#my history mentor pulls me out into the hall every once in a while and asks me how i'm doing | Explore Tumblr Posts and Blogs

ephemeralstark · 4 years

Text

An Intern’s Ordeal

Summary: Peter gets invited to the Annual Stark Charity Gala, only he thinks he's attending as an intern and panics because he doesn't even know how to make coffee so how can he manage an actual event. Throw in a stab wound, some fractured ribs, a healthy dose of self-deprecation and a case of mistaken identity, and Tony realises that Peter really doesn't understand how much he means to him.

Rated T | Irondad | Completed | 10k

AN: i hope you all enjoy, i’ll add the link to read on ao3 in a reblog if you guys prefer that!! tw for injuries and blood, stay safe my lovelies and the tag list is at the end!

“You know,” Peter commented idly as he set down the wrench Mr. Stark had handed him on the table, “when you said you wanted me to come over and help out in the workshop, this wasn't exactly what I thought you’d have planned.”

“No?” Mr. Stark wondered as he held out a hand for the weird caps Peter was still tightly gripping after being warned not to lose them, “what did you think we were going to do?”

“I don’t know, really,” Peter shrugged dismissively, “but I kinda thought it would be something to do with Spider-Man.”

“Spider-Man?” Mr. Stark spoke as though he had forgotten who Spider-Man was, as though he wasn't sitting in the same room as him, before cursing slightly under his breath and dropping one of the caps.

“Yeah, you know? The red and blue guy who swings over the city on webs that he made himself because he’s so totally cool and smart.”

“I know who Spider-Man is, kid,” Mr. Stark said rolling his eyes at Peter, “can you grab that wrench again? Then get down here, it’s your turn to do a bit of work.”

“Well, I’m just saying you sounded a bit confused,” Peter said as he jumped off his stool and crouched by the engine on the floor, the smell of motor oil and grease making his head spin a little, he blamed his enhanced sense of smell for that as he other man didn't seem to be affected by it.

“Not about Spider-Man,” Mr. Stark corrected him, before frowning and giving Peter a serious look, “Pete, do you think I only keep you around because of your abilities?”

“Uh,” Peter faltered, unable to find the words to explain how he did think that but not in a way that made Mr. Stark seem like a bad guy, just in a way that proved Peter wasn't any more special than the next intern who passed through the halls of Stark Industries.

A look of understanding seemed to cross Mr. Stark’s face and before Peter could even open his mouth he continued to speak, “hey, actually, how would you feel about coming to this charity Gala on Saturday?”

“Wh- wait, what?”

That… had been the last thing Peter expected Mr. Stark to say, why would he invite him to a Gala? Didn't he realise that Peter was probably the last person in the world who should be invited to a fancy event - in fact, he wasn't entirely sure he owned a suit, would that be an issue? Maybe he could borrow that one of Ben’s he wore to Homecoming.

“Charity Gala,” Mr. Stark repeated, “it's a big event with suits, ties, dresses, and champagne; lots and lots of champagne, not that you’re allowed to drink that, but as Stark Industries is the organiser of the even then I can make sure we have plenty of soda. So, what’s your favourite: Coke, Pepsi, Dr Pepper, Sprite, Fanta…”

“Uh, I don't- I don't know,” Peter stammered, “just whatever you want is fine with me.”

“Come on, Kiddo, I want to make this enjoyable for my favourite intern, so what’s your drink of choice?”

“Uh, Dr Pepper, maybe?” Peter said unsurely.

“You got it,” Mr. Stark said, “now come on, get your head in the game, we need to rebuild this engine.”

“Why are we doing this?” Peter wondered, still feeling slightly confused by the conversation that had just occurred, he felt like there was a deeper meaning to it.

“By the time I was your age, I’d lost count of the number of engines I’d rebuilt, this is a young genius’ rite of passage.”

I’m not a genius, Peter thought to himself but instead of voicing the thought aloud, he focused his attention on the task at hand. Or, he tried to, at least, the truth was that he was slightly caught up on Mr. Stark’s comment about wanting his favourite intern at the Charity Gala.

Was that his way of saying that he wasn't keeping Peter around because of his Spider-Man abilities, but rather because of his status as a Stark Industries intern? But that couldn't be right, Peter wasn't even a good intern - he usually just fiddled around in the workshop and tried to improve his Spider-Man equipment before attempting to eat Mr. Stark out of house and home. So, why wouldn't he take a better intern to the Gala? And what exactly would be expected of Peter on Saturday?

“Kid?” Mr. Stark poked Peter’s arm making him jump in shock and his head snapped to the side to see his mentor staring at him with a slightly concerned expression, “you good? You’re off in your own world tonight, I’m starting to get a little worried and you know me; I don’t like to be worried, I like to be blase in most situations.”

“I’m yeah, I’m good, don’t worry,” Peter lied, “I was just thinking about this US History project I’ve got to hand in soon.”

“History?” Mr. Stark muttered, screwing up his nose in disgust, “you go to a STEM school, right? Shouldn't they be focusing on the sciences more than history?”

“Well, you know how it is,” Peter muttered with a shrug, “those who are ignorant of history are doomed to repeat it, and I suppose they have to give us a rounded education.”

Mr. Stark cast him a dubious glance, “you sure that’s the saying, Bud?”

“Well, it’s close, I think,” Peter mumbled, “anyways, I like history, I don't think it’s something I’ll pursue as a career but the class is interesting enough.”

“A career?” Mr. Stark asked jerking back in shock, “in history?”

“Not for me,” Peter repeated, “I don’t know, I’ll probably go into research or scientific development or something, I haven't thought about it in too much detail, to be honest.”

“You haven't- Kid, what? You should absolutely be thinking about this,” Mr. Stark said, “I know I’ve mentioned this before but I do have some pull at MIT. In fact, I have some pull at almost every college out there, you name it and I could probably get you in. What can I say? People love me.”

“I just don't want to make a life-changing decision at fifteen,” Peter muttered, “I know I’m going to have to soon, but do you know how much people change and grow? I asked May and she said she’s nothing like the person she was as a teenager, so if that’s going to be the same for me, how do I know that I’ll choose the right career at this point in my life, I’d rather take the time and make that decision.”

“Alright,” Mr. Stark said, “as much as I’d love to put you through college and have you working full time at Stark Industries, I can understand why you feel that way and it’s quite a mature observation - even though I hate it.”

“You’d want me working here?” Peter asked with wide eyes.

“Of course, you’re my favourite intern after all,” Mr. Stark said with what Peter was sure was meant to be a teasing grin, but all he could think about was the swooping in his stomach as those words were repeated. ‘Favorite intern’ was that Mr. Stark’s way of saying he was going to have to act like an intern at the Charity Gala?

He instantly began to feel nauseous, Mr. Stark was dropping hints about the intern thing which meant that he was absolutely expecting Peter to be on the ball at the Gala and he was only used to messing around in the lab. In fact, Peter was fairly sure that he’d never done anything intern-like; Mr. Stark had once asked Peter to turn on the coffee machine and Peter had merely shrugged, shoved a handful of sour patch kids in his mouth, and admitted that he had no idea how to make coffee.

So really, Peter had never done an intern’s job, he was going into this completely blind.

“Peter?” Mr. Stark prompted, “are you alright? Was that too much?”

“I’m fine,” Peter said quickly, as he lurched to his feet, “I just really gotta go and… work on that project.”

Peter stumbled over the toolbox on the floor, a testament to his distraction as his Spidey-Sense would have usually warned him of such obstructions, and grabbed his backpack off the ground.

“Peter, wait-”

But Peter didn't wait, or even hang around outside the door to the workshop to listen to the end of Mr. Stark’s sentence, he ran. Like a coward, his mind supplied.

He wasn't a coward, he was just… scared that Mr. Stark was going to expect more of him than he was able to give, he didn't know how to be an intern, so really, was it any surprise that no one at school believed him? Ned probably would have eventually lost his trust in Peter after a while if it wasn't for the discovery that he was Spider-Man.

Peter made his way upwards to the roof, instead of towards the main exit, slipping his web-shooters on over his wrists in preparation to swing home.

“Peter, Boss has requested that I ask you to stay, at least for ten minutes,” F.R.I.D.A.Y. said, which of course shouldn't have been a surprise considering she was everywhere in the building - except the bathrooms.

“I can’t,” Peter said, guilt gnawing at his stomach as he spoke, “tell him that I’m sorry for rushing out, and it wasn't anything he said-” that was a lie but Mr. Stark didn't need to feel guilty about expecting Peter to do his job “-and maybe just say I’ll see him on Saturday, although if wants to he could text me the details?”

“I’ll pass that along,” F.R.I.D.A.Y. said gently, or as gently as a robotic voice could sound, “take care Peter, don't forget your mask and swing safely.”

“Thanks, F.R.I.,” he mumbled as the doors to the roof slid open and Peter breathed in the cool NYC evening air.

Taking note of her advice, he pulled his Spider-Man mask out of his backpack and pulled it over his head, he didn't bother changing fully into his suit, he was only going home - he had no plans to stop and fight any crimes.

“Good evening, Peter, I heard from F.R.I.D.A.Y. that you were distressed, how are you now?” Karen greeted him instantly.

“Of course you did,” Peter muttered, “I’m fine, don't worry, but can I ask you something?”

“You just did, but of course I am your A.I. system therefore you can ask me as many questions as you’d like,” Karen told him.

“Alright,” Peter mumbled, rolling his eyes behind the mask as he wondered whether she had been programmed to respond with that whenever he asked if he could ask a question, “uh, so theoretically if I asked you some questions would you have to tell Mr. Stark what I asked you?”

“No, he only has override codes in case of an emergency, but I was designed to be yours alone and that must come with some degree of trust.”

“Right,” Peter said, trying to process her words as he launched himself off the side of Stark Tower and felt the cold wind make his clothes flap in the breeze, his stomach swooped with the familiar, intoxicating fear of falling and he felt himself immediately perk up with the adrenaline rush.

He waited until he could make out the shocked expressions of the people on the street before he shot a web, feeling the familiar tug on his arms as his fall was broken and he swung in an upwards arc - it felt like he was on a rollercoaster and he couldn't deny that he loved every moment of it.

He had almost lost himself in the comforting thwips of web-slinging and the soothing breeze when Karen spoke up once more and reminded him of his concerns.

“Did you want to ask me anything else?” she prompted.

“Uh, yeah,” Peter mumbled, “what would an intern typically wear to a Stark Industries Charity Gala?”

“Mr. Stark doesn't typically take interns to his Galas,” Karen informed him, “however, I know that you’re asking this because you were invited this Saturday, therefore why don't you just wear formal attire.”

“How did you know that?” Peter asked in a moment of paranoia.

“I am connected to Tony Stark’s personal server which is the same server as F.R.I.D.A.Y. and she has the finalised guest list for the Gala which includes your name.”

“Is there anything else there about me?” Peter wondered, “besides my name, that is?”

“Unlimited access.”

“Unlimited because I’m an intern, right?” Peter asked, “I have to be able to do what Mr. Stark needs during the Gala?”

“I don't follow your line of questioning,” Karen said.

“Yeah, no,” Peter mumbled, “I didn't really follow that either. How about this: what does an intern typically do?”

“I need more context,” Karen said, “the job role of an intern depends on who they intern for.”

“Alright, what does an S.I. intern do?” Peter corrected.

“In which department?”

“Mr. Stark’s personal intern, what would be expected of that person?”

“The only person to ever fill that role is yourself, therefore I’m afraid that’s only a question you can answer as it was never an official post therefore I can’t source any information from a job application.”

“So,” Peter said slowly as he swung, “you’re telling me that only I know the answer to the thing I don't know?”

“Exactly.”

“Great,” Peter mumbled, shaking his head to himself.

So basically he was the only person who had ever interned for Mr. Stark, which made sense, after all, Mr. Stark had always had Miss. Potts with him, she had been his assistant before she had taken over everything, therefore why would he need interns? If anything, Miss. Potts was probably the one who had interns, so what if Peter asked her?

No.

That wouldn't work, she and him hadn't seen each other a ton and if he went up to her and started asking weird questions she would either assume that he was looking for money or she’d grow suspicious and tell Mr. Stark about him questioning her.

So, he was essentially lost. There didn't seem to be any clear answer about how to be a good intern for Mr. Stark or what would be expected of him on Saturday. To be fair he should have expected this to be harder than expected, his mentor wasn't one to play by the rules and why should this situation be any different?

“Are you alright?” Karen asked, “you’re acting strange tonight, your behaviour is sparking concern.”

“I’m fine,” Peter lied, “just worried about this project thing I have to prepare for school next week.”

“You know, I am connected to a great deal of information, if you need help with a project, you can always ask me,” Karen reminded him.

“Yeah, K, I know,” Peter murmured, “I just need to think, alright? I’m fine, I just need some time to myself.”

“Noted.”

And with that, she fell silent, finally, and Peter was left to his thoughts and worries. Which he had absolutely planned to do, except a piercing scream breaking through the night distracted him from himself.

“No, no, please, my husband’s medication is in that bag!” A woman shouted, sounding panicked, “please, no, he has seizures and if you take his meds he will be in danger and my money is in there too, I can’t buy more pills.”

Peter immediately changed his trajectory, so much for not getting involved in anything, I probably should have put the whole Spidey-Suit on, he thought to himself as his hearing honed in on the desperate sobs coming from an alleyway.

The scene that met Peter in the alleyway made his blood boil and he felt himself gritting his teeth without meaning to; a lady who looked to be in her late seventies was clutching at her handbag as though her life depended on it, although judging by what Peter had previously heard, her husband’s did. The thief was tugging sharply and slashing the air between them with a sharp blade, he didn't seem to be trying to stab her, but he wasn't exactly being careful.

“Hey!” Peter shouted, successfully distracting the thief who seemed to jump out of his skin and let go of the lady’s handbag on impulse.

“Spidey?” the man asked, looking over Peter’s clothes with a confused frown which reminded Peter that he was wearing an incredibly dorky science T-Shirt with an amazing science pun on it, he would probably have to bin the shirt now, or at the very least retire it for a year or so.

“Stealing a lady’s handbag?” Peter asked, not needing to put much effort into proving that he was disappointed in the guy, “really man? That’s low, especially when she’s told you her husband’s very important medications are in there.”

“No one asked you, beat it!”

“I can’t do that,” Peter said, “I’m going to have to insist that you walk away, maybe if you go in the opposite direction I won’t knock you out and call the police.”

Alright, so maybe that was a lie and Peter was planning to web the guy up and call the cops no matter what he decided.

“Oh, fuck off,” the man muttered.

“Hey!” Peter shouted, “language!”

“Who the fuck do you think you are?” the thief snapped, forgetting about the lady and her handbag in order to focus his attention on Peter.

He made a quick hand motion to the lady to run, and thankfully she didn't need to be told twice as she instantly broke into a hasty trot away, her heels clicking on the concrete but the thief didn't seem to care, his attention was solely on Peter and the blade in his hands was no longer being held loosely, now it was poised to attack.

“Woah, dude!” Peter muttered, holding his hands up as he backed off a few steps, “I take it back, you can use whatever language you want.”

“Why couldn't you just keep swinging?” the man asked as he took a couple of calculated steps forward, “I had this all under control, why the fuck did you think it was a good idea to get involved?”

“You were stealing that lady’s handbag,” Peter said, “and her husband’s medication, there’s nothing about that situation that is controlled.”

“It was for me, alright?” the man screamed.

Uh oh, Peter thought, from experience he had realised that when people were overly emotional, they became unpredictable. This man was armed and seemed desperate.

That was something that Peter occasionally struggled with; he was out almost every night as Spider-Man and often he stopped people who weren't truly bad but they were just in a difficult situation. Did that make him a bad person? Some of those ‘criminals’ were potentially only trying to scrounge money to feed their families.

He couldn't think like that though because if he started excusing some people’s bad actions and condemning others’, where did he draw the line? Spider-Man was the person who looked out for the little guy, he stopped crime, he didn't take statements and decide who was guilty or whose actions were justified. If someone did something wrong then he would stop them and that was that.

“Look, I get you think you have your reasons for this, but it's wrong,” Peter said, “why don't you put the knife away, and maybe we can sort this out without anyone getting hurt?”

“You-” the man broke off, seemingly too angry to form a coherent sentence, instead he lunged forward, knife in hand.

Peter hadn't been expecting that reaction, he had hoped the man would have been willing to compromise. In a desperate attempt to avoid being impaled on the guy’s blade, Peter forced himself through the air and he hit the ground with a thud, feeling as though something in the side of his chest had cracked.

“Ouch,” Peter muttered, trying to ignore the whine he could hear in his own voice, he was meant to be the tough hero who fended for those who couldn't fend for themselves, “hey, man, that was seriously not cool.”

“Shut the fuck up!”

The man lunged at him again, still holding the knife, and Peter skittered backward like a crab until his back came up against a hard, metal surface: oh, the dumpster. He desperately needed to get back up on his feet, he was at a serious disadvantage.

His Spidey-Sense thrummed in alarm and he whirled around just in time to see the moonlight glint off the blade that was flying towards his face - this guy was aiming to kill! In a last-minute, desperate attempt, he pushed himself downwards so that the guy stabbed into the dumpster instead of Peter’s face, the blade cutting through the metal as though it were butter.

“Dude, what the hell?” Peter gasped out from his place, flat on his back on the damp alleyway ground.

“Stop moving,” the man grunted as he swung again.

“What?” Peter asked, “no!”

Why would he do the one thing that would mean certain death? Sure, he put on a spandex suit on a nightly basis and swung around the city at dizzying heights, but he didn't have a death wish. Besides, his suit had a certain degree of shock absorption ability, and it was cut-proof, which didn't always prevent Peter from getting hurt, but it definitely took away the brunt of his injuries.

Except he wasn't wearing his suit currently…

He was very much just Peter Parker in a mask, although he did have his web-shooters. His web-shooters! Just as the guy lifted the blade, with two hands, looking as though he was ready to perform a sacrifice, Peter shot a web upwards and pulled himself out from certain death.

As he flew upwards he felt the man strike one last time, and in his desperation, he succeeded. Pain radiated through Peter as the blade embedded in his thigh and was dragged downwards as Peter’s body moved up.

“Ah!” Peter called out in agony, the man below in the alley laughed in victory.

“Got the little bastard!” The man cheered as he started to run.

Peter wanted to chase after him, web him up and make sure that he would never hurt another person ever, but he was smart enough to know that with the current state of his leg, he wasn't going to be chasing anyone.

“Karen? You there?” Peter asked, despite knowing that she never went anywhere.

“I’m here,” she confirmed, “I know you needed time to think, but I would seriously recommend seeking medical attention, you have a large laceration down your right thigh.”

“I’m aware,” Peter said dryly, or tried to, his humour was shadowed by the pain that was coursing through him.

“I can contact Mr. Stark if you would like?” she offered, and normally Peter would have said yes, he would have felt relief at the thought of his mentor coming to pick him up from the cold rooftop and taking him back to the tower where he would receive decent pain relief and have his wound cared for immediately.

But, he couldn't say yes, because he had run out in such a strange way that the next time he saw Mr. Stark the man would undoubtedly have more questions than Peter was ready to answer.

“No,” he said slowly, “but thanks, Karen, actually though… could you just alert the police to that guy, I don't care what you tell them, just make sure he can't hurt anyone else, please?”

“Consider it done,” she said.

Peter let out a breath of relief that he hadn't even realised he’d been holding. It was going to be alright, the cops would pick up the guy before he hurt anyone else, that lady would probably be at home with her husband by now and he could go home and patch himself up before he started to research further into interning at a fancy Gala.

Or, that had been the plan.

By the time he made it home, the sun was beginning to reappear in the sky and he could hear the sounds of the city waking up for another day.

It's a good thing May was on the nightshift, Peter thought to himself as his apartment block finally came into view.

His jeans were no longer blue, but rather a strange brownish red with the effect of a mixture of dried and still flowing blood. His blood. It wasn't often he ended up covered in his own blood, but these things happened he supposed.

Taking advantage of the last hour or so of dim light, he carefully crawled up the side of the building, doing his best to make sure there wasn't a blood trail leading up to his window - he wouldn't be able to explain that one away easily.

“You have a text from Mr. Stark,” Karen informed him.

“Oh…” Peter mumbled and he painfully crawled through his bedroom window and let his body fall to the carpet with a thump, “what does it say?”

“One message from Tony Stark, sent two minutes ago: hey Kiddo! I’m not really sure what happened back there, maybe I overstepped by bringing up colleges and working with me, or maybe you’re more interested in Oscorp - although I don't know why didn't you hear about their animal experimentation scandal? Probably not a good time for jokes, but let me know you’re alright, ok? I saw that Karen has been active all night, so try and get some sleep and just know that I’m not mad at all… I’m just a little confused, but there's no pressure here for you to explain what was up. “

“Do you think I upset him?” Peter asked his A.I. carefully as he lay on his bedroom floor, probably creating a mess of blood that he would be forced to scrub at later.

“I like to think he was honest in the message, I believe he is just confused.”

“It’s stupid,” Peter mumbled, “like, I shouldn't have freaked out, it was so dumb of me.”

“Would you like to talk about it?” Karen offered.

“Uh, maybe?” Peter said, “I could keep the mask on while I clean this leg up.”

“Sounds good,” and if Peter wasn't mistaken, her voice sounded gentle and reassuring, he was lucky that she was a computer program and didn't tire of him, or need to sleep.

So, Peter carefully pulled himself back to his feet, crying out in agony as soon as he put weight on his bad leg. If the thought of trying to stand once more didn't fill him with dread, he would have crumbled instantly.

“Shit,” he muttered, he wasn't one for regularly cursing but all things considered he felt the situation called for it, and there was no one around to hear, except Karen.

He made his way slowly to the bathroom, dragging his leg rather than stepping to try and reduce the amount of muscle movement, not that it mattered, the blood still oozed out and the tearing sensation still made him feel nauseated.

“I’m going to have so much blood to clean up before May comes home,” Peter whined to Karen as he pushed open the bathroom door, leaving a red smear behind.

“Would you like me to contact Mr. Stark for you? He can hire a cleaning company,” Karen offered.

“A… cleaning company?” Peter asked, feeling ill at the thought, and not just from the pain he was in, “no, no that’s fine, thanks though.”

He and May weren't poor per se, but they didn't often have an abundance of money to spare, and the thought of paying someone to come and clean their little apartment, when that money could have been used for gas or food, made Peter feel ill. He already caused their food bill to skyrocket thanks to his enhanced metabolism.

Peter sat down heavily on the side of the bathtub, letting the bright lights hurt his eyes momentarily.

“Karen?”

“Yes, Peter?”

“I didn't run out on Mr. Stark because I was upset that he had brought up college or offered me a position at Stark Industries,” Peter admitted, “I mean, it was a bit of a shock, and I know I’m going to have to decide what I want to do with my life soon enough because I can’t live in limbo until I know for sure, but yeah, working with Mr. Stark is the dream.”

“So why did you leave?” Karen asked.

“He asked me to go to the Charity Gala,” Peter said.

“That’s a bad thing?”

“No, no, no, not for a normal intern,” Peter admitted, “but for me, yeah, I’ve never actually done anything intern-y in my life, I don't even know how to make coffee because I don't drink it and that one time I tried to make it for May she made me promise to never put her through that again.”

“So?”

“So interns get coffee,” Peter said as he inched out of his jeans, the dried blood creating a kind of glue between the fabric and his skin.

“You have never gotten coffee,” Karen informed him as though that wasn't partially what he was freaking out about.

“Exactly,” Peter muttered, gently easing his clothing off was causing him too much pain, so he tore the jeans away from the wound in a sharp motion that made stars blink in and out of existence in his line of vision as darkness threatened at the edges.

He didn't remember slipping off the side of the tub, but just as he thought he was going to lose the fight to stay awake, the fuzziness disappeared from his vision and he was blinking tiredly on the bathroom floor with his leg oozing fresh blood.

“Peter? Peter!”

“Ugh,” he groaned, “s’ok, ‘m fine.”

“I really think it’s about time we sought more professional help,” Karen suggested.

“No, no, it’s all good,” Peter said as he started to feel less dizzy from the agony, “besides, I was telling you stuff, remember?”

“Indeed, would you like to continue?”

“Yeah, uh, so, the coffee thing,” Peter mumbled as he gently nudged his jeans off properly, trying to avoid looking too closely at the blood on his leg as he did so, “well, it’s just that I’ve never done one of the most simple things an intern does, and Mr. Stark was dropping hints about me being an intern, so obviously I need to fill that role at the Charity Gala, but how can I when I don't know what’s expected of me?”

“Maybe you’re meant to just go and have a good time?” Karen suggested.

“No, no it’s not that,” Peter was sure, “he mentioned interning a few times, it was very clear that he’s wanting me to step up and actually fill that role.”

“Why don't you ask him?”

“What? No way!” Peter said quickly, “I absolutely can't do that.”

“Why not?”

“You wouldn't get it,” Peter muttered and ripped the mask off in one smooth action, feeling slightly guilty about cutting off his closest confidant so ruthlessly.

He tried to ignore the turmoil in his mind and instead focused his attention on the gash on his leg. He carefully pulled himself back up onto the side of the tub and swung around so that he could clean the wound off in the bath. He used the showerhead and rinsed it on the gentlest pressure setting, rubbing at the skin around the laceration to clear it of the dried and congealing blood.

“What the-”

For some reason he had expected a long swipe, maybe from upper thigh to his knee, he had not expected the sight he was met with. The wound was the length of his pointer finger, and it was wide. It was almost like someone had cut an oval into his flesh rather than swiping him with a knife.

It needed stitches.

It probably needed a professional, but Peter was an amateur with a complex against disturbing others and a strong need to avoid Mr. Stark until the Gala, so he was going to have to deal with it himself. How much blood had he lost? How long did he have until this wound became life-threatening? He needed to get his shit together and sort it out.

Once he had finished rinsing the laceration, he wrapped one of May’s nice yellow towels around it tightly, to try and stem the flow of the blood - a large part of him felt guilty, he was going to have to throw it away and listen to her confused rambles as she wondered what had happened to it.

“Come on, Peter,” he muttered to himself, “you can do this.”

He forced himself to stand, ignoring how that simple, painful movement made a sudden red appear on the otherwise pristine towel.

“Gotta close it up,” he muttered as he opened the mirrored cabinet and began to rake through for the first aid kit he knew was hidden in there, various things fell as he searched and clattered into the sink making him glad that he was home alone.

When he opened the first aid kit, he rummaged until he found the thing he had been looking for; a pack of Steri-Strips. He opened them and read through the information leaflet.

Only use on shallow, clean, uninfected wounds. Do not use where bleeding is unmanageable or significant. Do not use on hairy, oily areas, joints, the face. Seek medical attention if the wound was a human or animal bite.

Well, that was a lot of situations in which they were unsuitable and Peter was fairly sure his wound wasn't shallow and he would have said the bleeding was erring on the unmanageable side, but what else could he do? He didn't have any other option, he would have to try.

So he did, he carefully unwound the towel and looked at the nauseating wound on his thigh. He needed to align the edges and hold them in place with the Steri-Strips. It sounded simple… but it was going to hurt. Gritting his teeth, he started to get to work. Small whimpers and whines of pain would escape every now and then as he struggled not to lose himself to the lightheaded feeling that kept coming with the pain.

The Steri-Strips didn't work as well as Peter had hoped, the edges of the wound weren't exactly lining up and there were parts of the sticky side that were attached to the open part of the wound, which he was sure wasn't meant to happen. But, it was an improvement, and that was all he could ask for.

He stuck one of the sterile dressings over the top and used the first aid scissors to cut a strip off the towel - he was going to bin it anyways - which he then tied tightly around the affected area to create enough pressure to stop the bleeding.

“Now to clean up,” he muttered with a slightly delirious laugh that he was putting down to the blood loss.

Sitting there, with his leg wound cared for - to his best ability - and his throbbing ribs, Peter realised just how tired he was. He still needed to clean up the mess he’d created and research what Mr. Stark would be expecting of him at the Gala.

He pulled on his mask tiredly, “Karen?”

“Yes, Peter?”

“I’m sorry.”

“I forgive you, what can I do for you?”

“Can you text Mr. Stark for me and say: sorry for running off like that, don't worry I’ll be at the Gala tomorrow, and I’ll be fully prepared.”

“Message sent.”

“Thanks, Karen,” Peter said and laid his head back, fighting the urge to fall into a deep, comforting sleep. He still had so much to do…

----

By the time Saturday evening arrived, Peter was so nervous he was almost crawling about on the ceiling.

“Oh, Honey, relax would you,” May said with a fond eye roll as she rewatched the tie tutorial that she’d saved after they’d both been mystified by the snakelike fabric on the night of Homecoming.

“Relax?” Peter asked, his voice a few octaves too high, “May, I can’t just relax, this is the Stark Charity Gala and I am a Stark Intern.”

“So?” May asked, motioning for him to come closer so she could do up the tie after her third run through of the video.

“So, I need to be the best intern that has ever been to one of these things, if it gets out that I’m Mr. Stark’s personal intern and I don’t do a good enough job, then my actions will impact negatively on Mr. Stark and I can’t have that!”

“You need to calm down, Pete,” May said with a laugh, “you’re getting too in your head about this, why don't you just try to have a good time? And maybe go fix your hair.”

“Yeah,” Peter mumbled running a hand through his curls, “hair. I can do that.”

“Just don't use as much gel as you did last time, alright?” May said, “the curls suit you, the greasy look does not.”

“Oh ha ha,” Peter mumbled as he made his way out of the living room, pain echoing in every step, but May couldn't know.

She couldn't know about the thirty dressings he had gone through in the last two days as his leg refused to heal properly, despite his normally impressive healing abilities. She couldn't know about the weird yellowish-green discharge that was escaping constantly or the strange smell he had begun to notice. She couldn't even know about the smattering of dark bruises that spanned across half his ribs and made breathing difficult.

“Don’t take too long, Peter,” May called after him, “Happy will be here soon and I want to take some pictures of you before you leave.”

Peter looked at himself in the mirror, taking in his ghostly pallor and the bags beneath his eyes, how had he avoided causing May suspicion? He looked terrible, or maybe that was his enhanced sight picking up on things normal people couldn't see.

He coated his fingers in a light amount of gel and ran them through his hair, enough to style it but not so much that it looked greasy, as May would say.

“Alright, I’m ready!” Peter declared, walking back into the room to be met with the flash of a camera, “woah! May!”

“You look so cute!” she said in response.

“I am not cute!” Peter insisted, “I- I’m- I am the most-”

“Face it, you’re the cutest,” May said pinching his cheeks gently, before pulling him into a hug that squeezed his ribs painfully, “alright, now, have a good night, alright?”

“You sure you don't want to come?” Peter asked.

“Oh no,” May said with a laugh, “I have a bottle of red and a handful of romcoms with my name on them.”

“Alright,” Peter said, “have a good night.”

“You too, and if you’re staying at the tower, send me a text, ok?” May asked, “I don't want to spend the night worrying about where you are.”

“You got it!” Peter said with false cheer, he doubted that Mr. Stark would want him to stay over, especially as he hadn't replied to the man since that message while he’d been cleaning his wound up.

Peter made his way downstairs to see the familiar sleek black car parked by the curb, without hesitating he wandered over to the back door and slipped inside.

“Hey, Happy!”

Happy grunted in greeting and fixed Peter with a piercing stare through the rearview mirror.

“Is uh, is everything ok?” Peter wondered nervously.

“I could ask you the same thing,” Happy said, “Tony says you’ve been avoiding his messages.”

“My phone died,” Peter lied.

“You couldn't charge it?”

“My charger is broken.”

“You couldn't get a new one?”

“We’re not all billionaires,” Peter mumbled.

“You could have asked Tony, he would have replaced it in a heartbeat.”

“How?” Peter asked, “my phone was dead.”

“Alright, fine, keep your secrets,” Happy grumbled, “just… be careful alright, Kid? Tony is really worried about you and I thought he was maybe overreacting because I know how he can be sometimes, but now I’m beginning to think something might be wrong.”

“There’s nothing wrong.”

“Is there anything I can do?” Happy asked, ignoring Peter’s lie.

“Uh actually, can we go to a Drive-Thru Starbucks on the way?”

“You… want coffee?”

“Uh, yeah,” Peter mumbled.

“Alright, sure,” Happy said, “the first time you’ve actually asked for something so I’m not going to say no.”

Was it really?

The server manning the Drive-Thru window looked very confused when Happy pulled up and requested an Americano and a Hot Chocolate, Peter could see her glancing between the two of them, obviously wondering who Peter was and why he was being chauffeured around.

Maybe she would make up a story for her friends to laugh about, or maybe she was tired and nearing the end of her shift and didn't really care. Either way, Peter slunk back into the seat and looked the other way until Happy handed him the two drinks he had requested.

“So, what’s with the drinks Kid?” Happy asked.

“I don't know how to make coffee,” Peter admitted as though that was an appropriate answer.

“Alright,” Happy said and he sighed deeply, “do you… do you normally drink coffee?”

“What? No, this stuff could kill me,” Peter said, “ever since becoming Spider-Man, I have bad reactions to caffeine.”

“Bad reactions?” Happy asked, his eyes narrowing at Peter through the mirror.

