#nevermind he's probably been beaten by his father | Explore Tumblr Posts and Blogs

elisaphoenix13 · 3 years

Text

Delusional (Ch.2)

He wished that he never went to Afghanistan. His brief trip turned into a three month nightmare, which he only escaped because of Scott. His kid was the sole reason he survived and he had been determined to get home. Thanks to Yinsen, he had been able to achieve his freedom, but it was at the cost of the other man's life. Even if he wanted to die to rejoin his family, it still weighed on Tony and gave his determination to get home to Scott a bigger boost.

By some miracle, Rhodey and a team were flying around looking for him in the middle of the desert and he was home within 24 hours. Of course he cleaned up a bit. He knew Scott would be waiting on the tarmac for him and didn't want his kid to see him beaten, bleeding, and bruised. The electromagnet in his chest would be bad enough.

"How is he?" Tony asks as the plane starts it's landing. "How's my kid?"

"Scott was…inconsolable for the first month." Rhodey answers. "Then suddenly, one day, he hunkered down in the lab and hacked everything he could think of to find you. I had to pull a lot of strings to keep him out of trouble...but he helped find you."

Tony nods. "Scotty's a force to be reckoned with. It's a good thing he doesn't like violence or the rest of the world would be in trouble."

"Speaking of, can you please tell him to stop changing the nuclear codes?"

"Even if I could, I wouldn't. He has the right idea. I should be taking a page out of his book for once."

Once the plane lands, Rhodey helps him to his feet as the ramp lowers, and then down to the tarmac where Happy, Pepper, and Scott are waiting. He saw Scott's disappointed look when Tony refused the gurney they had rolled over, but Tony didn't care. He walked straight over to the younger man and pulled him into a tight hug, sighing with relief. He never took Scott for granted, but he still missed the ridiculous cowlick in his hair and the way he smelled of oranges and...candy? Something told Tony that Scott's diet largely consisted of candy at least in the past few weeks.

"You smell like you could go for a cheeseburger too." Tony finally says and Scott looks at him incredulously.

"You've been missing for three months, assumed dead, and that's the first thing you say to me?" Scott frowns.

"What? You want me to drop to my knees and sob overdramatically about how much I missed you?" Tony asks and Scott makes a face. "Yeah. I didn't think so. So a cheeseburger and a press conference."

"A press conference?" Pepper asks, surprised as she gets in the car with the men. "You should go to the hospital-"

"Cheeseburger. And a press conference." Tony repeats firmly.

He left no room for argument and Pepper eventually relented and called whoever she needed to to get the press conference to happen. In the meantime, Tony wrapped an arm around Scott's shoulders and pulled him close, needing him to stay nearby. He needed the closeness, and for now he needed Scott to stay where he could see him. At least just for now. That was when Scott noticed the faint glow through his shirt and he sat up a little.

"Dad? What's that?" Scott reaches out and unbuttons the first few buttons before Tony can stop him and the younger male stares.

"I'll explain later alright? When we get home."

Fortunately, Scott nodded and let the subject drop and soon enough, Happy was passing a bag of Burger King back to them. Scott barely opened it and handed one to Tony before he was practically inhaling it, so his son decided to hand him his second one before getting his own. Tony was just opening his second one as the car pulled up to the building and Happy gets out and rounds the car to let them out. Everything up to the point of his announcement was a bit of a blur after that. He was tired, he hurt, and honestly he wanted to go home and fall into bed for a couple of days.

Seeing the look on Scott's face though? It made Tony absolutely sure of his decision to shut down the weapons department. They would find a new way for the company to thrive. And Tony was going to take a page from Scott's book like he should have the moment Stark Industries was his.

The Merchant of Death was no more.

======

One of the first things Tony did after he slept for 18 hours was go down to his lab and make an upgraded version of his mini arc reactor. Something more reliable that wasn't made from parts found in a cave and wouldn't remind him of the pain and torture he endured in those three months. It didn't take long for him to finish, but once he got himself hooked up to an EKG and sat himself in a chair, he realized his newest predicament.

His hands were too big.

"JARVIS? Where's Scott?" Tony asks. "Nevermind." He grabs his phone and video calls Scott. When the younger man answers, he sees him eating a sandwich. "Two things. Bring me a sandwich and come help me real quick."

"Sure."

The video call abruptly ends and in just a few minutes, Scott walks down to the lab with Tony's sandwich and walks over to him. He looks at all of the equipment around his father and then at the new arc reactor as he sets the plate down.

"You're not doing surgery on yourself are you?" Scott asks.

"Nope. You are." Tony says and Scott pales. "I'm kidding. Sort of. Let me see your hands."

Scott holds up his hands and Tony nods. They were definitely smaller than his. Small enough at least.

"Perfect. You're helping me replace this." Tony takes the old piece out of his chest and Scott watches in trepidation.

"What do you want me to do?" Scott asks.

"There's an exposed wire which is why I needed to replace it. Need you to pull it out without touching...just treat it like Operation. You liked that game."

"Yeah, when I was four and not pulling weird things out of my dad." Scott moves closer and reaches in anyway, making a face when his fingers squelch in the plasma. "Oh god. This is so gross and smells-"

"Yeah it does." Tony says with humor in his voice.

He tried warning Scott about the magnet at the end, but it was pulled out before he could finish his sentence and the machine beside him beeps in warning. Scott startles and looks at it, but Tony manages to get his attention again.

"Hey, don't worry about the machines. Put that down and take this." Tony says, giving Scott the new piece once his son puts the old one down. "Connect it to the plate-there you go." Tony praises and helps lock it into place. "All done. You did great. Thanks."

Scott grimaces and wipes his hands on a nearby rag. "Never ask me to do that again. Ask someone else to do it."

"I only have you kiddo." Tony says seriously and Scott looks at him before sighing and picking up the old arc reactor.

"What should I do with this?"

"Get rid of it. Destroy it... whatever." Tony shrugs and grabs his sandwich after pulling his shirt back on.

"You might need it for parts." Scott says and takes it over to an iron shelf to place with other discarded projects. "You'll thank me later."

"I doubt it."

Scott rolls his eyes and follows Tony over to his desk where he sits down and starts scrolling through some files until sending one over to the holotable. Blueprints of the iron suit he had made and escaped in. Ever since he got back, all he could think about was keeping Scott safe. And he figured he could do that with the suit. A properly upgraded one that wasn't clunky...but this would be for him. He was serious when he said he was shutting down the weapons department of the company, but he couldn't just sit back with this idea in his lap.

"What's that?" Scott asks.

"This," Tony starts, trashing parts of the blueprint in the Holo trash can. "Is how I escaped."

"Shall I upload this to the company server Sir?" JARVIS asks.

"No. Keep it in my private server. I don't know who I can trust right now."

"Not Obie." Scott grumbles and Tony looks over at him.

"What? Why?"

Scott shrugs. "I don't know. He was weirdly calm while you were missing...and he tried to give me a cheeseburger." When Tony gives him a confused look, he clarifies. "The bun had sesame seeds on it."

"He probably forgot or didn't realize." Tony says and looks back at the suit. "But noted."

He didn't want Scott to think he was brushing him off.

"Why are you making adjustments to that?" Scott asks, watching his father work.

"I'm making this for myself...and you in a way. It will give me peace of mind to know I have a way to protect you." Tony trashes another part and opens the arms of the suit.

"Dad-"

"Please." Tony says, stopping and looking at Scott again. "I'm not making weapons for the rest of the world anymore, but you can be damn well sure that I'm going to make armor to protect what's important to me."

Scott didn't argue further. Maybe because he realized how much Tony needed this. And even more surprising? He actually helped. Over the next week, he helped write the code JARVIS would need when they integrated him into the suit, and helped find screwdrivers that Tony misplaced. Tony liked having a project to do with Scott. It used to be cars since Scott refused to work with weapons, but now they had the suit.

And on some occasions Scott had to console DUM-E. Especially after Tony called him a tragedy. It wasn't his fault DUM-E couldn't follow simple directions.

Okay, maybe it was...a little.

"Okay. Got the camera rolling?" Tony asks Scott as he steps onto the testing area wearing the flight pieces of his suit.

"Yup...and DUM-E has the fire extinguisher as always." Scott answers and looks up from the camera.

"Alright." Tony readies his stance. "We'll start off with 10% thrust capacity and see if it gets us off the ground."

The whirring grows louder and then Tony starts his countdown from three. The moment he hits one, he presses the handheld switches, immediately getting thrown up and backwards. He hits the low ceiling before crumpling to the floor and DUM-E turns to him and sprays him with the fire extinguisher as Scott runs over to him. The second the younger realizes he's generally okay, he bites his lip and starts to turn red.

Probably from trying not to laugh.

"If I hear a snicker from you, I will ground you forever. No oranges or lollipops."

Scott bursts into laughter a moment later and Tony sighs and holds up his arm.

"Help me up you brat."

"I think it's safe to say that 10% gets you off the ground." Scott snickers once he gets himself under control, and reaches down to help him to his feet.

"Ahahaha, so funny." Tony takes off the suit pieces with Scott's help and walks over to the workbench.

"It was. And now we will forever have a record of it." Scott smiles and watches Tony start designing the arms of the suit.

