locator cut, it was in the warehouse district. I think you can see the massive fire as a guide?'

Angel swore under his breath as he stopped in mid air. Normally, he transported to a scene with technology. Having been so close to the hospital, the only thing he'd had time for was to suit up and hope the tech's invisibility cloaker would hold. He had been flying for the last five minutes, powered by nothing but his thoughts and 3 weeks' amount of midnight snacks.

“Are you serious? Why the-” He shook his head, nodding. “Knock the cameras out and I'll be down soon. Please tell me they're not inside because I'm not Ember.”

'I figured that from the fact you're probably not a black woman, SR.' Angel could hear the tech typing on their keyboard in his ear. 'Unless you are a black woman, and then my apologies and my compliment on throwing you voice so low.'

It was very hard for Angel to resist a snort of laughter at that moment, partially because he was focused on staying in the air. Sometimes, having a secret identity had its perks. Plus, it did wonders for his throbbing case of dysphoria to know that even with the mask, people were convinced he wasn't a woman.

Bonus points, right there.

“I'm not, but I'm going to need you to tell me I'm not a woman later for personal reasons I can't divulge.”

'Say no more.' Scanner was still typing. 'Cameras are knocked out, so go save our – what the shit?'

Angel had already dropped down to the ground, but he didn't need an explanation. Sure, the building was on fire – so were a few others for that matter. That didn't explain the sudden flash of white light that made his entire body want to run away screaming, though. Said body wasn't exactly happy when he ran forward instead of away, but he wasn't exactly happy with it either most days.

“Scan, get me details!”

'Besides the fact I'm pulling the same readings from the Ball Drop on a smaller scale? Tech is dropping rapidly, find out what the hell is going on in there so I know if we're about to have another event on our hands, Sky Rider!'

It was rare for the tech to use his full name, but Angel didn't blame him as he crept closer. There was something wrong with that energy, and it only got worse as he finally got a view of it. His heart dropped to his stomach as the hair on the back of his neck and arms raised. He wanted to scream, but his tongue was glued to the roof of his mouth.

That dude looked wrong and he wasn't talking about the pile of goo that used to be a person. There was someone standing in front of them, hand outstretched and glowing with that same white energy. He had to call them dude, because he didn't know quite what the fuck they were.

After all... who the fuck is that blue?

“Andy, he's already dead, don't do it!”

PT was alive, judging from her voice, but she was scared as hell and frankly Angel didn't blame her. He'd be scared of the giant blue nightmare in front of him too. But the voice did something. Andy's entire body shuddered, and then they went down hard. The thud and force made the ground shake, enough that he lost his balance and fell hard.

Psychics – they had shit balance.

In that time, PT was able to scramble from her hiding space. She was hurt – badly – but she didn't care. Her focus was on Andy. It didn't take a genius for Angel to piece together just who the mysterious niece happened to be.

No wonder she never wanted them around – her niece was fucking blue and looked like someone had forgotten to add a face when they had made her. Add in the weird light and radar readings, and she had to be a Ball Drop baby. They were said to have birth defects... but there was that and whatever the hell was wrong with her.

But...

“Is she breathing?”

PT turned to face him, and her eyes told him all. She was terrified as she moved to shield her prone niece, still not moving. It didn't do anything – her face was burned into his mind. How could he forget?

But that didn't matter. There was someone that needed help. He put his thoughts aside for the moment. He might not have been on duty, but it was still hero time.

Just... who the hell was he saving, though?

#Supernova Collision Trilogy #Writing #novel

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keeroo92 · 5 years

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Savior, Bloodstain, Hellfire, Shadow Ch1

Summary: You were an ordinary nurse, working your way towards balance when the Qlipoth appeared. That all changed when a dark-haired stranger intervened and saved your ass. He and his outlandish companions sparked your curiosity and as the days passed you formed an unbreakable bond with them all. But what happens when your newfound family faces their fate?

(My first fic, a shameless rewrite of the events of DMC5 featuring V x Reader. Angst, fluff, romance and a passable attempt at slow burn. Multiple endings and sequel in progress. I am currently rewriting it chapter by chapter, but the total word count should hover around 150k. Enjoy!)

Ch1: An Introduction to Demons

---Reader---

May 16th, 8:13 pm

Your gloved hands desperately pressed against your patient’s split flesh, his blood oozing between your fingers as your colleagues prepared the surgery room. The poor man was awake, terrified tears streaking his face as he stared into your eyes, praying you’d save him.

“It’s alright, you’re going to be okay, we’re going to take care of you,” you told him, forcing your agonized mind to project calmness and reassurance in your tone. It seemed to work; his eyes blinked and the fearful furrow of his brows eased slightly.

Come on, is that room ready yet? He doesn’t have much time left after losing this much blood.

The linoleum floor beneath your feet, normally stark white and freshly bleached, was covered in blood. Your feet were only able to stay stable due to your mandatory anti-slip shoes. The red puddle had been growing for ten minutes as you urgently held this man’s life in your trembling hands. Most nights weren’t like this, most nights the worst you had to deal with was an idiot who hadn’t been paying attention and had touched a hot stove, or maybe if things got really crazy someone would come in with a broken bone.

Rarely did you hold someone’s life in your hands. It never got easier, or less stressful.

The man’s eyes fluttered closed; his head lolled back on the gurney and your heart jumped, knowing how important it was to stay conscious at that point.

“Sir, no, you have to stay awake! Come on, wake up!” your petrified voice uttered, the sound almost foreign to your ears. He didn’t stir, and your panicked thoughts dropped into cold realization as the steady drip of his blood on the floor slowed.

He’s not going to make it. Goddamnit!

“Someone get me some O negative, now!” you screamed desperately. One of your fellow nurses dashed over with a bag, the fluid red and angry looking as she rushed to get an IV prepared. She checked the man’s pulse, searching for a vein to tap. Her eyes met yours in a shared moment of sadness as the look on her face told you everything you needed to know.

The man beneath your hands was dead.

You pulled your shaking hands away from the gash in his chest, caused by a car crash on the nearby interstate, a chunk of metal having sliced deep into his right pectoral. Your eyes filled with tears at your failure as you unsteadily walked to a nearby hazardous waste bin to strip your bloody gloves off.

There was no other urgent need for you so you stepped away to take a moment to breathe, coming to terms with your inability to save the man you had assured would be alright. You sat on the curb outside as your tears fell, chest heaving in a silent sob.

It’s never enough, I’m never good enough… I need to get better, get faster, stronger… Have to save the next one like him.

After a long moment whose length you couldn’t tell, you heard a siren approaching. Another ambulance, racing in with another person who needed help. You stood, shoving your pain away to focus on the now, on the next patient whom you might actually have been able to help.

__________________________________

The rest of your shift passed with little incident; blessedly no other patients died that night. You stripped off your soiled scrubs in the locker room, ruminating once more on all your failures. The faces of every single patient you’d been unable to save passed through your mind and you gritted your teeth, forcing yourself to never forget a single one. Your heart clenched as the man from mere hours before passed in your mind’s eye, his face frozen in a look of strange peace. Reassured by your words that had turned out to be a lie.

“Y/N, you okay?” a voice beside you asked gently. You turned to face the speaker, another nurse coming off shift. You couldn’t recall her name, never having bothered to learn it. Her perky blond ponytail swung as she tilted her head to look at you, blue eyes showing her concern as you clenched your jaw angrily.

“I’m fine,” you ground out finally, and she frowned more deeply at your not fine tone.

“You did everything you could for him, you know. You can’t save everyone and you can’t blame yourself or it’ll destroy you,” she murmured quietly.

Her words triggered your mind to remind you painfully of the very first person you had failed, the image of her corpse still so clear in your memory. You gulped nervously, trying to subdue the dark thoughts as you responded to your colleague.

“I know… but I should’ve been able to save him,” you whispered brokenly. The young woman bit her lip as you struggled to hold back your tears, but as the first sniffles broke through she wrapped you in a hug.

Caitlyn, that’s her name… Caitlyn.

You hesitantly returned her comforting hug, accepting it for the slim reassurance it could provide. Your breath came out in gasps as you withheld the worst of your pain, not knowing enough about Caitlyn to trust her with your past. Even as the thought formed in your mind, you caught a whiff of her shampoo as her ponytail swung past your dripping nose.

Cinnamon. Just like Lara.