“Oh yeah, you know; palpitations, heart arrhythmias, rashes, jitters, headaches, projectile vomiting, occasional hallucinations, collapsing episodes, cra-”

“So it’s bad?” Happy interrupted.

“Yeah, it’s pretty bad,” Peter agreed.

“So…” Happy trailed off, looking seconds away from pulling over so that he could tear the coffee from Peter’s hands and throw it, “why exactly did we get you a coffee?”

“Oh, this isn't for me.”

“Peter, Kid, come on, you’ve got to give a little here,” Happy muttered, “why did we get a coffee if it’s not for you and you can't even drink the damn stuff?”

“It’s for Mr. Stark,” Peter said as though that should have been the most obvious thing in the world.

“And pray tell, why are you getting a coffee for Mr. Stark before the Charity Gala?”

“Because I’m an intern.”

“Of course,” Happy muttered, looking about ready to drive them off the bridge they were currently crossing, “why did I even need to ask?”

The divider slowly raised between them as Happy muttered his statements of disbelief under his breath.

-----

“There he is!” Mr. Stark said cheerfully as Peter walked into the room, Americano in hand, “I was starting to worry you wouldn't show up.”

“I promised I would,” Peter said, despite Mr. Stark’s words he could see the worry in the older man’s eyes, “oh uh, here, I brought you coffee.”

“Coffee?” Mr. Stark asked, taking the drink from Peter and looking at it in confusion, “you brought me a coffee?”

“Yeah,” Peter said, “I hope it’s alright.”

The worry only seemed to intensify rather than lessening, was Mr. Stark that concerned about Peter messing up in public? If so, why should he invite him?

“Thanks, Kiddo,” Mr. Stark said, taking a polite sip from the cup, “anyway, why don't I introduce you to some people.”

“Sounds good, but maybe I could go to the toilet first?” Peter asked, “it was a long drive and I may have had a hot chocolate.”

“Great, a sugar hyped kid,” Mr. Stark joked, “go on then, scram, you don't need my permission.”

Things seemed to be going smoothly enough until Peter walked out of the bathroom to find his Spidey-Sense thrumming away with a sense of urgency. Just as he started to look for the source of danger, a hand fisted into the fabric at the back of his neck and he was tugged to the side harshly.

“Where have you been?” a man asked angrily, “and what are you doing out here without even a tray of drinks?”

“I uh-”

“Shut up!” the man snapped, “I don't know who your daddy is or whose ass he had to kiss to get you this job but if you’re going to work tonight I need professionalism.”

“I’m not-”

“I said ‘shut up’!” the man shouted once more, giving Peter a little shake to further drive his demand home. Peter was surprised to find himself slightly afraid, and the shake had hurt his ribs and pushed a little too much pressure down his sore leg.

“Please, Sir,” Peter begged, “I’m not working.”

“Oh you absolutely are,” the man snapped, “you think you can sneak through here and meet Iron Man?”

“I didn't-”

“I have half a mind to kick you out into the gutter,” the man continued, “you are a disappointment to all of us in the service industry, you are meant to remain professional at all times, which doesn't mean fishing around for secrets and autographs.”

“I wasn't!”

“Liar!”

The man tightened his grip and started marching Peter forward as though he was a disobedient child.

“Sir, listen, please,” Peter pleaded, “Mr. Stark is waiting for me.”

The man froze, his grip tightening momentarily, and Peter’s Spidey-Sense blared louder.

“You disturbed Tony Stark?”

“No! No, no, no!” Peter insisted, “I came here with him, I’m his intern.”

“That’s a lie,” the man said, “Stark Industries never brings interns to these events, now come with me or I’m going to end up kicking you out on your ass and blacklisting you from ever working an event in New York ever again.”

“You can’t make me do anything,” Peter grumbled, trying to twist out of the man’s hold but being restricted by the pain in his leg and side, he wasn't going to be able to free himself, “you have to let me go?”

“Or what?” the man asked with a sneer in his voice, “what are you going to do about it?”

“Him? Probably nothing, he’s far too polite for his own good, but me? That’s another story entirely,” Peter felt the grip loosen in a second and he almost crashed to the floor from the relief of it, only for Happy to grab his elbow and stabilise him.

“Thanks, Happy,” Peter whispered, knowing the man would hear him.

“You’re Tony Stark’s security,” the man who had grabbed Peter stated with a dumb expression on his face.

“Yes, and you were manhandling one of the people I am here to protect,” Happy said seriously, Peter had often wondered how Happy - with his tendency to get overstressed and his annoyance at most living things - had become the Head of Security at Stark Industries, but now, looking at him confronting the man, he had no doubts that Happy deserved that title.

“I wasn't- manhandling?” the guy asked, “that’s a bit… harsh, wouldn't you say?”

“I call it as it is,” Happy said, “care to explain?”

“I thought the kid was one of my waiters.”

“Did you recognise him?” Happy asked.

“Well, no, but there are a lot of them, it’s difficult to know them all,” the man said.

“That’s dangerous,” Happy said, “it’s fortunate for you that I personally run background checks on everyone working this function, but if you’re not even able to recognise a stranger among your employees then I feel like you won’t have a future organising events for Stark Industries.”

“Wait, no, you can't do that!” the man insisted, “this is my biggest job of the year.”

“It’s a shame you care so little about it then, imagine not caring enough to learn your employees’ names?”

“It was a misunderstanding!”

“Peter, did you try to tell this man you weren't a waiter”? Happy asked patiently.

“I uh said that I’m an intern and that Mr. Stark was waiting for me,” Peter admitted, feeling a little guilty for the ashen look that came over the man’s face when he realised that Peter had been telling the truth, after all, how else would the head of security know Peter’s name?

“Mr. Stark is in fact waiting for you,” a familiar voice broke in, “and he’s not a patient man, what is going on here?”

The man now looked positively grey as he tried to look anywhere but at the confused and impatient billionaire before him, Peter however noticed the way Mr. Stark’s eyes narrowed in on the crumpled fabric by Peter’s neck and the sheen of panicked sweat on his forehead.

His mentor looked questioningly at Happy, “well?”

“This is Bernard Kyting,” Happy said, and Peter was sure in that moment that Happy knew absolutely everyone in the room’s name and face, “he is the owner of the company that organised this Gala, he is also the man that just manhandled Peter and attempted to kidnap him.”

“Kidnapping? What no!”

“Uh, Happy, he wasn't going to kidnap me,” Peter said hesitantly.

“Are you sure?” Happy asked seriously, “because we should operate on the worst-case scenario and him trying to force you to go somewhere against your will without listening to you say you’re an intern and that Tony was waiting for you sounds bad to me.”

“It would probably sound bad to the police too,” Mr. Stark agreed thoughtfully.

“You’re not serious!” Bernard gasped.

“I’m deadly serious when it comes to Peter’s safety,” Mr. Stark said.

“Mr. Stark, I really don't think-”

“Hush Peter, we’re handling this,” Mr. Stark said, “actually, don’t hush, Happy will handle this and I am going to show you off to all the stuffy businessmen here, let’s make them all insecure as a twelve-year-old shows them up.”

“Mr. Stark, I’m fifteen,” Peter said, rolling his eyes.

“Exactly, now come on.”

Maybe it was the anxiety that had been festering in his stomach since he’d been invited to the Gala, or maybe it was the stress of almost being roped into working as a waiter for a high-end Gala, or maybe it was even the blood loss he’d recently suffered… maybe the reason didn't matter, because it was kind of irrelevant.

The important thing was that Peter suddenly found himself falling forward.

He felt hands grab at him to try and stop him from crashing against the ground, but they caught him exactly where his ribs were sore and Peter screamed and everything flashed a brilliant, agonising white before the darkness suddenly crept in.

------

When Peter woke up he was partially surprised that he had actually passed out and partially relieved that he had passed out. He had managed to completely avoid the stress of pretending to know how to act as an intern.

He tried to sit up, only to gasp and fall back against the pillows as his ribs announced their displeasure at the sudden movement, “oh,” he murmured under his breath as he tried to catch what little of it was left thanks to the pain.

“I wouldn't recommend that,” a smooth voice said from beside him, Peter turned his head to see Mr. Stark sitting there, looking over his tablet at him.

“Hey,” Peter mumbled, trying to avoid eye contact.

“You have three fractured ribs,” Mr. Stark informed him casually, “which wouldn't normally concern me too much because I get it, it kinda comes with the job, no matter how good you are, you usually end up a little banged up.”

Peter nodded solemnly, not wanting to speak up because he got the impression that Mr. Stark was nowhere near finished.

“However, imagine my surprise when I lift your unconscious body up off the floor and find myself with a patch of blood on my new grey suit,” Peter winced, yeah, there it was, “so of course, there’s complete pandemonium, we think there’s an assassin in the Gala, we lock the place down and organise S.H.I.E.L.D.’s medics to attend. The highest of all security is on alert and preparing to raid the building, only for us to find that you have a stab wound, that looks to be a few days old on your leg.”

“Oh, that,” Peter mumbled.

“Oh that, yes that,” Mr. Stark snapped, “what the hell were you thinking not telling me about that?”

“It happened after I left the other day,” Peter admitted, “and I thought I’d managed to deal with it myself.”

“You thought-” Mr. Stark broke off and sighed, pinching his nose between his thumb and forefinger, “do you realise how irresponsible that was?”

“It was fine,” Peter mumbled.

“Fine?” Mr. Stark questioned, his voice rising an octave from the shock of hearing such a thing.

“I have healing powers,” Peter said.

“Kid, you’re still human, you still need appropriate medical care and time to recuperate after getting hurt,” Mr. Stark said gently, “you’re not a machine, no one expects you to be able to keep going without looking after yourself.”

“I guess,” Peter whispered.

“And you had no idea what you were doing, did you?” Mr. Stark asked although it seemed like he already knew, “those Steri-Strips were totally inappropriate for that wound.”

“I know,” Peter said, looking down, “I just didn't have anything else.”

“You had your phone.”

Peter cast him a confused look, “my phone? They don't like blood or moisture that much.”

“To… call me,” Mr. Stark said slowly, looking at Peter with a strange mix of disappointment and amusement, “you’re a smart kid, but would you really think to put your phone on a bloody wound before using it to call me.”

“Uh, not usually,” Peter said, “but this kinda happened after I left yours the other day.”

“Ah,” Mr. Stark murmured, seemingly understanding something that Peter hadn't yet explained.

“What?” Peter asked, feeling unnerved by the older man’s sudden understanding.

“I freaked you out with all that talk of colleges and coming to work for Stark Industries,” Mr. Stark said quietly.

“What? No!” Peter almost shouted, jerking upright in the bed despite the pain in his ribs that threatened his ability to breathe, “Mr. Stark, that’s not at all what happened.”

“No?” Mr. Stark asked, arching an eyebrow curiously.

“No, of course not,” Peter mumbled, “I mean, yeah, I wasn't ready to think about that sort of thing, but it would be an honour to work for you in the future, but Mr. Stark, I realised that I’m a really bad intern.”

“What- Kid, no,” Mr. Stark said quickly.

“I am!” Peter argued, “I don’t know how to make coffee, I don't know how to sort paperwork, I don't know what else interns actually do! There’s no way you can say I’m good at it when I don't even understand my own job description. You invited me to the Charity Gala as your intern and I freaked out because I didn't want to embarrass you, I wanted to make a good impression.”

“Kid, I invited you to the Gala as you,” Mr. Stark said, “we both know the internship is a fake formality to keep your alter ego a secret and give you a boost in your college applications.”

“So, you’re not mad that I don't know how to make coffee?”

“I never was,” Mr. Stark said, “wait… is this why you brought me an Americano earlier?”

Peter nodded guiltily, “yeah…”

“Kid, you absolutely did not have to do that, although I must admit since I’m staying away from all the fun stuff now, it was rather nice to have,” Mr. Stark said, “I wanted you there so you could have a good time and so that I could brag about how amazing you are.”

Peter couldn't stop the warmth that spread over his cheeks and he ducked his head.

“I just didn't want to be a disappointment,” Peter mumbled.

“Kiddo, you could never,” Mr. Stark sounded as though he had never been more sure about anything, “I’m slightly upset that you didn't come to me about this wound, but I get that your teenage brain works in mysterious mystery ways.”

“I tried my best with it,” Peter mumbled.

“It’s infected.”

“I didn't say my best was good,” Peter continued, he pulled the blankets to the side to look at the wound on his leg only to find that the bloody, yellowing dressing he had last seen was gone and had been replaced by a bright white one with only a tiny amount od seepage. “You fixed it.”

“Well, my doctor did,” Mr. Stark corrected, “I called him in and we gave you some of Cap’s meds to keep you a little out of it while we cleaned it up and you’re now the proud owner of some stitches.”

“Oh cool,” Peter mumbled.

“Stitches are cool?” Mr. Stark asked with a raised brow, perhaps he was questioning Peter’s sanity.

“No, I got Captain America’s drugs!” Peter said with a smirk, “he always tells us not to do drugs in those PSAs so this is a wonderful twist of medicated irony.”

“Yeah, I think they’re still in your system a little,” Mr. Stark muttered, “so since you’re still a little dopey, I think now would be a good time to remind you that you have three fractured ribs and you’re not allowed to go out as Spider-Man until they’re fully mended.”

“Wait… what?” Peter protested, “why?”

“Swinging will put a strain on them and cause you pain meaning you could flinch and fall, or you could receive another blow and worsen the damage,” Mr. Stark said, “come on, Underoos, you were just bragging about your healing powers, it won’t be forever.”

“But…” Peter hesitated.

“But what?”

“If I can’t be Spider-Man will I still be allowed to come to the workshop?” Peter asked and he focused his attention on fiddling with the sheets rather than facing the look he knew Mr. Stark would cast towards him.

He wasn't ready for the ‘why would you come to the workshop if you’re not needing upgrades?’ response, the one that he knew in his head he was about to receive.

“Kid, what?” Mr. Stark responded instead, “look at me, Peter.”

Peter blinked back the tears that were building in his eyes, trying his best not to appear childish and weak before the man who had been his hero since he was a child.

“Pete, c’mon Kiddo,” Mr. Stark said gently, and Peter found himself unable to avoid him any longer, “I don’t know why you have this idea that I only care about Spider-Man, because you are always going to be my number one priority.”

“But-”

“Uh uh,” Mr. Stark cut him off, “no, you need to listen to this. I’m Tony Stark, do you really think I would have a fifteen-year-old kid running around my home if I didn't want him there? Do you think I’d be texting his Aunt and arranging transport for him when she’s at work? Would I have a ridiculous amount of food and sweet things in my kitchen? Would I brag about him to my colleagues and competitors?”

“But we spend so much time designing stuff for Spider-Man?”

“Because you are Spider-Man and no matter how much I wish you had a safer hobby, I know that you won’t quit helping people just to stop the greying of my hair and the wrinkles that are forming. So instead of sitting here panicking about you getting brutally killed, I help you develop things that will ensure your safety - which you then bypass by trying to teat that wound by yourself.”

“Oh,” Peter mumbled, how had he gotten it so wrong? “I’m sorry.”

“Kid, don't apologise,” Mr. stark said, “listen, I’m the one who’s sorry for making you think that I only cared about Spidey, I know I’m as Pepper would say “emotionally constipated” but I really do care about you and your dorky interests.”

Peter couldn't help but smile, “well, in that case, I’m sorry for freaking out about the intern thing, and for hiding my injuries from you.”

“Those are apologies I can accept,” Mr. Stark said with a smile, “although, I wouldn't be opposed to you turning up with coffee more, especially when we both know Happy’s the one paying for it, just… not Starbucks, ok? Try some smaller places, support local businesses and all that jazz.”

“MJ would love that you said that,” Peter mumbled.

“Yeah, yeah, come on then,” Mr. Stark said, his knees cracking as he stood and stretched.

“Come on?” Peter repeated, “where are we going?”

“Someone has to explain all of this to your aunt and I’m not taking the blow on my own,” Mr.Stark said.

“You can’t throw me under the bus,” Peter protested, “I’m injured.”

“Yeah, and I will be too if you’re not there to soften the blow.”

Peter grumbled under his breath as he clambered out of the comfortable bed, May was going to be so pissed at him, in fact, he’d be lucky if he lived to see his Spidey-Suit ever again. Maybe he should write a will, did he had time for that?

He was pulled out of his thoughts by Mr. Stark moving to his side to support his weight so that he didn't step too heavily on his sore leg.

“You don’t have to help me,” Peter said, “I’ve been walking on it since I hurt it.”

“Yeah and look how that ended up,” Mr. Stark muttered, “anyways, this is as much for me as it is for you. May won’t kill me if she thinks I’m holding you up.”

“You’re using me!” Peter protested.

“Now he gets it.”

Tag List: @joyful-soul-collector @thatavengersbitch @clover-roseee @thespydersargon @iron-loyalty @ormbunkar @justme--emily @pookiethefrickinbunn @pillowspace @dumbofassbi @kiki44430

lemme know if you want to join/leave the tag list :D

#spider-man #Iron Man #tony stark #peter parker #irondad #spiderson #mcu

155 notes · View notes

undertalethingems · 4 years

Text

Bark at the Moon Chapter 18: Another Truth

Or read on my Ao3>

Rating, Setting: Gen, Pre-canon

Chapter Warnings: None

Chapter Summary: Undyne suggests visiting Asgore to see if he can recall anything about the brothers’ past--but they need Alphys’ insight, and she’s late to the meeting...

"I apologize for failing my duties, sir," Undyne said, voice amplified by her helmet. She stood stiffly at attention, braced for whatever Asgore would say next. He was kind, and her mentor, but she'd abandoned her responsibilities. "I put a personal matter before my oath to protect all monster kind, and I accept whatever punishment you deem appropriate."

Asgore furrowed his brows, perplexed. "This is about the 'beast' incident, right? The rogue monster that turned out to be your friends?"

"Yes. I spent some time afterwards to search for them, to exclusion of all my other work."

Asgore sat back in his throne, stroking his beard. "You still had the rest of the guard on duty, correct? And you found them in the end... So, it all worked out, didn't it?"

Undyne sighed. "Sir... you really are a big softy."

"Well, I can hardly lose my best captain!" Asgore said with a smile. "Your dedication is something to aspire to--I hate to think what may have happened had you given up on your friends, and I'm sure they're happier for it as well. You did the right thing."

"Thank you, your majesty," Undyne replied, bowing her head. "Um, with that out of the way... I was wondering if I could ask you something."

"Oh? What is it?"

"Well..." Undyne started, then glanced around the room before stepping forward and continuing in a lower voice. "It turns out... the brothers are beasts because of something an old Royal Scientist did. We've--Alphys and I--have been wondering if there's anything you'd know about it."

Asgore blinked, then dipped his head as he thought. "No, I... I don't recall anything of the sort. Perhaps, if I met them, it would jog some memories."

Undyne grinned. "I think we can arrange that. Any particular time?"

Asgore thought. "Well, I am not up to much today... Perhaps after your patrol?"

"That should be fine. I think Alphys will want to come too, if that's alright."

"Of course! If she's helping with this conundrum, I think it's all the better," Asgore agreed. "If it's decided, then I shall see you later!"

"Yes sir, I'll let everyone know. And... thank you."

"Of course, captain. I'd have done the same thing."

Undyne nodded, then saluted before marching from the throne room. She should have known Asgore was too forgiving to hold her search-and-rescue stint against her. She'd been working harder than ever, trying to make up for her shortcoming--even sorting through old paperwork she usually got someone else to do. But... if it made no difference to Asgore, maybe she could lighten up on the extra patrols and have time for her friends again. With Sans and Papyrus not needing her help anymore, it'd been a few weeks since she'd seen them--and the last time she'd talked to Alphys had been during one of her shifts, and she'd had to cut her off. It sucked, and she was looking forward to having a social life again. The moment her patrol was over for the day, she pulled out her phone.

"Alphys, hey! Listen, I know it's short notice, but the king wants to meet with us--you, me, and the bros to discuss what's up with them."

"Uhhh what, y-you mean, like right now? H-how short-notice is this?" Alphys stammered on the other end, and Undyne regretted putting her on the spot.

"Er, yeah. I mean, I'm sure Asgore wouldn't mind waiting a bit--I have to tell the brothers too, and then we all gotta head to the castle... so, maybe in half an hour?"

"I was about to--w-well, I guess I don't have to do that now--um, so should I bring the files on what we know so far?"

"That might be a good idea. Asgore said he doesn't remember anything about it," Undyne replied. "Which is odd, but I guess so is everything else about this."

"Y-yeah... okay, let me get some things together, and I'll meet you guys there!"

"Great! I know we'll get to the bottom of this--alright, see you soon!"

Undyne hung up, then dialed a different number. "Hi Papyrus! Are you guys busy?"

"Undyne! An excellent choice in calling me--what can I help you with?" he replied, and she chuckled.

"Actually, I think we're gonna be helping you--Asgore wants to see you guys, and figure out if he can remember anything about... uh, what happened to you. He's ready to see us now, so head on up to the castle--Alphys is coming too, and we're all gonna meet there in about twenty minutes."

"Wowie! King Fluffybuns himself! Alright, I'll wrangle Sans and see you guys there!"

"Okay, see you in a bit."

With her calls made, Undyne set off for home to get out of her armor, then for New Home. ...Wow, Asgore was really bad at names. But, it didn't matter--he was a great leader otherwise, and he was going to help them figure out how the mess with the skeleton brothers had ever started. She marched toward the castle purposefully, wondering what they might discuss. The castle soon loomed overhead, and she grinned as she saw the brothers waiting just outside.

"Hey guys! Looks like you made good time."

"It's hard not to when your brother decides he's done enough walking for the day," Papyrus replied with a huff, glaring down at his brother, who chuckled.

"listen, i've had enough action for a lifetime bro. think i'm gonna slack off even more."

"Sans! That! Is almost a fair point, but I think even you know you can become too lazy! So I won't allow it!"

"fine, fine. think of it as me saving my energy for important stuff then."

Papyrus snorted, then turned back to Undyne. "Well, the main thing is that we're all here. Right?"

Undyne glanced around--she hadn't spotted Alphys. "I think so--Alphys must have gone inside already. Shall we?"

"We shall!" Papyrus declared, leading the way in.

Asgore was waiting for them in his throne room, perking up from tending flowers when they entered. "Ah, howdy everyone! I was just finishing up a little gardening. I hope you're all well--once Doctor Alphys arrives, we'll get started."

Undyne frowned. "She's not here yet?"

Asgore pursed his lips as he shook his head. "No, I assumed you'd all be arriving together. She's not with you?"

"No..." Undyne trailed, "but, maybe she's just running a little late. It was pretty short notice, and she said she had to get some stuff together..."

"Well, let's wait for her then. I don't believe there's any rush," Asgore said, turning back to the flowers, picking off dead stems and sprinkling water as he puttered along. "Let me know if you would like tea. It would not take long to make at all, and I always find it comforting when discussing... serious matters."

"That is an excellent idea," Papyrus replied, glancing to his brother. "It would be lovely to sit and tell this tale around the fireplace while we all drink flavored leaf water together!"

Undyne noticed that neither of the brothers--but particularly Sans--had stepped far into the throne room. Sans looked tense, and Papyrus was casting concerned glances... Oh. Golden flowers...

"Yeah, I could go for some too," she agreed, and Asgore smiled and set his watering can down.

"Wonderful! Go sit anywhere you like, I'll start the water boiling."

The trio headed back through the hall up to Asgore's home while he brought up the rear. Undyne picked a spot at the table, and the brothers followed her lead as best they could--most chairs weren't exactly made to accommodate dragon-horse-lizard things. But they managed to get settled, and Undyne noted they looked more relaxed now that they weren't surrounded by flowers. Only a few more minutes passed, and Asgore carried out a small tray with the steaming kettle and five dainty teacups. He gave one to each of them, leaving the fifth empty.

"I do hope Alphys arrives soon," he said, finally taking his seat. "It has been a little while since I spoke to her... But she seems to be very busy with her experiments, and I do not want to impose."

"Yeah... I'll text her and see what's up," Undyne said, pulling out her phone and sending a brief message, then sipped her tea. Asgore was always really good at getting it to just the right temperature.

"So," Asgore began, "are you boys... doing alright? I do not know the full story yet, but, Undyne told me a little... It sounds very frightening to go through something like that."

"We're doing much better now!" Papyrus replied brightly, perking up. "It was scary at first just because we didn't know what to do... and while we still don't know what to do, we're not afraid of people hunting us down anymore!"

Asgore blinked. "Er, yes, that's good to hear. I'll do my best to help you. How are things in Snowdin? I do not get out there very often."

Papyrus happily began filling him in; after listening for a while, Sans turned to her.

"nothing from alph yet?"

"No... that's weird, she's usually pretty quick. It's like her phone is glued to her hand some days," Undyne joked. "She hates phone calls, but, maybe I should try that next. Hold on."

She dialed, and listened to it ring--it picked up. "Hey, Alphys! I--"

The call dropped. Or had been hung up. Either way, it had cut off without a word, and Undyne frowned before dialing again. This time it rang and rang until finally going to voicemail, and Undyne left a message. "Hey Alphys! We're all waiting for you at Asgore's place--is everything okay? Call me back soon."

"We will give her a little more time," Asgore said, refreshing everyone's tea. "Perhaps something came up."

So they waited. Sans dozed off with his head resting on the table while Papyrus and Asgore got into a discussion about puzzle history; Undyne found herself checking her phone every few minutes, but the result was always the same: no new messages. An hour after their meeting was supposed to begin, she stood.

"I'm going to check on her."

"Do you believe something's wrong?" Asgore questioned, looking worried, and Undyne grimaced.

"She's never taken this long to reply to a message... Even if she just got distracted, I wanna check up on her."

"Very well. Brothers, you can stay here if you like..."

Papyrus rose as well. "I'll go too! Between the two of us, we're sure to find her!"

"ok bro. i'll stay here. as long as asgore doesn't mind me monopolizing the spot in front of the fire."

"Oh, I don't mind. I was going to do a little tidying, if that's alright."

"guess it's settled."

"Okay. See you guys later then," Undyne said, then headed for the door with Papyrus in tow. She broke into a jog, heading for the elevator that would take them right to the Core's upper entrance, and they'd reach the lab from there. Papyrus kept pace easily, and occasionally sniffed the ground to see if Alphys had come this way--but he'd found nothing yet.

They made it to the lab, with neither incident nor finding Alphys--it was like she hadn't left at all. Undyne exchanged a look with Papyrus, then stepped forward. The door slid open, and she cautiously entered. The lights were still on...

"Alphys? Hello? It's me and Papyrus, we came to check up on you... Uh, 'me' being Undyne of course..."

Only her own voice echoed. Undyne frowned, and headed further in. Papyrus put his nose to work, sweeping along the floor to find the freshest trail, which led him to the door marked with a bathroom sign.

"She's, in there," he said, stopping just short of it.

"The bathroom...?"

His tail twitched. "It's. There's one down there, yes."

"Down... Papyrus? I know you said you were... born here, but... what are you talking about?"

He stared at the door. "This floor is just the nice part of the lab. There's a lot more floors down below. She must be on. One of those."

She noted how stiff he looked, and grunted. "Well, we have to find her. If she got in trouble somehow... Well, I'd want someone to come looking for me. I know you don't like it here, but... I won't let anything happen to you either. Come on."

She stepped forward again, but the door didn't open this time. She tried again, waved at it, but nothing happened. It was locked. Well, that wasn't about to stop her--she took a few paces back, then leapt at the door from a running start, landing a flying kick directly in the center. The metal buckled and folded back under her assault, revealing a short hallway leading to an elevator. She landed on her feet, and turned to see a very startled Papyrus looking back at her.

"...I'll fix it later. Let's go find Alphys."

He took a deep breath, then followed her into the elevator. "Maybe she'll keep it as a testament to your frightening muscles, Undyne."

Undyne snorted. "Maybe. Now, which floor do you think we should try first? Start from the top and work our way down?'

"If she's in trouble like you think, that could take too long! Let's see..." Papyrus stepped closer to the control panel and narrowed his eyes. "A-ha! ... I have no way of knowing either."

"You could probably smell her though, right? We just need to find which floor has the strongest scent," Undyne suggested, and he perked up.

"Of course! Down we go!" He pressed the first button--but nothing happened. "Hmm. That wasn't as timely as I hoped."

He tried again, then the next one, and the next--but got the same result.

"Do any of these work?!" Undyne groused, and ran her hand down the side of the panel Papyrus hadn't tried. The elevator shuddered--and finally moved. "Hey! I got it!"

"Good job! Hopefully that's the only floor of this horrible place we'll have to check!"

Undyne gave a bittersweet smile. "Yeah."

The elevator finally slowed to a stop and the door slid open. They stepped out into a dimly lit hall, and Papyrus sniffed.

"Huh. I don't think this floor looks familiar, actually. The good news is, Alphys is definitely here. But..."

"But what?" Undyne asked warily.

"I can smell... Oh, it's probably just the smell of science! Come on, she must be close!"

Undyne watched him bound ahead, noting he looked tense again. He probably just didn't like being down here, but... She summoned a spear just in case, and followed the sound of his footsteps as they clicked on the tile floor. It was eerie in these halls... nothing like the bright, airy lab she knew. Did Alphys really work in a place like this? It didn't seem like her.

But maybe it was like they guy she'd replaced.

She quickened her pace to jog beside Papyrus as he did the sleuthing, and they swept through the darkened passages together. They passed a heavy blast door, and through a room full of beds; Undyne wondered at them--Alphys was always talking about robotics and computers, and didn't have assistants... But Papyrus skirted them, heading for the next doorway.

They were traversing a long straight hallway when a fluid, pale gray mass burst from the floor. Papyrus screeched, backpedaling straight into Undyne and knocking the wind out of her as she tumbled to the floor. She struggled to get up--then realized Papyrus was now standing over her protectively even as he rattled with fear. He hissed, a deep threatening sound Undyne had never heard from him, and the strange mass quivered--but didn't move. Papyrus planted his feet and inhaled, light gathering in his jaws before firing a beam of magic straight into the thing's center--and then it split into three.

Or was it in three places at once?

Undyne scrambled up, panting as she tried to get a read on her opponents. They were unlike any monster she'd ever seen, a slimy heap of tendrils and faces and--a glowing eyelight met her gaze, and she suddenly realized there was a pit in her stomach. Actually, this thing looked too familiar now--

It made a horrible electronic screech, and Papyrus yelped. He fired another beam, and Undyne snapped out of her horror. However horrible she thought this thing was, it was even more distressing to her friend. She readied her spear, selected the same entity Papyrus had attacked--and yelled.

Its health bar was broken.

Whatever damage Papyrus had dealt had only increased this thing's vitality--it had broken the readout. They couldn't hurt it. If they couldn't figure out how to spare it, it could...

"Papyrus! I know this is weird coming from me, but, we can't fight these things!"

It was the entities' turn. They attacked together--or perhaps only one of them did--filling the bounds of the board with strange smiling faces. Undyne did her best to dodge them, only to look over and see Papyrus curled up, unmoving, and quaking with fear. Not good. As soon as it was their turn again--he fled the battle. Undyne looked from him to the other, grit her teeth, and followed suit.

"Papyrus!"

She came to a crossroads, and decided to keep going straight, hoping it was what Papyrus had done and that he hadn't slipped. Something about whatever that thing was had made him react instinctively--she'd never known him to lose control in battle like that. Bringing him along was starting to seem like a really bad idea.

"Papyrus?" she called again, slowing down as she entered another room. The walls were lined with fans, which circulated fresh air in. But that wasn't what caught her eye--a pair of orange lights shone at her from the end of the hall, and below the hum of the fans, she could hear bones rattling. Papyrus was curled up at the far wall, and he whimpered as she slowly approached.

"Hey punk, I'm here. I won't let that thing touch you again. C'mere."

She knelt, and was nearly knocked over as he barreled into her. She adjusted her footing to support him better, and she waited until his shivering had calmed down to speak again.

"Do... Can you explain anything about what that was?"

He shuddered again, and opened his jaws to speak; at first, only a dry rasp came out, but he cleared his throat and tried again. "I... it..."

"It's okay, take your time."

He panted, then shut his eyes and took a few deep breaths. "They.. Th-they were... I could have been that."

Undyne flinched. "What?!"

"I could smell it--bone, but wrong--all wrong. Th-their voice--their voices--almost, a-almost..."

She rubbed his back, and he shuddered again.

"I--I'm sorry I panicked, Undyne. I know you expect better of me. They just brought back... bad memories."

"Hey, shh, it's fine. Those things freaked me out too. We came down here to find Alphys, not fight... that. Are you sure she's past... where those things were?"

He heaved a tremulous sigh. "The scent trail was really strong..."

"I was afraid of that..." Undyne said, then her expression hardened. "If they hurt her, I'll... Stay here. I'll go on ahead."

"I... N-no, I should come with. I was just surprised earlier, it's fine!" Papyrus said, standing.

"I'm not sure that's a good idea..."

"If it's too much, I'll just run away again. It's fine! Alphys needs us!!"

Undyne sighed. "Okay. Stay close."