"I'd delete it but I'm sure you'll find a way to restore it and squirrel it away somewhere."

Scott only confirms his theory with a laugh and they both look over to the door when it hisses open. Pepper walks in and approaches them after setting some paperwork down.

"Didn't you hear the intercom? I've been buzzing you. Obadiah's upstairs." She tells them and Scott scrunches his nose.

"What? Oh, right. I'll be right up." He pulls his arm and the bones of the suit's arm from the stand with it.

"I thought you were done making weapons."

"He is." Scott answers. "That's a flight stabilizer."

"Completely harmless." Tony adds.

He powers it up and activates it, sending things - and himself - flying. Unfortunately his landing pad had been Scott, who was standing behind him when he shot the stabilizer and Tony immediately rolled off of him. Scott groans and holds the back of his head as he sits up and Pepper looks down at both of them incredulously.

"Seriously, how is he still alive?" Pepper asks.

"In my defense, I didn't expect that." Tony says and gets up with Scott's help once the younger recovers.

"You say that more than you think." Pepper says. "Brought paperwork for you to look at and sign. Obie is upstairs. Scott? Are you okay sweetie?"

"Still better than an asthma attack." Scott answers.

"I swear one of these days I'm going to come down here and find you both dead." Pepper sighs.

"It's plausible." Tony says and starts for the stairs.

Pepper only scoffs.

#tony stark #scott lang #pepper potts #rhodey

12 notes · View notes

nam-nam-joon · 4 years

Photo

follow me

Pairing: lucas/wong yukhei x reader

Genre: meet cute; rich kids AU

Wordcount: 10.6k

Warnings: lots of swearing; yukhei punches someone

Summary: one word is all it takes, and the opaque glass dome surrounding him cracks, and then there's you peeking in through the opening.

notes: i started this in february '19, when i was in san fran, and very much walking through the fashion district and marvelling at the sketches in the boutique windows of dior, and watching the actual rich people around there. and i've loved @stormae 's rich kid AUs for so long, i wanted to try and write my own :)

The first time he sees you, he doesn’t know it’s you yet.

And he also doesn’t see you, not really.

That is, his mind registers a person crouching off to the side as he steps up to the crossing, one hand in his pant’s pocket, the fingers of the others lazily curled around the thin velvet strings of a small bag, carrying a bottle of the expensive scent his mother always leaves a hint of wherever she goes.

That she forgot at home before this trip, and sent him to fetch for her, because of course they didn’t take Doyoung with them for this weekend trip to the fundraiser in the city by the bay.

And in lieu of their usual boy-for-everything, the next best thing is of course their own son.

He doesn’t mind.

It gives him an excuse to saunter around the streets of the high society neighbourhood their hotel is located in, somewhere among the sparkling city lights of downtown.

A breath escapes him.

It is a city like any other. The only difference with this one are the light buildings and summer etched into every corner and crevice, even though the temperatures aren’t quite there at this time of the year.

Running his mother's errand gives him an excuse to breathe in the air that smells of big city, of a million different foods, like gasoline and a bit of freedom, too.

When he walks the streets like this he can be nobody. Just another face in the crowd - a very expensively dressed crowd, but nonetheless. Here he doesn’t have a name, doesn’t have watchful eyes on him scrutinizing his every move, like his father likes to do. Noone there to clutch at his arm and whisper harsh words to him, in a tongue foreign to most of those surrounding them, behind the back of those who take selfies with their new purchases safely tucked into bags that boast the name of brands. His mother’s words are unforgiving about anyone falling outside her perception of no less than perfection, of people like his father and his colleagues, and ultimately, him and his friends.

Because, really, they’re the next generation of perfect people, carefully raised and curated by the last generation of perfect people.

But then there’s movement from the end of his field of vision and you step into it from the right, hand brushing back a few stray hairs that escaped into places they're not meant to be in and the first thing he sees is the way the headlights of passing cars momentarily create a glowing circle around your head, the way the traffic lights tint your face into a multitude of colours, and his eyes, usually so fleeting and only ever interested in the horizon, can’t let go.

They slip down your body with a practiced ease that has been second nature longer than he can think.

He doesn’t know anything about you other than you look absolutely ethereal bathed in the unassuming shine of artificial light.

But then his gaze runs down the length of your body and he comes up empty handed. Not one piece of clothing that you’re wearing bears the label of a designer he’s familiar with.

The washed out pants are rolled up over the worn out converse, there’s the hint of a flannel peeking out beneath your open jacket that seems just light enough to not cause sweat on this early spring's evening. The model of your phone is that from four years ago, but that’s all he can recognize.

Although it tells him enough.

And yet…

Another vespa zips by and in its headlight something at your belly blinks up. A small flutter spreads through his stomach as he takes in the knobs and levers, the metal and beaten black plastic. The long lens with its round cover and your left hand protectively curled around the whole creation, cradling it so close that he can’t think other than to immediately assume it’s just a part of you.

“Hey.” He says, before his brain can stop his mouth. It comes out low and even, a smirk playing around his lips.

The light switches to green, after what feels like an eternity, and you begin to walk before turning your head in his direction.

But instead of the million little things he is so used to hearing in return to one of his “Hey”'s - you don’t say anything. You just look at him and smile, you look into his eyes and smile. And then your gaze leaves him, without a second look, without scanning him. Without seeing him.

It has the smirk threat to slip for a second.

“So, uh, I noticed your camera. You really like photography, huh? Is it a hobby of yours?”

You stop at the next corner and turn into the direction of the setting sun flooding the street that gently slopes down in front of you, lift the camera and keep quiet for a moment. His gaze is fixed on the way your fingers turn a ring close to where the lens meets the rest of the camera, making adjustments, before your body seems to freeze for the fraction of a second that it takes until the camera clicks and you lower it.

Your eyes meet his again and he notes how your right hand automatically turns a little lever, a ticking noise emitting from the case in your hands for the duration of the movement.

“Yeah, you could say that. But I mostly just like to take pics of pretty things, or things I like. It’s not really- Not like I earn money with it or so.”

He nods. “Been here before? In the city, I mean." Then he adds. "I’m Lucas, by the way.”

He waits, one step ahead of you, until you put the cover back over the lens and slowly catch up to him.

“_______. And nah, First time for me. You?”

“Me neither. You like it?”

“It’s alright.” The grin on your face screams that your passive tone is a lie, and his lips curl into a grin until you crack and join in. “Yeah, I love it. Been here for a week now and am still finding new favourite spots every day. What about you? Here for a vacation?”

If only, he thinks, as his eyes catch on the dark clouds opposing the radiant sunset.

“Family trip.” He says instead.

“Oh, awesome! I’d love to have my fam here now- it would be so nice to go sightseeing with them. Where have you been already?”

His eyes trail back to yours, slightly irritated at the energy you just revealed, and the passion behind your words when speaking of the people that created you.

“Just arrived today.” He says, and it’s only half a lie. But he doesn’t know how to explain that his parents aren’t the type to go sightseeing with their offspring; that the idea of his mother in her Manolo’s strutting over the local tourist hot spot bridge is… bizarre.

“Oh, okay.” You say, and he can sense the slight dent his answer gave your enthusiasm. “Well… where do you wanna go? What stuff are you here for to see?”

You add, after he keeps quiet for a moment while trying to come up with a smooth save.

“The… bridge.” He says, as it is the first thing falling into his head. A knowing smile has your eyes glinting, like you are somehow able to see through him.

It has an uncomfortable feeling spread inside him - the pretense he always dresses in to keep his parents - his friends, everyone around him - happy so much more important than some pretty person his mind couldn’t let go of after laying eyes on.

The subdued panic wells up in his chest. He briefly considers walking off, especially now that your head is tilted down and his feet are in your direct line of sight.

The black sock sneakers carry the little printed letters that spell ‘Balenciaga’ along the outer sides, their low rise only allowing a thin slip of skin to show around his ankles before the elastic band of his pants covers the rest of the leg that the sun touched with a tan again, now that he’s away from the snow of winter.

He almost holds his breath.

All of his friends are like him.

Young, good looking.

Wealthy.

You’re no less good-looking and yet as different to him as night is to day.

Your eyeliner is a bit messy towards the outer corners of your eyes, like you had wiped at it, forgetting it was there. There’s frizz making short hairs stand up over the rest of where it is kept together. He can see it’s been a while since you last plucked your eyebrows, but all of it contributes to an image that is so much more human than what he’s used to.

You’re not proper, with skin smooth as if airbrushed like the girls his mother wants him to converse with at events, you have your camera to snap keepsakes of your travels, alone, in a city that is not your own.

You’re walking these streets without fear, and without caring that almost everyone else here is dressed in clothes that, a single item alone, probably costs more than all of yours combined.

There is something fierce inside you that he catches a glint of as a Tesla purrs by and your eyes flash over the car; the way your eyebrows quip upwards for a moment and your lips purse, and suddenly he feels awfully aware of what he’s wearing.

Of how confident you look, how comfortable, without a single brand name lining your side.

Your eyes meet his again, and this time, they stay longer. Flit around and take in all his features before you open your mouth and the spark of mischief beautifully adorns your expression.

“I know the perfect place to see the bridge. Wanna come?”