Suddenly you couldn’t breathe, frozen like a deer in the headlights as the painful memories rushed through you. Over the years, you’d gotten skilled at subduing them whenever something brought it back to the surface, and you used all your will power to shove it back down into the hole you kept it buried in. Even so, your heart ached at the reminder, making sure you never forgot that day. You pulled away from Caitlyn, arranging your features to show her a teary smile.

“You gonna get home okay?” she asked you kindly. “I can give you a ride if you need it.”

You nodded your head, a rueful glint entering your eyes as you looked at her.

“I live two blocks away. I’ll be all right. Thank you, Caitlyn,” you answered, wiping away the last remnants of your tears. You couldn’t help but hope she’d leave you alone now, and to your relief she turned away to leave with a final worried glance.

The walk home was usually a time of quiet reflection for you, a chance to review all you’d done in the hours at the ER and to tally the lives saved against the lives lost, the scales never tipping to the side of life enough for your satisfaction. That night, you couldn’t remember a single person you helped over the last few hours, the guilt over the single death too heavy to bear.

If only I’d gotten him a transfusion from the start. If only the surgery room had been ready. If only, if only, if only…

You sighed to yourself as you looked forward to the bottle of whiskey waiting for you in your tiny apartment; knowing you had the next day off, you planned to drink until you couldn’t think anymore. A tradition whenever someone died in your arms, something to indulge in to avoid the solitude of your lonely apartment, where not even a goldfish waited for your return.

The familiar wooden sign greeted you from over the doorway as you reached home, its cheerful yellow paint welcoming friends inside. You liked to pretend you’d someday actually invite someone over, but in the five years you’d lived in Red Grave City, you hadn’t allowed a single person to enter your heart, let alone your home.

Too easy to get hurt or to hurt someone. Better to be alone.

The cheap door creaked open and you quickly closed it behind you, alone at last. The keys went in the small bowl on the side table in the entrance, coat on the hook. Shoes kicked off to the corner. With a soft click, you turned on the lights of your small retreat.

You shuffled your way into the living room, the whiskey waiting for you on the coffee table as you plopped into the cushions of your hideous orange couch. You didn’t bother with a glass, taking a sip straight from the glass bottle as you flicked on the television. You took another long gulp as you looked for something to watch, eventually settling on an over the top romantic comedy.

You kept drinking and the terrible movie became funnier with each tingly swallow. By the time the film was over, you were buzzed enough to be satisfied. Another movie began and you pulled your throw blanket over you as you settled in to watch, letting the fantasy take you away from your own problems.

__________________________________

“…live from downtown, still unclear what exactly I’m looking at but it appears to be some kind of structure, Lisa.”

Deet deet deet deedle! Deet deet deet deedle!

The standard ringtone of your cell phone felt alarmingly loud as you slowly cleared the fog from your mind. You barely glanced at the TV screen as you groggily fumbled for the small device, hitting the green “accept” button and holding it up to your drool-covered cheek.

“Hello…?” you mumbled.

“Oh, thank god! Honey, where are you? Are you okay? What’s going on?”

You sat up with a grimace at the panic in your mother’s voice, her shrill tone a far cry from her normally calm demeanor.

“Mom? What’re you talking about?” you replied quizzically.

“The tower! It’s all over the news!!”

The confusion swirling in your mind shifted to fear as you saw the screen at last, the reporter standing before a massive grey structure in an area you easily recognized as only a few blocks away.

“…started only a few shorts hours ago. Officials are urging residents to stay indoors until they can assess the threat, but many locals have come to see the tower for themselves. Some religious groups are already flooding the area, claiming this to be a sign from God. All I can say for sure, Lisa, is that this thing is now the tallest point within three miles…”

The reporter continued talking, but you weren’t paying any attention anymore as you took in what he was talking about – the enormous grey tower that stood behind him in the shot, dominating the screen and dwarfing the mass of people crowded by its base.

What… the… fuck…?

Chaos erupted on the screen a moment later as something punched a hole through the tower, what looked like a man and a huge beast jumping down from the new opening milliseconds later. They were too far from the camera for you to see them clearly, only dim outlines in the background of the crappy TV you’d had since college.

“Did you see that?! What is going on? Honey, you need to leave before the roads get too crowded! It isn’t safe there!”

The reporter on the screen was clearly as baffled as you were, his mouth dropping open and eyes widening comically as he struggled to find words to describe the scenario. He kept glancing back to the structure as he tried to do his job, but before he had the chance to speak again, everything changed.

Something had clearly gone wrong with the camera person; the view shifted to one from the ground as if the camera had been dropped. You could hear screams and watched in bewilderment as a tendril burst from the ground, its tip a gleaming point of sharp thorns. The image of that cruel spike streaking forward to embed itself in the reporter’s stomach dissolved the last of your remaining buzz, sobriety hitting you like a brick wall as his wails of terror echoed from your TV.

“Oh, god… Y/N, get out of there now! RUN!”

“Yeah, okay. I’ll call you when it’s safe. I love you mom!” you answered hurriedly, already rushing toward the door. You stuffed your feet back into your work shoes, slung your jacket over your shoulders and grabbed your keys. Out of habit, you took a moment to lock the door behind you before sprinting down the hallway.

Outside, you got your first look at the structure for yourself.

Its massive form rose from downtown, black and imposing. You followed its outline with your stunned eyes, looking for the top but unable to find it; it was far too tall. The structure wasn’t here when you had gotten home from work, and construction couldn’t possibly have erected such an imposing thing in the scant time since then. Its origin couldn’t possibly be natural.

So… where did it come from then?

A low rumble broke your confused thoughts as you watched a tentacle burst through the asphalt ahead. Your baffled mind struggled to process the sight as the cruelly sharp tip darted down to embed itself in the stomach of another pedestrian, a scream of pain following its sickening squelch as it struck home.

Bile rose in your throat as you instinctively moved, rushing forward even as your mind screamed at you to run away. The hideous tentacle pulled back, the impaled woman falling to the ground bonelessly as it rose again to search for its next target. A surge of adrenaline gushed through you, and you somehow managed to dodge the spike as you reached forward to pull the woman out of its range. Her blood left a streak of crimson on the sidewalk behind as you dragged her to safety.

Only then did you look down, taking stock of the damage.

Her face was already frozen in death, a look of utter terror and bewilderment marring her plain features forever. You shuddered, adding her face to the ever-growing ledger of death in your mind. You stood slowly, wiping her blood on your jeans and turning away. The street was crowded by then, more and more people coming outside to see what all the noise was from.

This is bad. They’re all going to die if they stay here.

“Hey! Everybody! You can’t stand around and watch, you’ll die! Come on, let’s go!” you shouted, a scant few heads turning to listen but far too many people ignoring your warning. You marched up to a young woman tugging a child along by the hand, their faces more curious than scared. You reached out to tap her shoulder and she glanced back at you as you spoke.

“Lady, you’re gonna get yourself and your kid killed! Look, see those tentacles? I just saw one stab someone to death with just one stroke. You have to leave, now!”

She paused, her eyes shifting to see the tentacle you indicated. Her curiosity turned to fear as she took in its sharp point, giving you a grateful nod as she turned away to drag her child somewhere safe.

You repeated your dire warning to over a dozen more bystanders, but only a third of them took you seriously and ran away. You shoved your tiredness down, your long workday making your steps drag slightly as you pressed on, determined to save as many people as you could.

You watched in horror as another few tentacles sprouted from the ground, impaling a few unlucky souls and raising their bodies like trophies to the sky. More bile rose in your throat as you heard their wails of pain and confusion. You kept moving forward, still shouting warnings to anyone who’d listen. Another tentacle rumbled out of the pavement a mere three feet from where you stood, its cruel tip gleaming in the streetlights. You stumbled slightly, leaning against the brickwork of an apartment building to keep yourself from falling to the ground.

Your exhaustion tugged at you fiercely and your eyes fluttered closed against your will as the tentacle took aim at you. All thought ceased in your mind as your death approached.

With your eyes closed, you didn't see the dark-haired man sprinting at you. You didn’t see him drop a hand-carved silver cane and slide on his hip towards you as if he was stealing third base for the Yankees. You didn’t hear his low grunt as he pushed his arm out, rising to his feet just in front of you. You didn’t see the intricate pattern on his arm lighten, or the panther explode into existence mere feet in front of you, killing the tentacle with a single swipe of its lethally sharp claws almost as quickly as it had appeared.

Instead, what you next perceived was a warm hand on your side, pushing you to the right. You opened your fear-dilated eyes, shocked that you’re still alive, and immediately caught your breath.