They left the ventilation room behind, with Undyne leading this time. Spear at the ready, she walked slowly, watching for signs of movement and ears straining for the slightest sound. They passed the junction and kept going--it wouldn't be long before they arrived at the spot they'd been attacked at again.

It was so quiet she almost didn't catch it--but far ahead, there was a shuffling sound. She held out her arm, and they stopped to listen. It kept coming--a steady, quiet slap-slap on the tile far ahead. Footsteps... Undyne inhaled, and relaxed as it dawned on her.

"Alphys?"

"A-ah... Undyne..." Her voice sounded weak, and Undyne let her spear dissolve as she ran forward.

"Are you okay?! Are you hurt?! Papyrus and I ran into this crazy--thing, and it--"

"Amalgamate," Alphys interrupted. "You met an amalgamate."

"Wh..."

"Follow me... there's... There's some people you should meet..."

Alphys began shuffling back the way she came, and Undyne and Papyrus exchanged looks. She seemed... downtrodden. Undyne frowned, and followed her down the hall, still on edge should the amalgamate return. The hallway finally opened into another room, and Undyne heard Papyrus stumble to a stop behind her--she couldn't blame him, considering there was a huge machine hanging in the middle of the room, its red outer shell shaped... not too differently from his own skull. It gave Undyne that pit in her stomach again, but Alphys had slipped into a small side room.

"Papyrus, come on. This one's a machine, it can't hurt you."

"... Smells like... more bad memories," he uttered, shivering as he scratched at a spot on his arm. But she put her hand on his shoulder, and they headed into the side room together.

Alphys was surrounded by the white shifting beings. Undyne yelled, summoning an array of spears--but Alphys had leapt, balancing on the back of a couch with arms raised. At least, she balanced briefly--not built for acrobatics, her tail wasn't enough to counterbalance her outstretched arms, and she pitched forward with a squeak. Undyne dispelled her spears and lunged, catching the little lizard just in time.

"Alphys, what the hell is going on?! What--what are these?!"

"I-it's the amalgamates, th-they're friendly! Don't worry!" Alphys quickly explained, and Undyne set her down.

"One of them attacked us--"

"It's not here," Papyrus spoke up, and she turned to him before scanning the room. There was a vaguely dog-shaped mass, a heap of teeth and muscles, a spindly birdlike thing, and what looked like a snowdrake at first but... did it have... vegetoids for eyes? Undyne grimaced. But Papyrus was right--the creature that had attacked them wasn't here.

"O-oh, you must have met the memoryheads," Alphys explained. "th-they come and go a lot... I'm sure they didn't mean to hurt you."

"They scared Papyrus," Undyne replied. "Why are you here? What's going on?"

Alphys shrank, claws fidgeting as she cast her eyes to the ground. "I... I... I don't think I should help..."

"Why not? You're a great scientist--"

"She made us like this." "She made us like this." "She made us like this." "She made us like this." "She made us like this." "She made us like this." "She made us like this." "She made us like this." "She made us like this." "She made us like this." "She made us like this." "She made us like this."

Undyne flinched at the cacophony of voices--the toothy creature had spoken. Alphys looked like she wanted to disappear. The thin bird spoke next, three voices at once.

"She tried her best"

"She wanted to help."

"Ribbit..."

"Sno... wy..." the snowdrake said weakly in the corner.

"I'm... I'm sorry. I... I didn't want anyone to find out about this--what happened here," Alphys continued. "I made a horrible mistake, and ruined these people's lives, and lied--lied to you, to everyone... so... You should just. Forget about me..."

"What?!" Undyne uttered; she was still trying to sort out just what had happened down here, and she was no good at emotional stuff. But she'd have to try--she hated the look on Alphys' face. It was the same one she'd worn just before they'd first met. She sighed, and relaxed. "Look Alphys, I don't know what's going on here, but, I don't care--I'm just glad you're okay! We were worried something horrible had happened to you!"

Alphys looked up blearily. "Really?"

"Yes! You're our friend!" Papyrus spoke up cheerfully, and Alphys managed a weak smile.

"W-well... If you hear what I did... you won't want to be."

Undyne dropped to her knees and cupped Alphys cheeks in her hands. "Alphys. You're SMART, you're PASSIONATE, you've figured stuff out in hours what I never could in a million years. No matter what you did, I'm GLAD you're here, working to help monsters even if you don't always know what's gonna work. We'll figure out what to do--together."

"You mean it?" Alphys said, somewhat muffled and clearly turning pink under Undyne's hands.

"Of COURSE I do! That's what we're gonna do for the bros, right? You think this only applies to them?"

"W-well... I-I... didn't think... I..." She trailed, then placed her hands over Undyne's. "Th-thank you, Undyne. I'm... I'm really, really glad you guys came here. Other wise, I might have... W-well. I wouldn't have helped anyone that way. I came down here because I thought I'd made up my mind to do the right thing, but... I started thinking about it and... couldn't... couldn't bear the thought of losing... losing your friendship. But..."

She sniffled, but shut her eyes, focused. "After Sans and Papyrus told us what happened to them, I knew I needed to come clean about the amalgamates if I wasn't going to be a huge hypocrite. I... I have to tell Asgore that the experiment failed. I have to... I have to let these guys go home to their families. I've been so afraid of the consequences, but... I don't want to be like the Royal Scientist who came before me."

"You can't! You're not a skeleton!" Papyrus offered helpfully, and Alphys snorted.

"N-no, that's true. But I mean, like him in the 'bad scientist' way. I kept what had happened a secret from everyone..."

"Hey, I'm just proud you're willing to own up to your mistakes," Undyne said, pulling her into a hug. "I'm sure everyone will understand... once you explain it."

"Y-yeah... I... I wanted to do that when we met up with Asgore tonight, but, it was such short notice... I chickened out."

"Well, lucky for you we're here to un-chicken you," Papyrus said, seeming much perkier now. "You know old King Fluffy, he's a softy about everything! And, I'm sure all your melty friends will be happy to return home--I know the feeling and everyone will be so happy to see them again!"

Alphys smiled, a bit more genuine now. "I-I think, as long as you guys are there, I can explain everything. But... o-okay. H-hold on a sec."

She drew back, and turned to the amalgamates. "O-kay guys... As you all just heard... I'm finally going to tell the king what happened, and then, your families. I think you should wait here just a little longer, but, you'll... you go home soon. Th... Thank you for... for waiting so long. I hope you can forgive me. But it's time this was over."

The snowdrake shuffled from the corner, leaving a trail of sludge. "S..... no.... wy....?"

"Yes. Mrs. Snowdrake, you'll see your son soon," Alphys said, looking like she might cry. "You just--just wait a little longer, please."

"We'll watch some movies." "We'll watch some movies." "We'll watch some movies." "We'll watch some movies." "We'll watch some movies." "We'll watch some movies." "We'll watch some movies." "We'll watch some movies." "We'll watch some movies."

The doglike amalgamate wagged its excitement indicator.

"Have courage."

"Ribbit ribbit."

"You finally got it."

"Th-thanks guys. I... I'll be back soon, I promise" Alphys said, then turned to her friends. "Okay. Let's go."

The journey back upstairs was much less tense, and it wasn't long before they were finally in open air and on their way back to Asgore's castle. Undyne kept a reassuring hand on Alphys' shoulder, and she tried not to steal too many glances at her; she'd have to do this again when they were just... hanging out. Yeah. That'd be nice...

"So Alphys, if I have deduced things correctly, you created the amalgamates," Papyrus began, "on accident of course, but, I have to ask... where did you get skeletons!?"

"Wh-what?"

"Papyrus..."

"I'm just wondering, because, um, if there are other skeletons and my brother and I never knew about them... um..."

"O-oh, uh... no, I didn't have any skeletons in my test group," Alphys explained, scratching her head. "Why do you ask?"

"W-well, it's just, um... the amalgamate Undyne and I fought, was... skeletons... sort of..."

Alphys' brow furrowed. "Th... how's that possible?"

"I was hoping you knew." Papyrus said, grin tight. "It's not important! Let's meet back up with Sans and the king! They must be wondering where we are!"

Undyne watched him trot ahead, then spoke in a low voice. "It really freaked him out, enough that he slipped, just a little. When I met back up with him and we talked... he said it was something he could've become. That they smelled like bone, but... all wrong."

Alphys studied him as she thought. "I... I can't be sure, but if that's true... It's only a hypothesis, but, that means the memoryheads aren't from my experiments."

"They're from his."

"Y-yeah."

"Alphys... I'm really glad you want to help them. You're a good person, you know?"

She wilted a little. "I... I'm trying to take your word for it."

Undyne squeezed her shoulder, and they continued on. The guards at the castle gate saluted her as they entered, and then it was a matter of making it back to Asgore's house. The king welcomed them in, giving them each a hug as he explained how worried he'd been. Sans was not so concerned--he was blinking awake after napping in front of the fire all evening, and slowly shuffled to join everyone else at the table as they settled in.

Undyne sat next to Alphys, and squeezed her hand as she took a deep breath--and began explaining her experiment and how it had all gone wrong. Asgore listened, eyes wide--then glistening as he listened to her struggles, and Alphys found her other hand engulfed by his as he leaned across the table, moved to tears.

"Oh Doctor Alphys, I had no idea! You should have said something, oh--there there, it is alright, we will get it all sorted out. I'm very glad everyone is alright, even if it didn't turn out like we'd hoped."

"S-so... you're not... mad that I failed? And lied about it for so long?" Alphys asked timidly, and he sat back with a heavy sigh.

"I do wish you'd told me how things were going, but... to be honest, I know how you feel. I do not want war or power, but... The people need hope, and I promised them freedom. I do not feel I can go back on my war declaration when that is what has given everyone something to work for. It is.. difficult to do the right thing... especially when so many people are counting on you."

Alphys blinked, rubbing at her own eyes. "Th... Thank you, Asgore. Everyone should be able to go back home... I can only hope their families will take it as well as you did."

Asgore smiled. "Alphys, though they may be changed, they did not Fall Down thanks to you. I think everyone should be very happy about that."

"Y-yeah. I guess... I guess I g-got too caught up in thinking about it as a failure, and not recognizing the small bit of good that came out of it," Alphys surmised, and Asgore patted her shoulder gently.

"That is how you keep moving forward, my dear. Speaking of moving forward... if that is the full story there... I think it's time we discussed the brothers' predicament. Here, I will make us fresh tea."

He got up, and Undyne squeezed Alphys in a side-hug.

"See? We told you it'd be okay."

"Y-yeah. I... Thanks again. For being there for me."

Undyne caught the looks the brothers exchanged with one another, but they said nothing so neither would she. "Of course, Alphys. Anytime."

Asgore returned with more tea, and spoke as he poured and passed a cup to everyone. "Now then, with a nice fresh cup, tell me this other story, about the beast of Snowdin and how it wasn't really a beast but two nice young men with a strange ability."

Between the four of them, they relayed the different parts of the story. Asgore tried to stay resolute, but on hearing how the brothers had separated, struggled with powerful instincts, and reunited, his eyes were glistening again. Once they got through explaining their origin, the dam had burst once more, and he dabbed at his eyes with a lavender kerchief. He managed to listen to the rest without openly sobbing, but had to take a few deep breaths to steady himself once they'd finished. He rose, and knelt. The brothers turned to face him, and he cupped their heads in his hands.

"Sans, Papyrus... I am so, so sorry that you both have suffered so much, seemingly from my orders to find some way to gain an advantage over the humans. I do not remember this former scientist, but had I known what he was doing--creating living things and using them as tools--I would not have allowed it. I hope you can forgive me."

"It's okay," Papyrus spoke up, raising his head from Asgore's palm to place a paw on it. "No one knew about it, even the people who worked for him."

"you shouldn't blame yourself for the actions of someone else who took advantage of your trust. it was their choice to do that, not yours. that said... maybe you should keep in better touch with your scientists going forward," Sans added, glancing over at Alphys, who nodded in agreement.

"I'll admit, science has never been my strong point..." Asgore replied, drawing back and scratching his beard in embarrassment. "I'm afraid it all just goes over my head, so, I've had to trust what my scientists say... Perhaps I am a fool..."

"In my opinion, it takes a special kind of jerk to do what Gaster did," Undyne spoke up. "Alphys didn't want anyone mad at her--she already had your permission for the experiment. Gaster... he took your orders and twisted them into meaning he could do whatever he wanted, and kept exactly what he was doing from you the whole time."

Asgore nodded gravely. "Indeed. I wish I could help you boys more, as you had hoped, but..."

"s'ok, it's good enough to know you wouldn't be down with the whole 'living weapon' thing."

"No... though war makes us do terrible things... creating life and treating it so callously is inexcusable. If there is anything I can do for you two, please let me know. Alphys, seeing as the Determination experiment is over... you have my permission to work on whatever project strikes you as most promising. If that is helping the brothers, that is quite alright."

"Th-thank you, sir."

"Fantastic! This will be Alphys' most important assignment yet, because the assignment is me!" Papyrus beamed, tail lashing with excitement. "And my brother too of course, but, he's not going to be joining the Royal Guard when all this is over."

"Hey, you still gotta get through me," Undyne laughed. "Let's work on getting you back to your old self, then we can talk about recruitment."

"Oh fine," Papyrus sighed. "But, it's still happening."

Asgore chuckled. "I'm sure. Well my friends, I do not know if it has been a pleasant evening, so to speak... but I'm very glad you came and told me all this. May we all be able to move forward more wisely, and you have luck with your efforts."

"I-I think I'm going to find out what I can from the old labs. There seem to be sections I've n-never seen... M-maybe I can salvage data from the old drives, and have some numbers to compare to the brother's current states--maybe even... maybe even figure out how Gaster was able to do this at all. A monster's body is tied to their soul, so for a monster to be able to change their body... A-anyway, I need data. S-so, that's where I'll start."

"I cannot begin to fathom what that entails, but... I can only trust that you know what to do," Asgore said, giving a small smile.

"W-well, I'll do my best to summarize the reports once I have something," Alphys said, and he patted her head.

"Alright my friends, it is getting late and I am afraid I must retire for the evening. Please take care, and let me know how it goes."

"You can count on us," Undyne said, saluting him, and the others nodded.

"Good. I will see you soon."

They finally left, and Alphys sighed with audible relief. "I was soooo worried you guys, oh my god. B-but! It worked out! I d-don't have to hide anything anymore! W-which means--! Undyne, I--"

"Yeah?"

Alphys trembled, slowly turning red again. "I--I--I have a new anime I wanna show you! We can, u-um, see it later, if you want."

"Cool! Does it have fighting in it this time?"

"U-uh, n-no, b-but--it has--a g-girl--who's good? At fighting?? B-but also... maybe... k-kissing..."

Undyne furrowed her brow. "Huh. Well, I'm sure it'll be great. We can watch that after I help you get the amalgamates home, okay?"

"O-oh, you... really want to help with that?"

"Sure! The guard knows where everyone lives, so we can help escort everyone. But, not tonight. I gotta agree with Asgore, it's pretty late."

"It's early if you don't sleep!" Papyrus offered.

"and if you do," Sans added, and Papyrus swatted at him--a move he dodged easily. "anyway, me and my bro are headed home. let us know when you wanna do science stuff, alph."

"O-of course! Like I said, I want to see what I can find out from the labs first, and I'll contact you when I have more information."

"A brilliant plan Dr. Alphys! We'll talk again soon, and finally find the solution to this most persistent of problematic happenstances. Goodnight!"

In a blink, they were gone.

Alphys shook her head. "Not gonna lie, I wanna look into how he does that t-too..."

Undyne snorted. "Guess you better add it to your project list. Here, I'll walk you to the lab."

"Oh... th-thank you."

They spent the rest of the walk back talking about anything that came to mind; anime, science, a new song Undyne had been working on. It was a nice way to finish out the evening after a long day at work, and then feeling like something awful had happened to someone Undyne cared about so much. If only she could find the right words to say, finally write a letter that could express all the feelings she had for Alphys... but this was nice enough. It seemed like Alphys really liked hanging out with her, and even if she didn't feel the same way, Undyne was glad she knew her.

She was looking forward to seeing her more.

#undertalethingem writes #gaster blaster au #bark at the moon fic #papyrus (undertale)#sans (undertale)#Undyne (undertale)#asgore (undertale)#alphys (undertale)#amalgamates #aaaah glad to finally update this again! ^^#don't know when the next will be out unfortunately ^^;

314 notes · View notes

perriewinklenerdie · 4 years

Text

History repeats itself (Ethan Ramsey x MC)

Open Heart, Ethan Ramsey x MC

A/N: Hi guys! I'm on a roll (it's that high that patients that are about to die experience right before they crash. Kinda fitting, giving the fact that I'm going to die tomorrow bc of OH, isn't it? :D), like back in the old, good days. This was a request made by a wonderfull Nonnie. Thank you so much for suggesting it! I hope you enjoy it and that I didn’t disappoint :D

This fic is part of the ESIMY series (Claire and Ethan met and got married before they started working together and that’s basically all you need to know, as the fic can be read as a separate work)

Tag list: @paleweasels, @kittykatchoices, @valiantlychaoticbarbarian, @radlovedreamer , @usuallyamazinglyaverage, @awhmilkywey @palestazure, @cordoniaqueensworld, @universallypizzataco, @princess-geek, @faithhasnowords, @mightyfangirlofthefandoms, @drakewalkerfantasy, @timmagicktoad, @laceandlula, @greywitchyshots, @llamasgrl, @gingerjane15, @bucket-harrington , @marywrites-things , @ethanplaysfavorites , @mfackenthal , @betelgeusebee , @simsvetements, @buzz-bee-buzz, @owleyes374, @cora-nova, @aworldoffandoms, @l822, @cream-ray, @ughhhxjazzy, @silverlitskies, @justendlesssummerfeels, @togetherwearerapture, @desmaranj, @edgiestwinter, @friedherringclodthing, @daisy-ashton, @waytooattuned, @choicesgremlin , @lapisreviewsstuff, @the-soot-sprite, @writerapprentice, @chasingrobbie, @choicesobsessedd, @x-kyne-x, @thisperfectmemory, @drakewalker04, @rookie-ramsey, @jlynn12273, @thepinknymph @dr-brianna-casey-valentine, @a-i-n-a-a-s-h @justanotherrookie @mvalentine @starrystarrytrouble

Enjoy! <3

-----------

Paging Dr. Ramsey to Dr. Banerji’s office.

He looked up from the article he was reading, expecting a message from his wife. They were supposed to go home soon, finishing her last day of work before she would go on maternal leave. The page didn’t read as urgent, and yet somehow, a shiver ran down his spine. He couldn’t explain it. Call it a hunch that made him abandon his work and rush through the halls of the hospital.

Naveen was waiting for him by the door, his expression gravely. The air in the room was so thick that Ethan, who was running, stopped abruptly in his tracks, feeling weight being slammed against his chest. He didn’t know what was happening yet, but it couldn’t have been anything good.

“Naveen?” he asked, walking closer, treading slowly and carefully, as though it would save him from the approaching heartbreak he could already feel. His friend sighed heavily, stepping towards to him and laying his hand on Ethan’s shoulder.

“You might want to sit down.”

“Tell me. I need to go pick Claire up from the locker room in five minutes.” He didn’t miss how his mentor’s face fell at the mention of her name, making his stomach drop in worry. “What happened?”

“Claire is being transferred to the OR as we speak.” He said, the next words being an almost exact echo of his own words years back. “She had a seizure, full eclampsia. We’re delivering the baby.”

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

That day, from the very beginning, was a bust. Her head was pounding, slowly but surely rising and breaking through the threshold of her pain tolerance, causing her to reach out to her OB-GYN in search of any advice, along with some painkillers. Her vision was getting blurred around the sides from time to time, making it incredibly difficult to read charts or look her patients in the eye. Esme asked her about it, figuring out something was wrong when she misread the patient’s name while they were walking towards their room, but she dismissed her with a kind smile.

“That’s pregnancy for you.” she joked, seeing in her resident’s eyes that she didn’t believe her. Sighing heavily, she nodded. “Okay, it’s not typical. I- I would appreciate if you kept your eye on me today. I feel like something is about to go south and I’d like to avoid that.”

“Of course, I’ll watch you like a hawk.”

Light sensitivity came next. Supply closets were her biggest friends that day, providing with as much darkness as she wanted, blocking out any traces of light. She couldn’t barricade herself in there, no matter how much she’d want that, so she braced herself and pushed through.

She knew all those symptoms too well. She was, after all, treating her pre-eclampsia since it reared its ugly head three weeks ago. The moment she heard her diagnosis, she felt as though she has been struck by a lightning. It was the same diagnosis she gave Dolores not even three years ago.

Ethan wouldn’t survive it if this case ended the same way.

Claire was battling with herself. Should she tell him about it and let him worry about her every second of every day until she gave birth and the postpartum eclampsia was ruled out, or should she shoulder that weight on her own, treating it behind his back and praying that he’d never have to find out that the very same complication that took away his dear friend not that long ago, now threatened to take away his wife too.

She opted for something in between. There were symptoms that she couldn’t hide from him, about which they talked and she let him ask about them on their appointments. Dr. Weland, her OB-GYN, was aware of the whole situation, carefully formulating her answers for the first-time father.

It kept her up at night. She knew he would be scared, disappointed that she didn’t tell him, but she couldn’t bring herself to do it. He’d lock them both up at home for the remainder of her pregnancy, with a private doctor at hand, and treat her with extra caution. But most of all, she didn’t want to see the panic in his eyes, which she knew she’d find there. He would stop sleeping, watching over her at every moment.

Dr. Weland expressed her concerns when she saw Claire that day, hence her asking Esme to keep an eye on her. It wouldn’t be wise to send her home; she would need help in case something went horribly wrong.

Three hours later, as though on cue, she felt pain in her stomach, right below her belly button. All the symptoms she’s been experiencing that day cumulated, striking her at once with double their force, bending her in half. Esme, who was just down the hall, called out her name, rushing towards her, just in time to catch her as she crashed towards the ground, her body shaking.

“She’s seizing! Page Dr. Banerji!” the resident shouted, taking care of the fallen doctor.

“What about Ramsey?” someone asked, pager in their hand.

“Do as I say!”

What happened next could only be described as a chain reaction, its magnitude that of an avalanche. Naveen was called, OR was ordered, Claire was moved onto the bed and wheeled away. The hardest was still ahead of them.

Ethan fell against the wall heavily, struggling to catch his breath. “What do you mean eclampsia? Did she have any symptoms before that? Did she know? Who found her?”

“Dr. Ortega. She probably has more answers for you than I do. Come on, we’ll talk to her and Dr. Weland.”

His every move felt as though there were two impossibly heavy bricks attached to his feet, and another three on his shoulders and his chest. Panic began rising in his chest, fighting the overwhelming urge to let the tears fall. Esme was waiting for them by the entrance to the OR, worry spelled on her face.

“Can someone tell me why my wife and my daughter are fighting for their lives in there?” he barked the question, shaking in emotional distress. Naveen placed his hand on his shoulder, asking him silently to let the doctors speak.

“She’s been not feeling well for the whole day. Asked me to keep an eye on her; she told me she felt like something was about to happen.” the youngest doctor explained, stepping away to make space for Dr. Weland.

“Claire was treating her pre-eclampsia for the past three and a half weeks. The symptoms you noticed and were asking about were all a part of it. She asked me to not tell you, hoping that she would be able to avoid developing eclampsia.”

Never before in his life had he looked up at someone so fast. “She knew? And she didn’t tell me?”

“Ethan, I know you’re angry but-“

“I’m not angry. Right now, I’m terrified, because my family is fighting for their lives and I’m here, instead of being by their side. Step aside, I’m scrubbing in.”

“No.” Naveen shook his head, pulling him aside firmly. “And you know why.”

“Move out of the way, Naveen, I’m going in there.”

“I’m going to lock you in my office if you don’t calm down. You won’t help anyone by being emotional and reckless. Breathe, son, they’re going to be alright.” Ethan’s breathing was treading on the line of hyperventilating, panic rising in his chest even more. At last, tears fell, two trails running down his cheeks. He fell into his friend’s embrace, sobbing like he hasn’t done in a very long time. Helplessness, anger at fate and at himself for not noticing it sooner. “Claire is a fighter, so are you, and so is your daughter. They’ll pull through.”

“The last time I had to give this diagnosis to a person I cared about was Dolores, and she was dead within ours. Don’t tell me to calm down.” He stumbled over his words, holding onto Naveen’s arms for dear life.

“This time will be different.”

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

Not even an hour passed before the surgery ended. It gave Ethan enough time to go over the last weeks, all the pieces falling together into one tragic picture. It was all there, right before his eyes. Edema on her hands and feet, which could be written off as a pregnancy symptom. Headaches plagued her quite often even before she was married, so he didn’t even bat an eye on it, maybe except for the intensity of them. Her nausea returned long after her morning sickness phase passed, but again, pregnancy manifested itself with a variety of things.

He blamed himself. After Dolores died, he thought he’d be able to see the symptoms and prevent it from getting worse, but when it mattered the most, with his own beloved wife, he failed to add two and two.

“Ethan, you can see them now. The baby is safe and healthy, Claire’s condition is under control, she’s stable and conscious.” Naveen called out for him, a small smile on his face spelled out relief.

Jumping to his feet, he ran towards them, catching the room number from a shouting Naveen, not waiting for anyone. Nurses and doctors moved out of his way, some of them knowing what happened, others having no idea but knowing better than to stand in Dr. Ramsey’s way.

The lights in the room were dimmed, curtains closed, providing privacy and peace. Ethan opened the door as quietly and gently as he could, his stare falling onto Claire immediately. She smiled at him lazily, watching his every move in anticipation. He strode towards her, sitting at the edge of the bed and taking her hand in his, rising it to his lips and kissing it, over and over again, saying silent prayers of gratitude. Tears started running down his cheeks again, wetting her skin, his shoulders shaking as he let out all the emotions.

“I’m sorry.” She whispered, choking on her words, her face wet with tears too. He looked up at her, shaking his head.

“No. It’s my fault. I- I somehow attract tragedy. My Mother, Naveen, Dolores… and now you.” She looked at him confused, not understanding his reasoning at first, only seconds later did she remember his thought process, her eyes filling with horror.

“Ethan, that’s none of your fault. I won’t be sitting here, letting you blame yourself for something completely out of your control.” She grabbed him by the sides of his face, hauling him onto her, pressing their lips together and lingering there, connecting them, again and again. “Your Mother wasn’t your fault.” Kiss on the nose. “Naveen wasn’t your fault.” Kiss on the forehead. “Dolores wasn’t your fault.” She kissed both his cheeks, catching his tears. “I wasn’t your fault, and neither was she.” She cried, her voice getting thick from tears. Her head crooked towards his left, pointing towards their daughter.

“Why didn’t you tell me?” his words stabbed her like a knife that she herself was holding against her heart. She knew he’d ask, but she wasn’t prepared for it, no matter how many times she rehearsed it in her head.

“I didn’t want you to worry.” She explained after a moment, biting her lip in shame. “I thought if I can get through this and not have any complications, you’d never have to find out. Especially with how it ended for Dolores…”

“There isn’t a single thing in this world more important to me than you two. Whatever it is, however hard it gets, I want to be there for you. For both of you.”

Both of them cried silently, embracing each other as closely as they dared, refusing to let the other get away even for a mere inch. Silent comfort, not needing any words, only each other, alive and well.

The soft sound of wailing pulled them out of their little bubble, pulling their attention towards the crib by the bed. Ethan stood up, walking over to look inside, Claire peaking from her position on her bed.

A little girl was staring up at him, her eyes blue and curious. She couldn’t smile yet, but that didn’t mean that he couldn’t see how at peace she was. Perfectly fine.

His whole family was perfectly fine.

“Katherine…” he muttered, running the outer edge of his index finger along his daughter’s cheek softly.

“She looks like a Katherine to you?” Claire asked, humor in her voice. He nodded, turning to his wife. “I was thinking of Isabelle.”

“We can compromise.” He embraced her, kissing her head tenderly.

“Katherine Isabelle Ramsey. Perfect.”

#open heart #ethan ramsey #mc x ethan #ethan x mc #dr. ethan ramsey #ethan ramsey x mc #mc x ethan ramsey #choices #choices fanfiction #open heart fanfiction #fic #fanfiction

139 notes · View notes

firstofficertightpants · 4 years

Text

In Your Honor - CH. 2

Luz has wanted nothing more in life other than to join the ranks of the Emperor's Knights - the highest rank of royalty defenders, but after a disaster of a first impression with the bratty princess, she starts to wonder if it’s worth it.

Previous Chapter

The Blight Castle was even more extravagant in person. Tall white stone walls surrounded the beautifully crafted towers, lined with gold that sparkled in the sun. Stained glass windows with murals of the past Blight family members doing acts of greatness could be seen from the front gate, the gate itself made of polished brass shaped to look like roses. Standing on each side of the gate were two members of the Emperor’s Knights. Their white capes flutter in the mid day wind and faces obscured by their expertly crafted bird head shaped helms. The two guards didn’t so much as move as Luz approached, her aunts lunch in hand.

“Uh, Hello! I'm here to see Lilith? She’s my aunt.” Luz explained nervously, holding up the lunch her ma had made. “I'm supposed to bring her this?” The two guards looked at each other, one nodding its head before the other turned to pull a lever. The large brass gates open effortlessly as one of the guards motions Luz to enter.

“You’ll find your aunt on the second floor, in the study.” The guard explains as Luz walks through the gates.

Luz gives the guard a quick nod, her excitement from meeting an Emperor’s Knight barely contained, before she heads to the castle's main entrance. She heads up a large flight of stairs to the main castle entrance where she meets two more guards. Luz opens her mouth to explain herself but one of the guards simply holds up their hand to silence her. The other guard opens the door and ushers her inside before closing the door behind her with an echoing loud thunk.

If the outside of the castle was beautiful, the inside was breathtaking. Large marble columns reached up higher than Luz had ever seen. The sun shining through the stained glass windows cast gorgeous colors along the white marble floor. Satin purple runners lead to and up a large set of stairs at the far end of the room. If this was the main entrance, Luz couldn't wait to see the rest of the castle. Quickly she headed to the large stairs and up to the second floor where she was greeted with even larger halls filled with doors leading to who knows where.

Luz wandered the halls, looking for the study she was told to meet her aunt in. Along the way she ran into the knights training hall, followed by the medical ward where she got to visit her mom for a short bit of time before she had to head back to work. She managed to get exact directions from her mother on where to find her aunt. She followed the hallway she was currently in until she reached a fork, where she took a left and found the third room on the left hand side. She stopped outside the large wooden door. The handle and hinges were a polished brass while the images of ravens in flight were carved into the solid wood. Luz reached up to the knocker in the center of the door, a ring hanging out of a ravens mouth, and gave it a gentle clunk against the wood. She waited a moment before trying again. When no one answered she simply grabs the handle and twists it, peeking inside.

Standing in the middle of this room is a single person, her back turned to Luz as she looks over a book. She mumbles something Luz can’t quite hear then flips the page of her large tome. The girl looks to be about Luz’s age with green short hair pulled back. She’s wearing a lovely pink dress that complimented her pale complexion. Luz catches a glimpse of her face as she turns to look at another tome she has to her side, grumbling again as she turns another page.

“Que bella ..” Luz whispers as she leans against the door, the hinges creaking as it shifts under her weight. The sound alerts the girl to her presence and she whips around. Her face melts from surprised to mild irritation as she looks over Luz. The girl's simple garb giving away her commoner status.

“Who are you?” The girl asks. Her voice is as elegant as her features, though it was also stern and demanding.

“I'm Luz," the witch in training introduces herself, holding out her hand. "Luz Noceda." The other girl simply looks at it, her golden eyes hovering on her hand momentarily before meeting Luz’s eyes.

“Amity Blight.” The girl curtsies slightly out of sheer politeness, but it's apparent that that's the only reason. “So.. are you lost or something? I can call the stable master to come get you since it seems to be your first day.”

“I'm sorry, what?” Luz tilts her head in confusion. Was this girl calling her a stable hand?

“Well, you obviously don't belong here so.. shoo.” The elf girl makes a single shooing motion with one hand as she returns to her tomes.

“Excuse me?” Luz scoffs. “For your information, I’m looking for my aunt."

“Your aunt?” Amity returns her attention to the commoner girl, single eyebrow raised in judgement.

"Yes, my aunt." Luz confirms, matching the other girls facial expression. "So freaking rude.." The brown haired girl mumbles under her breath.

Amity whips her body to face Luz in agitation, clearly having heard that - she opens her mouth to protest -

-“I'm sorry to keep you waiting, your highness.” Lilith enters the room as if summoned by her title, arms full of scrolls.

“Auntie!” Luz squeaks as she launches herself at Lilith, hugging her tightly.

“Auntie?” Amity echoes Luz in confusion as she watches her teacher pat the other girls head. She looks between the two. Her teacher, and elegant and well dressed member of the Emperor’s Knights and fellow elf, and Luz the.. human.

The gears in her head are turning more now than they ever had in all of her years of studying.

“I brought your lunch, just like mami asked me to.” Luz smiled, a beaming ray of sunshine in the otherwise dim room.