“Wh- Now?” His eyes fly to the smart watch on his wrist, the time ticking away, and the notification that his mother send him a message, asking about her perfume.

“Yeah. Now. Unless you got somewhere else to be?”

He has. He really has.

“Uh… can I meet you sometime later? Like… eleven, maybe?”

Is that disappointment on your face?

“Ah, I see. Sorry for going in like that, I thought… Nevermind. Hey, look, if you need to go, I won’t keep you.”

This expression he knows, although it’s strange to see on your soft, warm face that holds no trace of the practiced smiles and pleased looks that cover the features of him and his friends. You’re pulling back, distancing yourself.

He swallows down the panic that rises in the pit of his stomach against all the rules and mental restrictions he built over the course of miserable years of splendor and grandeur; the very same walls you crept around and instantly closer to his soul than anyone since his childhood nanny.

“No, I didn’t mean it like that. I really do want to go with you. It’s just- My parents- I have to bring this to them, and they’ll expect-”

He notices, notices the way your eyes catch on the little bag he holds up, and it’s a pinprick into his chest as he remembers the triple digits he paid for with his travel credit card.

But then your eyes touch his again, and they’re not hard, not unforgiving, not condescending. Just curious.

He gapes at you as you look up at him without a single wrinkle of displeasure on your face.

And in that moment he makes a decision.

“You know what, fuck my parents.” He steps around you and lifts a hand, a cab setting its blinker almost immediately to respond to his call. “I’ll bring this to them and then we can go to see the bridge.”

He pauses with the door held open, wondering why you’re still standing on the sidewalk, camera in hand.

“Aren’t you coming?”

“I don’t really have money for taxis.”

He furrows his brows and puts one arm over the door. “It’s alright, I’ll pay. Don’t worry about it.”

When you slip into the seat next to him he tells the driver the address of his parent’s hotel and the car leaves the curb.

“Four Seasons, huh.” You say flatly.

“Yeah. My mother won’t stay at any other.”

It comes out matter of fact, and he has to look over to see the shadow of a grin around your lips before he realizes your sarcasm is such a subtle tease he didn’t pick up on it at first.

“Are you sure they won’t kick me out?”

He brushes past the portier opening the glass door for you, but as he turns around to look back at you he catches you mouthing a thank-you at the young man in the neatly pressed uniform.

“Of course they wouldn’t. Just- just wait here, okay? I’ll be back in a sec.”

You grin and shake your head.

“Hey Lucas!” You call out then, as he waits in front of the elevator. “Wear something plain, okay?”

“Where do you think you’re going.” Comes the voice from his father, stern and with the disapproval so expertly woven into it that he has long since stopped hearing it.

“Out.” He says flatly, picking up his leather jacket he left draped over one of the chairs on his mother’s side of the bed on his way out, back down to you after switching pants and shoes. The flask with perfume is safely clutched in his mother’s hand. It clinks against the marble vanity as she sets it down.

“Lucas! We have an event scheduled, you cannot be-”

“That’s not my name!” He interrupts the higher voice of his mother, his own voice suddenly spiking.

It’s the name _______ knows you by, an evil little voice whispers in his head that he shoves down.

“That’s not my name.” He repeats into the heavy silence after his outburst, more controlled. “Don’t pretend you care about me being there with you, I would just get in your way, as usual. Have fun getting drunk.”

The heavy oak door cuts off his parent’s voices, the nagging one of his mother and the scolding one of his father.

When he rips the clean, neat button down off of him it almost feels like he's shedding a layer that reeks of his parents. He dumps it in one of the artfully concealed trash bins and tugs the white tee shirt he's wearing underneath out of his pants.

He knows he’ll pay for this little act of rebellion, this act of defiance, but when he leans his head against the cool tiles in the elevator, he doesn’t find it in himself to care.

You greet him with crossed legs sitting on one of the decorative, uncomfortable couches in the lobby, the latest Vogue open on your lap.

“Finally. The receptionist was creeping their hand closer to the phone to call the cops on me by the minute.” You grumble, and it’s really not your fault, but he tips his head back and laughs.

He catches you as you eye the plain white shirt, the leather jacket over his arm. Your eyebrows rise as you take note of his shoes - the Balenciaga’s are gone, replaced with a pair of Adidas, so new they practically sparkle.

“What.” He ducks his head to meet your gaze, but you refuse to meet his as you exit the hotel.

“Just look at you. I can’t take you anywhere like this, people will think we’re super good targets to mug and then leave in a ditch. Here, put this on. And give me your jacket.”

He’s too baffled to refuse to take the flannel you just shrugged out of. It’s still warm when he takes it, and it smells more like the scent he only caught a trace of when you sat next to him. He draws a deep breath and hopes you won't notice.

It’s big, at least for you, but on him, it fits. Out of your backpack you conjure up a smaller, slouchier bag, littered with patches that carry unknown town’s names. A water bottle and a polaroid camera find their new home in it, before you stuff your own jacket into the bigger bag and hand it to him. He takes it, again, slinging his arms through the hoops and adjusting them so they fit him.

“C’mon, bend down a little, won’t ya? I’m not a giant like you.”

He complies against his better judgement, cautious eyes under worrying eyebrows keeping track of your facial features, watching out for any trace of malice that might appear as you come close.

It's all he can do to not flinch too heavily when you lift your arm.

Your hand ruffling through his hair, messing up the slicked-back look, catches him off-guard and he’s left to stare at your face in wonder after you lean back, satisfaction radiating from you.

“There, better. Now you’re just a backpacker like me, with fresh splurged-on shoes. Let’s go.”

He offers to take another cab, to wherever you want to go, but you simply shake your head.

“Half the fun is getting there.” You tell him and his burning calves as you climb what is possibly the steepest street he’s ever encountered.

He admires the way you push forward, always half a step in front of him. At the top you look back to where he’s briefly catching his breath, beckoning him forward with a smile.

His jacket looks good on you, he notices. The sleeves are so long that you can make paws out of them, and in the fresh, almost cold evening air, you do, which he thinks is adorable. In a good way.

It takes longer than he thought, from the bustling core of the fashion district across town. You lead him through the criss-crossing streets, point at stuff, and show him things he’d never notice otherwise.

It’s long since pitch black dark before he’s following you through a patch of trees, down a slight slope.

“You sure this is the way? I-”

“Yeah! It’s just one more corner, bridge should be there then, don’t you fret! I’d never lead you astray.”

Doubt sparks sharply in his thoughts, but he fights it down.

He doesn’t know you, not really, he reminds himself; even after a cab ride and a trek across the city spent talking, but it’s this or the fundraiser.

His breath stinging his sides or his mother's manicured fingers pinching him to keep him from slouching.

The refreshing air, heavy with moisture and the smell of trees, or the stuffy warmth that has him light headed without any alcohol - that is saturated with perfumes so thickly he could cut it into pieces.

He steps in a puddle and his adidas aren’t so white anymore, he’s pretty sure he walked himself a blister somewhere and the cold is beginning to seep in, after the hills of the city are behind you

“Lucas! You coming?”

The name is another setback, another pinprick, but he jogs up to where your voice comes from.

The sky behind the trees is oddly red, as if a great light is illuminating the clouds.

He’s only reached you when you already turn, and he wants to call out for you to stop, wait up, and then…

And then he sees the bridge.

The two towers rise high into the night’s sky, six streams of cars flow between them, one side white, one red lights.

It connects the curving street to the dark mountains across the water, where the trail of light vanishes between the sloping tops.

“It’s good, eh?” You smile up at him, suddenly back by his side. He nods and swallows, unable to look away.

The sight shouldn’t be special, he’s seen bridges like these lit up all over the world, so why is this one so breathtaking?

He hears the snap of the shutter, the clicking of the film being turned, once, twice.

He turns his head just in time to hear it click a third time, and he needs a moment before he realizes the last picture definitely has him in it.

“Hey! Did you take a picture of me?”

“So what if I did?” Your grin is shit-eating wide, and he feels himself give in.

“-That’s not allowed.” He says for a lack of anything better when it looks like you’re still waiting for an answer.

You laugh and turn to the front, admiring the sight again.

The countless headlights sparkle in your eyes, the red glow shining on your face.

He gets the urge to snap a picture as well, and in that moment understands you a little bit.

This close, shoulder to shoulder, the details of your face stand out differently.

He should say something, break the silence that’s stretching uncomfortably between you, but there’s nothing coming to his mind.

You turn your head and meet his eyes, and deep down he dreads the comments that will come, about him staring, about him not conversing, about him being rude.

But all you do is smile up at him like he’s the nicest thing you've seen all day, and inch a bit closer.

“It’s cold, no?” He breathes in, breaking eye-contact in favour of the dark water and the park spreading out around you.

“You want your jacket back?” You’re already lowering your backpack’s strings before his hand catches yours, pauses your movement.

“No, no it’s fine.”

“You sure? I can handle it, I’ve got my own jacket. You don’t have to be all tough, don’t wanna get you sick.”

“Trust me, I’m good.” His hand lowers, and he smiles.

“No it’s not!” You speak up, catching his palm in your own. “You’re all clammy! Here, take your jacket back and give me mine, c’mon.”