The man who stood before you wore a look of concern on his ridiculously, unfairly handsome features. His intense gaze caught your attention first, irises the shade of muted emeralds, glinting with every flash of light. Dark eyelashes framed his long stare, thick eyebrows only adding to the expressiveness of his piercing gaze. A prominent nose flowed from his brow line above his full, pink lips, parted as he breathed heavily before you. Beautifully intricate tattoos covered his body, partially concealed by his clothing but clearly visible on his long, toned arms. The black of the ink on his skin only served to contrast his alabaster skin tone. His hair was as dark and shiny as obsidian, barely brushing the collar of his black leather vest.

"You must move, you cannot stay here!" the beautiful stranger declared urgently with a voice like velvet.

Goddamnit, could he be any more attractive?

You tried to take a step but discovered you couldn’t find the strength, your exhaustion overwhelming you at last. He paused, seeming to study your expression and huffed in irritation.

"Fine, I'll help you then," he announced, and suddenly you were against him. You blushed scarlet as he picked you up, carrying you in his lean arms towards a nearby van. The motion shook you out of your worn-out stupor enough to be embarrassed by your helplessness.

"I - I'm sorry, I think I can walk now," you told him shakily.

He gently placed your legs on solid ground with a nod. He turned to survey the area, presumably to check for more tentacles. You took a moment to search for nearby people you could warn and found a pair, shouting the now familiar warning as you saw the panther fighting. Its form shape-shifted periodically into new shapes full of sharp edges and harsh points and your mind struggled to comprehend how this was possible, trying fruitlessly to make sense of all the outlandish sights you’d seen in the last ten minutes.

What the fuck is going on?

The stranger grabbed your hand, dragging you towards the van once more, and you tried to focus on the vehicle to avoid thinking about how many of your neighbors were now dead. It was an odd contraption, clearly customized with a neon sign on the side which read “Devil May Cry” and a laughably false phone number listed beneath it. Its grey and white paint was coated in dust and what looked like blood, not all of it dry. On his way to the van, the stranger only paused to lean over and pick up an ornate silver cane, flicking it to his side in a clearly practiced motion. You found yourself once again unable to comprehend what happened next as a cloud of black shards left his tattooed arm, drifting to the air nearby and forming a magnificent blue bird, the strangest you’d ever seen with a three-pronged beak and purple legs that seemed far too large for its body.

The bird laughed and dove at the nearest tentacle, slashing it with its talons. You heard the outlandish creature curse as the tentacle tried to stab it as it attacked.

The back door of the van suddenly crashed open, drawing your attention as a white-haired man leaned out. He was young, around your age if you had to guess. An absolutely huge sword was strapped to his back, and he waved you forward with an oversized pistol in hand.

"Hurry, we gotta go NOW, V!" he hollered. He hurriedly stowed the pistol and reached out to help you inside, the dark-haired man not far behind you. To your surprise, the panther also jumped into the van. The second you were all inside, the van took off at a speed that was nearly as terrifying as almost being impaled by mysterious tentacles, accelerating faster than you imagined a vehicle of its size could manage. Outside the van, you caught a glimpse of the strange bird you saw moments ago, flapping hard to keep up with the racing vehicle.

"Hold on, folks!" a feminine voice with a southern drawl yelled from the driver’s seat. You grabbed onto the nearest solid object, an odd countertop hidden in the corner and held on for dear life as the van dashed through the city, to somewhere (you hoped) very, VERY far away.

---V---

V looked over at the young woman he'd just rescued, wondering how long it would be before you were calm enough to think clearly. Your hands were shaking, eyes wide and dilated. As he watched, your jaw clenched and your hands steadied as you inhaled deeply. You closed your eyes, let out the breath in a reassuring sigh and turned to face him as the van sped past the crowds of terrified residents, various pieces of kitchen equipment and power tools clanging at every pothole Nico drove over.

"Thank you for saving me. I... I think I would be dead if not for you," you whispered softly. Your eyes were still fearful, but you seemed coherent enough. He took a moment to gaze at you, taking in your appearance. You had gentle features; a kind face. He felt an odd sensation in his stomach as he recalled your words.

"And the maiden soon forgot her fear. Are you alright? Perhaps you ought to sit down," he responded gently and gestured at the worn couch under the window.

You nodded and cautiously made your way to it, keeping your knees bent to compensate for Nico’s wild movements. As you moved, V studied you more closely. He was curious - most civilians didn’t exhibit this level of stoic acceptance after first encountering the demonic roots, not to mention the fact that you had been actively trying to warn others and urging them to run. Your quick calmness was... intriguing. He couldn't tell if you had any demonic blood, but you obviously weren't unfamiliar with fear. No one who could calm themselves that quickly was new to the feeling, he knew.

"My name is V, that's Nero, and Nico is driving. Griffon is outside and her name is Shadow. What shall we call you?" he asked, crossing his arms and leaning against the van wall casually. He gestured to each named being as he introduced them, Griffon and Shadow returning to him as the vehicle got farther away from danger. Your eyes widened as the black shards sank into his skin.

You glanced away, quick to look elsewhere as your cheeks flush slightly, he noticed. Perhaps she’s embarrassed about needing to be saved?

"My name is Y/N. Nice to meet you all,” you responded finally. “Um, do you know what those... tentacle things were? Where did they come from?"

V smirked. This might take a while to explain.

---Reader---

Demons.

Demons are real.

Demons are real and attacking my home.

"Holy shit," you exclaimed, eyes wide, looking back and forth between the two men. "So, wait, how do you kill them? Why are they here? How can we stop them from killing people?"

Nero laughed, but not unkindly. He seemed genuinely amused as he sat down on your right, leaning back against the couch cushion nonchalantly.

"Slow down, Y/N! They aren't too hard to kill, at least the lower powered ones. Pretty much anything that would kill a human can kill a demon; guns, swords, punches, you get the idea. Don't really know why they're here, but V might."

V smirked, his full lips twisting in a way that made your eyes flick to them for a heartbeat too long. You scolded yourself; this isn't the time for that!

"They are here because of Urizen. The Demon King, as he calls himself. For now, we should find somewhere to rest, gather resources. As for you, Y/N, forgive me but you don't seem like you're quite up to fighting demons. We can take you to the edge of the city, but from there you must make your own way to safety."

You paused, considering his words. He wasn't wrong; you had no combat experience and didn’t know how to be helpful in a fight. Not to mention you were completely terrified, as well as you tried to conceal it.

This is insanity. These people are mad, fighting those things. We should all just run, go somewhere else and leave this city as far behind as possible.

Yet even the thought of abandoning the people still in the city felt... wrong. You didn't want to run from this, especially not with this feeling, like you were magnetized to this group. You couldn’t just walk away when so many people were dying; you had to balance the scales!

I’m going to get myself killed. What am I thinking, I can’t help people if I’m dead! But.. there are so many people here. They’re all going to die too.

You took a deep breath before speaking, brutally shoving your fear to the farthest corner of your mind and focusing on what little you could do to help the small group.

"It's true, I'm not really a fighter. I’m a nurse, and I've been studying surgical procedures to prepare for medical school. I can help you if anyone gets injured. As much as I'd like to not have to face those things ever again, it wouldn't be right if I left. I wouldn't feel right," you explained uneasily, hoping the group didn't judge you too harshly for your previous terror.

V raised an eyebrow at that, then glanced at Nero. “The thankful receiver bears a plentiful harvest,” he recited simply. Nero shrugged, and for the first time you got a good look at his right arm. You gasped as you saw the haphazard bandages covering a stump, blood stains showing in a deep rust shade, a recent amputation that clearly hadn’t been taken care of properly.

"At the very least let me dress that! You'll get an infection or sepsis; it could kill you!"

V snorted, to your surprise. "You mean he would be... dead weight?" he commented, obviously amused. His intense emerald eyes flicked to yours as if sharing an intimate joke, and you smiled at him hesitantly.

Nero turned red, muttering to himself for a moment about someone named Dante, then nodded at you sullenly. Clearly V’s words had hit a sore spot.

"Fine, when we stop you can take a look," he grumbled. He shot a glare at V, then shuffled off to sit in the front with Nico, leaving you alone with the obsidian haired man. You could hear them talking for a while but couldn't tell what they were saying. You turned back to V, mind still whirling with questions.

His long fingers pulled a thin book from within his leather vest, clearly preparing to read. You swallowed your questions for the time being, not wanting to interrupt the strange man’s reading.

I need to rest; I can barely keep my eyes open. The adrenaline must be fading.