“Thank you, Luz.” Lilith returned the smile as she laid out the scrolls on a nearby table. She removed the lunch from the younger girls hands then thanked her by ruffling her hair. Luz giggled as Amity still stared in confusion. "You know.. while you're here, how do you feel about a tour of the castle?"

"What, really?" Luz exclaims, bouncing slightly with excitement. "That would be so cool!!"

Lilith steps out into the hall for a moment, hush voices following as the door closes. Amity simply huffs and crosses her arms as she awaits her mentor's return. For a brief moment she wishes her two companions Skara and Bascha were here to fill the silence with their bickering. Instead she was stuck with a human. Not exactly ideal to the young elf girl. Amity risks a glance at the strange being, the other girl simply bouncing with anticipation.

"Alright, Luz, if you go down the hall you'll meet with a girl named Willow." Lilith finally returns to the room, giving Amity a chance to relax as the human girl follows her aunt out the door.

Luz makes her way down the hall as her Aunt had described, taking in all the little details she could. She turns a corner a little too quickly and runs right into another person. The two tumble to the ground, a tangle of limbs.

“I’m so sorry!” Luz stands up first and goes to help the other person up, another young elf girl around her age. This one was slightly shorter than Luz and had fluffy dark hair. A pair of glasses laid skewed on her face as she dusted herself off with Luz’s help.

“No no, it's my fault.” The young elf girl says, adjusting her glasses. “Oh wow! You’re human.” She gasps, eyes lingering on Luz’s ears.

“Yeah, I’m Luz.” The bubbly girl introduces herself. “I was just looking for the girl who's supposed to give me a tour.”

“Thats me, I'm Willow!” The smaller girl circles Luz with excitement. “You must be Mrs. Noceda-Clawthornes daughter, then.” Willow deduces as she faces Luz once again. “It's been a big buzz around the castle, a human healer is kind of a big deal.”

“That’s my mom.” Luz beams proudly. “And one day I’ll be the first human to join the Emperor’s Knights.” She holds her hand out as if wielding a sword and swishes it around, the elf girl giggling at her antics.

“Well, let me show you the castle," Willow loops her arm with Luz's "Since you'll be working here some day."

Luz and Willow continue their walk through the castle, this time stopping every so often for Willow to give information on parts of the castle and Blight history. Finally they reach a room where the doors are wide open. Inside Luz could see a few students accompanied by a large purple horned woman who had to have been the teacher. Luz watches as the teacher ends the class, giving the students homework that insites a unified groan. The human girl waits to the side as Willow explains the Illusions class they had just witnessed. As she talks, a small elf boy who was in a very animated conversation with a set of twins, doesn't notice Luz standing there and runs right into her.

"I'm sorry!" He blurts out as he jumps back. He looks up at Luz and gasps, immediately reaching for his ears and pulling on his lobe. "Your ears! You're a human!"

"I'm starting to realize that's strange around here." Luz laughs. "I'm Luz, by the way." The girl introduces herself and holds out her hand. Before the boy can shake her hand the twins he had been talking to push him out of the way and both reach for her hand.

"Edric."

"Emira."

"Pleased to meet you." Luz shakes their hands respectively.

"Your highnesses." Willow bows to the twins, the two giving a small nod in response. "Ed and Em are the prince and princess." She explains as Luz tilts her head in confusion.

"Oooh!" Luz smiles before bowing as well. "I apologize , I'm still learning about the elven kingdom."

"Oh it's completely fine." Emira laughs. "We aren't really that big on royal stuff anyways."

"Too stuffy for our tastes." Edric adds on with a wave of his hand.

"That's only because you two get in trouble all the time." The small elf who had ran into Luz speaks up finally before returning his attention to Luz. "I'm Gus, by the way."

"Wow, you guys are all so nice." Luz smiles as she shakes Gus's hand. "A lot better then the first girl I met…"

" First girl?" Willow tilts her head.

"Yeah! She was really rude and thought I was a stable hand!" Luz grumbles, crossing her arms. "Do I look like I'm good with horses?"

"What did she look like?" Gus asks, still amazed he was getting to speak to a real life human.

"Oh, she was pale, had short green hair, and a really bad attitude." Luz counts out the descriptors on her fingers. The twins share a knowing look and Luz raises her brows in question. "Do you know her?"

"You could say that.." Edric chuckles.

"Though I never thought I would hear someone describe Mittens so plainly." Emira adds.

"Mittens?" Luz is now very confused.

"They're talking about their younger sister, Princess Amity." Gus clarifies.

"SHE WAS A PRINCESS?!" Luz practically yells before slapping a hand over her mouth. "I mean, she's a princess?"

"Mittens is actually the heir to the throne, believe it or not," Emira explains. "Mom and Dad couldn't pick between us so they picked her."

"There's more to it then that." Edric corrects his sister. "But who cares about that! Let's talk about you." Edric points to Luz.

"Me?" Luz mimics Edric, pointing to herself.

"Yeah!" Emira agrees with her brother. "A human in Bonesburough, that's exciting."

"It's been kind of terrifying, actually." Luz chuckles nervously. "But I'm happy for my mom, and ma seems to be excited to be home."

"Well, you should totally hang out with us sometime." Emira winks at Luz, getting a blush from the human girl.

"How about this weekend?" Gus speaks up, casually reminding the group that he was there. "You can come as one of our plus ones to Skara's birthday party."

"Great idea Gus!" Willow practically bounces in place. "You can hang out with us and learn about elves."

"Brilliant!" Edric and Emira speak in unison.

"So we'll see you this weekend, Luz." Gus smiles as him, Emira, and Edric leave to their next class.

"Alright, I think this brings our tour to a close." Willow claps her hands together. "I'll take you back to the front gate."

"Sure thing! And thanks for the tour!" Luz loops arms with Willow again before they both set off towards the castle gates. Willow bids Luz farewell before the human starts her trip back home.

The sun begins to set just as Luz reaches home. She enters the front door and announces her return, Eda responding with a greeting as the young girl enters the kitchen. Luz takes a seat at the table and begins to fill her Ma in on everything that happened. Eda listened intently as she prepared dinner, interjecting here and there. Eventually the two were joined by Camilia, the older woman sitting at the table across from her daughter. Luz excitedly tells her mother about all the new friends she made and their plans for this weekend.

Luz went to bed that night with plans to pick up something nice to wear to Skara’s birthday, thoughts swirling with all the new friends she just made.

Except, you know, for the princess.

#toh #the owl house #lumity #amity blight #luz noceda #lilith clawthorne #edalyn clawthorne #camilia noceda #does eda and camilia have a ship name?#eda x camilia #willow park #gus toh #edric blight #emira blight #my writing #in your honor #alternate universe #knights au

137 notes · View notes

magicalforcesau · 3 years

Text

Fragments of the Garden - Origins - Part 3

A companion collection to Dancing With Ghosts in Your Garden

(ao3 link)

Satine started to sit next to Obi-Wan every time she saw him at breakfast. Usually they would break out into an argument five minutes in, but even still he started showing up for breakfast more, and Satine always came back the next day.

It was Cody that had suggested they go find him at lunch hour and Satine had agreed easily, because she definitely noticed despite his appearances at breakfast, lunch and dinner were still another story entirely.

That was how she found herself, carrying two plates of food and following Cody with his plate down the hall to that empty classroom.

“Is this seat taken?” Cody asked shoving a couple of the desks together, surprising Obi-Wan completely.

“I- No?” He answered automatically.

“Good,” Satine responded, “It was a long walk here and I’m hungry,” She set down her plate in front of her and Obi-Wan’s plate in front of him. Cody was already digging into his food and he struck up a conversation with Satine quickly about their Charms homework. Obi-Wan was a little too dumbstruck to join the conversation, but did listen to them talk as he ate the food they’d brought him.

The end of the lunch period drew near and Cody collected Satine’s plate.

“Do you not like desserts or something?” Satine asked, noting the slice of apple pie sitting untouched on Obi-Wan’s plate. Being asked a direct question he responded with a surprised blush.

“It’s not that I don’t like them,” He admitted, “My mother says I can’t have any.”

“What? Why not?” Cody asked, surprised. Satine however remembered the women’s icy gaze and stayed quiet.

“She says men don’t like sweets,” He averted his gaze which was very unlike him.

“Well she’s not here right now,” Cody announced, “And what she doesn’t know won’t hurt her!”

“Cody’s right,” Satine found herself saying, “Plus he likes dessert so clearly her logic is false,” Obi-Wan opened his mouth, probably to argue when they heard the clamber of students heading their way. They grabbed their bags and Cody grabbed their plates and they headed out.

Satine decided that tomorrow she’d bring him 2 desserts.

***

That night was their first Astronomy lesson. They were supposed to start much, much earlier, but the headmaster had, had a little trouble replacing their professor after the last one had been in some sort of accident. Satine couldn’t get anyone to specify past that, but she suddenly missed not having class when she was rolling out of bed at eleven to head towards the astronomy tower. The first years all went together, and she found herself walking next to Obi-Wan.

“Are you okay Satine?” He had the misfortune to ask, she glared at him, looking absolutely perfect as always.

“Make a note,” She told him, “to never wake me up, unless it’s an emergency,” Obi-Wan wasn’t sure when that would ever be useful information to have, but he stored it away anyways, with a nod.

They all sat on the floor of the tower as the oldest wizard Satine had ever seen, made his way slowly to the front of the class. He was holding a piece of parchment in shaky hands and squinted through his glasses to read it.

“Hello class,” He spoke in a raspy voice and Satine had to wonder if this poor man would even make it through the year, “I’m going to take attendance, please raise your hand when I call your name,” and with that class started.

Satine let her focus wander until he got to the J’s and tuned in right when Kenobi would be called.

“Kenobi,” The professor squinted at the paper, clearly struggling with Obi-Wan’s stupidly wordy first name, “B-Ben?” He decided on. Obi-Wan, who’s ears had gone red, raised his hand.

“It’s Obi-Wan, sir, Obi-Wan Kenobi,” He corrected, Satine could hear the embarrassment seep into his voice and she slapped a hand over her mouth to keep from snickering.

“Oh, sorry my dear boy,” He moved on quite quickly to, “Kryze, Satine.”

“I’m here,” She raised her hand, laughter coating her voice, and Obi-Wan gave her a sideways glare, but perhaps it had been worth waking up so late anyways.

***

“Good Afternoon, Ben,” Satine greeted him, plunking down his lunch in front of him (two desserts as she’d decided) and sliding a desk over for herself, while Cody did the same.

“Ben?” Cody questioned, and Obi-Wan just rested his head on his arms with a groan.

“Don’t you dare tell,” His voice was muffled, so Satine elected to ignore him.

“The new astronomy teacher messed up his name during attendance,” Satine said gleefully.

“She won’t let it go,” He raised his head back up with a red-faced glare.

“Obi-Wan and Ben don’t even look alike,” Cody noted with a confused smile.

“I’m well aware,” Obi-Wan told him.

“Anyways, Ben,” Satine attempted a straight face, “I went to the trouble of picking you out two desserts today and it would be rather rude of you to not eat them.”

***

Satine was struggling with a rather long and tedious history essay. She supposed Ben was too, because he’d hidden himself behind a textbook and she hadn’t seen him come up for air in hours.

“I’m never going to get this done,” She sat back against the plush blue couch with a sigh, breaking the silence she’d been dying to break for at least 30 minutes now.

“What part are you stuck on?” He asked without even putting the book down.

“I have all the information, I think,” She mused, “But I’m struggling with how to format it,” At that Ben did lower the book.

“Do you want me to look it over for you?” He asked and she shook her head.

“I was thinking of taking it to my mentor actually,” Satine admitted. Ben seemed to freeze at the mention of a mentor, but didn’t make any move to go back to his reading.

“That would be a good idea,” He agreed slowly, “They’ve probably written the same paper,” She could tell Ben was now attempting to hide behind his book to finish the conversation, they’d been friends for around a month and he just kept getting easier and easier to read. She grabbed the spine of his book and pushed it down.

“I’ve never asked you,” Satine thought out loud, “Who’s your mentor?” Ben froze again and she could see he was trying very hard not to avert his eyes, “I’ve never seen you with anyone else in the common room? Are they from a different house?”

“No they’re a Ravenclaw,” Ben started slowly, “They’re just much older than you’d expect,” Satine furrowed her brow at him and he continued knowing the answer would be pulled from him one way or another, “You know our fifth years aren’t a very big class,” He tried before trying again, “You know Qui-Gon right?”

“Professor Qui-Gon is your mentor?” Satine asked incredulously, Obi-Wan then did avert his eyes.

“Well like I said, year five isn’t a very big class, and people probably saw ‘Kenobi’ and decided to choose someone else,” He trailed off, “It’s not so bad I like Professor Jinn,” Satine shoved the book out of his hands and wrapped her arms around him suddenly. It was only for a moment before she pulled back.

“I’m sorry, Ben,” She told him.

“I- Well, yes,” Ben seemed a little dazed, but Satine thought not much of it, and instead went about gathering her papers together.

“I’ve got to run if I want to catch the fifth years when they get out of class,” She told him standing up, “I’ll be back later though, if you want me to look over yours,” He nodded, gathering his book off the floor.

“Alright, thank you Satine.”

***

The snow was falling outside the window as the train pulled out of the station, Ben was staring out the window, brooding, and had been for some time. Satine had originally elected to ignore it in favor of chatting happily with Cody about their Christmas plans, but as time wore on, she couldn’t take it any longer.

“What are you planning on doing for the holidays Ben?” Once the words were out of her mouth, she saw Cody wince and had a sudden need to backtrack and delete the last second of her life.

“Oh, the holidays?” Ben contemplated, stretching his hands over his head and readjusting to actually look at his friends, “My parents will be throwing their annual Christmas Party. I suppose I will be hosting,” Satine remembered then, Cody’s mention of the Kenobi’s parties and she suddenly realized that going home for Ben, may not be the joyful celebration it was for her and Cody.

“You should write to us!” Satine demanded, “I don’t know what I’ll do all break if I don’t have someone to argue with,” She exclaimed dramatically. Cody rolled his eyes, but looked at Ben and nodded.

“I could use a distraction from my little brothers, I’d gladly welcome a reason to hole up in my room,” He grinned.

“My owl could use the exercise,” Ben joked, but then added, “If I can find a way, I’ll send you an owl.”

The trolley came by then and Ben bought each of them a sweet for the ride home. Satine contemplated, as she watched his eyes light up upon discovering his chocolate frog card, that she really didn’t know a lot about him. She vowed that come next semester she would start to learn even more, but until then she was just happy to be on a warm train sharing sweets and laughter with her two closest friends.

#Obi-Wan Kenobi #satine kryze #cc-2224 #commander cody #obitine #prequel trilogy #clone wars #star wars #magical forces au

5 notes · View notes

qvid-pro-qvo · 4 years

Text

lies taste sweet the first time you tell ‘em

my first general criminal minds fic, and... not a happy one. BAU!team x gender neutral reader. set from lauren (season six, episode eighteen) to proof (season seven, episode two).

word count: 3390

rating: mature, for the hurt of losing a friend in more ways than one (for angst, hurt/no comfort, canonical character “death”, hospital scenes, descriptions of canon-typical violence).

The warehouse echoes around you. Your gun is lifted, pointed, aimed, but you haven’t gotten off a single shot, because Derek’s there. In front, taking point, and you’ve got his back.

Derek’s your friend. Derek’s your brother.

But.

It shouldn’t be you. You don’t belong there. You know who stands next to him, on every case, who covers his back. But she’s the one you’re looking for, in the near empty warehouse. The one who you’re trying to save.

Derek turns a corner. Screams for a medic, and you’re there, by his side, watching his partner bleeds out on the floor.

“I’m so proud of you,” he tells her, and you’re an intruder, you’re an imposter, you’re not Emily. He pleads for help, and you stumble with the sound, at the sight of Emily’s face. Paling in the lone bulb’s light.

You could never be Emily. Emily is brilliant, vibrant, powerful, and you’re in her shadow. She is Derek’s partner, and so he’s the one who holds her hands, who tells her to squeeze until she can’t anymore.

His screams seem unheard, so you scream, too, until your voice is hoarse. You stand by him, until they come, until they take her away. And then your hand finds his, squeezes tight until the blood leaves your fingers. The tears don’t come, because your jaw is firmly set, and Derek’s breath is coming hot through his nose, but they’re there. Blurring your vision. The two of you don’t break apart until you have to, until the waiting room’s fluorescent lights blind you.

You’re not Emily.

Emily’s on the table, after all.

The waiting room is plain, white, almost an offense to the eyes. It makes you blink, turning the corner, the nighttime air vanishing in favor of the stale hospital smell. When your vision clears enough to see, you see her.

Derek’s hand is dropped, but he’s right behind you. Because there, right there, is Penelope Garcia, and you move to embrace her.

“Garcia,” you gasp out. Each breath seems to be caught in your lungs, afraid that it will be one more than Emily will take. Your shoulders have matching stains now, as you grip each other. Lifelines. From Derek to Penelope. “We followed them. The ambulance…”

“The team’s coming,” she assures you, and her voice is so choked you can barely hear her words in it. But she’s there, and you’re there, and soon Derek has got a hand on both of you.

With Derek it’s tight breaths, with Derek, your teeth feel like they’re going to crack. The drive is silent.

With Penelope, you hear everything. You hear each time the doors open and close, you hear her sniffles in your ear while you grip her. You hear her soft murmurs, and the tapping of her heels on the tile.

She’s so bright. And yet even now, her color seems to dull. The hospital sucks the vitality out of all who dare to enter, and Penelope is not immune.

Her mascara runs, and she does not hide it, because Penelope’s tears are empathetic. She cries with Emily, on that table, and cries with you, when your head ducks and Derek’s hand rests on your shoulder.

You wait. And you wait, and you wait.

JJ walks through the open doorway, and your world shatters.

“She never made it off the table.”

Her eyes are wide, and bright with tears. Yours match hers, and you can hear Penelope beside you gasp out a “no”. You’re surprised she can say anything at all. You can barely breathe.

You watch Spencer jump to his feet. He stands, pushing up, leaping up, and you watch him try to push past her.

What is she saying? What is he saying? You can’t hear anything; your ears are ringing, after all, and all you can see is Emily on the floor of the warehouse –

JJ pulls away from him. From Spencer. And you don’t see where she goes, but you see Spencer, and you see him fall, stumble, keep pushing forward.

“Reid,” you call out to him, but he’s gone. He’s gone.

When you turn back to Derek and Penelope, they’re in each other’s arms. You meet Derek’s eyes, over Garcia’s shuddering form, and you can’t look at her, her pain. But you see Derek, and you see him nod, and with that you’re standing, too, pushing up, leaping to follow him.

“Reid,” you call out. “Reid!” You can’t find him, you don’t know where he is, but you keep calling his name, hunting the halls. Your voice starts to crack, and when a few minutes pass you’re feeling your chest split in two.

“Reid. Spencer,” you try one more time, and when you push out of the hospital into the cold night air, you see him.

He’s shaking. Trembling, like a leaf, and when you call his name again, he turns to you. His eyes are swollen, red, puffy.

“I’m sorry,” you gasp out. “Reid, I’m so sorry.” You don’t know what you’re apologizing for. Maybe it’s for not getting there in time. Maybe it’s for failing. Because you did, didn’t you? Failed to save her?

Oh, god, you’re trembling, too.

“I didn’t – I didn’t get to say goodbye,” he whispers, and when you’re colliding it’s to hold each other, to cry with each other, to break with each other.

She deserves better than this.

The room is quiet now. Derek and Penelope are gone, and Reid has long since left with JJ after you urged him out of the chill. Rossi is still here, with Hotch, and you remain, too. But… but so does Seaver, and it’s all that goes through your head. Watching her crumple, watching her head fall.

She hasn’t moved. Not in a long time. You think, maybe, that she’s waiting for Rossi, someone, to notice her, remember her, take her home.

She deserves better than this.

This team, this life. Seeing a mentor fall so soon, the woman who stood up for her in more ways than one. Who didn’t hold her hand but let encouraged her, took her under her wing. Who saw past the trial run, saw something more. Past the history, invested in her.

In honor of Emily, because of her, you drift over to Seaver, and find yourself sitting carefully next to her. Your tears aren’t falling anymore, because the shock has settled over you like a blanket, smothering any emotion, choking them into submission. All you have left is the numb feeling of reaching for Seaver’s hand, holding it tight.

“Is it always like this?” she asks you. Her voice is always soft, but there’s something that trembles in it, and you glance to her with a shuddering sigh.

Nod, just once.

Her head sits on your shoulder, and you wrap your arm around her, and as the two of you sink into something unthinkable, you can’t help but hope she gets what she deserves. That one day she gets better. One day.

(She leaves. You can’t stop her. And you don’t want to.

A new start. A fresh start.

A better start.)

You push on because you have no other choice.

That’s the job. That’s the game. You walk with Reid and Penelope and JJ and the team, watching the pallbearers carry her casket, and then she is buried and it is done. And you have to keep going. Somehow.

Days pass. Weeks. It is a blur. You watch as everyone crumbles, in one way or another. Everyone is… coping, but no one is coping well, and you find yourself drifting from one case to the next in the hopes that someone will crack the code. Maybe the FBI has a pamphlet.

How To Survive When Your Family Dies: A Step-by-Step Guide!

But no one does, no one here, and nights start to get later and later. Paperwork piles up. The BAU is down an agent, and you… well.

You start to realize you’re firmly settled in the anger stage of grieving by the time your grief assessment comes around.

It’s leaving that grief assessment you see him. Rossi. He’s standing outside his office, swirling something in his mug, something that looks a lot like another cup of caffeine. It makes your lip curl in sympathy, and when he looks over at you he nods to his door.

Join me?

You do. You grab a mug, pour yourself a cup of caffeine, with something stronger lacing it. It tastes horrific, but for the first time in what feels like months you feel something in your chest, something like warmth as you swallow it down.

Rossi just watches you, as you choke down another sip and let the mug rest on your lap.

“You know, Derek blames himself.”

You speak without thinking, and you know that Rossi is nodding, even though your eyes are trained on your mug. Your finger traces the rim, and the encounter with Hotch to talk about your feelings has them sketched out on your face, trapped in the furrow of your brow.

“Do you?” Rossi asks, and your scoff is harsh. Your voice is hard. Your finger skids off of the ceramic.

“I could never blame Derek. He was there. He was the one who held her hands while she lay there dying.” Your hand squeezes into a fist, and you feel the sting of your nails against your palm.

Rossi sighs, leans forward in his chair. You can’t look at him, but you hear it, in his voice. The pain. “Kid…”

“But what did I do? Just stood there. Like an idiot, I should’ve… should’ve done anything, and maybe she’d be… she’d be sitting…”

Your voice cracks, and Rossi is moving to embrace you. He hugs you, holds you tight, and you try not to think about the empty chair as you cry onto a suit worth more than your rent.

And maybe, just maybe, he cries on your shoulder, too.

“As I said, I take full responsibility for the decision. If anyone has any issues, they should direct them towards me.”

“Issues? Yeah, I got issues.”

She’s alive.

She’s fucking alive.

Derek’s words echo in your head. You can’t think of anything to better sum up your feelings than his sharp tone, the hurt in his gaze as he stared at Hotch.

The case is over. Winding down. Your vest is tight on your chest, and you can’t really think until you start to rip it off. Maybe it’s against protocol, when guns are still drawn and Doyle’s body isn’t even cold on the runway, but your eyes can’t stand to stare at the damn plane any longer. You need to get out of there.

Your steps start to move towards one of the SUVs. A hand finishes the job, and your vest falls to the ground, your

You hear your last name. It doesn’t really register that you should turn around until you hear it again, sharper, more direct. When you hear your name again, it’s right behind you, and you whirl around to snap when you realize it’s Hotch.

Suddenly, your anger rises. Snapping isn’t enough. A slap seems more appropriate, and your fingers curl into a fist at the sight of him.

“I just need some air,” you settle on saying, but the words are so strangled he surely must know what’s raging inside of you.

His eyes. He’s bearded and dressed down, he’s vested with a still-warm gun, but his eyes are the same. Deep, endless, pained.

“You did good work,” he offers, and what lid you have on your frustrations comes off. You scowl, almost snarl at him.

“You’re a bastard, Hotch.” And tears prick at your eyes until you have to turn away again.

He’s already seen you cry. He’s seen you weeping, a mess, as he checks up on you. Analyzes your grief, to make sure you can still function as an agent, as a team member. He’d sat next to you, then, a hand on your shoulder, and you’d seen him as you’d always seen him. Stoic. Strong. A leader.

Not now.

He’s seen you cry once. He will not see it again.

JJ stares after Spencer, after his anger flares. He trusted her, after all. It makes you wince, the look on her face, the tears in her eyes. Maybe you shouldn’t have seen the display, but it’s not your fault the doors were open, not your fault that Reid’s cry of “it’s too late” sends shivers down your spine.

JJ stands there, afterward, the look on her face crestfallen as Reid walks away from her. Prentiss calls after the genius, but you find yourself drifting towards the blonde. Hotch stands behind you, with Rossi, and Derek, their heads over a file once Prentiss goes to soothe him, but you’re enraptured by the way that that JJ’s shoulders are hunching when she turns from the eyes that had been on her.

“What, here to pile on?” she sighs out. Her body is over the table, a hand on her face and wiping away the tears.

You stiffen. You had been reaching for her, but now the gesture seems weak, and you just pull back. Your hand clenches into a fist.

“Don’t do that, Jayje.”

She looks up at you. And maybe what she sees on your face she saw on Reid, because it’s her turn to wince.

“I’m sorry,” she whispers, looking back down at the table. “I just –“

“Yeah. I know.”

You move to sit down, pulling one of the chairs out for you to settle into. Your eyes close, for a moment, and when you open them again she’s looking at you.

“We did what we had to do to protect Emily. You know that, right?”

For a moment you hesitate. You work the saliva in your mouth for a second, trying to think of something to say. At this point, all you feel is an amalgam of… everything the past few months had to offer you, especially when you look at the woman in front of you.

“I know. Now. But for a long time, all I knew is that she was dead. And all I had left were my friends.”

“You didn’t lose those,” she counters, and for a moment your eyes lift to move over to Hotch, to Prentiss, to her. “I’m still the same person that cares about you, that loves you, all of you. I was doing my job. For you, for Derek, for Spence –“

“You left a liaison and came back a profiler. Emily died a profiler and came back a spy,” you say with a laugh, but it’s hollow. When you stand, she lifts up, too, and you offer wan smile. “Things are different, JJ. Not good, or bad, just different. Whether or not you see it is up to you.”

You think you can pretend, for a night. Pretend like it still doesn’t ache still. Pretend, like Reid, like JJ, like all of them that it’s all okay again.

But every time you look at her, you seem to look right through her. Like she truly is a specter, come back to life.

You find an escape, as you finish your carbonara, after Rossi has poured you another glass.

“What can I say?” she asks you, and your body stills, your hands gripping the edges of the sink.

She came back, after all. She smiles at you, at work, and you smile back, and yet each time you look at her desk all you see is an empty chair. So maybe she’s just noticed just how hollow the gesture really is, and maybe she sees the way you still pick at your food some days when your dreams have her in them.

All you see is her, dead on the warehouse floor. Dead on the operating table. Dead right in front of you, even as she reaches out to you, pleads with you to just talk.

“I don’t know,” you admit, seeing her in the mirror when you look up, turning to face her and leaning on it the sink’s marble lining.

“Can I try?”

Your eyes meet hers steadily. Your chin lifts. You raise a brow at her. “Yeah. Okay. Try.”

When she lifts her hand to brush her hair behind her ear, you see Derek gripping it tight.

“I lost you, Prentiss.”

She’s taken aback. She hasn’t said a word, after all, and yet you’ve already cut her off, eyes stuck on her hands before you manage to meet her eyes. “I lost you,” you repeat, “and I don’t know if I can get you back.”

“But I am back,” she tries, and you shake your head.

“And what’s left? What’s left, Prentiss?” Your voice is sharp, and you’re glad Rossi’s house is a maze as well as a mansion. Some semblance of privacy. “I watched Derek carry your fucking coffin, I cried in bathroom stalls all over the damn country. I watched Hotch lie to my face over and over again, telling me how to deal with the fact that you died, Emily.” Your sudden laugh shocks you. “How fucked is that? I had to wallow in my sorrow with a man who knew that it was all bullshit.”

Her jaw clenches, her gaze breaking yours. “And I’m sorry. You and Derek and Penelope and Reid and Rossi, none of you deserved that. Do you hear me?” Emily is fighting back now, taking another step forward, and when she reaches for you, you don’t flinch back this time, pinned against the sink. Her hands grab at your arms, hold you still. “I’m sorry. But I needed to stay alive, do you hear me? I needed to stay alive, and that was the only way I could do that.”

She’s still calm. Still composed. Still a spy. It infuriates you, and your breath comes out in a hiss.

“The only way?” Your eyes narrowed, and your accusation was paired with a finger jabbing into her shoulder. “The only fucking way was for you to lie to us? To me?”

“I did what I did to protect you guys. To make sure you all stayed alive! You think I wanted to leave?” You can see the cracks, actual emotion under the careful presence she’s created as she slides back into the team. “With me gone, Doyle took his eyes off of you. You were no longer a target.”

You push past her, scoffing. “I would’ve taken a bullet for you, Prentiss. I would’ve taken anything for you. The whole damn team would’ve. You’re the one who thought we couldn’t handle it.”

Suddenly, her fingers reach out to grip your shoulder. Halting you. Your instinct is to shrug away again, but you’re spinning to snap at her, give her a real piece of your mind –

But you can’t. Because the last of the spy has fallen away, and all that is left is Emily. Her wide eyes, pleading with you as she says your name.

Your body goes a little limp. Your anger passes, as it does these days, like the first light of a match. Sparks and sputters before fading away altogether. When you look up at her again, you just sigh. Raise a shoulder in a half-hearted shrug, weak once the anger leaves you.

“I just… missed you, Emily That’s all.” It comes out hoarse, and you shake your head, trying to clear it. “I missed you so much, and you were gone. And I guess that’s what hurts the most. Knowing that there was nothing I could do but watch you die.”

Her grip on your shoulder has loosened. You can pull away, if you must, but something about the way her fingers glide across your arm make you linger just a bit longer.

“You’re my family, Emily. And I just can’t lose my family again. I can’t. I just need… I need some more time. I’m sorry.”

Her hand drops. Your lips twitch up for a moment, but then you’re moving away from her, turning back to the room where you can hear Penelope’s glee, Rossi’s firm voice.

“How much time?” she calls out, but you don’t respond.

Because the truth is… you don’t know.

tag list: @emilyxprentiss // @genevievedarcygranger // @quillvine // @falcon-arrows // @afuckingshituniverse // @sercyan // @sparklingkeylimepie // @kianagilder-blog // @alexxcorona113 // @mandyandy22 // @thedeaddrop // @angelsbabey // @lolychu // @icyprincess // @gabbygabbie // @cevanswhre // @roses-and-grasses // @mayaaaa // @baadmaxx // @ssaic-jareau // @mooneylupinblack // @rachelxwayne // @greenie128 // @dilaudidwinchester // @stylesboy // @grandpascurtains // @softbibxtch // @winterscaptain // @hurricanejjareau

#my fic #criminal minds #derek morgan #penelope garcia #spencer reid #ashley seaver #david rossi #aaron hotchner #jennifer jareau #emily prentiss #hurt no comfort #angst

66 notes · View notes

talpup · 3 years

Text

Summary: Yami Sukehiro just wanted to join the Magic Knights and make his mentor proud. He knew there would be trails. He knew trouble would come his way. Knew he would be faced with discrimination for being a foreigner and a peasant. What he didn’t know. Didn’t expect. Was that literal Chaos would come his way. That he and his mentor’s sister would be at the center of world ending trouble. Or that he would fall in love with his mentor’s sister and face more than discrimination; but the jealously of Nozel Silva who loved the same woman he did.

Please remember this fic is rated mature and has warnings of violence, abuse, sexual tension, sexual behavior, and other possible triggers. For a full list of story tags please check the fics AO3 (link to that at the top of my tumblrs homepage).

***Unlike most chapters which are segmented into a days events, this one is a continuation of the same day as the previous chapter.

Chapter 99

Yami and Teris had spent the evening out at the Saber Wolf pens. It had meant missing supper but neither had minded. With the way Yami had been this last month or so, it was clear he needed space to breath. And with events having Jax bar Yami from going out riding, cuddling after sharing what happened during each others morning had been the least and best Teris could offer.

In truth, Teris had needed the breather too. Her reluctance to leave the space and return to the rest of the world and its never ending troubles leading her to tarry longer than she normally would have. Yami hadn’t been happy about the reminder of this evenings meeting. But his hope that Jax would finally tell them whatever it was he had been hiding for the past few weeks kept him from putting up much of a fight when Teris said they should head in.

Jax was coming up from the back hall when Yami and Teris entered the house. “There you two are. I was getting ready to send someone out to search for you.” His eyes narrowed. “You didn’t go out riding did you?”

“No.” Yami glowered.

Teris sighed heavily. There went any release of tension their evening together had brought.

Jax huffed at Yami’s growling tone. “I see you’re still in a temper.”