No matter how much he protests, you don’t take no for an answer, and fifteen minutes later he’s begrudgingly trotting along the beach on the other side of the street, back towards the city, wearing his own jacket.

Your connected hands gently swing between you.

Now and then you sigh, and then take a breath as if wanting to say something, but then you don’t and he’s left to wonder.

The moon breaks through the clouds now and then, bathing the wide walkway in silver-grey light, and then shrouds itself again.

“What’s on your mind?” He brings out, after another sigh of yours.

Your eyes meet his, your face open even though you’re biting on your lip and struggle with words.

But he meant what he said, doesn’t look away, even stops and tugs you to follow his example.

“I’m just,” You begin, looking off into the distance. “Every vacation comes to an end. Guess I’m both relieved and sad about it at once.”

“When do you go back?” He can’t believe he hasn’t asked until now.

“Next week.”

“That’s still some time.”

“I know. It’s what I keep telling myself, but… Time flies. One moment you’re arriving in a new city and the next you find yourself leaving. Life is so fast sometimes and it’d be nice to... Live slow. You know?”

Oh, he knows.

He’s never known anything slow.

The cars he and his friends drive are fast, whenever one of those friends takes an interest in a girl or a boy or anyone, really, they’re fast to proclaim their love and date and then fast to break up. The planes that are bringing him from city to city are fast, the way he only has to tap his plastic on the card reader and it rings up his purchase, fast.

But you’re slow.

You walk, everywhere, you tell him, and he listens. You talk slow, too, there’s a lot of breaks between your sentences, he learns, and occasionally you’ll pick up a topic to talk about that he thought you’d finished already and moved on from, just to add another perspective he hadn’t considered.

The ocean is slow, too, with the waves rolling on the sandy beach and barely grazing the stone steps you sat down on to watch the water.

“Can I lean into your side for a while? I’m not feeling so well.” You say quietly, barely above the wind and the waves.

He turns his head, takes in how your eyes are a bit distant, staring out over the rippling surface.

Instead of answering he puts his arm around your shoulders, shuffles closer until the length of his thigh touches yours and he can tug you into the side of his body.

Both your arms snake around his waist, under his jacket, and because it is right there and not doing it seems weird, he leans his cheek on the top of your head.

This is fast, too, he muses, cuddling the same day you met; but his sore feet and the hours of walking around and talking make it seem like he's known you for longer.

He can’t remember any of his friends ever having talked so much with him.

The bar in the basement of the hostel is loud, filled to the brim with people, there’s music pumping between the walls and he doesn’t know anyone but you.

You vanish to put away your bags and even though this is a place he should feel more comfortable in, he doesn’t.

Maybe it’s because it’s not so dark that he can still see everyone, and everyone can still see him, and everyone is dressed much like you, if not a little more shabby and run-down.

He’s stood by the bar, waiting for two small colas, because they don’t sell the champagne he usually goes for.

“That’ll be nine bucks mate.”

He waits for the clerk to put the card reader out for him, and when the guy doesn’t, he feels the annoyance bubbling up.

“Card?” He says, irritated.

“Sorry buddy, cash only.”

“What?!”

“‘scuse me says so up front.” The guy shrugs, hands inching closer to take the cheap plastic cups away.

“I got it!”

He turns and you’re back, with hair fresh up and shockingly clothed with just a single t-shirt. Gone are the layers and layers from before, and it's like you're a different person.

You put a note with a ten on it down on the counter, politely say thank you upon receiving your change and then turn, handing one cup to him.

He feels strange, still riled up because of the embarrassment and because you were the one to save him, and because you seem to not find fault in that, just smile and take a sip.

“I’m Yukhei.” He blurts out.

Your eyebrows twitch closer together. “I’m ________.” You repeat.

“No, I mean… That’s my name.” He shifts, uncomfortable.

“And Lucas?”

“That’s… That’s my western name. The one my parent’s call me by. But… Yukhei is my real name.” He takes a sip as well, almost cringing at the sugary taste.

“Do you prefer Lucas or Yukhei?” You take another sip, and your eyes are so soft again.

“-Yukhei.” He answers, looking into them.

“Come on guys, make some room for Yukhei and me alright?”

He preens, unseen by anyone but himself, under the way you call his name, and he takes another sip, almost used to the taste by now.

Under a lot of shuffling and grumbling the present people free up a tiny space on the bench and you motion for him to sit down.

As soon as his butt hits the worn out wood, he finds you in his lap, using him as a seat for yourself.

The hand not busy holding his drink comes up to your hip by instinct, he looks up at you out of wide eyes, lips twitching but finding no words for the bold move.

He's had people grinding down on him in clubs everywhere, this shouldn't feel different. It does. This is so much more intimate.

“Everything alright? If I get too heavy I can get off?” You turn and are a lot closer to him than he thought, noses almost touching.

“Huh? Uh, no, I’m good, don’t- Don’t worry. Is this okay for you?”

You nod, half listening to a conversation happening at the table again.

Over the course of the next hour you go and refill your own and his cups, with fanta this time, which he likes a bit better. Every time you come back to him he looks up at you and expects you to demand a seat for your own now, but every time you shuffle back into his lap. The hand on your hip slowly extends each time until you take his fingers and drag them over until his arm is lying around your belly.

His chin is on your shoulder whenever you’re there, but he mostly listens and doesn’t contribute to the chats much.

To his surprise his trips to Tokyo, Monaco or Dubai sound a lot less glamorous, exciting and adventurous compared to what some of the people here, not even much older, can talk about.

One backpacked his whole way down the Rocky Mountains, across a whole continent; another hasn’t been home in two years and is looking to get another visa somewhere else already.

One has just arrived from their plane coming in from the other coast, and another travelled all of the north and is now looking for something a little more southern.

He learns that you’ve been to quite a few places yourself, listen intently as you recall memorable moments and rant about impossible people you’ve come across.

He squeezes once after a loud round of laughter has mostly died down, and even though you’re currently talking to a girl diagonally across from you, your own hand comes up to cover his and squeeze back, and he doesn’t think twice about it but knows you heard him, told him to hang in there.

Once you’ve both said your words you turn to him, curiosity on your face. The way you’re sat, twisted, is a little unstable and so you put a hand on his shoulder, to keep steady.

“Hm?”

“Where’s the bathroom here?”

“Ha? Oh, it’s through that door, on the left side, you just have to follow- Do you want me to show you?”

He feels silly, already mentally beating himself up about not being man’s enough to just go, but already you’ve stood up, linked your hands and are pulling him along.

“You okay? You’ve been so quiet?”

He feels like his ears are half deaf, now, in the silent hallway after the door to the bar shuts.

“Just… tired.” He avoids your question, but not entirely, either.

“Shit, you arrived today, I forgot… Hey if you wanna get out of here just tell me.”

He nods and mirrors your smile before pushing open the door to the washroom.

You’re still there when he comes out again, leaned against the wall, tapping on your phone.

“All done.” He announces, bouncing his hands by his hips, and you smile at the cute voice he puts on.

"Wanna go back inside? Or have enough yet."

He rubs a hand over his neck and looks to the side.

"I think I can stomach another cola. Or fanta. How much do I owe you?"

You shake your head and wave a hand.

"I’ll send you a bill, pretty boy. Come now, don’t think you get a lot of chances at getting out of your ivory tower to mingle among the common folk, eh."

He wants to open his mouth and disagree, and then he doesn't

You squeeze his hand and part with him before you get back to the table, motioning in the direction of the bar and likely referring to the last drink he mentioned, and he nods and goes to sit back down.

You join him soon after, leaning forward a bit to squeeze between the table and his legs, and over your shoulder he catches the leer of one of the guys that’s been eyeing you a little too much all evening.

But you don’t seem to notice and so he clenches his hand into a fist and presses it against the wood.

Soon after, one of the girls from the right side of the table puts her drink down and gestures towards him.

“What about you, where are you from? You staying in the hostel as well?”

He answers, as best as he can, and he’s had a lifetime of dodging and carefully evading clear answers and if the others are aware of him shifting the topic of conversation around and asking for more travel stories of them, they don’t say anything.

You wiggle out if his lap and whisper you’ll use the restroom really quick and that he better not dare to run off, and then your reassuring weight is gone and he’s alone at the table but it feels safer than sitting at one of the round tables of a gala, with crystalline flutes of bubbling liquid and stiff jackets all around.

The door to the hallway closes behind you and the guy from before turns to the person next to him, an ugly grin spread on his face, and says something low on his breath. Following a sudden impulse he gets up to head to the reception of the hostel upstairs and doesn’t really hear the spoken words, and part of him doesn’t want to, and another part strains his ears to pick it up nonetheless.

When he comes back the same girl who’d asked before directs another friendly question at him and his attention momentarily slips.

But not for long.

His eyes find the door when you push it open again, and in the same moment he hears the two guys clearly.

“..._______ such a slut.”

At once the anger is back and his fingers flex.

“What?” He says, and it’s louder than anything else he’s said this evening. The others at the table pause in their chat, and he feels eyes on him. “What did you just say?”

The guy glances around and then leans back, fake confidence mixing with real one.

“I said what I said. Cute ass, too.”

“Apologize!”