You leaned back into the couch, reassured that with this group you could sleep in safety, closed your eyes and drifted off into oblivion.

__________________________________

You dreamt of the past. Your mind never blessed you with pleasant dreams anymore, always seeking to understand, to learn more from memories that your waking mind knew would bring only pain. Memory is the enemy of peace, after all.

The familiar sounds were there, as always. The crack of glass breaking and the high-pitched screams of your friend, the unmistakable sound of her gasping breaths.

Then the visuals. Shadows dancing like a sick ballet on the wall of the shed. Dead eyes staring up at you as a warning. The flash of light on gleaming steel as ---

__________________________________

You awakened with a jolt as Nico slammed the brakes, causing you to slide unceremoniously into V. He had sat down at some point next to you. With lightning reflexes, his arm shot out and held you close as the rattling van mercifully slid to a full stop, keeping you from falling to the floor. You could feel him breathing under you, smell his scent of leather and lavender. The combined sensory input was... intoxicating. You tried to pull away, but he held you for a split second before letting go. You blushed furiously, sure that he was teasing you. You couldn’t bear to look at him so you missed the look of regret he gave you and didn’t see him lick his lips before speaking.

"Are you alright, Y/N?" he inquired softly, his tone almost a growl.

You internally cursed his voice for having such a pleasant sound before responding.

"Yeah, thanks for the help... again."

V chuckled under his breath, then returned to his reading. Sitting so close to him, you caught a glimpse inside the pages to see a flowing script and beautifully colored illustrations. Forgetting your embarrassment and the lingering fear from the nightmare, you asked what he was reading.

"Poetry. Would you like to hear some?" he responded, his voice like warm honey.

The thought of his voice reciting poetry sent your mind spinning. Nope, no way, nuh uh, you’ve already made enough of an ass out of yourself, so you just hold your horses there, girl. There’re bigger things to be worried about anyway, like DEMONS!

"Sure,” your rebellious mouth stated.

Goddamit. Stupid mouth.

He smiled, gaze returning to the pages as he chose a piece to read.

“I will not cease from mental fight, Nor shall my sword sleep in my hand, Till we have built Jerusalem, In England’s green and pleasant land,” he recited, his voice melodious and perfectly timed.

“Beautiful,” you whispered, the words rolling in your mind as you digested them, finding meaning in the short excerpt as a low hum of recognition passed through you. “Is that… William Blake?”

V nodded, seemingly taken aback.

“You enjoy poetry?” he asked you.

You felt your cheeks tinting as he studied you intently as you replied, “I guess you could say I’m a bit of a bookworm. Literature is a gift.”

The outer corners of his lips twitched, smiling for a fraction of an instant. If you had blinked you would have missed it. He seemed pleased by your response and you smiled at him shyly, shifting your weight awkwardly.

“I couldn’t agree more, much to our companions dismay. They are of a different mindset,” he replied thoughtfully.

“What’s your favorite poem, V?” you probed him, enjoying the chance to talk with someone who shared your enjoyment of words.

“I’ve come to enjoy The Book of Thel a great deal, are you familiar?”

It rang a bell but you couldn’t remember any details of the work.

“I read it many years ago, though I can’t remember any of it now,” you responded.

“Allow me, then; Why thou complainest not when in one hour thou fade away: Then we shall seek thee but not find; ah Thel is like to thee. I pass away, yet I complain, and no one hears my voice.”

You sat in silence, letting the words sink in. V’s soothing voice added a layer of complexity to them, sounding quite sad and mournful as he recited.

Luckily for you, Nero chose that exact moment to trudge over to you with a small red box labeled "first aid". He sighed, seeming to have resigned himself to your treatment.

As if it isn't in his best interest anyway.

"Let's get this over with, Y/N," he grunted. V stood and gave you a nod as he walked away a few feet to continue his reading. You focused your mind on the task at hand, pushing the memory of his voice away.

---V---

V watched you gently remove the bandages from Nero's arm, trying to figure out his reaction to your words. None of the others he had become familiar with enjoyed poetry, several rolling their eyes the first few times he quoted a line in conversation until they became accustomed and ignored it entirely. He felt his heart warm slightly by the shared enjoyment, a distraction from his mission. A pleasant distraction, but a distraction nonetheless. He must remain focused - he didn't have time for any fellowships or pleasant conversations.

Yet still, he found himself watching you redress Nero's arm, wondering what your touch felt like. Perhaps that was it? Perhaps he simply wanted to be touched, to feel connected? That would explain most of his reactions to you so far.

Enough of this. Focus. Too much is at stake.

He mentally shook himself and returned his gaze to the words on the painted pages before him, forcing himself to pay attention and read the now familiar text.

I am in you, and you in me. Mutual in divine love.

V sighed and rolled his eyes.

How unhelpful.

He glanced back at you and Nero, seeing you smile at something the white haired warrior had said. Laughing. He wondered what that felt like as well, to share mirth in such a way with another person.

A memory played in his mind, of many years ago. It was a simple one, a trifle really. He was playing with Dante in the backyard, not long before... before. The two of them were laughing together over a fort they had built out of sticks, the structure haphazard and childish. Their mother was nearby, keeping a careful eye on them as they played.

He smiled softly at the thought, wondering if Dante had any fond memories of them as children. Somehow, he doubted it.

Again with the distractions. Enough is enough.

V looked out the window, easily spotting the already massive tree in the center of town. The sight helped him focus, helped him remember his priorities.

---Reader---

After removing the old bandages, you took a moment to examine the wound. It was in bad shape, looking as if Nero had initially seen a doctor but later popped the stitches in at least three places, leaving open wounds to fester and bleed freely. There was already a slight infection, but nothing too serious if he let you take care of it and didn’t do anything stupid.

“How long ago did this happen, Nero?” you asked.

“It was April 30th, so sixteen days ago,” he informed you as he watched you examine him.

“Ah, alright then. It should heal fully in about two to six more weeks, until then you need to change the bandage at least once a day, if not more,” you explained to the willful young man.

You dug through the poorly organized first aid kit, finding an unopened bottle of antiseptic and several rolls of bandages. Some gauze patches lied on the bottom.

Perfect, now all I need is a towel or a bowl.

You looked to your left and right, eventually finding a small cup that would work well enough. You carefully angled Nero’s arm over the cup and got the antiseptic ready.

“This will hurt a bit, Nero,” you warned him. He nodded, ready, and you slowly poured the fluid over his injury and let it drip into the waiting cup below. He grunted but didn’t pull away. Once the drips had slowed enough, you laid a gauze patch over his half-healed stitches, using one hand to hold it in place as your other reached to grasp the bandage roll. You used your teeth to get the first portion open, proceeding to gently but firmly wrap up Nero’s arm. You used the scissors from the kit to cut the end and secured it with a satisfied smile.

“All set,” you told him.

Nero carefully moved his arm, testing the bandage's flexibility. You knew he would, he seemed the type to never hold still if he could help it. You’d seen many people like him come through the emergency room, struggling to hold still as you treated whatever they came in for even as their lack of stillness worsened their condition.

"Feels good, Y/N! Thanks! You are handy!" He jumped up, throwing a few experimental punches, bobbing and weaving like he was in a boxing match with Muhammad Ali himself. You laughed as he feigned dodging a blow; his antics allowed you to forget the horrors of what you’d witnessed for an all-too-brief moment.

"Hey hey hey, not in the van! Take it outside, jerkwad!" Nico exclaimed hurriedly, coming out from her perch in the drivers seat. She pushed Nero towards the door, forced him outside and slammed the door behind him.

“Sheesh, what an ass…” she muttered under her breath, but you could tell she meant it with affection. She looked like she’d be happiest on a construction site or in a garage. A multitude of tools were strapped to her shorts and you could see oil on her arms, along with tattoos that seemed to revolve around guns and skulls. She pulled out a cigarette, lighting it as she leaned over to you.

“Hi, I’m Nico. Welcome to the Devil May Cry-mobile, I’m your resident genius gunsmith and artist extraordinaire. You joinin’ the team? Would be nice to have another lady along for the ride!”

Your eyes flicked to V as your thoughts debated your options again.

What about my life? What about going back to school, learning to be a trauma surgeon? Can I really justify putting that on hold, maybe even abandoning it entirely to help these people?

…How can I not?

V smirked knowingly but nodded before following Nero outside, waving his hand through a cloud of Nico’s expelled cigarette smoke as he passed.