“Yami!” Bran dashed down the stairs. Seeing Jax, he straightened and gave him a nod. “Captain.” Clearing his throat, he turned back to Yami. “I need to talk with you.”

“It’ll have to wait, Bran. I have a meeting with my Vice Captain's.” Jax turned, expecting Yami and Teris to follow.

“It can’t wait! It’s important.” Bran blurted.

Jax turned back, brow raised. Bran wasn’t the type to challenge.

Looking up at Yami, Bran told. “It—it has to do with that thing we talked about at my family's farm on Vanessa’s birthday.”

Yami rubbed the back of his neck, muttering a curse.

“What’s he talking about?” Teris asked Yami.

“You know what this meeting is for. Is this really that important?” Jax asked, subtlety reminding Yami of the people waiting in his office.

“Yeah.” Yami told the Captain. He looked down at Bran. “It better be.”

“Fine. Teris. With me.” Jax pointed at Yami. “My office, quick as you can.”

Yami gave Jax a nod.

Teris hesitated by Yami’s side.

Hand brushing down her arm, Yami tilted his head toward Jax, encouraging Teris to follow the Captain. “I’ll be there in a bit.”

99.1.2

“Where’s Yami?” Greywright asked when Jax entered with only Teris.

“Had something important to deal with. He’ll be here shortly.” Jax closed the office door.

“Well in that case. If I may, I’d like to start by discussing the meeting I had with Teris this afternoon at Magic Investigations.” Marx said, not wanting to spend the evening repeating themselves to catch Yami up. He looked at Teris. “I am correct in figuring you already told Yami about that, yes?”

Sinking into a hard-backed chair, Teris nodded.

“You had a meeting with one of my Vice Captain's?” Jax turned from Marx to Teris. “Why didn’t I know of this?”

Teris opened her mouth to explain; but Marx spoke up first, telling Jax, Greywright, and Julius about the small painting Magic Investigations had unearth in the ruins of Yurist’s lab. Marx stopped at the point where he had asked Teris to look at the portrait and ask the History of Chaos about it.

Julius turned to his sister. “You had never thought to ask the History of Chaos about its author before?”

At his incredulous tone, Teris became defensive. “It’s called the History of Chaos! How was I to know it had any information about Yurist himself?”

“Because most authors put some kind of note or forward in their work.” Julius shot back.

“Enough.” Greywright ordered.

Caught between annoyed and humored, Jax complained. “You two are such siblings.”

“I said, enough.” Greywright rumbled. He glanced at Julius, thinking the same as Jax and cursed the way of things. Even if everything worked out to its best possible outcome, Julius and Teris would still face hardship and heartache.

A Wizard King gave up all family ties to serve the kingdom and its people. On paper it sounded sensible. It kept the Wizard King, and therefore the Magic Knights from focusing on the welfare of certain citizens. Cutting ties and taking on a new last name also meant enemies couldn’t exploit a familial weakness, since there wasn’t any. But in reality, many Magic Knights still focused on the welfare of certain citizens. And while enemies might not be able to fully exploit a familial weakness; becoming Wizard King, cutting ties and changing your family name didn’t erase the love and experiences one had before those ties were cut.

Sighing, Greywright focused on Teris. “What did the page of Chaos say when faced with this portrait Magic Investigations found?”

“It’d be easier if I just showed you.” Teris unclasped the case that hung at the back of her waist and called forth her grimoire. The tome landed in her hand, falling open to the page of Chaos.

Julius didn’t even try to tamp down his curiosity. Getting to his feet, he moved to stand behind his sister eagerly looking over her shoulder.

“Who is this?” Teris asked the page, thinking of the man and pregnant woman she had seen in the portrait.

“There’s a mental link?” Jax uttered, unnerved.

“What’s that?” Marx asked, turning to him.

“Since when could she think something and have the page pull an image from her head?” Jax asked, wondering why no one else seemed distressed by this.

Marx blinked, eyes going wide at the disturbing realization. He censured himself for missing such a thing when just this morning he had asked Teris if all Nova’s were guilty of ignoring the painfully obvious.

Too mesmerized by what looked like ink billowing on the page of Chaos, Julius didn’t even hear them. The swirling dark liquid coalesced into letters, words, and finally full sentences. He reached without thought, needing to get a better look at the magical sight.

Teris gladly let her brother take the spell-book, having read the answering message twice. Once with Marx and then when she had shown Yami.

“My son is death.” Julius read. He looked up at Jax and Greywright, and clarified. “Lower case ‘d’.”

Jax exhaled, relieved at the distinction.

Eyes lowering, Julius continued reading. “He killed my beloved Celeste who died bringing him into this world. A world dimmed of light and full of darkness now that she’s gone.”

“Little ‘l’ and ‘d’?” Jax asked.

Julius nodded and went on. “If I had seen it, I would have stopped it. Found some way to save my sweet, beautiful beloved. What good is a Prophecy Mage who cannot see what will effect him most? But the more connected I am to a happening, the harder it is for me to see. I left my newborn son with a governess and threw myself into my work. Years must’ve passed for he is now grown. I didn’t even know Erin had left for the Spade Kingdom until this portrait had arrived. He looks happy. He and his bride, heavy with their child. He and Mir—“ Julius faltered, looking up at the others, “Mira Spade.”

The Azure Deers Captain looked at Marx. “Not the Mira Spade?”

“The time frame fits. Though we have no images of her. So even if we had a proper date, we wouldn’t be able to say for certain.” Marx answered.

“Why? Who’s Mira Spade?” Jax asked.

“The daughter of some long past Spade Kingdom King.” Greywright said. “There’s not much we really know of her. But the little we do has fed into some fantastical tales. It was said she married a foreigner who took her name as a show of fealty to his new home and family. Story says she was cursed for the marriage, and began to wither soon after becoming pregnant. She supposedly didn’t last till term. Weakening and dying. It’s said the babe was cut out of her. And despite being only seven months, that the child lived. That every nursemaid that came on to care for the child began to wither and weaken just like Mira had; all the while the child continued to get stronger.”

They all stared at the Magic Knights Commander.

“What? I know things too.” Greywright said.

“Hear the story from Sabine?” Julius teased, mentioning the Knights Commander’s ex who had once been an Investigations Mage.

Greywright colored slightly at being caught. “It was a favorite tale of hers.”

“And tale is all it is. For there is little we actually know about Mira Spade.” Marx said.

“Well I guess you now know she married Yurist’s son. Bet you and your fellows in Investigations will have a field day with that.” Jax said.

Marx had to admit that confirmation of such a long held question many had wondered over would be a rather large deal in Magic Investigations. That was if he wrote up a report detailing the discovery. “There will be no field days for Magic Investigations yet, Captain. The meeting I had with Teris was off book for a reason.”

Greywright nodded, glad he wouldn’t have to tell Marx to keep quiet. “He’s right. So long as Ellara is running Magic Investigations, nothing about Yami, Teris, or what we learn about the Agents of Chaos can be reported over there. That includes anything involving the History of Chaos, Yurist, or any of his other works.” He looked at Julius. “What else does the page say?”

Teris shook her head even as Julius answered. “That’s it.”

“But what does it even have to do with Yami, Teris, or the Agents of Chaos? Other than that Yami and Teris have the History of Chaos and Yurist wrote it and had a son who married some Spade Kingdom Princess who died before their child was born?” Jax asked.

Marx opened his mouth to answer. But before he could speak, a knocked sounded. Yami entered with Bran in tow.

Jax shot to his feet. “What’s going on?”

“That important matter was even more important than I thought.” Yami said, closing the door behind Bran. Sighing, he told them of the task he gave Bran the day of Vanessa’s party.

Jax stared in disbelief. “You ordered him to spy on members of his own squad? My squad!”

“Asked.” Yami corrected.

Jax scoffed, anger bubbling. “As if he’d tell you no, even if you weren’t his Vice Captain. In case you haven’t noticed, Yami, the boy looks up to you.”

“In case you haven’t noticed, the kid’s grown up.” Yami snapped back. “Yeah, he’s a bit creepy with the way he looks up to me. But I made it clear this wasn’t an order but a personal and dangerous ask that could land him in trouble if caught.”

Bran colored slightly, embarrassed at being called creepy and being discussed so openly.

Jax shook his head, still upset.

“If he didn’t have the backbone to tell me no, I wouldn’t have asked.” Yami said.

Though nervous, Bran took a step forward. “I did it cause I wanted to help.”

Jax ignored Bran. “What did you tell him? Did you tell him about Ellara? Yami. What were you thinking!”

“I was thinking that we have an unwitting spy and a creepy ass bastard, who knows more than he’s saying, living under this roof and it would be nice to know what they were up to when they thought no one was watching.” Yami said, his own anger rising.

“He has a point.” Greywright said. “While I trust that you, Yami, and Teris are careful about what you say around Olsen; this is one area we can be pro-active about. None of us want to think Olsen is being used to spy but what if Ellara used him to plant something?”

Jax frowned. “Plant what?”

Greywright shrugged. “I don’t know. That’s the point. None of us know. Bran’s ability to listen in was invaluable during the Nine Day War. It would be a waste not to make use of him.”

Bran ducked his head, tinting at the praise.

“Make use of him against my own people?” Jax challenged. Before Greywright could speak, he sighed and turned to Bran. “What did you overhear?”

Bran quickly told how he had been riding a Jay following Iban through the forest when Ellara appeared, and had then explained how he jumped into several bees to listen in.

Jax was barely able to keep silent and let Bran finish. As soon as he was done, the Black Bulls Captain exclaimed. “She’s married to him!”

Disturbing as that was. As troubled as Teris was hearing Bran tell of the deal Iban had with Alowishus, the entire thing sounding as if the Blood Mage use to have some personal and not just ancestral connection to the Agents of Chaos; she was more concerned about Yami.

Settling down Jax a glanced at Julius, Greywright, and Marx. Naturally, he had told them about Iban and the binding vow Alowishus forced Iban into. Jax had been disappointed when Julius and Marx confirmed that such a binding blood vow couldn’t be broken without suffering the ill effects stipulated when the vow was made; but somewhat reassured that Iban hadn’t lied about it.

The Black Bulls Captain looked at Yami. “Well I suppose that explains your temper. Good to know, I guess.”

Teris didn’t see anything good about any of this. The Darkness within Yami was affecting his temperament, and according to what Bran overheard would consume him if left to grow.

“What do they mean, ’more desirous of Teris’?” Julius questioned, protective brotherly instinct simmering to the surface.

Mildly chagrined, Yami rubbed the back of neck, avoiding his mentor’s gaze. “Yeah. I’ve been struggling a bit. Feeling pent up and angry. But the force inside me isn’t going to consume me. I’m handling it.” He shot Jax a brooding look. “Though it’d help if Teris and I could go riding on our wolves.”

Jax’s eyes narrowed.

Yami looked at Teris asking the question he had wanted to ask but hadn’t because he didn’t want to worry her. “Did you have the same problem in the year leading up to the Solstice?”

“Yeah, but not--”

Teris was cut off by Julius. “If the ritual the Agents of Chaos did on the Summer Solstice released the building force inside Teris. What happens to Yami when we stop them from doing the same to him for the Winter Solstice?”

Teris’ eyes widened, darting from Julius and back to Yami.

“Let’s table that disturbing thought and come back around to it.” Greywright said. “Everyone take a seat.”

Jax sat back down, while Julius handed Teris back her grimoire and returned to his place on the sofa. Yami pulled a hard-backed chair next to Teris’ and sat down beside her.

Bran looked about nervously. He hadn’t been invited to this meeting. He hadn’t even known the Magic Knights Commander, Captain Julius, and a top ranking Investigations Mage had been in here. Yami had merely brought him in to relay what he had overheard while riding the bees.

“Take a seat, Bran. You’re a part of this now.” Greywright said.

Even though the Commander outranked his Captain, Bran looked to Jax for confirmation.

Jax nodded.

Bran looked at Yami. This clearly surrounded him and Teris. If either Vice Captain told him to leave--

“Sit!” Yami barked.

Bran nearly sat on the floor in his rush to comply. He managed to back up a step and sit on a chest near the door.

“There’s that temper again.” Jax chastised.

“No. That’s just Yami.” Julius said, hiding his humor in his sympathy for Bran.

Greywright rubbed his forehead and sighed, thinking he was surrounded by a bunch of children. “Julius, even though Marx was the one to discover it, Shadow was once a Captain of your squad. So why don’t you tell Teris.”

Instead of telling, Julius picked up a fabric bound book from the coffee table and handed it to his sister.

“What is it?” Teris asked, taking the book.

“It’s the last journal of Captain Shadow Banashe.” Julius saw the change in Teris’ expression, and gave her a reproving look. “I see you recognize the name.”

“She made no mention of Captain Shadow’s name in her report or debriefing of the geyser labyrinth.” Jax said of Teris.

“I got it from you.” Teris said, looking at Marx.

Eyebrows knitting together, Marx opened his mouth to refute ever telling her such a thing.

“Well not you directly.” Teris went on. “There were several files left open on the table during my debriefing that day. I didn’t see her last name but I saw the first, and that she had been a Captain of the Azure Deers.”

Julius’ expression darkened, disapproval growing.

Marx bristled at the violating breach of classified files. Julius never would've done such a thing. Well, Marx amended in his head, Julius’ obsessive curiosity most definitely would’ve seen him do such a thing; but he never would’ve admitted to it without any sign of guilt or shame the way Teris just had.

Jax ran a hand over his face, both exasperated and impressed by his Vice Captain.

Thinking she would make one hell of a Magic Knights Commander one day, Greywright fought a smirk hoping Sir Jorah truly could find a way to keep Teris from being banished for her refusal to wed Nozel.

“Did you see anything else?” Greywright asked.

“Nothing of use or that I’ve been able to piece together to make sense of.” Teris frowned, annoyed with herself. Shadow had been the Clover Kingdoms last light magic user before her. The mummified corpse had called herself the Light Bringer and Harbinger of Darkness. She looked down at the long dead Captain's journal, the cover frayed and faded. “When did you find this thing?”

“The day before Flic turned himself over to your comrades.” Marx said.

Teris’ frown deepened. She had held so much hope that Commander Greywright would learn something about the Agents of Chaos’ plans or whereabouts from Flic; but it seemed that even when something was dropped right in their lap, nothing of sizable use came from it. It was frustrating. They were always one step behind Alowishus and his followers. No. That was far too generous; they were no where near that close. They were barely working on the same playing field.

“That was seven days ago. You all keeping stuff from us again?” Yami asked, eyes on Jax.

Jax stared back. Even though he had listened to Commander Greywright and Julius despite his own wanting to tell Yami and Teris about the leather bound journal he found four weeks ago, he wasn’t about to be shamed by his Vice Captain for it.

“It wasn’t like we had much of a chance. What with Nozel and Fuegoleon turning up missing the morning after Flic turned himself in. You and Teris being taken later that evening. Flic becoming gravely ill two days after you returned, and then him dying yesterday.” Julius said, in defense of himself and his friend. He glanced at Bran disturbed that what the young man overheard between Ellara and Iban all but confirmed his and Marx’s theory on how Flic was killed. A part of him wanted to find Iban and force the man to tell everything he knew no matter how insignificant, and no matter the cost to the Blood Mages family.

“Julius only informed me about the late Captain's journal two days ago. Marx telling him that same morning.” Greywright said, thinking that they needed to come up with a better way to communicate. But even communication crystals could be tapped into. And according to what Yami had seen the morning of the Summer Solstice, the Agents of Chaos had hundreds of members. Without knowing what type of magic those members had...

“A quarter of the journal is blank.” Marx said.

“I’m guessing it’s more than just empty pages of an unfinished journal from a life cut short.” Teris said, not seeing any other reason Marx would point out such a thing.

Marx nodded. “While the blank pages are at the end and likely would have been thought of as empty, there are two sentences and a signature three pages later.”

“Three blank pages and then more writing?” Teris looked between Marx and Julius figuring that even with everything going on they would've tried something to reveal what, if anything was written.

“You were able to sense what no one else did in the geyser labyrinth. As if the remains of Captain Shadow had been calling to you.” Julius said, disturbed and intrigued.

Teris darkened at the memory. “She used me.”

Julius’ eyebrows furrowed in confusion. “Used you?”

Teris picked at the threads of the frayed journal. “She used me to get to Yami. She called herself the Harbinger of Darkness. Said she called to me to fulfill her destiny. A destiny that was clearly to bring out the Darkness in Yami.”

Julius sighed. “I can see how you might think that, but--”

“There’s no other way to think of it. It’s what she did!” Teris stormed.

Yami grabbed Teris’ hand and got to his feet, pulling her up with him. “Excuse us a moment.”

Jax and Julius blinked as Yami opened the office door, stepped out with Teris, and closed it behind.

“Well,” Greywright sighed, sitting back, “anyone want to relay to Bran the importance of keeping quiet about all this while we wait?”

Jax, Julius, and Marx turned to Bran.

Not knowing what to do, Bran smiled and waved. Knowing that was the wrong thing to do but unable to stop, his other hand grabbed his waving hand and pulled it down.

An embarrassed blush tinted Bran’s cheeks. “Sorry. I’m just really nervous.”

99.1.3

Yami turned to Teris as soon as the door closed. “You’re not some transformation mage pretending to be Teris, are you?”

“What?” Teris’ eyes furrowed. “Yami, this is serious.”

“I know. So why are you afraid to look at that thing? It’s not like you.”

Teris bristled. “You heard why. She--”

“Whatever happened, happened cause I needed to get to you.” Yami said, cutting her off. He looked at her remembering the fear and anger he felt when she disappeared behind the rock wall. He shook the memory away, telling himself as well as her. “We’re not in some labyrinth where you can be locked away from me.”

“No we’re not.” Teris agreed. “We’re standing here after having just heard that the force inside you is growing so fast and strong that it might consume you. That even the crazies who want to see that force grow are concerned.”

“Weren’t you listening? I said I was handling it.”

“Yami. I’m worried. I love you.”

Yami’s fingers clasped behind Teris’ neck, palms cupping her face in both hands. His forehead pressed against hers, steel grey eyes staring into her dark bottomless ones. “I love you too, Ikigai.” His nose bumped hers, breath fanning her face. “It’s why you have no reason to worry. I’d never lose to anything, least of all some force inside me, so long as I have you.”

Head shaking in his hands, Teris opened her mouth. Yami silenced her with a kiss. It was meant to be a brief, reassuring kiss; but as soon as his lips touched hers his desire for her ignited like a broken jar of Wild Fire.

One hand dropped from her face, arm wrapping tightly around her waist. Yami pulled her close, leaning over her. The words Bran overheard Iban tell Ellara replayed in his mind. “The Darkness is already bleeding out and effecting him. He has been more volatile. Angrier than usually. Possibly even more desirous of Teris and the Light that is inside her.” That last sentence echoed as he kissed her. “Possibly even more desirous of Teris and the Light that is inside her.”

Yami didn’t think anything could make him more desirous of Teris. He certainly didn’t like the idea of anything effecting him that way. But as the kiss grew ever more heated, he thought he understood what Iban meant. It had nothing to do with desire. At least not his usual loving desire. This desire was darker. Consuming and unquenchable. It wasn’t for Teris herself, but for what Teris was. What Teris could be. A light and warmth that could fill a dark cold, bottomless hunger.

Yami pulled away leaving them both breathless. “Read the damn pages. I know you want to.”

Teris stared up at him.

Yami quirked a brow. “Aren’t you the least bit curious?”

“Yeah. But… The last time I gave into my curiosity where Captain Shadow was concerned bad things happened.”

Yami’s lips brushed hers as he spoke. “You have no clue what you mean to me If you think some long dead woman could take me away from you.”

99.2

“A letter from Lady Ellara.” Calen said, entering his Master’s office.

Alowishus frowned. He wasn’t expecting anything from her. Given the suspicions of Captain's Julius and Jax, coupled with the traitor Flic surrendering himself to the Magic Knights, Alowishus hadn’t imagined he would hear from Ellara for more than six months. Something had to have happened.

Alowishus opened the missive. It was a brief message, straight to the point. Typical of her communications. But what wasn’t was that it didn’t bear her usual endearment at the end. Curious.

Setting down the letter, Alowishus told Calen almost proudly. “The Darkness in Yami is growing.”

“Already? Isn’t it far too soon?” Calen asked.

Alowishus thought back to his latest dealing with Yami and Teris, three days ago. He supposed his eagerness and following anger over the Future of Chaos had something to do with his having missed the signs. Still, that was hardly an excuse. He was better than that. He had spent too much time and had too much riding on his plans to become sloppy and not notice every little thing.

“How do we tamp the force down?” Calen asked.

“Tamp it down! We will do no such thing.” Alowishus said.

“But--”

“Yami is not the real concern here, his fix is an easy one. What we need to worry about is Teris. At this rate she will not survive the Ritual of Darkness. If she doesn’t grow stronger, the Darkness within Yami will kill her and the Light inside her with it.”

“What are we going to do?” Calen asked, worried for their hopes for the new existence.

“We will deal with Yami. Contact King Morris. I think it’s time I made good on my promise to let the Diamond Kingdom have Teris.”

99.3

Back in Jax’s office, Teris took up Captain Shadow’s journal. She hesitated, eyes lifting to Yami.

Yami gave her an encouraging nod.

Taking in a fortifying breath, Teris opened the journal to the marked page. Her eyebrows furrowed, wondering if the page marker had been put in the wrong place. The pages weren’t blank. Sure, that’s what Julius and Marx had been hoping for. That as a light magic user like Shadow, she would be able to read the blank pages. But surely it couldn’t be this easy. Could it?

Teris began to read aloud, half expecting them to stop her and say that wasn’t the spot. Only they never did.

“I was a fool. I fell in love with him. Everard Spade.”

Jax straightened in his seat.

Yami saw the looks the Knights Commander, two Captain's, and Marx shared. Was this about whatever secret Jax was keeping that the Captain had been going to tell him about before Greywright called in about Flic dying?

“But how could I not?” Teris continued reading. “He was handsome and kind. Powerful and strong. More powerful than I could have ever imagined. But we will get to that. There was always something about him. A melancholy. Even when he smiled, it never fully reached his eyes. He told of his mother's death. And I thought that was why. Who wouldn’t be forever marked by sadness when your own father said you caused your mothers death? It broke my heart for him. Opened me up to him. Which I learned too late is what he had wanted. He didn’t need to lie to gain my care and sympathy. His truth is that sad and broken. He truly is a wounded, tormented soul. But the way he used that truth. Sprinkled in just enough without telling the whole horrid tale…

I thought I was going to spend my life with him. Little did I know. It was my life he wanted. The betrayal happened on the Summer Solstice. He came to my base before dawn. I thought it romantic. Thought he couldn’t wait for our picnic that afternoon to see me. He was ravenous. Insatiable. The two of us making love as the sun rose on the longest day of the year. Little did I know he was feeding on more than my lips. He left me in bed weak. Nearly dead and drained of mana. My Vice Captain found me. I was unconscious for days. Stuck in Healer’s Hall for two weeks. Confused. Heartbroken. He had used me. It was months later that I realized just much he had used me. Had any of it been real? I don’t know. He never said. Doubt I would have believed him if he had.

He was the Master of a group that called themselves the Agents of Chaos. The group apparently went back several hundred years. Several say they were started by Yurist’s son. Others that Yurist himself began the group. All I know is that they were a group of zealots obsessed with ending it all to bring about some knew reality. And that they were being led by the man I once loved and thought had loved me in return.

Everard Spade stole my heart to steal most of my mana. Did he know I would survive? Did he even care? Was our accidental meeting even an accident? Over the course our continued battles I would learn that Everard left nothing to chance. Our meeting had been no accident. Our love affair fully planned. The man was patient. Obsessed. While he might not have known I would survive having nearly all my mana taken the morning of that Summer Solstice, he had to have had a good idea that I would. For his plans for me were far from over.

I don’t know how, but he began to enter my dreams. Showing and telling me such haunting things that I wish I could have forgotten upon waking. One of the things he continually told me about were the primordial forces and the rise of Chaos. That there would one day be a light magic user who was inhabited by a portion of Light; and a dark magic user inhabited by a portion of Darkness. That together their magic could end not just the world but existence itself. As time passed I came to dream of this Light and Darkness; but never when Everard visited me in my dreams which always happened on the night of the New Moon and the two nights before it.

It was during those dreams of Light and Darkness that I came to realize my destiny. I am the Harbinger of Darkness. I will call the Light and see the Darkness show itself, announcing the rise and growth of Darkness. I don’t understand it or know why; but I am certain my fate as the Harbinger will be locked in place this day. Which is why I am writing to you, my fellow light magic user. Because those dreams have also told that I am the Light Bringer. I am the light magic user that comes before you, the one who is inhabited by a portion of Light. It is to you that I write this warning.

Everard Spade is ancient and strong. Older than any person has a right to be. It is little wonder that he has gone mad. Seeking out knowledge and making plans that will let him finally, truly, have the peace and rest he so desperately desires. But how does one kill Death? Mana knows I have tried. Tried to give him the death he wants and justly deserves. In the years following that Summer Solstice he has haunted and tormented my every step. And I have tried and failed to rid the world of him and give him the eternal sleep he wants. I thought I had finally succeeded. That you and this dark magic user would be spared of his plans. The world safe from his aims. But I fear I was wrong. Though small and faint, I feel his presence once more. I fear I only succeeded in killing the body. A body I know no soul could still reside in. I saw that body burn to ash. I incinerated it with my magic. But somehow the life force that had been within that body is growing and among us once more. Whether because of a curse. A spell gone wrong. Or a cruel twist of fate. The man that calls himself Death lives on.”

Comments are VERY MUCH appreciated and really make my day. Thank you to those who have left hearts. And a special THANK YOU to those who have recently commented or re-blogged. It really means a lot.

Next chapter snippet:

Julius’ eyebrows pulled together. He didn’t like Jax thinking he was right. He didn’t want to be right. It had been a crazy theory at the time. It was still a crazy thought. Just because what they had learned last night further pointed to such a possibility didn’t make the idea any less insane. But given everything else; talk of Chaos and primordial forces, and crazy zealots who wanted to end everything to start a new beginning. Was the notion that they were dealing with someone that old really that insane?

#yami sukehiro #julius novachrono #marx francois #Black Clover #light in the darkness

9 notes · View notes

creative-type · 4 years

Text

Liar, Liar, Pants on Fire

Summary: Cora had never been very good at telling the truth AO3: https://archiveofourown.org/works/25099165 Word Count: ~2300 AN: Written basically in one sitting, with minimal editing, and without referencing canon for accuracy. Basically, I thought it was a cool title for a Cora fic and needed to get the idea out of my system

“Are you happy here?”

Rosinante looked up at his father’s tired, defeated eyes. He heard Doffy screaming from the next room over, drowning out Mother’s desperate attempts to calm him as he demanded they return to Mariejois. Rosi didn’t think his brother would hit her like he sometimes hit him when he didn’t get his way, but he wasn’t sure, and that frightened him.

“Rosi?” Father prompted, reeling the boy’s wandering thoughts back to the question at hand.

Rosinante fidgeted, dropping his eyes so he wouldn’t have to look at his father’s earnest expression. There were things he did like about living in the North Blue. He didn’t have to wear a bubble when he was outside, or watch the other children laugh as they hurt their slaves, or hear the hateful words their parents hurled as his mother and father.

But this morning they’d had burnt eggs on burnt toast for breakfast, Mother laughing as she told the tale of how she nearly set the kitchen on fire trying to light the stove. Father’s moustache was crooked and there were bits of tissue paper stuck to his face where he’d cut himself shaving. Secretly Rosinante thought that his brother had a point, that their lives would be so much better if Father would let the family purchase a slave or two. Already his mother had ruined an attempt sewing a hole in his favorite stuffed animal, and Rosi had had to bear the indignity of doing household chores.

Quietly, shamefully, Rosi wasn’t sure he wanted to be a human anymore. He squeezed his eyes closed as Father put his hands on his shoulders and lowered himself down to his knees. A Dragon never knelt, and at that moment Rosi felt like screaming, too.

Instead he was forced to face his father. He saw his hopeful smile, strained to the point of breaking, and the bright shine of tears in his eyes. The grip on Rosinante’s shoulders tightened, fingers digging into tender flesh hard enough to bruise.

“Please, Rosi,” his father begged. “Tell me that you’re happy.”

Rosinante swallowed, and somehow managed to smile in return even as Doffy’s tantrum echoed through the mansion’s empty halls. He knew what he had to say, even if it wasn’t true.

“I am.”

Xxx

“Are you sure about this, Rosinante?”

Rosi swallowed hard. He loved Sengoku like a father, but there were times he hated being in the same room as him. People called him the Buddah, but there was no kindness in his expression now, only sharp lines and steep crevices that displayed both his worry and his displeasure. He had reservations about Rosinante’s mission, that much was obvious. What was less clear was why . Did he not trust his adopted son to do what needed to be done? Was he worried that Doflamingo would appeal to the Celestial blood that ran in his veins? Rosinante tapped his fingers in a sharp staccato beat against the arm of his chair. Or was he simply concerned about his safety?

No, that wasn’t it. Rosi had survived from hell and back. There was no pain, no weapon, that could compare to the terror of his childhood. Under Sengoku’s watchful eye he’d grown strong and clever. Clever enough to match wits with his brother, who was already amassing terrible power out of the North Blue.

Cipher Pol had tried and failed to infiltrate his crew. Mariejois had sent their strongest knights, only for them to return in body bags. Vice Admiral Tsuru had made it her personal mission to wipe the scourge of the Heavenly Demon from the seas, and yet not only did Doflamingo live, but thrive.

Rosinante had known since Father died that he would be the one to end his brother’s madness.

“I have to do this.”

“He’s your brother,” Sengoku said.

Rosi’s grip on his chair tightened. “He’s a monster.”

Doflamingo, the boy who would kill his own father in cold blood. Doflamingo, the boy who swore his revenge on all the world. Doflamingo, who even before their banishment was cruel and hateful to anyone he considered lesser than himself.

Doffy, the boy who had yellow hair that burned like gold in the sunlight and a laugh colder than the glacial waters of the northern sea. Doffy, the boy with the charisma to draw people to him like flies to honey, only to pluck their wings and destroy their dreams with the crushing weight of his own ambition.

Doffy, his brother, who had kept Rosinante alive with nothing but spite and sheer force of will, who had always insisted on dragging him to greater and greater heights, whether Rosi wanted to accompany him or not.

Sengoku’s eyes narrowed, cold and calculating. He was a man used to making hard and difficult choices. But this was his hardest and most difficult yet, and Rosi wasn’t sure if it was because of any genuine attachment or if he was afraid of losing too valuable a chess piece in a rapidly changing world.

“If all goes well, you’ll be in a position to put an end to Doflamingo permanently. When that time comes, are you sure you’ll be able to pull the trigger?”

Rosinante didn’t hesitate. “Yes, sir.”

Xxx

There was no doubting that Doflamingo had greatness in him. It cloaked him alike an aura, some vestige of his celestial halo, inspiring those around him. A threadbear, overstuffed seat became a throne if Doflamingo sat in it, his pink-feathered coat his royal vestments. Though he mingled with the small people of the world, the dirty and the downtrodden, he could never be mistaken for an ordinary person. The blood of kings ran in his veins, and the insatiable desire of his ambition would not be satisfied until he ruled the heavens and used the earth as his footstool.

Rosi wondered sometimes what would have happened if Sengoku had found Doffy instead. He wasn’t sure the wildness of his brother’s spirit could ever be tamed, but thought, maybe, that it could have been directed toward a noble purpose. The world needed good rulers just as much as it needed good soldiers, but as the years went on it became increasingly clear that neither Donquixte brother was able to adequately fulfill the role they’d been given.

“Corazón,” Doffy said, savoring the taste of the word as it rolled off his tongue. He loved using the name he’d trapped Rosi with, the title that told all the world who it was he belonged to. “How are the plans coming along?”

Rosi pointed to the map he had laid out in front of him as Doffy edged closer. His brother brushed away bits of cigarette ash, chuckling, “You’ll burn my plans to nothing if you aren’t careful.”

Cold sweat beaded at Rosi’s forehead, but he kept each breath even and controlled. It was just a turn of the phrase, nothing to get worked up about. There was no way he could suspect that he’d already alerted Tsuru of their position.

Doflamingo traced his finger over the map, mad grin growing madder. “I want you to look after Law.” He lifted a hand as Rosi stiffened. “I know, I know, you don’t like the kids, but this one’s different. He’s already proven he’s going to stick around, and he doesn’t have time to waste hanging in the background with Baby 5 and Buffalo. He needs to get his hands dirty.”

Rosi tilted his head in silent question.

“More dirty,” Doffy allowed. He tapped a knuckle against the map, where their newest mark was circled in blood-red ink. “Do you feel it, Rosi? His potential?”

It was rare for Doflamingo to ask his insight like this. As much as he was able to decipher Rosi’s looks and quirks with uncanny accuracy, they never had much to say to one another. There was too big a gulf between them to ever be bridged.

Doffy trusted him, else he wouldn’t have made him his right hand man. But he didn’t understand Rosi anymore than Rosinante understood the fury and madness that made his brother want to set the world on fire.

Or maybe they understood too well, while standing on different sides.