The guy pulls a face. “Why should I? She isn’t here and it’s not like she didn't have it coming-”

He’s on his feet before he can blink and then there’s a sharp pain on his knuckles and the guy is curling forward, pressing a hand to his mouth and cursing.

Right afterwards the guy rises to his feet, and to his satisfaction Yukhei notes that he’s a couple inches taller than the asshole, a little broader too, even though the other guy looks like he packs more muscle.

“You wanna fuckin’ go?” The guy hisses, red seeping between his teeth and eyes glinting.

“Apologize and we won’t have to.” He growls, hand still clenched.

"Yukhei!"

He hears you exclaim into the awful silence that suddenly fills the dingy space, but the adrenaline is rushing in his veins, his blood loud in his ears.

"Stop it!"

"Do you know what he called you? How he’s talking about you behind your back?"

The fury about someone reducing you to a glimpse, a fraction of who you really are, just based on your shirt slipping a little too low-

As if he isn’t just as bad.

Giving you a once-over upon first seeing you, running a mental checklist of brands you were sporting, how compatible your styles were.

He knows how shallow him and his friends, but especially his mother and father are. And maybe that's why his anger is boiling over now, roiling in his stomach. Because he knows he's no better, because in just a couple of hours spent with you he's lived so much more than in the months preceding this trip alone.

But there's your hand on his elbow, the warm skin of your palm as your fingers weave between his, and even though the asshole is still dabbing at his busted lip, sneering so ugly, he lets you. Lets you tug him away, out between the people staring from their seats, into the weird hallway and up the flight of stairs.

"You really don't care that guy called you that? For no reason, at all?"

He doesn't mean to sound this accusing, this hurt that you rejected his offer to stand up for you. At the top of the stairs you turn back, fingers twitching in their hold on his hand. He looks down into your face when he comes to a rest next to you, rubs his thumb over the back of your hand once.

"Of course I care." You blink, and he worries his eyebrows because he doesn't understand. "I don't like being labelled like that, by assholes like him. But it happens all the time. And even if I would've spoken up about it, which I would have, by the way, that- speaking up should have been enough. I'm not going to fucking deck a guy just because he can't handle me showing as much skin as I want. Worse things have happened."

"But-"

"I appreciate it, you standing up for me. But you don’t have to, I can handle it alone.”

The words of protest are heavy on his tongue but he swallows them down.

“I think we need some fresh air.”

He hears you mumble.

The clouds that move across the expanse of darkness above are the colour of rust.

He’s quiet again, but for a different reason than before.

Now and then he sneaks glances at you, wondering when it would be a good time to open his mouth again.

You lead him, again, around corners and across streets until he’s lost his way for sure and could only find his way back by taking a cab.

Then again, he was sort of lost as soon as you brought him out of the fashion district already, so this isn’t that much of a change.

“Hey, you hungry?” You ask suddenly, stopping in front of a fast food restaurant. “I’m hungry. Let’s go in.”

He doesn’t object.

The cup of ice cream he got with your enthusiastic approval is nice and cool against his bruised knuckles.

Through half a pack of crispy golden fries already he sees you pause, with your gaze locked on his hand.

“It’s not-”

He starts, after you swallow and he practically hears you complain already.

“It doesn’t hurt, don’t worry. I’m sorry- I- I’m not sorry about hitting the guy. He deserved it. I’m sorry he said that about you.”

You close your mouth and take a sip of the drink. Just one shared cup, without a lid or straw, because you said there is enough plastic in the oceans already.

You look away from him, put the cup down and reach for his hand.

He wants to object and pull it away but you glare at him and he doesn’t want to upset you further and so he lets you examine it.

There’s a soft, barely there touch to his raw knuckles and his eyes are darting back in time to see you put the most careful of kisses first to where the skin is sensitive, and then to the back of his hand.

He feels himself calm down. It’s like his entire being is solely focused in this moment in your touch. For just a moment nothing else matters.

You lean back and sigh, not letting go of his hand.

“What am I gonna do with you, hm.”

He hopes it’s a question you don’t intend him to answer, because there are no words coming to his mind.

He holds the door open for you as you exit the 24 hour restaurant. The air here in the city is a little less crisp than out at the bridge, but it’s still fresher than inside. His legs ache, and the soles of his feet burn, reminding him of the amount of walking he’s done trailing after you today and then there’s the flight from the morning and he’s very suddenly very tired.

So much so he stumbles and bumps your shoulder, even.

“Hey, Yukhei? You okay?”

And you look at him again, with your eyes so soft, and his hand clenches around the bandana you got out from who knows where and wrapped around his knuckles as a makeshift bandage.

“Just tired.” He whispers, head filled with the image of your face lit up by the restaurant’s neon signs beside you two and the glow of the streetlights to the other side.

“Maybe that’s a sign to head to bed then.” You grin at him, but despite your words, there’s no flirtatious meaning behind them, no other intention than innocent honesty.

“Would you like to come back to my hotel?” He blurts out, hand curling around your bandana over his palm, feeling the tightness of it and the small pain as it stretches over his skin.

There’s doubt on your face.

“The four seasons? With your parents? I don’t know…”

“We could get a room at another hotel. Without my parents. Just… us.”

And he doesn’t mean anything else than what he just said either and instead he’s silently hoping, wishing, you won’t leave him. Not yet. Not like this.

You smile.

“Are you paying?”

“Of course.”

The smile widens into a grin.

“You’re cute when you make puppy-eyes. Okay fine, I’ll bite. Where are we going?”

“To catch a cab.” He huffs. “My feet are killing me.”

“New shoes,” You whistle and pat his arm affectionately. “Yeah, I’m praying for your feet man.”

The big black expensive wooden door clicks close behind him almost without sound.

He doesn’t care.

It’s not the Four Seasons, it’s the next best thing, but the room he left his card for at the front desk is bigger than the dingy bar at the hostel alone, and his chest warms at the sight of awe on your face.

“You have got to be kidding me.” He hears, and turns from the panorama window overlooking the city to see you resurfacing from the bathroom.

You’re holding on to the door frame and seem to be caught between anger and wonder.

“There's a bathtub the size of a fucking swimming pool in here. The fuck. And-” You lift a hand and he sees a bottle of lotion or shampoo in your grasp. “This shit costs sixty bucks! What the entire hell.”

He grins, and it’s one he settles into easily, one of the million-dollar-smiles that are his trademark.

“Like what you see?” He lifts an eyebrow.

You shake your head and put the bottle down, gingerly, as if it isn’t made of plastic and would probably survive a good toss across the room.

The mahogany floating cupboards you pull open reveal a set of bath robes and pyjamas so soft you push your face into the first shirt you pull out, turn to him and shake your head again.

“Wanna take a swim in the bath-pool?” He asks, because he feels the exhaustion with every move, settling deeper into his bones.

You nod and follow him as he crosses the room.

The tub is big, he thinks, but not the biggest he’s seen or even been in. He turns the faucet on and even in here the windows reach from ceiling to floor, allowing glimpses of the streets far below.

You shoo him out to get in first.

The foam is so thick he has to search for your face upon coming back in.

He hears you giggling and then a portion of it moves and there’s your smiling face.

“Come in, it’s amazing.”

He’s reaching for the belt around his robe and you cover your eyes like a child. It feels weird, being allowed such privacy, when all the other girls he’s usually around would eat up any and all chances at seeing him.

He sinks into the foam, on the other end of the tub, because you only agreed to this if he kept his distance and there was no ‘accidental’ touching involved.

He can’t seem to bring himself to mind.

Every other girl he would have met somewhere, in a club or else, and they’d have at least rolled in the sheets once by now. But not you. It feels more thrilling than he could have expected.

“What are you thinking about?” Comes your voice and then a tiny mountain of bubbles gets parted and he’s able to see your face again after sinking into the water.

He shrugs, because that is his go-to answer.

“No thoughts, head empty?” There’s a quirk around your smile like he’s supposed to know what it means but he just nods.

“Tired.” He says, and only after it leaves him does he realize how often he’s said it.

“Are you, really?” You ask, and your voice is softer than before. “Putting what you feel into words is difficult.”

“Yeah, it is.” He agrees, and cups a handful of foam between his palms. “I don’t know. I don’t really need to say what I feel, if I shrug or say that I don’t know, it’s enough for people.”

His eyes glaze over.

“And right now? I mean, you’re tired, but what else is in you?”

“Huh?”

You gesticulate but you're a bit out of focus.

“I, for example, I’m tired too, but also happy because I got to show you the bridge, and I’m in awe at being here, in a hotel room bigger than a house, in a tub with a cute boy I met this afternoon. There’s more, but just, you know?”

He puts an effort into blinking and clearing his eyes, and turns your words over in his head.

“I feel… Tired from travelling, and from my parents wanting me to be like them and going to the fundraiser with them and be seen as their perfect son. I’m… Seeing the bridge was nice. No, not nice, it was… Amazing. It shouldn’t be but it was one of the nicest- most amazing things I’ve ever seen. I liked watching the ocean with you, I felt… Like I could pause and take a breath. This is nice, too. Sharing the tub but not… doing anything.”

He shuts his mouth and it’s strange how light his chest feels suddenly.

“Wow.” It slips out.