“I guess I am,” you replied, smiling and doing your best to ignore the panic in your mind at the thought of staying in an area full of... demons. The thought of their existence brought a surreal feeling to your mind and you wondered if this entire day had been a dream. A new nightmare shaped to ensure you paid it the attention it demanded.

“Awesome! You wouldn’t happen to know how to cook, would’ja? Nero’s hopeless and V’s somehow worse, and my cooking skills don’t extend beyond cereal and mac and cheese,” she asked with a smile on her face.

You found her smile infectious, and you felt your own lips stretching into a grin as well as you responded, “I’m no master chef, but I get by all right.”

She clapped your back in a friendly manner, taking a pull from her cigarette. The tang of nicotine filled the air as she exhaled, the enclosed space holding the smoke captive. You ignored the scent, used to it after years of exposure.

“All right! Well, we’re probably gonna stay here for the night, kitchen’s in that corner if you’re hungry. The guys generally sleep outside but I think you could squeeze in here with me for now. Sound good?”

You nodded, grateful for her easy acceptance of you even as your mind still struggled to control your overwhelming fear. You found yourself warming to her quickly, despite a history of not getting along well with other women. Glancing at the kitchen, you spotted the cereal she mentioned sitting atop a stovetop. There were a few cupboards but not much else. You hoped you could gather some basic food staples in the morning, but for now the call of hunger was weaker than the call of rest. You yawned, almost cracking your jaw in the process.

“Here, I’ll get ya a pillow and another blanket, bout ready to crash myself!” Nico commented. She opened another cupboard, pulling out a small but fluffy looking pillow and a fleece blanket. She handed them to you, put out her cigarette in an ashtray nearby and gave you a salute before climbing a tiny ladder to what you assumed was a hidden bed.

“Goodnight, Nico. Thanks,” you said through another yawn. You heard a soft click and the van went dark.