But Law...Law’s vision matched Doflamingo’s perfectly. His brother saw that, and wanted to steal the boy’s hate and use it to fuel his own ambition.

“Keep him safe, alright?” Doffy said. “I’m gonna need him around when he gets older.”

Even if he dared speak, Rosinante’s mouth went suddenly dry, constricting his throat and strangling what little air he had out of his lungs. He’d suspected already that Doffy was looking for a way around Law’s time limit, and if he succeeded…

Law was smart and he was fearless and he was angry. Oh, so very angry. Rosi saw the same fire burning in his eyes that shone in Doflamingo’s when they hung on the city wall. Once Doffy sunk his hooks into him he would never let go. Already the boy cared for nothing but the next person he could hurt. If his brother was able to channel those destructive instincts on his enemies then he might just succeed in bringing the world to his knees.

Rosi left Doffy to his maps, pausing only to clasp his hand on his brother’s shoulder. Doflamingo’s smile grew. “I knew I could trust you.”

Of course Rosinante couldn’t answer, so he left in search of Law. The knife wound in his side throbbed with every step. He couldn’t let Doffy have the boy; there was too much at stake. But neither had he succeeded in chasing him away. Doflamingo offered Law the one thing he craved, and like an addict looking for his next fix, Law would jump through any hoops to stay by his side. To learn, to grow, to destroy.

Sengoku would have said it was worth doing the hard thing if it meant keeping the world safe. History said his mentor and father-figure had put those words into practice often enough. But Rosi wasn’t sure he was strong enough to do the hard thing, the right thing. There had to be another option.

Except that was a lie. It was always a lie, and not even Rosi could convince himself it was true.

Xxx

“I finally found it! The Op-Op Fruit!”

Even in the cold, spots of fever bloomed on milk-white skin. Between panting breaths, Law rasped, “The building’s on fire...I heard gunshots, I thought...I thought something happened.”

Black stars danced behind Cora’s eyes. The pain of countless wounds needled the edge of his temper. “Knock it off, this is the fruit that’s going to save your life!”

“Even if I eat it, doesn’t mean it’s gonna save me.”

There wasn’t time to argue, for him or for Law. Cora forced the fruit down Law’s throat before the strength left his legs completely. Blood trickled down his cheek and stained the white snow red. He didn’t care. They’d won, it was over. He could take Law...and run...and be free of Doflamingo forever…

Cora almost laughed. He’d always been a liar, but even so. He usually he stuck to stories that were believable. His pulse thundered impossibly loud in his ears, almost drowning out Law’s hysterics at the sight of his wounds.

But Law...Law needed help. He needed someone to show him there was another way, that he didn’t have to fall into Doffy’s madness. And to do that Cora needed to survive, and his brother needed to be taken somewhere far away where his poison could never hurt anyone every again.

It was ironic, in a way, that just as Cora resolved himself to live that Law unwittingly sealed his doom. Perhaps it was inevitable. After all, People of D were God’s natural enemy. The same blood in Doffy’s veins ran in his, just as terrible, just as evil. Though he’d renounced his title long ago, there was a time that Cora had lived as a god. Delayed as it was, his punishment was just.

For some reason, Cora was okay with that.

“What’s going to happen to you?” Law asked. He settled down into the empty treasure chest, naked fear in his eyes. Cora didn’t think he’d have the strength to stop him if he did something foolish, so he smiled.

“Doffy wants you and the fruit. I’m his blood brother. He might be furious, but he won’t kill me.”

It was worth it to see the hopeful grin spread across his face. For all that he’d suffered, there was still an innocence in Law. He believed what Cora said, because it’s what he wanted to believe, even if it wasn’t true.

“I’m sorry for lying.”

There was a certain magic in those words, a panacea stronger than anything the Op-Op Fruit had to offer. For just a moment every hard line on Law’s face softened, and he looked like a boy again instead of the sick, angry man Doflamingo wanted him to become.

“I didn’t want you to hate me.”

Cora felt Law’s fists pounding against the rough wooden box. He had to hang on just a little bit longer now, and it would all be over. The sting of regret hurt more than the bullet wounds, guilt crushing him more than the blows of the Doflamingo Family. He was a good for nothing, sorry klutz of a man who made a disaster out of everything he touched. Even now, with everything all on the line, he couldn’t bring himself to pull the trigger.

“I didn’t want you to hate me.”

The darkness was coming in, enveloping him like the sable feathers of his cloak. His arms too cold and heavy to even lift his gun, but still he hung on. For Law’s sake, he would stave off Death for as long as he could.

His breathing slowed, eyes too heavy to keep open. Time was running out. He’d told so many lies, he could only hope that Law would believe him when for once he spoke the truth.

“I love you.”

#corazon #donquixote rosinante #doflamingo #trafalgar law #one piece #One Piece Fanfiction #creative-type writes #sengoku #homing

62 notes · View notes

peter-parcoeur · 4 years

Text

“When you’re gone” - part 3

Post Thanos snap, Peter has to live in a world where Tony Stark is gone. But what happens when Tony’s daughter enters his life...?

Summary + Chapter 1

Chapter 2

Going back to school felt weird.

Though Peter always seemed to struggle to find a balance between his ordinary teenager life and being an Avenger, this time, the wake-up call was hitting harder. His body was definitely walking across the High-School Hall, but his head was somewhere else.

All around him were familiar faces, some looked obviously different after what they all called “the blip” but most of his school seemed back to normal, which was harder to digest as he felt like nothing would ever be the same now that his mentor was gone.

How could he live in a world without Tony Stark?

Luckily, his best-friend was there to show some support and bring random chit-chats back into his routine. Even MJ had given him a hug as she seemed genuinely happy to see him back, but when it should have been the most amazing, unexpected moment of his day, Peter had felt nothing but comfort from catching up with a friend. No tingles at the pit of his stomach, no burning red cheeks, not the usual stiffness down his abdomen. Nothing.

It was like a part of him had died too.

They were all sat in history class when Ned tapped him on the shoulder from behind, his voice filled with some unusual excitement.

“Wow mate, check out the new girl!”

Peter had to roll his eyes and smile at his friend’s typical enthusiasm over the opposite gender. Every time a remotely ‘hot’ girl walked by, Ned turned into a little kid on Christmas Day with a massive sugar rush.

His smile faded as soon as he locked eyes with the girl sitting at the back of the class.

“God” Ned moaned “I would gladly let her step on my face, who’s she?”

“That’s Y/N Stark.” Peter stated as she looked away as soon as their eyes met.

“What do you mean--- Stark? As in...?

- As in Tony’s only daughter.”

Ned was left gobsmacked at this new revelation, quite oblivious to his friend’s sudden change of attitude. Peter looked like he had seen a ghost, writhing on his seat with complete nervousness. He could tell her anger was still running through her blood from the way she avoided his look, but for some obscure reason, he also felt relieved. Now that they had to spend an entire year in the same room, maybe they would get to talk at some point.

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

When the bell rang, Peter wisely waited for Y/N to exit the room before he made any move. It had been the longest hour of his entire school experience and he had been sat in chemistry before, listening to Mr. Wyatt spreading bullshits about things Peter himself could teach better.

“You should talk to her” Ned said after being quiet for longer than anyone would expect him.

“I’m not sure she wants me to…

- When was the last time you spoke?

- Her dad’s funeral?

- Yeahhhh…. Ned winced, maybe not the perfect time to have a chat?

- I know, but she seemed so upset

- Dude, her father died, you think she’s gonna give you a lapdance?”

Peter rolled his eyes at Ned’s obvious answer. He couldn’t quite process how he felt about Y/N. Part of him wanted to avoid her at all costs to save himself the embarrassment, but mostly, he wanted to walk down the hallway as confident as possible and just… talk to her. There was this weird attraction between them that made it seems like, somehow, this reunion was meant to be.

“Alright, I’m gonna talk to her” Peter sighed as he caught a glimpse of Y/N grabbing a few books from her locker across the hallway.

His palms were sweaty as he tried his best to brush them to the sides of his pants, air caught in his throat like he was about to give an inspiring speech to a bored audience. Nobody had ever made him feel this way, not even his high-school crush, MJ.

“Hi, Y/N!”

Y/N turned around to see Peter standing there awkwardly, both his hands buried in his pockets.

For a second, it seems like she was about to speak, her eyes daunting him from head to toes. As he stood closer to her face, Peter realized just how much she looked like Tony. She had his eyes, his cocky expression but her slim nose and perky lips were definitely Pepper’s. Her long brown hair was tamed on a sid braid and her ankle boots made her seem taller than him, which was embarrassing enough if she had chosen not to talk to him.

But with the snap of her locker door, she simply turned her back and walked away, leaving him speechless and embarrassed once again.

“Well done, Don Juan!” MJ teased as she walked past him.

On the other side of the corridor, Peter saw Ned biting his lip so he wouldn’t laugh at his misery.

Things were going to be tougher than he had thought.

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

Economics was the worst.

Peter and Ned usually discussed any other topic that didn’t involve money and budget throughout the whole course, but today, Peter was just lost in his own daydream, looking out the window with his chin buried into his palm. It was a nice autumnal day, the kind that brought him back to better times where he and his Aunt would start decorating their apartment with Halloween/spooky stuff, their favorite time of the year. It was hard to think that life would go on after the blip but Peter was willing to be an optimistic. Happier days would come.

“Alright, today’s class will be sorely about your final assignment… I want you to pay close attention because this will be half of your grade for the exam.” Mr. Andersen spoke louder so the distracted students could hear.

At least half of the class moaned in complete despair. Mr. Andersen’s assignments were known as chaotic and frankly awful. This one was no exception.

“You will be working as a pair”

Ned smiled brightly at Peter, knowing they would definitely team-up, as usual.

At least it would make it less horrible to be working as a team.

“But don’t get too excited” Mr. Andersen added abruptly as he watched his students stare at each other, building up the usual team partners. “I have written half of the class’s names on papers. These papers I have folded and put in this box so the rest of you can draw”.

“You’ve got to be fucking kidding me” Ned burped out.

“Mr. Leeds, since you seem so pleased, we’ll start with you!”

Mr. Andersen walked closer to Ned and offered him a chance to pick a name inside the tiny white box he was holding. Ned reluctantly picked a piece of paper and pulled a worried face.

“Betty Brant…”

Sitting at the front of the class, Betty Brant looked over her shoulder and gave him an unenthusiastic thumbs up. At least, she was smart, but her good looks would definitely make it hard for Ned to focus on their homework. Shivers ran down his spine at the thought of having a girl in his bedroom, his temple, the architectural equivalent of a Jedi farting the Game of Thrones theme song, aka the shameful natural habitat of the biggest geek.

Things went on as everyone picked a team partner with more or less enthusiasm and soon enough, it was Y/N’s time to draw a name into the box.

She quite obviously hesitated before she composed herself and spoke.

“Mr. Andersen, is there any way I can switch partner?”

“Well, Ms. Stark, what would be the point if anyone just decided who they’d like to collaborate with? I’m sorry you didn’t pick your crush’s name but I’m afraid things are what it is. Now, would you be kind enough to share your designated partner?”

There was a silence before she spoke again, her hand fiddling with the piece of paper.

“Peter Parker”

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

“Dude, what are the odds???” Ned squealed as he sat next to Peter at the cafeteria.

It was lunch time and the whole room was buzzing with chatty students and cutlery grazes.

“Yeah, wow, I’m the luckiest guy in the world, am I?” Peter mumbled, still baffled at the complete humiliation he had been given in front of the entire class. The second one that day.

“Now she has no other option than talk to you, think positive!”

“Amazing, it must be as pleasant as being held at gunpoint somehow, I mean… did you hear what she said?” he sighed “Mr. Andersen, can I switch partners?” Peter was mimicking her disgusted tone when Ned gave him the big eyes, nodding towards a point behind him.

“Brilliant, why wasting your time here when you could have a one-man show?” Y/N bluntly stated. Her arms were crossed against her chest, her eyes glued to his face like she was trying to read his soul for some reason.

“Shit, Y/N, I’m sorry I didn’t mean—it’s just—

- Let’s spare us both this conversation, alright? It seems like we’ll have to do this assignment, so… your place or mine?”

Ned couldn’t help but chuckle at the ambiguous comment, but as Peter gave him the dead eye, it was definitely too late to take his nervous laughter back.

“What are you, 12?” Y/N pulled an unimpressed look, eyeballing Ned until he went slightly red. This time, it was Peter’s turn to contain his laugh. Her attitude and comebacks definitely reminded him of the great Tony Stark. In a weird way, it was comforting, like wrapping yourself into a warm blanket in a cold morning. She irradiated with that famous Spark Confidence.

“Whatever suits you best” Peter finally said after what seemed like an eternity of quietness.

“What suits me best is to not be doing this with you but it seems like this isn’t an option, so…”

“Okay, my place then? Peter blurted out all of a sudden

- What time?

- Six thirty

- Good” she turned to Ned “You got a pen?”

Ned fiddled with his backpack and handed her a black ballpoint pen.

“Text me your address” she simply said, writing down her number on a napkin.

She walked away without further word, leaving both Ned and Peter speechless for a while. Peter watched her sit at a table with a bunch of fellow classmates and for a minute, it felt like his brain had stopped to frame-freeze the scene in front of him. Everyone around her seemed captivated, whatever she was talking about. She had inherited that charisma from her father, that ability to catch everyone’s attention in the blink of an eye.

As he stared at her for a couple more minutes, Peter realized this weird, tingly feeling was back at the pit of his stomach.

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

@eternaleviee

#tom holland #spiderman #peter parker #peter parker x reader #tom holland x reader #fanfiction #imagine #tony stark #peter parker fanfiction #spiderman fanfiction #tom holland fanfiction

61 notes · View notes

shinsousbedroom · 3 years

Text

Plus Ultra! Go Beyond the Screen!

celebrity AU drabble series, 3K~, quirkless actor Midoriya Izuku gets interviewed

[Read on AO3.]

GO BEYOND!

A conversation with Japan’s rising star Midoriya Izuku on standing up on set and off as the next symbol for peace. A GQ Japan exclusive.

By Taneo Tokuda | Correspondent

[Image of Midoriya Izuku, leaning next to a window, his body arched off the wall. His head is tilted up and over towards the camera, the left side of his body illuminated from the light coming in, the right side fading into the shadows. He’s wearing a sheepish grin, tugging at the tie around his neck with a single hooked finger, jacket sliding off his shoulders. He’s wearing Best Jeanist’s exclusive non-denim line, and the monocolor layering of velvets in the lighting make his green hair, red shoes, and tie pop in rich color even more.]

I’d been warned that Midoriya Izuku has no regard for outdated formality. He’s far from callous or jaded — sweet and optimistic are two words often used to describe him — but propriety is something he has never been concerned with.

I’d been warned, but I didn’t understand.

Any journalist who’s worked the entertainment beat for a while knows there’s a cadence every interview follows. The details may change, but there are conventional practices that help an interview go smoothly for both the interviewer and subject, to make the most of a complicated relationship between celebrities and the media.

This interview starts behind the scenes, as most do, with the e-mail I send out to Midoriya’s manager, laying out a request to speak with his charge. The enthusiastic response comes just an hour later and references details from a number of stories I’d written across the entire span of my career.

It isn’t his manager’s response. It’s Midoriya’s.

That was my second warning to assume nothing, but I still stumble into Midoriya’s apartment expecting a clean, contemporary, moderately-sized apartment. It’s rare to host interviews in celebrity homes, and when it happens, it’s meant to be a statement — power, wealth, pride, affected sincerity.

Instead, Midoriya opens the door halfway and apologizes because he moved in recently and there’s still a stack of boxes blocking him from opening it any further. The door handle nearly catches between the buttons of my shirt as I squeeze through the crack. Once inside, I trip over his trademark red shoes and nearly take him down in the process.

He catches me in his arms and says with a wry grin, “Don’t worry, I am here!”

That, of course, is a classic reference to his latest role: All Might. All for One will be a Netflix reboot of the old '80s superhero film franchise that turned Toshinori Yagi into a household name. In a casting coup that stunned fans and industry insiders alike, Midoriya fell into the role shortly after making headlines for saving a life during a villain attack on the set of long-running soap opera The Quirked and the Quirkless. The villain had been looking for Toshinori, and in his absence, grabbed a crewmember hostage. Midoriya attacked the villain despite having no quirk.

Soon after, Toshinori reversed his longstanding refusal to produce an All Might reboot and gave the studio a green light — with a stipulation. Just as the franchise had brought him up from obscurity, so must the franchise fill its ranks with youths aiming to catch their big breaks. Enter: Midoriya Izuku.

Midoriya sets me back down gently — yes, he picked me up when I fell, even though I’m a full half meter taller than him — and I’m more inclined to see his suitability as Toshinori’s successor.

Physically, he still looks nothing like his mentor. Where Toshinori is buff, Midoriya is lean, tall to his short, loud to his soft. Toshinori held his strength in the brash, nigh-cocky attitude that got him into as much trouble as himself as it did in the show as All Might. Midoriya carries strength like woven spider silk; it’s graceful and dangerous, but all too easy to overlook for those unused to subtlety. But he carries the same bright aura of unwavering love and determination.

More to the point, I also felt his arms and abs in the fall, and he may not look like he has the muscles of All Might, but they are definitely there.

“You can take a seat anywhere in the living room if you’d like,” Midoriya says, ushering me down the hall with a light hand on my back. “Breakfast will be ready in just a few minutes, but I haven’t put together the kitchen table yet, so living room it is.”

“Breakfast? Did we decide on a working breakfast?” I replied.

“I couldn’t invite a guest into my home without offering snacks! Since this interview coincides with breakfast, I made breakfast.” He pushes me towards the sofa and wags a finger at me when I try to follow him to the kitchen anyway. “No guests allowed to hover or help in the kitchen. It’s too small!”

The rest of the apartment is half unpacked, and haphazardly at that. Boxes are open, dumped out into piles on the floor where they will likely be permanently placed. I perch on the arm of a ratty sofa by the only portion of the room that’s been set up. It’s a veritable shrine to pro heros, fictional and real alike. Two of the five shelves are devoted solely to All Might merchandise.

Midoriya appears behind me, as if by quirk. “Ah, do you collect hero memorabilia? I’ve been a big fan of All Might since I was little, and then I started following hero society in general when I got into middle school, so I’ve built up a lot over the years especially rare items like if you look at the back corner there’s a particularly cool figure of All Might from the emerald era which if you remember was received so poorly that most of the merch was shelved in one location and subsequently destroyed during a villain attack…” He goes on without end or pause, taking me through the history of each item on the third shelf. At minute six, he abruptly tenses mid-sentence. I can almost feel the heat from his red face as he starts stammering apologies for wasting my time and gingerly puts his collection away again.

“You've got a lot of stuff I haven’t seen. It’s interesting.” It makes me uncomfortable how much he clearly doesn’t believe me. “It’ll be good content, that you have such a long history being an All Might fan.” He shrugs my words aside, and gestures behind me to a giant spread he’d laid out on the coffee table before seeing my interest in his collection.

We sit. For a moment, the only sound in the apartment is the clatter of silverware, the muffled bustle of Tokyo’s streets at midmorning a soothing counterpoint. I’m considering how to break the lingering tension I caused. But then —

“I’m a quirkless soap opera actor who seemingly got the biggest role of the decade for doing something completely unrelated to acting. I’m optimistic, not an idiot.” There’s a taut line to his shoulders again, at odds with the quiet, delicate way he drinks his miso soup.

His eyes trail back to the curio shelf of hero merchandise. A heaviness builds between us in the seconds it takes him to think. “I grew up in a neighborhood hostile to me and my mother. I mumble my thoughts out loud and have an obsession for heroes that edges past societally acceptable as an adult. I have no quirk, she had no husband, we had no money. Any insult you could say about us, I’ve heard it.”

He looks me dead in the eyes and leans forward. I can’t help but mirror him. “It would be disrespectful to everyone who supported me to get here if I let the back talk get to me. I worked hard for this role, and I earn it with every new day of effort I put into it. All Might is the symbol for peace, and I intend to embody that legacy. No one will be able to doubt me when I’m done.”

Anyone who’s familiar with Midoriya’s reputation knows not to be surprised by his humility, but it’s a revelation to see this drive, his earnest focus pinning down my full attention. The last bit of the puzzle that was his casting choice is answered in one overwhelming look. If All for One does it right, his magnetism is going to Detroit Smash every heart in Japan.

“The waffles!” He springs up and mutters his way back to the kitchen, cutting past the moment. “I forgot the waffles, Kirishima gave me a waffle maker the shape of All Might’s crest as a housewarming gift, they’re so cute and surprisingly detailed…” In just a few seconds he plops the plate down amid the overfull table and settles back into his seat with a smile. “So? Should we get started?”

Interview has been edited for length and clarity. For the full article, visit us online. Catch the first season of All for One on Netflix, streaming xx xxx.

[Image of Midoriya Izuku sitting outdoors on some sidewalk steps in workout gear, leaning back on one arm, the other hand raised to cover his face from the sun. He’s wearing bright green short shorts and a very loose tank top, the arm holes cut out so deep that the angle lets the photographer capture the sheen of oil and sweat across his ribs and back as light filters through the shirt. One sock is pulled up taut, the other scrunched down, same classic red shoes still on his feet. His legs and arms and hands are haphazardly wrapped in carefully grimed bandages, as is his makeup, smudges of dirt across his cheeks along with make up to bruise his lips a deep, pouty red. Boxing gloves hang over his shoulders, and a bandana mimicking the famed mouth guard from All Might’s most iconic outfit hangs around his neck.]

TT: Congratulations on your first starring role! How does the move from semi-recurring character to protagonist feel?

MI: It’s a huge challenge, one I’m incredibly excited for! My character in Quirkless wasn’t supposed to be mine. I’d already been involved with the show as a quirkless consultant but one day on set, they’d had a huge scheduling conflict, and Director Ryuko remembered I’d originally auditioned for the show for a character that was ultimately cut. She brought me in as a literal last minute replacement, and soon enough a three-episode run expanded into a semi-regular spot next season. At least with All for One I’ve had tons of time to prepare.

TT: Take us through what it was like getting the role of All Might.

MI: I think the media explained the villain attack that brought me to the studio’s attention plenty. What's more important is when after I recovered, Toshinori-san contacted me and connected me to his talent agency, and my new manager was the one that successfully nabbed me an audition for the new show. They had us go through a few standard readings and chemistry checks, and then I got the part.

TT: You auditioned?

MI: I did! That’s what makes the rumors of favoritism even more frustrating. I promise I didn’t get the role because I stopped a villain attack on set! Well, I hope I didn’t.

[File photograph of Toshinori Yagi and Midoriya Izuku post-hostage situation. The stage is in disarray, black goop covering the furniture and floor of a fake hospital waiting room in a thick layer of sticky slime. They stand off-center in the foreground, Midoriya rubbing a fist over his eye, exhausted, possibly crying, as Toshinori pulls him into his side for a hug. Both have shock blankets draped across their shoulders. Emergency respondents case and clean the scene in the background.]

TT: How does it feel to take up the mantle of one of the most iconic comic book characters of all time?

MI: I’d be lying if I didn’t say nerve-wracking, but I’m more excited than anything. I’ve dreamed about this since I was 5, when the doctors first told me I’d never have a quirk and never be a licensed hero. All that love was redirected toward All Might. Some people might say being too big a fanboy will make playing him hard, but I’ve been preparing for this my entire life, and that’s what I’m trying to hold on to instead of anxiety. Toshinori-san has also been a spectacular mentor to me through this whole process.

TT: It's been said that Toshinori-san implemented a rigorous vetting process to work in any position on the crew. Recommendations, mentorship networks — because everyone is new to film.

MI: That’s only true to a certain extent. I wouldn’t say most of us are complete newcomers; we’ve all been around the industry for a fair number of years making our careers off it one way or another. We definitely wouldn’t have gotten hired to such prominent roles without Toshinori’s interference, yes. Because of his stipulation, the studio wanted to minimize as much of the havoc inexperience might cause such a beloved, big budget reboot by offering us close, mandatory support networks featuring industry professionals who’ve been working in their field for decades.

So far, the idea has really worked out well. We get to implement fun new ideas we don’t realize are impossible yet, and the mentors temper our more […] impractical ideas with logic and experience. The cast also has gotten a lot of support from the old cast of the '80s run!

TT: You’re known for being an advocate for quirkless rights in the entertainment industry. Has that impacted the way you approach your career and what opportunities you take?

MI: It isn’t just the entertainment industry I’m interested in for my advocacy work. Society’s rabid obsession with quirks is a problem across all of Japan, for both the quirkless and those with quirks. But as an actor, I happen to have personal insight with the roadblocks that prevent quirkless individuals from succeeding in film. We make up a fourth of the Japanese population, but less than 1% of the Japanese Film Union, in the mere century from when quirks first showed up across the globe. There’s no other explanation for such a miserly diversity rate than discrimination.

Studios have gotten so used to using quirks to sift through application stacks, looking for who can offer the most with just a quirk name and description. Toshinori-san has easily admitted that the electricity he emits when engaging his strength quirk was one of the reasons he won the role of All Might over better known actor Todoroki Enji. It was one less special effect the studio would have to spend money and time on. Viewing accommodation as a costly complication is historically dangerous to all types of minorities across the globe. How am I supposed to compete when people think I can’t offer anything unique compared to the host of wild quirks out there?

TT: Wow, that’s quite the speech.

MI: I’ve practiced a few times.

TT: Really?

MI: Quirk discrimination was my thesis topic at UA.

TT: You went to UA? That didn't show up in my research.

MI: Oh, I […] was in their support program for a while.

TT: Why did you decide to pursue acting instead? They don’t have a fine arts program, do they?

MI: As much as I love support work, it’s a stressful field. [Laughs] I started looking for an outlet that had nothing to do with hero work when an old friend dragged me onto a set. I’d completely forgotten how much I loved acting, and it wasn’t long before I decided to pursue that over support work, for however long it would have me.

TT: Would you ever consider returning to support work?

MI: Yes, but it gets harder the longer you’ve been away. I still keep up my qualifications, and keep up with my old classmates. Some consulting here and there. But for now, I’m happy using my background to help me act a better All Might.

[Photograph of Midoriya Izuku sitting in an office chair, facing three-quarters towards the camera even as he lays half across a desk. The decor is rich: old, dark wooden furniture, ornate work across the frame of the chair and desk, half-filled bookshelves in the background. His cheek rests against his arm stretched along the edge of the deck; one leg is tucked under the seat and the other is extended out. His outfit is artfully ripped name brand jeans and a tight shirt, color blocked in All Might’s classic red, white, and blue. Tiny figurines of All Might in his various costumes across all his comic book and screen appearances dot across his body as if they’ve climbed across his body, and Midoriya is an Atlas holding the weight of these ideals across his shoulders and arms and legs, a Gulliver tied down and overwhelmed. But his expression is vibrant, determined. Not quite a smile, but nowhere near defeated.]

TT: Does it bother you, having your quirklessness constantly be the focus of your career and identity?

MI: Of course! I’m a lot more than the superpower I don’t have. I’m a pretty private person, but I want to do great things. I want to inspire people, to make everyone feel safe and like they belong. If that means I have to feel some discomfort, it’s more than worth it. I’m a big kid with a therapist, so I’m prepared to balance my needs with those of my career.

TT: I’m not helping, am I?

MI: Like I said, I’ve deliberately opened myself up to that focus when I’ve put myself out there as someone willing to talk about these important issues publicly. You’re not asking anything I wouldn’t expect of any good interviewer.

TT: Speaking of privacy, your co-worker Todoroki Shouto is infamous for his taciturn personality and complete seclusion from the public eye, even during personal interviews. What is it like working with him on set?

MI: I have a bone to pick with you journalists about that! Remember what I was saying about how quirk reputations hurt those with strong quirks as much as those without? Todoroki Shouto is a wonderful person, and I’m so glad we get to work together. But boy, that reputation of his does him a disservice. He’s more than just Endeavor’s son and a powerful quirk. […] He’s his own man with a lot to say — it’s just no one’s asked him the right questions, yet. Once you do, you’ll find he shines brighter than any of the characters he’s played. It’s frustrating to see a good man overlooked again and again in favor of easier topics like a flashy quirk and flashy father.

TT: One last question. Isn’t it a hassle to squeeze past those boxes each day to use the front door?

MI: I don’t use the front door.

TT: Then…?

MI: Wouldn’t you like to know? ■

#bnha #my hero academia #bnha fanfic #midoriya izuku #taneo tokuda #quirkless midoriya izuku #celebrity AU #BUT THERE ARE STILL QUIRKS GIVE ME MORE CONTENT ABOUT QUICKS FUNCTIONING IN NORMAL SOCIETY AND THOSE IMPLICATIONS #lolo's fic writing tag

2 notes · View notes

vanchlo · 4 years

Text

The Assistant / Chapter Thirty-Seven, “The Tables Have Turned”

Clickable Links:

- Masterlist feat. all chapters and POV surveys

- Inspo tag

- Playlist

SNEAKYYYYYY PEEEEEK

“At least I had my orientation with Harry to look forward to that coming Friday, but I still wouldn’t start at his firm for another week after that. The anticipation was killing me, and so were the little moments Harry and I shared when I happened to remember them. Sometimes I wish the alcohol had stolen those memories away, because they hurt too much to remember, but then at other times I’d never wish them away, because they give me something irreplaceable - hope.”

Music Inspo: Everywhere by Niall Horan (click to listen)

“You think I like having you in here, destroying everything that was me until all that’s left is you and a dead shell? You're all I bloody think about ... dream about. You're in my gut ... my throat ... I'm drowning in you.”

- Spike, Buffy the Vampire Slayer (S5 x E14)

“How’s yer dad doin’?” Harry asks me when I return to my seat across from him, the soda threatening to spill over the top of my cup.

“He’s doing good, thanks. It took a while for his energy to come back, and sometimes he gets tired easily, but it’s a process,” I answer, plucking a chip from the small white bag and drenching it in the yellow queso. “He’s pretty happy to have all of his hair back, and he’s started to get back into running and lifting weights. Late last summer he started back to work where he does construction.”

“Wow, I feel like I learn mo’ ‘bout yer dad e’ry time we talk ‘bout him. I didn’t know he was into weights and all that, good fer him. Bloody hell he’s like superman. Ya dunno how happy I am t’ hear he’s back on his feet, and doin’ well,” he murmurs with a gentle warmth adorning his features.

It spreads with a spark across my skin when I feel his fingers wrap around mine, squeezing my hand. I’m guilty again with an absence of words when I look back into his eyes, all syllables stolen away from me at the sight and by his gesture. I don’t need to say anything though because unspoken words pass between us as he stares back at me, memories unraveling from all of the times he showed up for me. I still don’t know how I could have ever doubted he cared about me.

“Thank you,” I reply emphatically, squeezing his toasty hand in return. His thumb brushes along the back of my hand before letting it go.

“Welcome, Becks. ‘m sorry I wasn’t there at tha end t’ celebrate,” he responds softly, sadness laced throughout his words as his head falls. His eyes avoid mine as he picks up a few pieces of shredded cheese that fell onto the wrapper laid in front of him.

“It’s okay, Harry, we both kinda forgot.” His head of curls goes up and down at my softly spoken words that only brush the surface. Regardless, I think that it did the job and he knows what I mean. We both know that we ignored the other and forgot, whether on accident or purpose. “I guess there are several reasons for our celebratory dinner and drinks.”

“Very true, bug,” he agrees, the dimples finding their way back onto his cheeks once again. The itchy nervousness abates when his eyes lift again to mine and he holds out his half-eaten taco, grease and warm sour cream dripping from it. “Cheers t’ yer dad’s recovery, catchin’ up with old friends, and tha best o’ all - Becks gettin’ tha associate position at me firm workin’ with me. ‘m excited t’ see what tha future holds for me new favourite lawyer.”

“Stop it, or else I’m going to start crying, and you’ve seen me cry more than enough,” I smile, blinking back the tears as I hold out my taco and bump it against his. “Cheers to new beginnings, Harry.”

“Cheers, Becks, and ‘s okay if ya cry. Happy tears are good too.”

“Very true,” I agree, taking a page from his book before I finish the rest of my taco, a silence falling over our table. It’s replaced with crinkling of wrappers, sips of soda, chewing of crunchy chips and chocolatey churros, and stolen glances at the other.

“How’re Skye and Robbie these days? What’re they up t’?” he inquires, squashing the wrapper of his third taco into a ball that he sets on the side of the tray for our trash. I watch as he plucks a quesadilla from the stack of dwindling food, but he stops and grabs a churro as well with a sly grin. “Hey, they’re fer me too.”

“Harry,” I warn teasingly, a giggle peeking out from my words which he quickly echos, although accidentally. “Um, they’re both good. Skye got a new job at a salon on the west side that she likes. It’s called Roots or something or other, and Robbie is still working at Black and Blue. He actually started dating a girl recently, but I’ve yet to meet her. God, it seems like everybody else is having luck with love, beside us. Myles told me he’s engaged now, and then Robbie’s girlfriend, and Skye said the other day she has a date this week.”

“Ya, we’re ratha pathetic, aren’t we? We haven’t even had any drinks yet and we’re gushin’ ‘bout bloody love,” he cracks, clucking his tongue before feeding the rest of the crisp churro between his rose lips. My oh my, is that a scenic sight right there.