Across the foam, you smile at him.

You make him get out of the bath first, cover your eyes again and tell him to leave the room so you can come out, too, but then after you come out looking scrubbed clean and fluffy wrapped in your bathrobe, he goes back in to wash the gel out if his hair and the metaphorical dust of travelling off his skin.

You’re watching the skyline when he re-emerges, smelling like the expensive shampoo and lotion the hotel supplies.

The spaghetti top fits you nicely, he thinks as he approaches, and hugs you from behind.

You stiffen in his hold, just for a moment, and then you relax again, cover his hands with yours.

“It’s so pretty.” A yawn breaks the last word and he chuckles, even though he’s just as tired.

“I know.” He says, but his head is leaned against yours and his eyes are closed.

He wakes to white sheets and the soft golden hues of dawn.

For a moment he doesn't recognize who's in bed with him, hair sprawled over the pillow and half buried under the blanket.

Did he get drunk last night?

But when he reaches back in his memory there's no haze, no blurry images, everything is clear and he remembers everything.

It's you, there with him.

He lifts his head.

It's quiet in the spacious room.

Only the sunlight comes in, and it touches everything into a magical glow.

And among that you sleep soundly, curled around your hands fisted in the sheets, and he leans over to the bedside table, fishes his phone up from there and snaps a picture before he can lose the precious sight.

Then he puts the device away, lays back down and continues watching you, even though his eyes droop once more.

It seems like a dream, everything that went down yesterday, but he is once more reminded that it isn't when he reaches out to brush hair away from your face and sees the bruise on his knuckles, standing out against his skin.

His heartbeat is loud in his ears.

His chest is a bit tight, like his heart is too big for it, and he softly exhales in hopes it might soothe the ache.

He dozes off again, wondering if this is what love feels like.

A hand combing his hair rouses him from slumber, the pad of a finger rubbing his cheek.

He blinks his eyes open and squints at your radiant smile, almost as blinding as the sunlight from before.

"Hey," He rasps, and swallows and clears his throat.

"Hey." You answer, smile impossibly brightening. "Slept well?"

"Mhm, yeah? You?"

You laugh and lean your forehead against his shoulder.

"Yeah. This bed is like a tiny cloud. I feel so refreshed."

"That's good." He smiles and yawns and stretches.

Your fingers touch the smooth expanse of his stomach, revealed as the blanket slips away, and he cracks mid stretch and giggles.

"N-No- Mercy, mercy please! Please!"

The giggles turn into a laugh as you push up into a sitting position and he twists and turns and bats half-heartedly at your hands.

"No." He breathes, trapping your wrists in his palms and pushing himself up as well. "Don't. Bad… Bad human."

Your eyes sparkle again and it's the cutest thing he's seen.

"Okay, okay. I yield."

Satisfied, he lowers your hands.

"Wanna order breakfast?"

"What?" Your eyes widen. "Like, up to this room?"

"Yeah?"

"Isn't there like, a buffet downstairs or so?"

"Maybe? I don't know."

He shrugs, and it's the truth. He doesn't feel like he has to pretend he knows everything.

"Let's get washed up and go downstairs. I wanna have a look at all the rich people in their morning attire."

He purses his lips and is about to tell you there's nothing special about that, really, but his thought process gets cut short by your palm on his cheek and your lips pressing a soft smooch to the other.

He's left gaping while you hop off the bed and vanish in the bathroom, and only after the lock clicks into place does he feel his entire face burn, cheeks tingling with the ghost of your touch.

He brings his own hand to the spot your lips were in just moments prior and is absolutely powerless against the big, flustered grin spreading on his face.

He gets up and out of bed, stretching once more and feeling as good in his skin as he hasn't for a while now, and just unlocked his phone to check for messages when the lock clicks across the room and the door opens.

"We didn't order-"

The words die in his throat at the two figures waltzing in, not even bothering to close the door behind them.

"What did you think you were doing, young man?!"

His mother's words drip venom that could have left black burned holes in the plush carpet under her steps.

At once his shell is back, the hardened surface that had peeled back in your presence.

"Taking money out of your account, eating at a… At a fast food restaurant? Are you out of your mind?"

"You know I usually think you should be allowed your freedom but I'm agreeing with your mother here." His father helpfully supplies, hands behind his back from where he wandered over to the window.

"So what if I do with my money what I want? It's not like it matters to you?"

"That's enough. Get dressed, we're going back to our hotel. Gods help us none of the-"

"No." He says, and feels something welling up inside him.

His mother pauses, glaring at him.

"-Nobody saw you out, that would be such an unnecessary-"

"I said no."

His volume increases alongside his anger at being ignored and talked over.

"Lucas, pull yourself together. Why you would book another hotel room when you have one next to ours is useless spending, not to mention-"

A door opens behind him and he turns. His stomach hits the floor between his feet.

He forgot about you, hidden in the bathroom.

You're carefully closing the door behind you but pause when you realize all eyes are on you and the conversation stopped.

"Good morning." You dip your head slightly, eyes flicking from them to him.

"Lucas, what is that."

His mother asks, not turning her eyes away from you, and you're obviously left speechless at such blatant rudeness thrust in your face this early in the day so you keep quiet.

"This is my friend, mother."

His tone is freezing as he crosses the space separating you and takes a hold of your hand. "Not that it concerns you."

"Lucas," His father speaks up, hands outstretched in front of him. "You know we don't mind you socializing, but someone like that…?"

He obviously means the messy bun you put your hair in, the simple - cheap - outfit with the worn flannel around your hips.

Nobody of their standing would be caught dead like this.

He bristles under the comments, his chest filling with a prickling rage, but then you squeeze his hand and he looks down into your wide eyes and the half hidden panic in them.

"I'll go now. Thank you for everything, Yukhei."

You slip away from him and give his parents the widest berth you can manage before picking up your shoes and taking your jacket off its place by the door.

"No, wait-"

He hasn't asked you for your number yet, or Snapchat, or Instagram or anything; it feels like you're slipping through his fingers and he knows if he doesn't get you to stay, somehow, you'll be gone in a heartbeat and he'll never get you back.

Cinderella running as soon as the clock strikes midnight, but unlike her prince, he doesn't even have a shoe that would allow him to find you again.

"Lucas-" His mother warns him, but with a hate-filled look he's out the door, heart hammering away in his chest at the prospect of losing you.

Losing soft, warm, you, with your slow words and your camera and your view of the world that's so different from his.

He manages to wrench a hand between the doors of the elevator just before it closes and he's panting and high strum when the metal slides back and allows him in.

"Yukhei? What-"

He turns and sees his parents come out the door, and hurries to press the 'close doors' button even though neither of them would do as he did and sprint to catch them.

As soon as the cabin moves, he turns to you, hands feeling jittery and out of breath.

"Can I have your number? Or social media, or address or… anything? Anything I can reach you with?"

"Yukhei…" Your eyes are still wide as you look away from his face.

"Please." He swallows and tries to calm his erratic breathing. "Please, you're- You're the fucking best thing that's happened to me in months, months, okay, I don't- I don't want to lose you, I want to, I want for us to have breakfast together and do stupid tourist shit together and I just want more time with you, please…"

The doors open and reveal the first floor, and the presence of an elderly couple shuts him up momentarily.

They get on and upon seeing the button for the ground level lit up already settle against the opposite wall.

He catches your eyes again.

"Please."

He whispers.

"Boys like you aren't good for girls like me, Yukhei." You tell him, cupping one of your hands over his cheek, and with a sadness on your face that installs more fear in him than his parents showing up unannounced.

"What do you mean?" He asks, and wraps his own fingers around your wrist.

The doors open again and reveal the lobby, and everyone gets off.

"I mean…" You sigh and look around, at the brown suitcases with golden letter print, at the names flashing from every purse, shades or shoes. "I mean, boys like you... Don't spend much time or thought on girls like me. We don't mix and match. We're too different. Boys like you… Lose interest in girls like me once they get what they want."

He knows you're right and he hates it.

He wants to say something, anything, but his tongue weighs too heavy and you look like you know your words are true to the bone.

"And, your parents…" You lift your eyebrows and tilt your head, having said enough.

He feels powerless and he hates it, but unlike with his parents he can't act up, he can't step out of line, he can't risk a slap or punch in exchange for a brief moment of exhilarating freedom. Because you are freedom in the shape of a person already, and he is at a loss at what to do.

"Let me prove you wrong."

A plead. He knows your time together is running out and he knows he's grasping at straws but he's desperate.

"I appreciate that."

A beat of hope in his chest.

"But you don't have to, really. You have nothing to prove to me, Yukhei."

"Lucas!"

He freezes at the shout, the voice of his mother reaching out of the elevator.

"It was so nice getting to know you."

"No- No-!"

And you're slipping from his hands, are gone faster than he can gather his thoughts and defreeze his tongue and all that's left of you is one more kiss, quick and fleeting, pressed to his other cheek and then you're skipping to the exit, look back once you reach the door, with a smile on your face.

His mother's hand takes a hold of his elbow like a claw wrapping around prey, the rings on her fingers pressing into his skin, and her voice is talking but he doesn't hear.