“No problem, new girl. Night!”

~~~~Next Chapter~~~~

#fanfic #SBHS #v x reader #my writing #dmc5 v #dmc5 #dmc #dmcv #dmc nero #dmc nico #vitale #devil may cry #reader insert

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loljulie · 6 years

Text

flicker; {009} waking up

(hello!! so idk if this tumblr tag thing is working right... if you aren’t getting a notification, pls let me know! and also, sorry this one is so short! i have some things planned that need their own chapters so, pls enjoy this for now! thank you for reading this story so much, i appreciate it! and as always, feedback is welcome!)

genre: detroit: become human deviant!connor x reader word count: 1510 ▓▓▓▓▓▓▓▓▓▓▓▓　 d̯̱̝̠̘̙͙e̼̯̣̗͈͇̳v̥̗̭̹̫ia̘̝͔͙͙̜ͅn͈t͇͓̦̻s̙̗͉̜͕ 　▓▓▓▓▓▓▓▓▓▓▓▓ @dragonempress123

@itstrashleydude

@chisooyaaa

@help-i-need-a-social-life

@shadows-echoes

@mavvsmm

@sygin

@wonders-of-the-multiverse

Darkness encompassed your entire vision. Slowly, you noticed a faint, rhythmic beeping gradually become louder and louder, until it sounded like it was right next to your ear. A dull pain radiated from your right thigh.

Your eyelids were unbearably heavy, but the noise stirred you so much that you needed to open them. As they fluttered open, your eyes became aware of the woman to your left. She was dressed in a white coat and was observing you intently.

A harsh, bright light forced its way into your eyes. You winced and shut them in response. The light vanished when you heard a succinct click.

“Pupils are normal. She seems to be responsive,” the voice came from the doctor beside you. After reopening your eyes, you saw that she spoke to a nurse on the other side of your bed, who was writing on a clipboard.

“Lieutenant (Y/L/N), could you please tell me the last thing you remember?” Her voice asked. You blinked a couple times, trying to revive the memory. Steadily, small flashes of scenes crossed your mind until the entire event flooded your brain.

Hank, the replacement Connor, the gunshot.

“I was shot in the leg,” you answered, then looked down at your injury for the first time. Your leg was hidden under the blanket, but you were relieved to see it was still attached to you. “I remember calling the police for help, but everything after that is… fuzzy.”

“Yes, that was a day ago,” the doctor answered. “We brought you in shortly after you placed the call. You blacked out from blood loss, presumably because the bullet exited your thigh.”

“We didn’t have to perform any big surgery, but we did keep you under to stitch up your wounds. The bullet just barely missed any big arteries or your bones. We consider that very lucky,” the doctor commented with a slight tone of astonishment. You knew it had little to do with luck and more to do with the fact the shooter was an android who had the precision to know exactly where to hit you.

“You’re free to leave later today, but we recommend some physical therapy to help the damage muscle heal properly.” You nodded absentmindedly to her instructions, knowing they’d be given to you again anyway.

You looked around your room, spotting a familiar jacket with blue detailing on the chair next to the nurse. Connor.

You could almost cry with relief. He was alive and well, and could still be in the hospital to see you.

“Did I have a visitor?” You asked, nodding to the jacket. The doctor nodded, and her face became almost annoyed.

“Yes, two,” she answered curtly. You noticed how tense she became. “One was pleasant, the other one…. well, I had to ask them both to leave while you woke up. Just in case their presence gave you a shock. He did not like being told to leave.”

A small chuckle escaped your lips at that. “Hank can be pretty stubborn,” you admitted jokingly. The doctor furrowed her eyebrows before shaking her head.

“No… I think his name was Connor, actually. The one from the news.”

The news?

What had happened while you were gone?

“I can bring them back in if you’re feeling up to it…?” The doctor asked. You nodded wordlessly while your brain worked to speculate at what happened in the day you had been unconscious.

“There’s a call button to your left if you need anything,” she said as she began to leave the room. “We’ll get your discharge papers ready.”

She exited the room shortly after. You took a deep breath, both nervous and eager to see the two most important people to you. Not long after your doctor left your room, Hank and Connor entered it in a hurry.

Connor was the first one by your side. He hastily, but carefully, wrapped his arms around you and pulled you into a hug. When you didn’t squirm or wince in pain, he allowed himself to grip around you tighter.

“I’m so glad you’re alright,” he whispered, only loud enough for you to hear.

“Ditto,” you responded. Holding Connor next you was an experience you weren’t sure you’d get a day ago. You were so relieved to find out that he was okay.

“Jesus, (Y/N),” Hank remarked as he sat down in an empty chair. Connor pulled apart from you, planting a small kiss on the top of your head, before he took a seat as well. “You sure know how keep us waiting.”

You chuckled softly. “I apologize that I slept so long, but, you know, I was shot, after all.”

Hank smiled tenderly at you, then his eyes filled with something akin to sadness. “I’m glad you’re alright, kid.”

“Are you in any pain?” Connor asked from your left side. You looked down at your leg, covered by the thin hospital blanket, and shook your head.

“Nothing too bad,” you commented. “They must have given me really good painkillers.”

“That’s good, you’ll be able to start physical therapy soon,” Connor replied. You and Hank both raised an eyebrow at him. “The doctor recommended 3 visits a week for a month, or until good progress is made.”

“A month?” You repeated incredulously. “That seems excessive.”

“Maybe, but you need to do it,” he replied. You nodded, knowing there wasn’t anything else to do but accept it.

“The station is giving you injury leave for 6 weeks,” Hank stated, causing you to look at him. “Should be enough time for you to recover, but if you need more they’ll give it to you.”

You nodded again. Though you hated the idea of leaving work, you were at least glad you weren’t leaving in the middle of a case. Suddenly, you remembered that you technically you might still be involved in a case, considering you had no clue what happened after you were shot.

“So… considering Connor is in public, can I assume everything went well?” You asked, looking back and forth between the both of them to gauge any reaction.

“It went okay,” Connor corrected, and Hank shrugged his agreement. “After the demonstration from Markus and the androids from Jericho… they let us speak uninterrupted. I guess we did something right.”

You nodded to show you were listening. You briefly wondered if that was what the doctor meant by Connor being “from the news”.

“Everything is still… well, undecided. For now, until some sort of representation can be established, all androids are protected under the law as humans. There’s still so much more to be discussed and decided.”

“You gonna’ tell her about your ‘promotion’?” Hank asked, being playfully sarcastic. You quirked an eyebrow at him, and noticed him crack a bashful smile.

“The president requested that Markus, North, and I be the first androids to be representatives,” he admitted. Your eyes widened in surprise at that opportunity. “I’ll still be able to work at the station, of course, but there will be a lot of meetings in the coming weeks to discuss legislation.”

You felt a lump rise in your throat as your eyes brimmed with tears. A concoction of relief, joy, and hope swirled inside you as you wiped away some of the hot, stray droplets of emotion that escaped your eyes.

“I’m so happy for you,” your words were choked but still comprehendable. “This is just… amazing. You changed the world.”

Connor seemed shy about receiving such big compliments. When you made eye contact with Hank, his eye held a glint of something you recognized as pride. It was the same look he had when you solved your first case, or when you first stood up to Captain Fowler.

Hank, being one who was uncomfortable with emotion, seemed to have reached his limit. “Alright, well, might as well do something while we wait for your discharge papers,” he said as he stood up and walked over to the TV. He reached into his pocket and fished out a rectangular case. “I was able to get this from home while you were in surgery.”

Though he was somewhat far from you, there was no denying the bold red lettering and the shadowy silhouette of Tom Cruise’s face on the DVD case. You chuckled softly as he removed the Mission Impossible disk from its case, remembering back to the conversation you had with him at Stratford Tower.

“Thank god this thing still has a slot for it,” he commented as he inserted the disk into the side of the TV.

As the movie began to play, you felt Connor reach over and place his hand over yours. You responded by lacing your fingers together and gripping his hand tightly, finding comfort in his touch. Hank leaned back in his chair, his hands behind his head, as he watched the screen.

Nothing felt better than being surrounded by the two people you loved the most. Despite being in an unfamiliar hospital room, you couldn’t have felt more at home.

#detroit: become human fanfic #detroit: become human #detroit: become human fanfiction #connor x reader #rk800 x reader #detroit: bh fanfic #detroit: bh fanfiction #flickerfanfic

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builder051 · 6 years

Text

Risk and reward

Now that H and P are (mostly) settled, I’m going to devote the rest of October to cranking out a short arc with the Mike & Co group. This one will feature all 5 characters, but most of the action will take place with Ash.

A quick warning that this arc will contain violence, injury, and medical stuff (ambulance and hospital settings). Not sure how much they’ll factor in since I haven’t written to far into it yet. This first chapter is very tame.

Apologies in advance for the cliffie ending; I promise more is coming.

_____

Ash looks down at his phone for what feels like the hundredth time in the past hour. Nobody’s going to call him or send him a text at two in the morning, but he can’t shake the feeling of…not paranoia, exactly. More like expectation. He can’t let himself get too deep into USA Today or Angry Birds, just in case something important happens.

He opens his contacts. A Hannah tops his list. Then A Mike, even before A Mom.

He hasn’t communicated with Mike in years now. Liking her stupid Instagram photos doesn’t count, and the visit he’d paid her in the hospital back in the spring doesn’t seem to count either. As heartfelt as it had seemed, neither one of them had known what to do with the emotion.

Ash glances up at the clock, which, surprise, shows the same hour as the screen in his hand. Two in the morning. The hour when egging the neighbor’s house or snarfing down half a pizza seems like a good idea. Risks don’t hold the same weight or the same consequences in the middle of the night.

Risks like calling his ex-best friend. Ash thinks about it, really considers the possible outcomes.

She probably won’t answer. So he could either leave Mike a dumb voicemail or hang up. And if she did answer, she’d either chat or tell him to fuck off. Ash has lived through all four options. He’s not flying blind, even though it feels like he is.

He taps his foot against the leg of the couch. There’s nothing to lose. His battery’s low, and he feels like a daredevil. He presses the call button.

The line rings twice.

“Hello?” Mike sounds raspy, maybe smoky. But not sleepy.

“Oh, hey!” Ash’s heart flutters in his chest. “I just thought, uh, I just thought I’d call. You’re awake.”

“Duh.”

“Well, yeah, I mean,” Ash waffles. “It’s like two AM. I didn’t think you‘d be awake.”

“You’re awake,” Mike points out.

“So. Whatch’ya doing?” Ash asks.

“Are you fucking serious?”