“Yeah, you’re right about that,” I remark, finishing my second taco and grabbing the remaining quesadilla, earning a disapproving head shake from him.

As the flavors of the tangy sour cream, fiery seasoned chicken, and gooey cheese melt on my tongue, our words hit a sensitive spot in my heart. I just hope we can avoid it for the rest of the night, or else I’m afraid I might blurt out some words I’ve been itching to say.

“Hurry up, ‘s bloody cold,” Harry titters, digging his hands further into the pockets of his matte black coat.

“How far are we even going?”

“Oh, hush, you. ‘s not very far, jus’ anotha block,” he answers, his lengthy legs far ahead of mine.

“Harry, that’s what you said like five minutes ago, and slow the fuck down!”

“Hey, watch tha language, there’s no need t’ swear,” he remarks, meeting my eyes over his shoulder with his brows quirked into a V. When we arrive at a busy intersection, our feet stop on the sidewalk, and a muttered curse falls from his lips.

“Oh, so you can swear, but I can’t?” I quip, poking his arm playfully.

“Yes, li’l one, I can. ‘m not bein’ a very good role model fer ya, am I now?” he replies, a hand leaving his pocket to pat the top of my head covered in a knit hat. I respond with a roll of my eyes as his sly grin graces my eyes. “Are ya shrinkin’ on me, Becks?”

“Don’t.”

He only giggles, turning back to the onslaught of moving lights around us. I’ve always enjoyed the sights of London like this, the neon and fluorescent signs hugging every street, and the towering buildings. Harry mumbles a ‘c’mon’, tugging on my sleeve until I follow him across the crosswalk. Soon, we come upon a pub with a green neon sign donning the front, reading ‘Murphy’s’ that Harry pulls me into. His long legs lead me through the entryway, across red-tiled flooring, and to the long wooden bar where boisterous laughs sound.

“Can I have two Purple Haze martinis, please?” Harry says to the bartender, a tall fellow with an interesting red mustache that curls at its ends. He nods and turns around to grab two martini glasses.

“What are Purple Hazes, like is it something Prince liked to drink?” I ask Harry, falling onto the black bar stool beside him.

“I dunno, but you’ll like it. Jus’ trust me,” he smiles as he slides off his coat, and I admire the new view of his side profile. Something I haven’t seen in a long time. Seven months both does and doesn’t feel like forever, especially compared to that day I found him standing at the front of that lecture hall. Yesterday, when I turned around to find him standing in Myles’ office, it felt like it had been years. I blame it on all of the hurt. “‘Scuse me, can we also get two Skittles shots? Thanks.”

“So, now you’re my drinking mentor too, huh?”

“Pretty much, ya,” he smirks, balling his hand into a fist that he lays his cheek on to look at me. The smile winding its way along his lips under the dim lights drills a hole into the armor around my heart that’s cracking more and more. “And yer not doin’ that sissy thing ya do where ya have a glass o’ water on tha side.”

“Harry, I don’t want to be hungover tomorrow!”

“Becks, you’ll be fine! T’morrow’s a Saturday, anyways. What will it hurt?” he answers, shrugging his shoulders as the crinkles begin around his eyes. They almost disappear from my view when he looks to the bartender who sets the shots down in front of us, Harry mentioning adding it to his bill after thanking him. “Bottoms up, bug.”

“Oh, God,” I sigh, taking the greenish-yellow shotglass of liquid from his outstretched hand. “Stop looking at me that way.”

“What way?” he inquires with a furrowed brow, holding the shot close to his grinning lips.

“Like you know we’re about to get drunk.”

“Cheers,” is all he says, clinking his glass against mine before downing the liquid effortlessly. Shaking my head, I exhale loudly as the liquid nears my lips, and then it burns with hints of sweet and sour on the way down. “See, not so bad, was it?”

“Shut up,” I retort in the middle of a cough racking my chest, setting down the glass with a clunk.

“I have a question,” he announces after his giggling dissolves into the air. “Ya neva told me how you and Skye met, so how’d it happen?”

“You’re thinking about that right now?” I quip, carding a hand through my hair after I slip off my mauve-colored beanie. He shyly nods as he fidgets with a ring on his left hand, meeting my gaze only shortly. “We met in first grade. She was scary at first, because one day early on she got mad at me for stealing her friend, or something- I can’t remember. Then the next day, she came up to me and we were both wearing pink Hello Kitty shoes, and decided to be best friends. Like they say, the rest was history, and we were joined at the hip from then on. We were in the same class a lot throughout the following years, took the same electives in high school, and moved to London together to go to uni.”

“Sounds ratha picturesque, dontcha think? Or I s’pose that’s how it goes with five-year olds,” Harry murmurs, nodding to the bartender when he brings us the purple martinis. An awe leaves my lips when I see the ombre of purple hues filling the glass. “‘s vodka, Curacao, Black Raspberry Liqueur, and cranberry juice. I think you’ll like it. Go ‘head, try it, Becks.”

I obey and bring the chilly glass to my mouth, relaxing at the sweet taste of berries, filling me with the color purple. Then I wince at the harsh bite of the alcohol, eliciting a titter from Harry whose foot I kick with mine. Beside me, he gulps down a quarter of the drink, unfazed.

“How about you and Myles?”

“Good question, I dunno if ‘ve eva told ya that story,” he hums, tickling his stubbly chin with his fingers while thinking. Even the way the skin between his eyebrows disappears when he’s thinking is cute. God, everything about him is and I don’t know if I’ll be able to keep it to myself once all of this alcohol passes my lips. As another drink of the martini burns my throat, I think I may be warming up to that idea, but there’s the possibility it could all be for nothing if the alcohol steals our memories away.

“We met in high school inn’a class I can’t rememba tha name of, but we both hadd’a crush on tha same girl, and we both played guitar. So it was natural,” he mumbles, licking his lips and making me feel woozy all over at the sight.

“Sure, that’s a real natural friendship,” I giggle. “You know I’m a lightweight, by the way.”

“Oh I know, ‘m bettin’ onnit,” he returns with a wink, bringing the large glass to his bubblegum lips.

“You know what’s good?” I follow, watching his thick eyebrows hike up his forehead. “That Kinky stuff,” I respond, taking another sip. I almost choke on it when I glance at the shocked look screwing up his face.

“Becks.”

“No, God- t-the vodka, Harry . . . not that other stuff,” I chuckle, my entirety collapsing into nervous laughter. His own echoes mine as a prickly warmth spreads like fire across my body.

“My bloody God, Rebecca Holte, are ya already feelin’ that drink?” he hums, his bony knee knocking against mine underneath the table. The fiery nervousness abates briefly at the mention of my formal name, one I can’t recall the last time I’ve heard him say in its entirety. It comes as a shock to me, considering at times I’m convinced he’s forgotten it.

“No, I-I just thought a liquor connoisseur such as yourself would know what I’m talking about.”

“Sure, I totally don’t believe you on that one, love,” he replies, scoffing when I softly hit his shoulder. “Yer prolly into handcuffs and gags, arentcha?”

“Harry Styles!” I exclaim, squirming when his hand covers my mouth. It falls within seconds, but the spicy vanilla smell coating his body remains with me, along with the warmth of his touch. Most of all, the familiarity and safety wrapped all in it causes a pang in my chest. “I do not do handcuffs, or bloody gags, and nor would I ever tell you, if I did.”

Words fleet his lips as he drowns them with another swallow of his violet martini. I turn away with my hair tickling my cheek as it shakes from side to side. It flies in front of my eyes when his fingers plunge into my sides, yanking laughs from my mouth as he lifts his eyebrows at me with a look that tells me to be quiet.

“I missed you,” I blurt out at random, feeling his fingers still on my side and his expression relaxes. The happiness falls from his eyes and cheeks, and with it I turn away, unable to deal with the disappointment I’m sure I’m on the verge of.

“I missed you too, y’know . . . loads,” Harry concurs, his fingers dangling at my side until they wander to my hands clasped in my lap. He steals one of them away and holds it against his leg, rubbing circles into my knuckles.

If this doesn’t make me spill the beans, then I’m positive the following liquor just may, and it all might come crashing down in front of me.

The next shot, a Lemon Drop, didn’t go down as smoothly. I felt like I was going to hack up a lung when I feel Harry’s warm hand on my back.

“Alright?” he murmurs in a rush, patting my back firmly until the cough subsides. “Sorry, that lemon one ‘s kinda hard sumtimes, ‘s ratha sour.”

“Ya think?” I respond, trying to make it go away with the last gulp of the Purple Haze, but it’s only a few seconds of relief.

I exhale and only feel his hand leave me when he orders a water, and two Tequila Sunrises, his a stronger one.

“Breathe, love, a water’s on ‘s way,” Harry hums, squeezing my arm. I nod and swallow hard, embarrassment coating me like a musty sheet.

“I thought you said no water.”

“Hush, I gotta take care o’ me li’l one,” he assures me, bringing a finger to his lips when I dare a look at him. A smile returns to my lips and remains there when the cold water graces them, him sipping at the Tequila Sunrise sat between his ringed fingers.

Oh, what I’d give to be able to wake up to a sunrise with him by my side. Oh, Harry.

“Hey, wha’s that ya got there?” he inquires, soon his painted nail lifting the bracelets from my right wrist. “Becks has a tattoo?! Since when?” he exclaims, astonishment and shock mixing into a cocktail amongst his features. His eyes bug out of his skull and then narrow when they return to my wrist.

“It’s a Queen Anne’s Lace, Robbie has one too, just on his upper arm and bigger. We got them when we were eighteen, um . . . . after our Gran passed. Grandma Holte . . Ann Holte,” I explain, helping him by removing the bracelets from around my wrist.

I’m not sure if it’s the alcohol or just him, but my wrist finds a new home in his palm that he turns to better look at. The shock is replaced by a slow smile transforming his face, bleeding into his eyes that find their way back to mine.

“‘s gorgeous, Becks, truly. ‘ve always found tattoos o’ flowers t’ be so beautiful, yer makin’ me want t’ get anotha one even mo’ now. I mean, I have tha rose and anotha sumwhere I think, but now I want anotha thanks t’ you,” he hums, tracing the ink with the tip of his thumb, just a whisper of his touch. “‘m sorry ‘bout yer Gran, sounded like it was premature which ‘s always tha worst. Knew ya were strong, but fook, ya amaze me e’ry day, Becks.” Unannounced tears press warmly at the back of my eyes as he admires the sprawling flower, tracing each little petal until he’s tracked them all.

“You didn’t think I was that badass, huh?”

“No, ‘ve always thought ya were a badass, babe. A flower tattoo jus’ takes the cake,” he quips, looking me in the eyes and sending another crack down the case in my chest.

I don’t know how many more little shocks like this I can take, or my heart, before it breaks free from the cage I locked it up in so long ago. I hid it there to protect it from him breaking it, again.

“This ‘s me,” he announces, bringing us to stop in the parking lot. My confusion only grows as I look around, until my eyes stop on the black Harley Davidson in front of us.

“What? It’s the middle of winter, Harry.”

“I know, I know. That’s what e’rybody says, but I dress warm. I like t’ take her out e’ry once in a while t’ keep her runnin’ good. Maybe ‘ll hafta take ya onn’a ride when ‘s not too cold fer pussy Becks,” he coos, voice rising to a mocking tone.

“I’m sorry I don’t like the cold wind ripping my skin off,” I titter and his eyes roll into the back of his head with a groan. I stand there awkwardly, eyes following him as he grabs the helmet from the locked bag towards the back seat.

“Ya sure yer good t’ drive, bug? I can give ya a ride if yer not too much o’ a puss puss,” Harry remarks, turning to face me as he holds the buckle strap to the side, a smirk claiming his face.

“Yeah I’m good, thanks. Those four waters and twenty trips to the bathroom helped,” I answer, although regretfully as everything inside of me screams at me to accept.

Girl, how dumb are you?

Quiet, demon, I can’t take it back now.

“Good, ‘m glad t’ hear that, love. I uh, reckon ‘ll see ya inn’a week then?” he replies, sliding the helmet over his dark curls, fingering the chin strap.

“Yeah, the eighteenth.”

“Don’t miss me too much now,” he jests from behind the lack of visor that he had pushed up and out of the way. Even with the bulky metallic gold helmet, he’s so goddamn sexy it’s unbelievable.

“As long as you don’t miss me too bad either.”

“Eh, ‘ll try not t’ but it’ll be hard,” he echoes jokingly, squishing his lips to the side with a thought and suddenly they collapse into a pout. Then, he winks at me as he settles onto his bike. “See ya inn’a week, Becks.”

“Bye, Harry. Have a good weekend, and careful driving.”

“You too, bug, drive safe. ‘ll talk t’ ya soon, gotta get tha recipe fer that Kinky Blue drink from ya,” he tells me, the bike rumbling to life when he twists the key in the ignition.

“Bye,” I exhale, taking one last look at him before I turn around. I put one foot in front of the other and walk away from him, my least favorite thing to do of all things on this planet.

From behind my steering wheel a few cars down, I watch in awe as he slides on gloves before toeing away the kickstand and pulling out of the lot, looking more handsome than ever.

Just when I think he can’t surprise me, he does just that, and in the best way possible. Every time.

“Care to explain where you’ve been all night, missy?”

“It’s not even eleven, Mom,” I respond with a firmness trying in my voice, but I can’t muster it as I slide off my boots. No, there’s not really any reason in the world that I could be upset right now, or feign anything other than utter happiness.

“I know, I can read a clock, Ree. Hey, what’s that big smile for? I never got to hear how your interview went yesterday.”

“Oh yeah,” I realize aloud, the words falling automatically as I hang up my coat in the closet by our front door. Boy, is that a lot to unpack and rehash, and yet I look forward to relaying it all to her. That way, I get to relive all of it a little bit, and I don’t mind if I do. “Well, you were out all night partying too, so you can’t be mad at me.”

“You got me there, I’m guilty. Or can I say that yet, Ms. Lawyer?” Skye responds, a lightness showing in her words. After closing the door to the closet, I find the anxious eagerness waiting in her eyes, bringing elation to the front of my mind as I nod.

“I got the job yesterday,” I barely am able to say before she crossed the room, surrounding me in a hug. “Harry called me when I got home from work and told me the good news!”

“Oh my god, Ree, that’s so amazing! I’m so happy for you, holy shit!” she exclaims, amazing me at her strength when she squeezes me with her noodle arms. “Was he happy to see you?!”

“Yeah, I think so, and fuck he looked so good, Skye. He hugged me the first second he saw me.”

“Aww, that’s so bloody cute. So, when do you start?”

Pulling away, I look her in the eyes and revel in the happy celebration coating me in waves again.

“Monday the twenty-eighth, but I have orientation with him next Friday.”

“Oooo, lucky you!” she smiles, and I swear my happiness about the whole thing has only doubled since she stopped being angry at me for applying.

“And I may or may not have just went out for those belated dinner and drinks with him tonight,” I reveal slowly yet eagerly, watching more shock paint her face and her jaw drops.

“Ree, you basically went out on a date with him, that’s my girl!”

“Skye, it wasn’t a date!” I protest feebly, because once again any of the negative emotions have no chance at outshining the wonderful positive ones right this second. “It was just to celebrate my new job, and to make up for the dinner we never had this summer, and the drinks he wanted to get for my birthday which also didn’t happen.”

“Wait, what?!” she almost explodes, nearly all of the emotions under the sun covering her face, if only for a few seconds at a time. “I thought you didn’t talk to him on your birthday?”

“Well yeah, I didn’t besides that one text,” I answer, and then I slowly see the realization shine in her eyes.

“You opened his presents?!” she shouts, coming to grab my arms as I giggle with a nod.

“Yeah, after I got home and right before he called. Talk about a lot of happy tears yesterday.”

“No wonder you weren’t answering my calls, and I don’t blame you, you were a busy girl. Busy with Harry,” Skye notes aloud, the same sunny emotions showing in her words, but they die down as she nears her finish. “I told you he still cared about you.”

“I know, you were right all along, and it kills me that I ever believed he didn’t. He got me a mini purple piano keyboard, a journal to write songs in, the first season of FRIENDS, and wrote me the sweetest birthday card. Then, he called right after to tell me I got the job, and fuck, it all seems like a dream sometimes. But then I called him at work today to set up the orientation, and he had the idea to get together tonight, and it’s all like a dream come true,” I tell her softly, and slowly it all doesn’t seem so fake anymore, but instead it feels just like the dream I’ve always wanted my life to become.

“Girl, you are so lucky,” Skye comments, dragging me by the hand over to the sofa where we fall with a thud, heads resting on the back cushion. “Did you kiss him tonight? Because God, Ree, you are both so in love with each other, I dunno how you haven’t kissed him already.”

“I don’t know,” I muse aloud, staring at the ceiling, but really all I can see is him smiling at me at the bar. His hand on my back when I was coughing, bringing my hand into his when we said we missed the other, and all of those feelings sitting in his eyes that I’m sure he could’ve seen in mine as well. “I think I’ll wait until I get settled at the job, because starting a new job is always the worst part and overwhelming enough as it is.”

“If you say so, Boops, but I figure that’s not too bad of an idea.”

“Yeah, guess why?” I counter, turning my head to face her, finding strands of purple hair sticking out of her messy bun. She looks back at me, confusion etched into the lines in her forehead. “He’s my mentor for the next few years and I’m his mentee, so I get to work with him every day and all day.”

“Ree, you should’ve led with that! Holy shit, why didn’t you?” she exclaims, swatting my arm in disbelief as I dissolve into a happy laugh. “That’s amazing! You get to work with him and under him, it sounds like a pretty good deal,” she chuckles, her laughing lips falling into a please smile.

“I know, I really can’t believe the last two days sometimes. I hit the jackpot, the Harry jackpot,” I giggle happily, relaxing against the sofa, trying to remember his spicy vanilla scent. If I try hard enough, I can smell it when his hand covered my mouth in a joke, and the warmth of his touch the few times our hands met. It wasn’t nearly enough times, though. “I have to work with Myles my entire second week though, because he’ll be in Scotland to try the case I’m helping him prep for my first week.”

“That’s shitty,” she grimaces, crossing her arms over her chest clad in a fuzzy blue bathrobe. “Just ask him out when he gets back then, it’d be too annoying starting to date while he’s away. If you didn’t, I’m pretty sure you’d die from missing him, Ree.”

“Fuck, I already might, I’m dreading it,” I sigh sadly, not even wanting to think about how pathetic I already feel not looking forward to that week.

“I know you are, but don’t. You have so much more to look forward to just in the next few weeks, and maybe you can sneak your second and third date in there, and a kiss perhaps.”

“Oh my God, Skye, shut up,” I retort, but it’s soon consumed by my laughter as she pulls me into her arms and her chin rests on my head.

“I’m so blooming happy for you, Ree. I’ve been waiting a long time for this.”

“So have I, Skye, so fucking long,” I recall aloud, trying not to let the melancholy find me as I lose myself thinking about how ungodly perfect he looked tonight. And how I get to see that handsome face five days a week for the near future; talk about lucky. Talk about a dreamboat finally lifting its sail.

The next few days seemed as if they took twice as long, and the mild headache I woke up to on Saturday morning didn’t help. Although relaxing, the day dragged on and soon it was Sunday, with another long week ahead of me. At least I had my orientation with Harry to look forward to that coming Friday, but I still wouldn’t start at his firm for another week after that. The anticipation was killing me, and so were the little moments Harry and I shared when I happened to remember them. Sometimes I wish the alcohol had stolen those memories away because they hurt too much to remember, but then at other times I’d never wish them away, because they give me something irreplaceable - hope.

One of the many things they don’t tell you about becoming an adult is how music makes everything all the more tolerable, and exciting. Air Hostess by Busted fills one of my ears as I pass the aisle for boxed pasta, pasta sauces, and the like. On an endcap, I grab a box of fettuccine that I toss into my cart. Lifting my eyes, my legs move again and come across a figure that walks right out in front of me. Our metal carts bang against the other’s as a warmth tickles my insides, and my lips.

“God, Styles, you’re an awful driver,” I remark with a tsk, removing the earbuds to stuff into my pocket.

“Oh, hey, Becks. ‘m sorry I didn’t see ya there,” he comments, turning his tired green eyes to mine. He messes with the gray knit beanie covering most of his messy locks, and it suddenly makes me hyper aware of my godawful just-fell-out-of-bed appearance.

“No duh you didn’t,” I snicker, kneading the plastic sheath on the cart’s push bar. “Wow, nice Sunday Best, I’m impressed,” I tease, running my eyes over the baggy gray sweats covering his legs and the cream Abbey Road crewneck on his torso.

“You as well, Ms. Power Rangers,” he quips, nodding his head at my outfit that compares very much to his with black cheetah sweats, a hoodie, and beanie. “Which one was yer favourite since there was neva a purple one when we were li’l?”

“I know, I felt so ripped off by that,” I sigh, following him as he takes off and turns into the next aisle. “But I always loved the red power ranger, I don’t really know why.”

“Hmmm, interestin’ seein’ how he was always tha one in charge. D’ya have a thing fer bossy men or sumthin’, Becks?”

“Oh, shut up,” I laugh, tapping his bum with the front of my cart, earning evil eyes from him over his shoulder. “Who was your favorite Power Ranger, then?” I say, turning the tables to him. He comes to a stop in front of me, straying from his empty cart to grab a few cans of corn and peas.

“Green, I think. Can’t really rememba why,” he shrugs, placing the cans in the cart, soon returning to another section of shelves to pluck a large can of crushed tomatoes from it. “Which season was yer fav’?”

“Time Force, for sure.”

“Oh c’mon, Dino Force was far betta,” he scoffs disbelievingly, giving me another dirty look as he sets down the large can in his cart, crossing off something on the piece of blue paper he holds.

“Maybe you should be friends with my brother, seeing how you like all of the same stuff. The green Power Ranger was his favourite, and so was Dino Force,” I laugh, comparing two different brands of green beans, deciding on the cheaper one that I grab. My legs pass his cart and when I see him shrug his shoulders with a sly grin, I softly swat him on the arm, his name leaving me.

“Becks, ya betta watch it,” he giggles, catching my arm in his gentle grasp.

“Or what?”

“Don’t test me,” he warns, but the grin creasing his cheeks tells me otherwise, he’s harmless. I bump my shoulder against his after he lets go, but not without a tickle from him.

“Harry Styles,” I groan, grabbing a can of tuna from the shelf. His grin is wider when I turn around, rolling my eyes at him on my way back to my cart.

“Rebecca Holte,” he whines in a mocking voice, once again shocking me with his recollection of my name.

“Don’t, it sounds weird when you say my name like that.”

“It really does tho’,” he remarks agreeingly, words falling into a hearty laugh. I almost echo it until I spot the look on his face. Following his eyes to the shelves, I find his stuck to a display of Spaghettios. Some have meatballs in them, hotdogs, the pasta are in different shapes, and some cans are bigger than others. I’m not sure which one he’s looking at, but the absence of anything on his face whisks that question away. “Alright?” I ask softly, taking a few steps towards him, and he wakes back up when my hand touches his arm.

“Y-Ya,” he hums sadly, letting my fingers come around his forearm, almost as if I’m about to hook arms with him. God, I wish. “‘s been a while since ‘ve seen these, and even longa since I ate ‘em. I always used t’ eat ‘em at me granddad’s house with a piece o’ buttered bread,” he explains, nodding towards the arrangement.

“Oh, Harry,” I exhale, sadness bending my features as I squeeze his arm. He musters a forced laugh, carrying his eyes over to mine with apology held in them. “It’s almost been a year, hasn’t it?”

“Ya, this week. I can’t believe it,” he remarks softly, kneading his bottom lip between his thumb and pointer finger of his free right hand. “Almost think I should grab a can fer him, but I dunno if ‘d like ‘em now. I don’t wanna ruin that memory.”

“It’s okay, you don’t have to buy it. You could buy or do something else to remember him, Harry.”

He nods beside me as I look up at him and watch the thoughts paint his face. It seems his face goes through every emotion within a minute - sadness, regret, confusion, frustration, grief, etc.

“Maybe get something you both like.”

“Ya, he loved those fudge-striped cookies, maybe I can find some o’ those instead,” he decides, tearing his eyes away from the lines of cans to meet mine. “Thanks . . Boops,” he smiles, that simple image calming the worrying of my heart.

I laugh and walk away from him, returning to my cart that I begin to push, but I find Harry’s in my way. With a playful groan, my lips part, “Come on, Harold, move it so we can go to the cookie aisle.”

“Hey, that’s not me name,” he responds, wrapping his bare fingers around the handle, giving me another glare over his shoulder.

“Well, neither is Rebecca, so don’t call me that.”

“But it ‘s actually yer name. Yer confusin’, y’know that?” he tuts, shaking his head as he looks straight ahead, moving down the aisle. “Hey, how’d ya eva come t’ be called ‘Boops’, anyways? I rememba Skye would call ya that sometimes when ‘d come ova.”

“God, I can’t believe you remember that nickname,” I groan, receiving a light chuckle from him ahead of me. On purpose, I bump the front of my cart against his bum again as he waits for somebody to pass.

“Becks- I mean, Rebecca, stop,” Harry says, turning halfway to meet my giggling eyes. One sits in his greens as well, but he only lets it show as a curling of one side of his mouth. “Ya I rememba, that’s all she called you. I think she did it on purpose.”

“Probably, knowing Skye she did it to bug me or embarrass me,” I comment, taking a right down the big aisle in between all of the smaller ones. Rows upon rows of cookies come before our eyes soon, along with baking supplies like flour, sugar, and chocolate chips. Dang, the amount of chocolate in this aisle is unreal, and somehow comforting. “My dad started it when I was a baby, or so I’ve been told. He’d tap my nose with his finger and it always made me laugh, I guess, so it stuck.”

“Aww, that’s adorable. Does he still boop yer nose when he calls ya that?”

“Sometimes,” I laugh, leaving my cart on the side as I pull out my phone, bringing up my shopping list. “So what are you all buying today?”

“That’s cute, y’know, and jus’ stockin’ up on some stuff. ‘m makin’ a pot pie t’night, so needed stuff fer that - carrots, an onion, celery, pie dough, broth, chicken, y’know,” he answers, bending down to squat so he can pull a pack of fudge stripes from the shelf. “Ah, here they are. I can’t rememba tha last time I had these eitha, but ‘m excited t’ try ‘em again, and think of Granddad when I have ‘em with a glass o’ milk.”

“Good idea,” I agree, patting him on the back as I tote a sack of flour in my other arm.

He finds me with his eyes over his shoulder, and those to-die-for dimples make an appearance again as his lips open with a smile, “Thanks, Boops,” he grins, tapping my nose with his finger. I want to tell him how original he’s being with that response, or the lack thereof, but the butterflies taking flight in my stomach consume all the bravery I had. “What’re you buyin’, hmm?”

“Same, just necessities.”

“Looks like yer bakin’ or sumthin’ with all that flour,” he comments, nodding to it as I set it down amongst the other items.

“Well, I’m going to make brownies, so yeah it’s a necessity, but that’s nothing new.”

“Ah, so Becks has become a baker, has she now?” he inquires, filling his arms with items up and down the aisle, because of course he is. I nod, joining him by a box of premade mixes, watching as he debates over which brownie mix to buy.

“I literally just said two seconds ago that I’m making homemade brownies, and you’re buying a box mix of them! Homemade is always better!” I exclaim, then groan with a disapproving shake of my head. “Harold.”

“Boops,” he returns, a smile winding its way up his cheeks covered in a light layer of dark facial hair. Now, that’s new, and what’s not to like? “I don’t mess with bakin’, so yes, ‘m buyin’ a box o’ premade. Unless ya’d like t’ make me some?” he suggests, wiggling his eyebrows at me with an idea forming inside of my head.

“Maybe if you stop calling me Boops and Rebecca, I will one time.”

“Noted,” he responds, winking at me as he replaces the box on the shelf.

“Good boy.”

He continues to smile at me, and quickly I remember what it’s like to stare into this sunlight, and how it’s not so bad sometimes. It’s quite wonderful, actually. The buzzing inside of my chest grows when his finger nears my face again, and then brushes under my eye.

“I like seein’ yer birthmark when ya don’t cover it up, ‘s pretty, Becks,” he hums, tracing his thumb over it, tickling my skin. A small ‘thanks’ drops from my lips at his words, and the buzzing only intensifies as he stares back at me. In that moment, I swear I could do it and I almost try to until he turns away. I attempt to find comfort in assuring myself that I don’t want our theoretical first kiss to be in the middle of the supermarket, lest anybody join us in this aisle. “I think that’s all I needed t’day.”

Thoughts are building into words on my tongue until the ringing of my phone interrupts my plans. This is definitely not all that I needed today, per say. Lifting it towards my face, I see my dad’s smiling face waiting for me, reminding me I haven’t spoken to him in days amidst everything going on. He’s already called a few times and I wasn’t able to answer, and he’s probably starting to grow concerned. I also really need to tell him about the new job. He’ll be so happy, and I can only imagine the suggestive things he’ll say about Harry. Oh boy.

“I should take this,” I announce, bringing my eyes back to his. He nods as he arrives back in front of his cart. “It was nice to see you and only one of you,” I snicker, alluding to the far too many drinks we consumed the other night.

“You too, Becks, it was nice runnin’ into ya. ‘ll try not t’ crash carts with ya tha next time,” he returns with a warm smile, coming towards me as he pushes his cart. The next time? Can you please not tease me like this, Harry? I want all of the grocery shopping trips with you, even if they’re only like this where I can’t have my arm hooked through yours. Maybe one time we’ll only need one cart, just maybe. He lifts an arm and squeezes mine on his way down the aisle. “Take care, bug, ‘ll see ya Friday.”

“Bye, Harry. Careful driving that thing!” I call out, and this time he doesn’t give me a dirty look when he looks back at me. Instead, he sends me that blinding smile of his I love so damn much. “And, I’ll be thinking of you this week, I know it’ll be a hard one.”

“Thanks, bug, I appreciate it,” he returns, winking at me before turning back around and rounding the corner, just as I press Accept on my phone.

“Hi, Dad,” I say, waiting to hear my dad’s comforting voice.

“Hey, Boops. How’s my favourite girl?” he asks, the warmth in his voice providing me with happiness, and stealing it away at the same time. God, I miss him sometimes, I realize inside my thoughts. As I still stare down the aisle, I miss another man too.

It seems I’m always missing these two every second of every day, and one of Harry’s hugs that I wish I’d stolen a few seconds ago.

As the numbers climb in front of my eyes, the last few days flash before them. Somehow, I’m amazed when the number seventeen appears before my eyes in a bright red font. The last week has dragged on at times, thoughts of Harry and standing in this very lift occupying my every thought. Checking my watch, I’m glad to see I’m early, just like I had planned.

The gunmetal doors part in front of me and I’m rewarded with the sight of Seventeen in all of its glory. The buzzing returns in my chest, and so do the multitudes of butterflies in my gut as I look around. It does and doesn’t look the same as before, but it smells the same, and in some ways it sounds the same. The Cubiclers are gone and now more offices line the walls, and a certain somebody sits inside of one this very instant. The very same person I get to spend the entire day with, and it’s the first of oh so many. I take a long look around, admiring the gleaming tiled floors and the dark wooden walls, a new cream chandelier or two dotting the ceiling. God, that remodel must not have been cheap, I think silently, and soon wonder if a certain somebody’s father in construction had anything to do with it.

I almost expect to see him round one of the corners of the large floor dedicated to the firm, but I don’t, and I’m unsure of how I feel about it. It’s all washed away when I find the door I’ve been looking for, and it’s open.

“Hey, stranger,” I announce, leaning against the door frame with a cheeky grin plastered across my face. “Look at you with the fancy new office all to yourself.”

Their tousled head of sandy hair lifts from their computer screen, and I watch his eyes change almost entirely. My name falls from his lips as he stands up and crosses the room to me, enveloping me in a hug.

“What are you doing here? Does Harry know you’re here?”

“Yeah, he knows,” I smile against Asher’s shoulder, pulling away after a moment of being surrounded by his crisp cologne. “I work with him uh soon - I got the associate job, and he’s my mentor.”

Again, the look on his face changes in a blink, and astonishment paints him in stripes. A nervous laugh falls from his lips as he grips my shoulders and clucks his tongue in disbelief.

“You’re always good with the surprises, aren’t you?” Asher replies and I nod, waiting for him to say more. “Becky, t-this is what you want?”

“Yeah, it’s what I want. He’s already been so kind to me, and we’ve been talking a lot. He picked me over everybody else, Ash!” I respond, watching the words register with him as he nods the slightest. “I’m not going to let him get away this time.”

“As long as you’re happy, and he’s good to you,” he insists, pointing a stern finger at me dotted with shiny blonde hairs.

“Yes, he’s already being good to me, Ash. We went out for dinner and drinks that we meant to do this summer, and things are already looking up.”

“Good, good. That’s already progress, Becky,” he hums, and I mumble a brief agreement. “But still, what are you doing here now?”

“Oh, I have my orientation with him today, but I don’t start officially until the twenty-eighth, after I finish my job at the courts,” I reply, and he nods a little harder this time, biting on his thumb.