He still feels your soft lips on his cheeks, the ghost of your fingers between his, and it's so little contact to what he's used to from the girl's he's usually around, and yet it feels like it meant so, so much more.

He closes his eyes and hangs his head and mentally shuts off to let the words spoken at him roll off his skin without allowing them in.

It's late and the sky is dark and he's locked in his room while his parents are out on the second evening of the event.

The screen of his phone lights up and he turns his head to check, not really interested in whatever is happening. His attention spikes when he reads the Snapchat notification that he's just been added as a friend.

Turning on his side he pulls up the new chat, and there are the little dots that indicate the other person is writing.

-Yukhei what the ruck!!!

-*f

A smile finds the corners of his lips, the first one since the more than harsh awakening this morning.

>found my gift? ;)

-what the fuck! i can't accept this??

>no take backs. get something nice and pretend like it's a souvenir from me

At least that way you could have something to remind you of him. If you want that.

-that's so much koney tho??? are u sure?

-*money ruck

-*FUCK

>don't worry about it. i owed you, you know. consider it paid back, with interest

Your bitmoji drops down and it seems like you're considering what to do next. It feels good, to know you received the envelope he left at the front desk in the spur of the moment, his Snapchat handle scrawled on it alongside a short “Please add me when you get this :)”

Then…

-did u get in trouble? bc of me?

>nah

>my parents caught me doing worse

He pauses and bites on his lip, weighting pro against con of telling you.

-do i want to know??

>hosted a party and couple of my friends had an orgy in my parent's bedroom. they came back early and…

-holy fucking shit what the fuck

He opens the camera and snaps a selfie, pouting and adding a text about being grounded for the remainder of this trip.

He holds his breath in anticipation until the little pink square next to your name fills out and he can click on it.

It's a close-up of your face, from an incredibly unflattering angle, and you're clearly not shredding an ounce of sympathy for him.

No text is added.

He sends another pouting selfie, zoomed in as well and lays on the puppy eyes thick.

The next image is half your face hidden under your blanket, with the word "no" taking up much of the screen.

He swipes into the main menu and then further to the friend page, clicking on your story.

What unfurls before his eyes is a miniature movie, single pictures taken all over the city and pieced together with selfies and you talking to yourself.

At once his heart beats a little faster.

His screen lights up, months later, and still his heart won't beat normal.

That morning a letter arrived for him - a letter, for him, in a battered envelope with an entirely foreign stamp and his name proudly on it.

It's from you.

In it he found copies of the pictures you took of him in front of the bridge, the light and dark touching his face.

And then the tiny polaroid he had asked you to take two times, one for you and one for him, and then hadn't gotten the chance to take it with him.

He'd snapped a selfie of the letter and him and sent it to you before opening it, and now he's blinking to keep the tears from spilling over.

Wong Yukhei does not cry, especially not at something like this. And yet…

But instead of an answer snap to your “omg u got mail!!” he opens the screen to a video call, and hurries to brush his eyes dry and fails when the connection stabilizes and he can see you.

It's a different time of day for you, and your hair has grown and changed, too, but the smile that's on his screen is still the same, radiant one as before.

"You got my letter!"

You exclaim, and even though it's a bit warbled and the rendering is a bit blocky, he feels your excitement.

"I did."

"Was beginning to think it got lost in the mail. Do you like the pictures? I put the polaroid in as well, did you-"

"Yeah," He smiles, and the word comes out rasped. "Yeah I- I got everything. Thank you."

You smile again.

It's so nice to see you again.

The words spill out before he can hold them back.

"So, hey," He brings up, an hour later just before you have to end the call. "I'll be flying out next month, to- Maybe we can-"

The grin on your face impossibly widens.

"You serious? My town? When?"

"Uh-" He has to minimize snapchat to pull up his calendar to tell you the exact date.

"You wanna meet up? Get to know my city?"

Warmth explodes in his chest, showing in a barely contained smile of his own.

"Yeah! Yeah that… I'd love that. More walking for me."

You laugh and then both of you fall quiet, content watching the other for a moment.

"I'm happy." You tell him. "I'm really happy I'll get to hug you properly. This-" You gesticulate towards the phone screen. "-isn't really holding up well."

“I’m looking forward to it, too.”

He drops his head on his pillow and smiles.

notes: i hope you liked it :) comments/reblogs make my day, so if you send an ask or just say a few nice words, i’d love that ^-^

you can also find all my other writing on Ao3 - runningfaucet is my @ there

119 notes · View notes

really-sleep-deprived-nerd · 4 years

Text

You deserved better. We both did.

Warnings: Manga spoilers

Summary: “Aren’t you tired?” Izuku asked. “What, is this fight too exhausting for you, little hero?” Was Shigaraki's answer, if you could call it that. “Yeah, but that's not what I meant. Aren’t you tired of being crushed under the responsibility of holding a power that is bigger than you? Of destroying your body in a desperate attempt to control it? Of having the weight of the world on your shoulders?” Izuku clarified, eyes trying to focus on Shigaraki. Shigaraki paused for a minute. “Yeah.”

Or: Midoriya and Shigaraki talk

Link for ao3

They had been trying to kill each other for god knows how long. It had probably been only some hours but it felt like months had passed since Midoriya started to fight Shigaraki. At this point both of them were beaten and broken on the ground, trying to catch their breaths for a minute while Dabi had his little shitshow of a family reunion, when this question ripped itself out of Izuku:

“Aren’t you tired?” He asked, his filter already gone thanks to the exhaustion.

“What, is this fight too exhausting for you, little hero?” Shigaraki asked, in a smug tone that should not have been used by someone who was more dead than they were alive.

“Yeah, but that's not what I meant. Aren’t you tired of being crushed under the responsibility of holding a power that is bigger than you? Of destroying your body in a desperate attempt to control it? Of having the weight of the world on your shoulders?” Izuku clarified, eyes trying to focus on Shigaraki. Shigaraki paused for a minute.

“I-Yeah.” His answer was quiet, and his scratchy voice sounded, perhaps for the first time since he was a child, soft. “You too?”

“Yeah.” Midoriya admitted, trying to shift to a position that made his broken body hurt less but promptly giving it up as a lost cause. “All Might briefly explained to me how his power worked before I accepted to take it, and I did. I chose it because I wanted to save people but this- this is too much to deal with by myself.”

“At least you could have said no.”

“Wh- All for one foced his power on you?”

“Not exactly, I took it because I wanted it, I needed the power to reach my goals but I think-I think that was his plan. That the only reason he rescued and raised me was because he knew his time was running out and he needed a pawn to continue enacting his will. I think he always saw me as a means to an end, not as an apprentice, nevermind a person.” He paused, and then added, almost as an after thought, “Also, apparently I’m the grandchild of All Might’s mentor, so he killed two birds with one stone with me: Get a successor and make your mortal enemy suffer while you are at it.”

“YOU ARE-” Midoriya started to exclaim, but it just sent him into a coughing fit, so he had to take a breath and try again, “You are Shimura’s grandchild?”

“Yeah, that used to be my name too. Shimura Tenko. But I can’t quite remember the last time anyone used it.” He paused, a faraway look on his eyes. “I think it might have been my sister before she…” He trailed off.

“You had a sister?” Midoriya asked, absolutely dumbfounded, still trying to process that bit about him being Shimura Tenko.

“Yeah, and parents too. What, did you think I just spawned fully formed out of thin air like a poorly programmed NPC?.”

“I-No, its just, you are this terrifying villain, a looming threat so big that sometimes I forget that you are, well, human I suppose.” He explained and then looked horrified at his own answer, “Oh, boy. That-that's not a good mentality for a hero to have, of course you are human, every villain is a human, is a whole person, not just a vague representation of evilness.”

Shigaraki’s laugh was an incredibly bitter sound.

“Hey, you are just a brat, it’s fine if you forget that sometimes. When I was really young I used to think of villains as some sort of scary boogiemen too, that's normal, the problem is when full grown ass adults that dare to call themselves heroes still think like that.”

“It might be normal but it isn't fine and-”Midoriya paused, looking like he was going to throw up, “You are right.”

That managed to throw Shigaraki for a loop.

“What the fuck did you just say?”

“You are right. Heroes shouldn’t be allowed to think like that.” He answered, “God, how many villains are rotting in prison when instead they should be in a rehabilitation program?”

“And there we have another reason for me to want to burn this entire society to the ground.” Shigaraki drawled back, a dark amusement coloring his voice.

After that they were quiet for a while, until:

“What happened to them?”

“Mmh? To whom?”

“Your family” Izuku clarified.

“They all died. My quirk manifested in an extremely violent way and I killed everyone when it did. The only thing left of them were their hands. My father deserved it, but I miss my sister.”

“Fuck, you were- you were just a kid, that’s-that’s fucked up.”

“Yeah, guess I was born to be a villain.”

“What? No! It’s fucked up that it happened to you! It was an awful accident and I’m sorry.”

Pause.

“I don’t- I don’t think it was an accident. Not with my father at least.” Shigaraki admitted

“You hated him?”

“Yeah. He was a controlling and abusive-wait fuck I can’t make fun of Dabi anymore, I got daddy issues too, goddamn it.” Shigaraki started to ramble, causing Midoriya to snort.