“Yeah.” Then the implications click together. “I mean, no, not like Jake from State Farm, or whatever.” Ash shakes his head, his ear batting against the phone. “I mean, like, why are you up at 2 AM?” It’s only marginally less suggestive.

“Watching TV?” Mike’s either pissed or amused. Or possibly both. It’s hard to tell. “What’re you doing? Besides, like, pranking me or whatever the fuck you’re doing.”

“I’m at Hannah’s,” Ash reports.

“That’s gross if you’re calling me for pillow talk.”

“Oh god.” Ash laughs. He cups his hand around his mouth to contain the sound. “No, she’s sick with like the stomach flu or something, so I came by to, like, cheer her up and see if she needed anything, but I forgot my keys. So if I go home, I’m locked out,” he explains.

“You’re fucking dumb.” But Mike gives a tiny chuckle that brings a smile to Ash’s lips.

“Eh, sometimes. I’ll give you that.”

“All the damn time,” Mike says. “So, like, let me picture it. You’re at her house, pretending to sleep on the couch or some shit, while she’s barfing, her brother’s sleeping, and her parents are boning?”

“Her parents might be sleeping.”

“Fuck. Why’d you even go over there?”

“I thought it’d be nice to come take care of Hannah. But she wanted me to leave her alone.” Ash shrugs. He probably deserved the rebuffing. And Hannah wasn’t even angry. Just tired and feverish.

“I can’t believe you’re still there.” Mike snickers again.

“I told you! I’d be locked out if I went home.”

“Hannah has a key to your apartment, right?”

“Yeah…?” It dawns on Ash that when the flow of conversation between them petered off after senior year, so did all the knowledge of each other’s lives. It would only take Facebook and logical deduction to put two and two together and figure out he doesn’t live at home anymore, but still. It takes a care factor too.

“So take her keys, go home, find yours, and bring hers back later. I mean, she’ll probably want to go to school in the morning, but if she’s still yakking…” Mike gives the verbal equivalent of a shrug.

“Oh my god. I can’t believe I never thought of that.” Ash bounces up and down slightly, the couch cushion creaking with his movement.

“I can.”

“Yeah, ‘course you can. But you’re like a genius, and I’m just—“

“Dumb,” Mike finishes.

“Yeah, you said that,” Ash good-naturedly agrees. He squints in the dark as he picks his way around the coffee table and into the entryway. Hannah’s keys hang on a hook beside the front door, her monogrammed keychain swaying slightly under the ring. Ash puts them in his pocket, then steps on the edge of his skateboard so it flips up into his free hand.

“I am fast, though,” Ash says. “I bet I can get home and back here in…half an hour? You wanna time me?”

“You seriously want me to keep talking to you for that long?” Mike’s tone is hard to read again. It’s not completely negative, though, so Ash takes it as a win.

“If you can still hear me with the, like, wheel noise in the background.” He lets himself out, then jumps on his board and coasts down the driveway. “Can you?” Ash adjusts the phone against his ear.

“Yeah,” Mike sighs. “But it does kinda fuck up the sound.”

“I’ll get one of those fancy noise reduction microphones,” Ash says. “It’ll be better next time. And then I can make sick skating videos when it’s windy outside.”

Mike makes a sound of acknowledgement. Then, “So you’re gonna make this a thing? Like, calling?”

Ash is on the point of answering when someone calls out to him. A dark figure approaches, walking down the sidewalk in the opposite direction.

“Huh?” Ash stares at the as they pass each other.

“I said, is that an iPhone?” the guy repeats loudly.

“Yeah?” Ash wonders why it matters. He’s already zoomed halfway down the block. He shakes his head and looks forward again.

“Well then you better give it to me. And your wallet.” The second man emerges from the shadows before Ash has the chance to slow down. He stumbles off his board a second before they collide, but it doesn’t stop the large fist from colliding with the side of his face. Ash staggers, dizzy. His phone hits the pavement. Then his head does too.

#my ocs #mike&co #ash lindsay #hannah pham #ash and hannah #mike deangeles #u mich #sickfic #friendship #angst #violence #cliffhanger

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officialravendc · 6 years

Text

Crimson Summer

Here’s a new story, for the first time in forever. Prompted by and dedicated to @princesscochlea.

"The rose was sweet like rotting death, like caramelised bones, a kind of corpse bruleé... and his eyes, pure glaring yellow. The colour of fear."

Iarina swears she's being stalked by Koschei the Deathless. But that's impossible, because Koschei is a character from a fairy tale. But as she searches for a saviour, something grim and ancient threatens to devour her city.

Read this story on AO3, or click here to keep reading!

There hung Koschei the Deathless, fettered by twelve chains. Koschei entreated Prince Ivan, saying:

'Have pity upon me and give me to drink! Ten years long have I been here in torment, neither eating nor drinking; my throat is utterly dried up.'

The Prince gave him a bucketful of water; he drank it up and asked for more, saying:

'A single bucket of water will not quench my thirst; give me more!'

The Prince gave him a second bucketful. Koschei drank it up and asked for a third, and when he had swallowed the third bucketful, he regained his former strength, gave his chains a shake, and broke all twelve at once.

'Thanks, Prince Ivan!' cried Koschei the Deathless, 'now you will sooner see your own ears than Marya Morevna!' and out of the window he flew in the shape of a terrible whirlwind.

- “Marya Morevna” (1890)

Deep in the woods, a single sick rose twisted its way up through the snow.

From a young age Iarina knew the shape of good and evil. Good was warm, human, charming; evil was the figure she glimpsed late one night out of her bedroom window staring up at her as she froze closing the curtains. It was quite clearly there one moment and the very next not - a lurking shadow, suddenly reduced to a brief flash of white and then nothing. Iarina could not explain this. It was like nothing she had ever seen, not outside of the TV, and so her teenage mind performed a strange leap of logic and snapped straight to the events of a faerie tale she had been told earlier that evening.

Iarina’s mother liked to spend the winter evenings weaving rich tales about the Faeries, the Dreaming Folk, like the Baba Yaga and the Firebird. These were the tales she had been told as a child, and her mother had been told as a child, and so on. These were old stories, stories with ancient roots in the cold Russian dirt – so it saddened and soured her when they failed to take hold with her teenage daughter. The slums of St Petersburg were a dismal and messy place that felt like a bit too much for a small, poor girl to take in. Iarina would rather be listening to easy stories of dashing American superheroes and tyrant aliens than grim complex faeries. It had been a while since Putin’s sardonic smirk had gently draped a new Iron Curtain across Eastern Europe, and the only escape from the perpetual uncertainty of politics was into simple uncomplicated fantasy.

This was why it came as a surprise when Iarina ran down the stairs one night and demanded a retelling of Marya Morevna. Her mother was taken aback, but complied gratefully until Iarina asked her to stop.

“Mama,” she said, “I saw him outside my window.”

Iarina, it seemed, had developed a fear of the archetypically brutal Koschei - Коще́й - the Deathless.

“The other tales I told you, they were based on respect,” said her mother. “A Baba Yaga? Something to be feared, yes, but also something to which you defer. If you treat her correctly, she will protect you.” She truly believed in the things she spoke of. “These are forces of nature, Iarina. Sheer elements. But Koschei?” She scoffed. “Koschei is a warning about trust. About deceiving appearances. He is not a god, a king or a spirit. He is dead. That was the punishment for his hubris.”

“But Mamulya – ”

“Don’t you ‘But Mamulya’ me.”

“Mama, you said to fear the Baba Yaga and her like, but…”

Iarina stopped, because it felt like someone was listening, and jumped when her mother spoke.

“…But?”

“But those stories are just fairy tales.”

Koschei was the Wife-Stealer, the hunter of young women, the ancient predator of Slavic folklore. No wonder, then, that he particularly struck a fearful chord with Iarina, who had to avoid men like him on her way to and from school each day. The trouble was Koschei was magical, and immortal, and probably much faster than anybody else she knew. Despite the fact that handsome young Ivan Tsarevitch had long ago killed the Deathless and burnt his lying corpse, something of him felt pertinent. Real. Current. Iarina had to admit that she fancied the concept of Ivan Tsarevitch, to the extent that her admiration of Prince Ivan was the only thing that matched her unnatural terror of Koschei. She was sure Ivan would carry her away as he had warrior princess Marya Morevna. She was sure.

A farmer by the outskirts of St Petersburg came across a great field of roses encroaching on his property. He went inside to call the police. They laughed at him, but five minutes after he put down the phone he was dead.

For a long time, Iarina had a vaguely embarrassing thing for Superman. Superman was simple and kind and good and wore bright colours to show that he meant well. He was a sort of prince, she thought, combining her two interests of aliens and superheroes rather neatly.

Then Ivan came along to vie for her affections, and of course he rapidly usurped the Big Blue Boy Scout, because he was Russian. Iarina knew of no Russian Superman. If he existed, she reckoned, he would be dour and grey and complicated. Ivan was not complicated. He had a sword and he killed bad men and was handsome and swept princesses off their feet.

Ivan kept Koschei and the Faeries at bay.

Trudging through the snow back home in the dark mid-afternoon, Iarina thought she saw movement in the gap between a couple of concrete shacks. A flurry, a flush of rich tail, like an animal out of a Disney movie just behind a thick pile of trash. Iarina came to a halt, staring curiously at the pile, and was about to take a step towards it when she noticed a pair of cruel eyes looking back at her from one of the windows. They peered coldly through a gap in the blinds, glaring bright yellow like a hungry tiger.

Iarina ran home and didn’t look back.

The roses crept along the roadside and down into the sewers. The smell was sweet like rotting death, like caramelised bones, a kind of corpse brûlée. It drifted on the breeze and suffocated three people in their beds. Despite the sugary stench, some insisted on picking the roses. Those who did shrivelled like dead petals and in minutes became screaming skin husks by the roadside.

“Iarina,” said her mother, “you’re being ridiculous.”

“You’re just saying that,” Iarina responded. “I can tell by your pale face and clammy hands.”

Her mother was silent for a long time. Iarina waited patiently if unhappily, but when the response eventually came it was terse and vague.

“I do not believe in Koschei,” her mother said. “He is a tale for unhappy widows to muse on and nothing more.”

“But Mamulya - ”

“No more questions. Go to your room.”

“Please!”

“Go to your room!”

Nothing more was said, though the silence was fraught with the ghosts of arguments.

Iarina found herself praying for Prince Ivan’s tenuous existence. She felt lost, scared, alone; she needed a confidant or protector or partner. The other girls at school ignored her already, and now that her mother had refused to support her the long walk home became bleak and harrowing. Iarina needed Ivan, because Koschei's shadow frequently tripped down the alleyways and loomed like a great tower under puddles of streetlight. She could swear there were eyes watching her too, ravenous demon eyes searching incessantly from the stark rooftops.

Iarina prayed, and hoped, and feared.