“I see, it’s all making some sense now, thank God. So, when are you going to ask him on a date?”

“Ash!” I exclaim, following him further into his plain looking office where he sits on the corner of his desk. He crosses his arms over the ochre button down showing a white t-shirt underneath. “It’s not even my first day of work yet!”

“So? You’re wasting precious time!” he argues, his loud chuckle soon stealing away his words. I groan as my eyes roll into the back of my head, soon pushing up the sleeve of my dark violet blazer to find my brown leather watch.

“Yeah, sitting here arguing with you,” I giggle, returning my eyes to his summer blues.

“No, you’re right, because you could be talking to him right now. You know, flirting with him and asking him on a date.”

“Ash, stop!” I laugh, turning to walk away, but I stop when I reach his door. “I like the new office by the way, I’m happy they finally made you head of I.T. I’m really happy for you,” I say softly pointing to the words on his door, hanging onto the handle as he meets my eyes softly.

“Thanks, Becky, I appreciate it. It was about time Bitchie Trishie retired anyways, fuck was she old.”

“Ditto,” I smile and he returns it right away. “I’m really happy to be back.”

“I’m happy you are too, and I’m sure Harry is as well. You should get going, you don’t want to make a bad uh, second impression,” he notes, shooing me away with his hand.

We say our goodbyes and I return to the hallway, straightening my unbuttoned blazer over my long slacks the same color for probably the twentieth time this morning. What feels like for the fiftieth time, I smooth down the chiffon black blouse tucked in underneath, hoping I ironed out every single wrinkle. Skye’s words from his morning when we said goodbye come back to me with a warm smile.

“Ree, if he doesn’t realize what he’s been missing the second he sees you in that outfit, I’m going to be very disappointed in him,” she mused, shaking her head with pursed lips and arms crossed over her chest as I laughed nervously.

My black pumps echo with every step I take on the immaculate floors, soon finding Amelia at the front desk who I wave at, not bothering to check in again. Asher’s comment and its ambiguity comes to mind as I take a right through the lobby. What did he mean that he’s sure Harry is happy I’m back, too? Since when do Asher and Harry talk, or when have they ever spoken to each other with more than three words? Does he know something that I don’t know?

I don’t get another second to think about it, because soon I turn down the hallway. His hallway. The nerves of anticipation and excitement come over me as a smile grows hastily on my lips. I’ve been waiting for this moment for longer than I think I know, probably months, or even years. It’s hard to believe that the last time I was in his office, it was two years ago. The thought appears with a sting when I remember the last time I was in his office, because of him walking in on Amber well, assaulting me. A moment that I ended when I walked away from him, and here I am walking back to him, and I couldn’t be happier.

Oh, how the tables have turned.

I see his door first, and how it’s ajar, letting a section of his office peek through. Then, I hear the Paul McCartney song escaping from his office, followed by his humming. The humming doesn’t match the song oddly enough, but it transports me back to the hospital in Madley when I was wrapped in his arms. It’s the same song he was humming then that I still can’t figure out. God, those kinds of things bug me.

I see him first, and I couldn’t be more grateful for that, because I get a few extra seconds to admire him. It allows me to remember the way he absently twirls a piece of hair around his finger when he’s lost in a thought, how he always crosses his legs at the ankles under his desk bobbing a foot to the music, and just how incredible he always manages to look in a suit. A pastel teal number hugs his trim body with a cream button up underneath, giving me a peek at his thick chest hair underneath. Oh, I could just eat him up. If only.

Swallowing, I take the time for a silent deep breath before rapping my knuckle against the cold glass of his door with nervous lips, “Good morning, boss.”

His head flies up and I think I’ve scared him almost, but the happiness that consumes his face is instantaneous and contagious as ever. It spreads across his flushed skin until my favorite little things about his smile appear before my eyes, making this all the more real. The perfect little curls falling over his forehead make it all the worse, and the better.

“Mornin’. Are ya ready t’ get started, Ms. Holte?”

“Yes, I’ve never been more ready,” I reply, the anxiousness abating as he stands from his chair.

“Great, then let’s get started with yer official orientation as a lawyer fer Styles and Lawson,” he announces, firmness playing in his words until they end with sunshine dancing across them, his footsteps finding their way to me. “Y’know, ‘ve been waitin’ a long time fer this day, Becks, too long.”

Me too, Harry. I’ve been waiting for what feels like forever for this new beginning.

28 notes · View notes

valkyriesryde · 5 years

Text

Proud

Pairing: Mentor!Bucky x Teenage!Reader

Summary: Y/N needs to interview someone for a history assignment and who better to go to than Bucky.

Warnings: Swears lol

Request: By Anon - I think I just saw you wanted requests so what about a Bucky one where you’re like a similar age to Peter and you and Buck have a similar child to parent dynamic (like Peter and Tony). You dont have to do it, it’s just inspiration xx

A/N: This was so much fun to write! It’s shorter than I would have liked so sorry about that but I hope you all enjoy!

Word Count: 1,806

Masterlist

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

“Afternoon Mr Barnes,” the young girl jumped onto the counter behind where Bucky sat on the ground in front of his motorbike. He couldn’t get any peace and quiet in this godforsaken place, also since when are there so many children around, he thought to himself.

“Afternoon Miss Y/L/N” he turned his head to the girl on the counter and gave her a small smile which she immediately returned, “and what do I owe the pleasure?”

“Peter said I could come round and study,” she shrugged her shoulders and picked at the edges of the book on her lap, the smile on her face no gone, “needed to get out of the house.”

Bucky nodded his head and pointed towards the toolbox next to her, “well if you’re here you may as well help me, can you pass me that spanner,” she did as she was told, sitting on a stool after the task was done.

Y/N was always thankful for Bucky, he never asked her questions when she would show up with Peter at the compound, he would just put her to work and teach her new things about whatever he was working on. Bucky was thankful for Y/N, she never pestered him about how he was doing and she always helped him when he was working on his bikes. He was starting to understand why Tony accumulated a number of unofficially adopted children, they were nice to have around.

The two didn’t talk much, neither were big talkers, but it worked for them. Steve had joked that she was a mini version of Bucky which got a series of nods and agreements from the others.It also got a groan from Bucky but then a giant smile broke out on his face, they were right and he was goddamn happy about it.

Y/N was fascinated with machinery and how things worked, anything from a microwave to a car to society she wanted to know how it ticked. She wasn’t so much interested in Tony’s work though, she liked it sure, but it was much too advanced for her, she was much happier working on machines by hand and not creating her own. She liked to break things apart just to see if she could put it back together. That’s how she found herself in the garage of the compound one day after telling Peter she couldn’t go home just yet. He’d invited her to hang out at the compound while he worked with Tony, maybe she could join them he had suggested. It didn’t take long for Y/N to start wandering through the halls until she came across Sam pulling out stones from between the metal components of his wings. She stood and watched for ten minutes before he asked if she was okay.

“How do you get the wings to move like that?” She asked instead, her head leaning forward to get a better look at the mechanics in the wing. “Did you use references from a specific species of bird or several different species?” Sam stared at her with eyes wide not quite knowing how to answer. It’s not like he’d made the thing he just had a deal with Tony that he’d keep it clean. Before he could answer the sound of an engine sputtering to life came from behind him, or an engine attempting to sputter to life, it didn’t quite make it. This immediately got the teenagers attention, She moved around Sam’s workbench to find Bucky scratching his head and muttering an assortment of swears towards the motorbike.

“Whatcha’ doing?” She’d asked eagerly, “and can I help?”

From then on whenever she came to the compound Y/N found her way to Bucky’s side, most of the time it was at his workbench. Sometimes he would be cleaning his guns while she sat and did homework and assignments, every so often asking him a question and getting the same answer “I don’t know, fuck knows why you’re asking me,” other times he would be working on his own project of building his own bike and she would be sat there helping him, she had made an entire notebook of specs for the different parts and what they were doing. On a couple occasions, and after months of begging, Nat had walked in on Bucky teaching Y/N how to throw a knife, she got the hang of that faster than Nat would like to admit. However Bucky couldn’t have been prouder and bragged about it for a solid week to anyone that would listen to him. ‘The kids a natural’ he would tell them.

At this point in time Y/N was sitting on the workbench while Bucky puttered away with his bike, she wasn’t quite sure how to ask him for help but she needed it.

“Hey Bucky,” he hummed in response, not looking up from his hands, “I have this history assignment due and I was wondering if you could help me? It’s just an interview,” her words were rushed but it caught his attention.

“I’m not good at helping you with school work you know that,” he looked at her pleading that she not ask for his help, he hated that he wasn’t able to help her with such a big part of her life but what did he know about what they learnt in school these days? It’d been a while since he’d sat in a classroom. “Why don’t you ask Bruce?”

“Because it’s about The Great Depression, I thought maybe I could have a first hand account of it,” she gave him a toothy grin, knowing he couldn’t actually say no to her. Bucky sighed as he put his tools down and wiped his hands on a rag.

“What about Steve?” he tried.

“Steve’s not here.” and he failed. Bucky rolled his eyes but stood up nonetheless and sat on the stool next to her.

“Fine then, what do you want to know?” Y/N opened her notebook to a blank page and paused for a second, her pen hovering before turning to Bucky.

“I’m not going to lie, I didn’t think I’d get this far,” she turned back to her notebook and pulled out a paper from the back that had the questions she wanted to ask on it.

“Good, it’s never happening again,” he chuckled.

“That’s a lie, okay first question…”

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

Y/N sat at the dining table finishing her analysis of the interview she’d done with Bucky while he was in the kitchen making them food. ‘You need food to keep that brain ticking’ he’d said.

There was a decent amount of information to get through to be fair, once she got Bucky talking he would go on tangents about different things and tell her all sorts of stories about what he would get up to to pass the time back in the day. She’d written everything down, recorded it on her phone to go back over at school tomorrow just in case she had missed something. It was rare that Bucky talked about himself, let alone his life before the war, but it was a refreshing change that she hoped she could get more of.

“Eat,” Bucky said dropping a plate of cut up fruits on the table. Y/N muffled a thank you at the same time shoving a slice of apple in her mouth.

“Ohh oranges!” Peter jogged up to the table and reached across her to grab a piece of the fruit before sliding in the seat across from Y/N.

“Hey, you all done?” she asked, looked up at the boy smiling at her with the orange peel in his face and nodding.

“Yup, what are you doing?” he asked taking the peel out of his mouth and going for another piece. Bucky picked up the book in front of him, Y/N’s history textbook and started skimming through the pages.

“My history assignment,” she smiled, Peter thought for a second before he perked up, remembering what she was talking about.

“The one you have to interview a grandparent for?” he asked, feeling proud of himself for remembering what the assignment actually was, until he saw his friend’s panicked face.

“GRANDPARENT?!” Bucky yelled looking at Y/N with an unamused face.

“It’s not like that!” she exclaimed back, “thanks a lot Peter,” she mumbled under her breath and side eyed the boy who was sinking into his seat.

“Oh so you didn’t have to interview a GRANDPARENT for your assignment?” the sarcasm drooled out of his mouth with every word. Is that how she saw him? As some old coot?

“Okay yes that was the outline but I didn’t want to do that! I wanted to interview you! So I picked a time where I could use you and it would still fit the outline,” she looked at the man next to her, her eyes were wide and she had a slight frown. As soon as Y/N had gotten the assignment she wanted to interview Bucky, but she needed a piece of history to ask him about that would fit, so she found one. Was that so bad? That she just wanted interview him and not anyone else?

“You wanted to interview me?” his voice was softer now, he couldn’t help the smile on his face when she nodded. He felt a sense of pride that she had thought of him first, that she wanted him to be apart of her school work. He felt special, thought of, like she’d confirmed the special bond they had. “Suppose that’s alright then,” Bucky laughed at Y/N’s face lighting up, “but I better get a copy once you’re done, gotta make sure you’re not talking shit.” He pointed a finger towards her and passed her the textbook so she could put it back in her bag.

“Promise,” she smiled standing from her seat with Peter following, “thanks Buck,” Y/N wrapped her arms around his neck from behind before running off after Peter towards the elevator, giving him a final wave goodbye.

“Bastard kids get under your skin before you know what’s happening don’t they,” Bucky turned his attention to Tony who had sat himself where Peter had been.

“Yea,” Bucky agreed, picking up the last piece of apple from the plate, “suppose it’s not a bad thing.”

It was definitely not a bad thing and you can bet your ass that as soon as Bucky had that assignment in his hands he was shoving it in everyone’s faces exclaiming that his kid wrote all about him, “that’s right Steve, she picked ME for her history assignment!” and it was pinned to his board in his room from there on out, more permanent than on the fridge, he told her proudly.

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

Thank you for reading and as always, requests are open!!

224 notes · View notes

kirk-spock-in-the-impala · 5 years

Text

Between You and the World (3 of 6)

CHAPTER THREE: TASTE – Late Winter, Year 1253

Notes: Timeline context: This is after the Child Surprise banquet in Cintra, which occurred when Pavetta was 15 in 1252.

CW: mentions of skipped meals, Geralt's headspace, nausea, sensory overload

SUMMARY: The third time Jaskier helps Geralt through sensory overload. Or, Geralt and Jaskier have a soft winter in Oxenfurt.

LINK TO AO3

Approx. 4000 words under the cut

For the first time in the several years of their acquaintance, Geralt chose to spend the winter with Jaskier in Oxenfurt. The last contract of the prior Autumn had run long, leaving Geralt with little time to make the long trek back to Kaer Morhen before winter froze the mountain pass.

As they were already near Oxenfurt, Jaskier offered to host Geralt for the winter. Upon assurance that Jaskier’s lodgings had an appropriate stall for Roach, and that they were far from the hubbub of the city center, Geralt agreed. He sent word to Vesemir of his plans – so as not to worry his mentor when he failed to return – and settled in for the winter with Jaskier.

Jaskier was set to teach a class that winter on advanced song writing, limited to only the most talented students, and he had been planning the curriculum for weeks. Although he had spent the past several winters teaching, this was the first time he had been tapped to lead an advanced seminar.

Doubtless, the honor was bestowed in large part due to his win at the Kaedwen Regional Bardic Competition, which he had followed up with a solid, top tier finish at the Continental Finals in Novigrad. Geralt had no doubt that he would win the next year, and already had plans to set the coming Spring’s itinerary to ensure Jaskier would be able to compete in at least one of the regional qualifiers.

The winter passed quietly. Unlike the rest of the year, Jaskier’s schedule ruled, and Geralt spent his days exercising Roach, replenishing his stocks of potions, and conducting in-depth maintenance on his armor and weaponry.

Around his self-imposed tasks, Geralt found himself with a lot of free time, something he had never before experienced. When wintering at Kaer Morhen, Vesemir always had a list of tasks, everything from hunting, to collecting firewood, to repairing the crumbling façade of the castle itself.

Geralt had tried attending Jaskier’s class, but while he enjoyed seeing his friend in his element, his presence was overly distracting for the students. Delighted at Geralt’s academic interest, Jaskier arranged with the university librarian for Geralt to have unlimited access to Oxenfurt’s vast collection. And so, after completing his chores for the day, Geralt would spend hours buried in the stacks, for once letting his interests dictate his choice of reading material. It was a novel experience and one he deeply enjoyed.

At Kaer Morhen, there were always new, topical tomes to study, but here, given that Oxenfurt did not have any bestiaries in its collection, Geralt allowed himself the luxury of learning about new topics. He read deeply on everything he could, studying up on topics from folklore to blacksmithing to farming practices. When he was sure no one was in the library with him, he even indulged in the occasional epic poem or novel. He always felt a certain anxiety when reading for pure pleasure, but, if he studied first and had already completed his chores, he felt it might be all right to indulge just a little.

Every night, over dinner brought to their rooms by the University kitchens, Geralt listened to Jaskier’s report on that day’s classes. With gentle prompting, Geralt shared his day as well, telling Jaskier about anything new he discovered on his outings with Roach, as well as any interesting information he learned during his daily study in the library. At first, Geralt could only manage a few words, unused to casual conversation and embarrassed at the topics of study he chose. But, over the weeks they spent together in those warm, wood paneled rooms, enjoying hearty, simple fare together at the small table by the fire, Geralt relaxed, sharing more and more each day.

One day, about halfway through the long winter, Geralt even brought himself to share the epic poem he had read that day, color tinging his cheeks as he revealed his secret pleasure, unable to meet Jaskier’s eyes. Since then, Jaskier would inquire about any poems or novels Geralt had read, including them in the conversation with no special attention given. Geralt didn’t know how to express his gratitude, his relief at Jaskier’s understanding of his internal conflict over pleasure reading, other than to share as much as he was able.

As they spoke, as Geralt’s words started to come more easily, they would occasionally share historical or personal information as well. Geralt learned that Jaskier was born the Viscount de Lettenhove, and that he left home to follow his calling. His parents were dismayed, but ultimately understanding. He still retained his title, as he was the eldest son, but his younger brother inherited the estate and its lands and was doing well as the estate manager.

In response, Geralt shared brief outlines of his past, unwilling to delve into detail but equally unwilling to fail to reciprocate when Jaskier shared personal information with him. Geralt knew the power of shared history, could hear the old, scabbed over pain in Jaskier’s words, and was driven to respond. So, he told Jaskier that all witchers were Child Surprises. That most failed to survive the training. About the agony of the Trial of the Grasses, about being the only witcher in history to receive additional mutations. When the sharing became too raw, when Geralt couldn’t bring himself to speak further, Jaskier would place a gentle hand on his, smile, and change the topic to something light, something cheerful, and they would move on.

Geralt had never experienced a life like this. It was a glimpse of what might have been had he never been left on the side of the road for Vesemir. Had he not been mutated into something monstrous, something that must live outside regular, human life. Jaskier was the first friend Geralt had ever had, and likely would be the last. Jaskier was someone extraordinary, someone who looked at Geralt and saw nobility, morality, someone he wanted to share his life with.

Geralt didn’t see that when he looked at himself. He knew he was a mutated monster barely a step above those he hunted. He knew this brief time with Jaskier was a dream unlikely to be repeated. He knew he didn’t deserve Jaskier, didn’t deserve this calm, comfortable winter, but he knew that Jaskier was happy he was there, happy to care for the witcher he called his dearest friend.

Geralt didn’t understand why Jaskier granted him such gentle care, such affectionate attention, but, after all these years, he understood that allowing Jaskier in, allowing Jaskier to care for him, made Jaskier happy. And Geralt would do anything to ensure Jaskier’s happiness.

__________________________________________________________

Toward the end of winter, as the snowbells were poking their heads out of the thick, icy ground to greet the coming Spring, Jaskier burst back into their shared quarters in the late afternoon, bursting with excitement.

“Lord Navelle has a contract for you and had invited us to his banquet this evening!” Jaskier stood in front of Geralt where he sat by the fire, bouncing on the balls of his feet, eyes bright.

“Who?”

“Lord Navelle!” Jaskier said, excitement driving up both the pitch and volume of his voice. “He’s a prominent Southern noble, driven here by the war, and he’s one of the most sought-after patrons of the bardic arts! He’s been supporting bards for decades and getting an invitation to one of his banquets has been my dream since I was a student.” Jaskier paced around the room, too delighted to remain still. “The things I could learn from him! The access he might grant to his collection of music! It’s beyond my wildest dreams!”

“Hmm.” Geralt didn’t enjoy the company of nobility – Jaskier excepted, of course – but he would do anything in his power to keep that smile on Jaskier’s face. “What contract does he have for me?”

“His herald didn’t say, just that Lord Navelle wanted to discuss it with you in person and asked that you and I attend the banquet tonight as his guests.” Jaskier turned pleading eyes on Geralt. “We can go, can’t we?” He bit his lip as if he thought Geralt might refuse. Geralt could never refuse Jaskier.

“Of course. When do we need to be there?” Geralt said, rising to his feet and putting his book away.

Jaskier beamed. “The herald said Lord Navelle will send a carriage at sundown, so we have about an hour.” He spun toward the door. “I’ll send for a bath! We have to look our best for the occasion!”

Geralt smiled fondly as Jaskier darted out to order the bath from the housemaid. Banquets weren’t his favorite evening activity, he far preferred a quiet dinner with Jaskier, but he wouldn’t dampen his friend’s excitement by showing his reticence. Fortunately, Jaskier had obtained formal clothes for Geralt in case of such an occasion, this time choosing simple, muted colors much more to Geralt’s taste than the pale green monstrosity he chose in Cintra the year prior.

Geralt pulled out the finery, hearing Jaskier running back down the hall, and was content.

______________________________________________________________

Geralt and Jaskier sat at the high table with Lord Navelle, looking out over the gathered crowd. Apparently, the inspiration for this banquet was Lord Navelle’s recent receipt of a much-anticipated shipment of produce and spices from his Southern holdings. With the supply lines largely shut down by the war with Nilfgaard, getting anything through was cause for great celebration. Or, as Lord Navelle had put it, “a celebration to relieve the culinary doldrums of the North with the fiery cuisine of the South!” Geralt didn’t see the great appeal, but if he got a good, filling meal out of it, that was enough.

Lord Navelle had sent the carriage at sundown as promised. It was Geralt’s first time in a carriage, having only previously ridden in wheeled carts, but Jaskier looked completely at home among the velvet seats and gilded walls, peeking out the sheer curtains with almost childlike glee as they drove through the city, the hoof beats of the four-in-hand team echoing off the buildings surrounding them.

It was times like these when Geralt was struck again with just how fortunate he was that Jaskier chose to travel with one such as him. To the manor born, Jaskier could easily handle all social situations. He sat gracefully in a fine carriage dressed in fashionable silk, he knew which utensils to use at any table, and he could speak eloquently with any interlocutor. Geralt, however, felt like a hunting dog who had been given the rare pleasure of being allowed indoors, too large and too rough for the elegant surroundings.

He knew he was getting dangerously used to Jaskier’s company, to the comfort he provided, and that it would be all the harder to readapt to his prior, solitary ways when Jaskier finally tired of him. But for Jaskier’s presence, Geralt was sure the contract would have been delivered to him by the herald at the back of the Lord’s home, keeping him well out of reach of any eyes who might spy a degenerate at the Lord’s gate.

Lord Navelle had called them to his manor well before the banquet was due to start and received them in the formal sitting room to discuss the details of the contract with Geralt. From the sound of it, it was a basilisk that had taken up roost in one of the abandoned silos on Lord Navelle’s small, Northern holdings. Unlike his vast Southern holdings, Lord Navelle had only a small plot of large for raising sheep this far north and did not have the range to simply relocate the herd away from the new predator. He had already lost near a quarter of the herd and could not afford to lose more, lest the beast turn to human prey instead for lack of mutton.

Basilisks were tough hunts. Enormous, crafty beasts somewhere between a bird of prey and a reptile, they were deadly quick, and their tough hide made precise, close quarters strikes the only way to dispatch them. But the long range of their large talons and sharp, hooked beaks made close quarters fighting treacherous, and Geralt had many a large scar from encounters with prior basilisks. Nevertheless, the pay was generous and Geralt would not risk offending Jaskier’s hero by refusing the contract. It was his Path to walk and he was well aware of the inherent dangers.

Naturally, during the course of their meeting, Jaskier had completely charmed Lord Navelle, and the two of them happily discussed bardic history, musical composition, and their theories on the next great artistic trends until the other guests began to arrive. Interested in continuing their conversation, Lord Navelle seated Jaskier on his right, a place of honor, with Geralt on Jaskier’s other side.

As the food and drink started to arrive, Jaskier and Lord Navelle were arguing the finer points of melodic motifs and Geralt was listening with half an ear to the elderly woman on his right. Geralt could see the cataracts clouding her eyes and did not correct her when she assumed his white hair was a sign of age and not the mark of advanced mutation. She seemed as hard of hearing as she was of sight, and Geralt’s minimal contributions to the conversation had not yet deterred her from telling tales of the “good old days” confident that Geralt was sharing in her nostalgia.

The first course arrived on large silver platters, placed on the table before them with a flourish by the uniformed footmen. It was a series of small canapes comprised of what appeared to be bright fruits and vegetables coated in either sugar or spices.

Geralt’s nose burned at the smell of the intense spices, but spotlighted as his was at Lord Navelle’s table, he knew he could not simply abstain. He scanned the platter for the simplest looking and mildest smelling morsel, choosing what looked like a piece of sugared apple in a simple pastry.

He bit into the pastry and a flood of heavily spiced, sweet, baked apple burst into his mouth. The strong spices were immediately overpowering, and he choked down the mouthful, violently suppressing the urge to gag. Glancing quickly around to make sure no one was watching him he surreptitiously tossed the rest of the pastry into the vase behind his elderly neighbor.

Taking a deep draw of his ale, which fortunately tasted as expected, he took several deep, slow breaths to calm his roiling stomach. Fortunately, his dinner companion had made no note of either his distress or his disposal of the offending pastry, simply continuing to chatter away as she ate an alarming number of the spiced canapes.

Geralt sipped his ale slowly, grabbing a few broken off pieces of canape to put on his plate and disguise his abstention from the first course. Nobles were often easily offended if a guest did not like their food, and doubly so when it was a witcher, whom they assumed should be grateful for any scraps thrown their way. Geralt had no idea whether or not Lord Navelle ascribed to that view, but he wasn’t about to test it and risk interrupting Jaskier’s evening.

Finally, the canapes were removed, and the main course was presented, brought to the table in large, steaming, silver tureens.

As the tureens were brought out, Lord Navelle stood to address the crowd. “Friends, tonight we have a special dish for your pleasure, the fiery specialty of my hometown in the beleaguered South, its preparation tonight only made possible due to the stunning bravery and persistence of the Captain and crew of my shipping fleet. Made of the freshest mollusks, prawns, and fat ocean fish, slow simmered in the finest mix of peppers and spices from my Southern holdings, please enjoy this Southern Seafood Curry!” Lord Navelle boomed with all the drama of a king bestowing a boon. Serving himself a generous helping from the tureen set in front of him, he gestured to all to eat and eat well, before sitting and digging into his meal with obvious pleasure.

Turning to Jaskier, he said, “it’s devilishly hard to get these ingredients, and none of them store well for long. I couldn’t bear to waste anything we received, and what better cause for a banquet than sharing one’s homeland specialties!” He indicated the tureen in front of Jaskier, “please, eat and don’t hold back. I’m enormously proud of the produce from my home and I’m eager to hear your thoughts.”

“Geralt and I are honored and pleased to have been invited to dine with you, my Lord. The chance to try your homeland’s famed seafood curry is an unexpected and deeply appreciated pleasure.” Jaskier responded, taking his own serving, excited to try the new dish with the spices he’d heard of, but had never before tasted. He turned a smile on Geralt before focusing on his meal, making a pleased noise when he tasted the unfamiliar, complex spices.

Lord Navelle watched as Jaskier tried the dish, flashed a pleased grin when he saw Jaskier’s obvious enjoyment, and turned to his left, indicating to the entire banquet hall that it was time to speak to one’s other dinner companion.

Geralt looked at the curry in Jaskier’s bowl, felt his nostrils burn from the spice, felt is mouth fill with saliva as nausea rose in his stomach. He watched the mollusks squish under Jaskier’s fork, their fat bodies shining, and bile rose in his throat. The prawns and fish, typically inoffensive, were cooked down and overly soft, completely engorged in the fiery, red chili sauce. The rice completing the curry was cooked so long as to be almost unrecognizable, changing in texture from grains to something almost like porridge. Just looking at it made Geralt’s stomach sink and roil, forcing him to choke down a gag.

With his stomach already sensitive from the unfortunate apple pastry, Geralt knew he could not even place a serving on his plate, let alone eat it, without becoming ill. He could barely stand to look at the dish, purposefully focusing his attention on the fine detailing on the cutlery, reciting blade oil recipes in his head as a distraction.

Fortunately, the large room and high ceilings kept the smell from being overwhelming, so as long as he didn’t try to touch or taste the heavily spiced, oddly textured curry, he thought he could hold it together. Even the thought of disrupting Jaskier’s evening by becoming ill was enough to make his face burn with shame.

Jaskier was happily humming to himself as he worked through his curry, clearly enjoying the exotic spices. Lord Navelle had turned to the companion on his left for conversation, as was appropriate, so Jaskier turned to Geralt and noticed the empty plate.

He put his fork down, immediately concerned. “Geralt?” He asked, “are you feeling unwell?”

Geralt swallowed hard against the nausea roiling in his stomach, gathering himself before he responded. “I’m fine,” he said curtly, not wanting to interrupt the otherwise jovial banquet.

Jaskier frowned, seeing the tight lines on Geralt’s face and the way he carefully kept his eyes down. “Geralt, you promised to tell me if something was wrong, remember?”

Geralt’s lips thinned in distress, caught between breaking his promise and breaking up the evening, unwilling to do either.

“Geralt?” Jaskier prodded, voice soft enough to avoid drawing attention. “Please tell me what’s wrong. Do you need to leave? Is it too loud?”

Geralt heard the increasing concern in Jaskier’s voice and pushed himself to respond. A promise made must be kept, he firmly told himself. He took a fortifying breath, careful to breathe through his mouth and avoid burning his nose on the spices. “I don’t need to leave. I just can’t eat that.” He indicated the tureen without looking at it.

Jaskier’s brows drew together, confused. “Do you not like spice?”

Geralt forced himself to explain. “It’s too much. The spices, the textures, all of it. It’s too much.” He finally met Jaskier’s eyes, hoping he would understand what Geralt could not say.

Jaskier looked down, examining his meal, seeing the intense flavors and various, unusual textures. “I understand.” He said. “I’ll take care of it.”

Jaskier turned to Lord Navelle, begging his forgiveness for the interruption. “My Lord, I have a favor to ask of you.” Geralt’s eyes widened behind him. Surely Jaskier wasn’t going to risk offending Lord Navelle over something so trivial as Geralt missing a meal.

Lord Navelle raised his eyebrows, indicating Jaskier should continue, allowing the interruption out of his growing affection for the talented bard.

“It is Witcher custom to eat only the plainest foods before a hunt so as to ensure their battle potions retain the utmost efficacy. As wonderful as this curry is – and it is a delightful treat! – Geralt asked if he might have something simple. Basilisks are a tough beast to hunt and he does not wish to add any unnecessary risk. He understands how important it is to you that this is handled with the utmost speed and discretion.”

Lord Navelle looked over at Geralt, seeing the empty plate, and asked, “is that true, Witcher?”

“Yes, Lord Navelle.” Geralt felt the words drag against his throat, dread filling him as he anticipated Lord Navelle’s reaction. Requests like this never ended well.

Lord Navelle pursed his lips before nodding. “Very well, it is unfortunate you cannot enjoy this special dish, but I would not want to interfere with your work.” He waved over one of the footmen. “Take the Witcher’s order and have Cook make him whatever he requires.” He directed before returning to his conversation partner.

The footman turned to Geralt, waiting. Geralt almost couldn’t respond, struck nearly dumb by the easy acceptance offered by Lord Navelle. Adrenaline coursed through him, deprived of an outlet.

“Anything Cook has on hand that’s simple and without spice.” Geralt managed to request and the footman nodded before running off. Another footman cleared the tureen from in front of Geralt and whisked away his unused plate.

Jaskier placed a hand on Geralt’s thigh under the table. “You all right?” He asked quietly.

Geralt nodded, surprised at how well that had gone. Jaskier had managed to save him yet again.

Jaskier squeezed his thigh before returning to his dinner, carefully angling the bowl out of Geralt’s eye line.

Shortly, the footman hurried back and placed a large platter in front of Geralt. Bread, cold meats, and plain, boiled vegetables were heaped on it. The footman bowed, and left Geralt to his meal.

Jaskier smiled as he saw Geralt immediately dig in. “Better?” He asked.

Geralt nodded, taking a big bite of a chicken leg before pausing. He swallowed hard, jaw clenching, before turning to Jaskier. “Thank you. Again.” He looked down, ashamed. “Forgive me for interrupting your evening.”

Jaskier huffed, exasperated and fond, before saying quietly, voice pitched to be audible to Geralt alone. “Thank you for telling me what the problem was so I could help. I told you before, I want to know when something is wrong so I can help before it gets to be too much.”

Geralt still didn’t understand Jaskier’s insistence on helping him even when it was his own lack of control that was the cause of the problem. But he couldn’t deny the results – Jaskier was happy and he had an edible dinner before him. He hadn’t pushed himself to choke down the food, hadn’t risked a humiliating, public breakdown. He hadn’t had to go hungry either. gerliontold Jaskier what was wrong and the problem had been solved.

Geralt felt something lighten within him, warmth filling a space inside he’d never been aware of before. He reached out, placing his hand on Jaskier’s thigh under the table, squeezing lightly, mirroring Jaskier’s prior gesture. He leaned toward Jaskier, breathing in his comforting scent, and continued eating his simple dinner, smiling slightly as he felt Jaskier’s warm hand cover his own.

Requested tags: @thesunshinemanman @animaniac1017

#kirk-spock-in-the-impala writes #the witcher #witcher #fic #geraskier #gerlion #geralt/jaskier #geralt/dandelion #geralt of rivia #dandelion #jaskier #soft!geralt #soft!jaskier #protective!jaskier #oxenfurt #sensory overload

32 notes · View notes