The roses had crawled a dark circle round the underside of the city, snaking grotesquely through the buried pipes and tunnels. They did not hesitate for the icy winter, spreading their knotted, thorny roots down into the brick and turf to take hold – and then, all of a sudden, it was time.

Iarina was lost.

These were streets with which she was familiar, streets she knew by their coarse individual feel on her feet. She could have charted her course home in her sleep. So why was she in unknown alleys, worn cobbles strange beneath her sole?

The mist closed in, bringing with it a flake or two of snow. The street was quiet.

So, so quiet.

So quiet that when Koschei stepped out of a narrow passageway just in front of her, Iarina couldn’t even scream for fear of disturbing the silence.

Koschei the Deathless looked like he had killed the Grim Reaper and climbed inside its skin. He made for a towering, skeletal figure in a smoky black shroud, and out of the peaked hood burst a pair of bright yellow predator's eyes. Iarina felt that hunting yellow, the colour of fear, as it wormed its way into her brain and down her spine.

So she turned and ran. Koschei reached for her, thin pale fingers stretching from the ragged arm of his cloak, but she slipped past his clammy grasp and ducked into another fog-swollen alley. Her feet pounded at the cobbles, Koschei’s hobbling step gaining pace rapidly from behind. Iarina flung herself round a corner onto a wider street, then back into another passageway, breath hissing through her teeth in short, panicked strokes. Fists balled, movement violent, adrenaline coursing. Legs like pistons – swinging round a drainpipe – throwing down a stack of empty crates – blood pumping like a drum through ears – harsh inhalations – clutched side – frantic searching gaze – painful exhalations – a cry –

“HELP!”

And as if to answer her call, there stood wonderful, strange, beautiful Ivan.

The Prince Tsarevitch was swaddled in rich fabrics, gold and red and woven like tapestries. His mouth was wrapped against the chill, but as Iarina stared at him in amazement and relief he pulled the scarf aside to reveal his warm, human eyes and confident smile. To his left stood a silvery, glittering unicorn, and to his right a coppery, glowing fox. Iarina recognised its tail as the one she'd seen some days prior slipping behind the trash in the alley. To think she’d been that close to safety, and had she followed her instincts then she would never have had to worry about Koschei at all. Ivan gestured in a kind of old-fashioned bow, and the animals inclined their heads towards her. It seemed as if he was about to speak, but then a dusty dry breeze wafted over Iarina from behind.

Koschei stood there, hunched, eyes glaring a blaze of red. Rage peeled off him like steam, his stance one of utter hatred. As Iarina stepped back towards Ivan, Koschei's glare flicked towards her for a second and darkened slightly before returning, brighter than before, to Ivan.

“Stop,” said Koschei in a mangled, unrecognizable voice, but Ivan waved his hand and the copper fox pounced to intercept. Iarina turned and ran, following Ivan and the unicorn down the barren street.

The gutters were littered with Koschei’s victims, skin shells that might have once been people. Iarina gagged as she fled, the sickly smell invading her nostrils and burning cold fire through her sinuses. Tendrils clasped the bodies, holding them close to the floor, pulling them into the drains. Ivan looked back, checking on her, then started at a roar and a flash of light behind them. Koschei burst through the edge of the mist in pursuit, the molten remains of the copper fox dripping from his clawed fists.

Ivan waved - the unicorn turned and struck, bearing Koschei back into the fog on its horn. Koschei grunted in pain, then vanished from sight. Ivan beckoned frantically, and Iarina followed his reassuring gestures, turning out into an open plaza. Suddenly she recognised this. They were back in the real world, in the city centre. Just up ahead, instantly recognisable, was St Petersburg’s famous Lion Bridge. Ivan’s eyes creased with hope, and the message was clear – over the bridge lay safety.

Either side of the great bridge archway waited stone carvings of those great alert cats, guarding the causeway stoically. Before the Prince and Iarina could reach the gate, however, there came another roar and flash of light as Koschei emerged from the mist behind them, bony hands soaked in both his own blood and the silver blood of the unicorn. Ivan stumbled onto the bridge, shook off one layer of the rich fabrics he wore, and draped it over a lion statue.

Ivan stroked the pelt, and the statue came alive, sheathed in gold. Iarina rushed onto the bridge, and the lion sprang at Koschei, just moments behind.

“No!” cried Koschei. “Stop! Stop!” But Iarina was already on the bridge, following her Prince, and Koschei struggled against the beast.

“Iarina Vasiliev!” Koschei pleaded. How did he know her name? “Don’t go with him. You are in terrible danger.”

“Yes, I am,” Iarina retorted angrily, stopping and turning. “From you.”

“From me?” Koschei asked. The lion roared, but Koschei hit it with a burst of purple light and it whimpered back a couple of steps, struck fatally. “I am not here to hurt you, Iarina.”

Iarina stared at him for a long moment. “But of course you are. You are Koschei the Deathless. Wife-Stealer. Girl-Hunter. You are a predator, a murderer, and worse. I can tell by your eyes. They are like an animal's.”

But Koschei's eyes no longer glowed yellow. Now they were soft and sad. He stroked the lion, shushing it as its semi-life melted away in his hands, and spoke.

“If I am like an animal, like a predator, then why am I not the one sending animals after you? The fox is a predator. The lion is a predator. And tell me, why do you think the unicorn has its horn? It is not to make it look pretty.” Although Iarina could not see Koschei's face, he looked expectant.

“It is for killing,” Koschei continued after a moment. He then reached up with both hands, still looking at Iarina, and slowly pulled the cloak back from his face. From under the hood there emerged a striking visage - hair as black as a raven's feather, lips red with her own crimson blood, and that same blood in tracks down cheeks as pale as the snow.

“You see,” said Raven, for it was she, “I am not Koschei.”

Iarina reeled. Who was this woman, this she-Koschei, this contradiction in terms?

“Do you know the story of Koschei the Deathless, Iarina?” the woman asked.

“ – of course,” Iarina said in a small voice.

“Then tell me how Ivan found Koschei in Marya Morevna's tower.”

Iarina stuttered, then began to recite: “There hung Koschei the Deathless, fettered by twelve chains. Koschei entreated Prince Ivan, saying – ”

“That’s it,” the woman said. “He appeared helpless, vulnerable... in short, exactly what a hero like Ivan wanted to see. Somebody to be saved.”

“What are you saying.”

“I'm saying, Iarina, that things are not always what they seem. So yes, I look scary, but...”

Her voice drifted as she looked up over the bridge. Iarina followed, and found Ivan, golden and handsome, standing on the other side.

The lamps lining the sides of the causeway glowed soft and somehow distant in the mist. Iarina's slight frame shivered in the middle of the bridge, over the icy water, trapped between Ivan and the woman Koschei. The strange woman was thin, sallow, unsettling; the colour of her irises twisted and shuddered like a jammed video cassette even though her gaze was calm and fixed. By contrast the Prince was warm, comforting, beckoning with his no doubt toned physique and deep blue eyes. Snowflakes drifted down, melting on Iarina and Raven's flushed faces.

“Why is he so perfect, Iarina?”

“Shut up.”

“The snow is sticking to him and staying there. He's empty and cold inside because he came from the ice and the snow.”

Iarina turned again, desperate. “Shut up!”

“And it hasn't talked once. I don't think it even understands the concept of language.”

“Stop talking! Koschei talked. He used his words to trick Prince Ivan into freeing him, because he was evil and dark and wicked, and so are you!”

Raven shifted. “Why did he appear? How did he appear? He’s a fairy tale, a story, nothing more!”

Shouting now, she gripped the plinths on either side of the bridge's entrance and leaned in. “You wanted a hero, a perfect saviour Prince, and down came the faeries or daemons or something from up in the dark stars or deep in the heart of Russia's collective imagination and made that, that thing there, and it wants you, it needs you, it lives and breathes you and as we speak it keeps eating and eating and it has to stop.”

Iarina was still watching the Prince, who shook his head and smiled, reaching slowly into his robes.

“And I can stop it,” Raven continued, “but you have to make the choice to reject it. You have to do this. You have to turn and walk away.”

“But,” said Iarina, on the verge of tears, “but...”

“But what?”

“But he brought me a rose.”

The Prince was holding it in his left hand, a gnarled beautiful thing, with the thorns and the petals and the scent, and somehow both he and it were utterly disgusting.

Raven's eyes were a deep purple, and Iarina felt a great sadness and love wash over her, and her tears welled up and split dark rivulets down her face.

“Oh, Iarina,” said Raven,

“...Roses only grow in the summer.”

“My father was terrible too.”

Iarina didn’t know how to respond to that.

“I can feel it in you,” Raven said. “I feel what you feel.”

“How?” Iarina asked, somewhat lamely.

“Magic,” Raven responded.

Iarina looked down at the pile of golden robes where the Prince had once stood. “The sun is up already.”

“Time passes quickly in strange places,” said Raven, wiping blood from her face, “and this is one of them.”

The Prince had looked on, motionless, as Raven twisted her hands and tore it into little chunks of writhing maggoty meat and roots full of rot. Now it lay in a hundred different places, a silent blast pattern, a thing departed. The fog, as if on cue, had eased and retreated into the distance.

“It made some sort of circle under the city,” Raven continued. “I think it was building something. Some lost broken magick or other.” She took hold of Iarina and turned her away, walking her back across the bridge. “Truth is, I don’t know what it wanted. Or if it’s dead. Or if death is a state that even means anything to it.”

They reached the broken lion, stepping off the bridge. “For all I know, it could have been an inanimate function just dipping into our universe. Like a gamma ray - infecting one cancer cell, something that spreads, making more, and so on.” Raven looked at Iarina. “But you’re safe now.”

“Are you a Baba Yaga?” Iarina said, after a moment.

Raven looked at her, then off into the distance, then down at her own hands.

“Maybe,” she said. “I’m not sure I’d know if I was.”

“What do I do now?”

“Go home, get some rest,” Raven said. There was a moment, and then the ghost of a kind smile crept onto her face. “Believe in stories.”

For an instant there was a pure white after-image, then a whining tone like a badly tuned radio, and Iarina was alone.

Epilogue

The roses wilted, one by one, stretching back from the woods to the farms to the streets. As they died, they let out little puffs of air, like sighs of relief.

The streets were empty but for a young woman running out towards the slums. Her head was purged of princes, as it had been of Kryptonian strongmen before. Instead it was full of someone else, someone tangible and present and – complicated, for once.

In fact, something that had been said about her father came back to her, and she began to wonder why she had cared for men at all.

One rose, with a Herculean effort, tore its roots free from the dying knotted network. It was an attempt to hold on to life that lasted for a few brief instants before the boot of a running girl came down, flattened it, and kept moving on into tomorrow.

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