“That’s a can of worms I’m not going to open, but I guess it's fair. Besides, you couldn’t have been older than 5”

“I wasn’t.”

Pause.

“I’m sorry.”

“For what?” Shigaraki asked curiously.

“For what happened to you. Everything. Your family, your quirk, All for one. It’s-It’s awful. You deserved better.”

“Don’t pity me, hero.” Shigaraki scoffed.

“I don’t, it’s just the truth. I’m sorry no one helped you. You needed a hero and no one was there, and that’s on us. That was an awful, irreparable mistake on our part and you deserved better.”

“I…” Shigaraki paused for a second, at a loss for words, then he continued with a quiet: “Thank you.”

The silence came back for a couple of minutes, then, Shigaraki broke it.

“Did you know I wanted to be a hero?” He asked. “Before everything, I mean.”

“You would have been an incredible hero.” Midoriya replied sadly.

“With my quirk?” Shigaraki scoffed.

“Hey, a friend of mine is training to be a hero and he has a brainwashing quirk and its the coolest thing ever, don’t even try to pull a but-I-have-a-villanous-quirk card with me. And yeah, you’d have been an incredible rescue hero, like Thirteen. Have you heard of them?” Izuku asked, always happy to talk about other heroes.

“I haven’t.”

“Their quirk is called black hole. It works kinda like a massive vacuum that allows them to dispose of debris really quickly, but by itself it has the potential to be incredibly destructive. Like your quirk. You would have been able to save so many lives it's ridiculous.” Izuku explained and Shigaraki just got really quiet for a minute, and then, really softly:

“I really would have been a good hero, huh.”

“One of the best, probably.” Midoriya agreed, sadness and regret in his voice.

#midoriya izuku #izuku midoriya #shigaraki tomura #tomura shigaraki #tenko shimura #shimura tenko #bnha #bnha fic #one for all #all for one #boku no hero academia #bnha manga spoilers #They could have been really good friends in another life

44 notes · View notes

bellatrixobsessed1 · 3 years

Text

The Dragon Egg (Parts 9-13)

There is a heaviness in the air. There is always a heaviness and she thinks that she might be the only one who feels it. Things have been running smoothly since the recording studio incident, they haven’t been so short with each other recently. Maybe they had gotten it all out of their systems; they had spoken their minds, they had told her off. And she is too tired to be anything but dully passive and nonchalant about it.

She finds that she doesn’t care to converse other than to make suggestions or deliver instructions. There isn’t much to be said really. She sits still as a team of makeup artists toy with her face. The decorate it with bruises and the SFX team accents these with bleeding cuts and welts. Whether they know it or not, they give her a look to match what she feels within. They apply a thick layer of glittering black eyeshadow and and twin curtains of blue dye to her bangs. She looks broken. Broken and beautiful. Beautiful at least for now, she can’t imagine that that will last past her third month of pregnancy.

They hold out her arm and enhance the ink on her arms and back. She isn’t sure why they bother with the dragonfly tattoos as they cover each with broken and tattered dragon wings that dangle limply where they had once spread wide and proud.

They clamp a faux iron collar around her neck and tether it’s chain to a spot on her waistband. She holds out her hands for them to slap manacles upon them. These are authentic, per her request and they are so heavy on her wrists. She supposes that it is all the better. If she is actually in pain she want have to worry about her theatrics. She can focus on lip syncing and other aspects of their music video.

A Dragon Bound has become their most popular single and she will give fans a video that lives up to the hype. Up to the darkly depressive atmosphere of the song. The video will be shot in two places; at the base of a volcano and on the inside of an old drainage pipe that they had happened upon on their way to the volcano.

She had planned on shooting in the drainage pipe first but the volcano is smoking heavily today, lending a more desirable atmosphere as well as a new sense of urgency. They will need to have their footage before the thing blows. At least now she won’t have to be the one urging them and nagging them to speed things up; Zhao, biting his nails, is already adamant that they rush through it if they absolutely needed to film here.

“You’re the best band on the label right now!” She hears him whine to Ruon, “I can’t just have you all burn alive.”

“We’ll be fine, dude.” Ruon shrugs.

She watches them paint ash and charcoal markings like tribal war paint all over his exposed chest and back. A design with many circles, dots, and swirls. Around his neck they fix a helping of carefully crafted dragon bones. Around his waist is tied a tattered skirt made of black leather. His hands and feet are dipped in soot as though he had climbed his way out of the volcano. Chan has a similar look with the circles and swirls swapped for claw swipes and horizontal lines.

She supposes that the aesthetic fits well enough. The pair will act as prison guards in the video while Zirin acts as a dragon’s rider, heart broken and morning. Dressed in a burnt white dress with her hair done into its usual braids. A strand of polished obsidian clanks on her wrist.

And so their costuming has come together nicely, it will serve the story of their video well. If all goes as planned it will convey a dragon--once mighty and powerful--chained, broken, and beaten before the eyes of a rider who can do nothing but ache in unison.

Azula wishes that she could have someone who would ache in unison with her. Who would cry out with rage for her as her life comes undone. As she loses her friendships and wonders just how much longer she can pretend for.

They haven’t even started the shoot and she already isn’t sure that she will make it through the day. She feels nauseous on top of exhausted and stressed. She is practically squirming in her attire, it feels tight somehow. The leather seems to cut into her waist and her top is chafing against her chest, most uncomfortably. No matter which way she tugs at it or how she tires to adjust it, the discomfort remains. And she is sure that she is imagining it. A baby can’t develop that rapidly, can it? She rubs her hands over her face.

“What’s wrong?” Chan asks, more carringly than she had expected.

“It’s too tight.”

“Well, yeah,” He laughs “isn’t that how you wanted it?” It is almost as though he hadn’t left her alone in the studio a few days prior.

She should take comfort in it, instead it only seems to add to the queasiness in her belly. She shrugs, “nevermind, it’s fine. We should probably start filming.”

She must have sounded cross because Ruon cuts in with a light, “look, things got really heated the other day. You’re allowed so feel bad about it. You’re allowed to be upset with us.”

She doesn’t think that she is. To be mad at them is to risk another fight. She can’t afford another fight. Not with her father breathing down her neck.

“It’s fine. Really. Let’s head to the volcano before Zhao loses it completely.” She forces a smile. She thinks that it would be overkill to repeat that it is fine.

.oOo.

There is something about faintly and sardonically humorous feeling nauseous with heat while dressed as a dragon. The volcano throws simmering waves upon her and the smell, that awful sulphurous smell--she doesn’t think that it was this dreadful when they had scoped out the place. She isn’t sure whether he should attribute its unbearableness to her pregnancy or its readiness to erupt. She thanks the spirits that she doesn’t have to actually sing.

And yet the heat rolling off of the volcano leaves her feeling sluggish and faint. It amplifies the vestiges of her morning sickness, bringing it back with full force. She feels sicker still thinking about how she should be having the time of her life; she is shooting what is to be their most bombastic and impactful music video yet. She is shooting it to promote success to come.

So why does she feel like she is building the scaffold to her downfall? Why does she feel like she is shooting a documentary on the fall of an empire? She is dressed in a pricey costume and decorated with the most opulent makeup but, Agni, does it feel so cheap.

The dance should be simple. Simple but efficient. It takes a slow sway of her hips, slow but powerful. Domineering. It takes a languid swivel that will, in theory, throw a glint off of her wings. And if she does it right it will further emphasize what her tight skirt does with an added hip sway for good measure.

She will let her voice do most of the work. She likes to think that most of the attention will be paid to it. But she knows better than that. She knows just as well that it is always good to keep Chan topless in the videos. She knows that it is a damn shame that regardless of talent, they will always get more views if she pivots her body in the right ways, if she shows her face in only the most flattering light.

She can’t seem to manage it today. She feels too sickly to roll her hips correctly. It only grows worse as the day crawls on. She feels weaker with each passing minute. She could go for some water. She has to at least make it through the rest of this scene. How humiliating it would be if she were the reason for their second take--she has never required more than one. Mostly it is Zirin who has them going into takes in the double digits. Zirin who accounts for the most hilarious bloopers. And when she is in the mood for it, it is all in good fun.

She is in no mood for it. Regardless, she finds herself holding her hand up and the director sharply calls for them to cut. It is only a small mercy to justify to herself that it is better to call for a cut than to force one by vomiting on camera.

“Why are we stopping?” Ruon asks.

Zhao seems to cringe, practically biting his nails. No doubt, in his mind, each wasted second is one second closer to the volcano exploding with them still in its circumference of destruction. She wonders if that would be any worse than being within her circumference of destruction. Agni, would she hate to be there and yet she can’t flee like the rest of them can.

And so she falls right into her own destruction. There really is no good place for her to throw up and so she makes it only behind a small grove of palm trees before doubling over and heaving. By the end of it her throat is burning but not as furiously as her cheeks are. She has nothing to clean her mouth with and she very well can’t just walk back on set in such a sloppy, disgusting state. So she doesn’t. She instead slumps against the tree opposite herself. She needs to wait for the nausea to pass, lest she find herself hustling right back here.

“Azula? Are you okay.”

She jerks as Ruon kneels down next to her. He seems to assess the situation and stands right back up. For a moment she thinks that he is to appalled to stick around but he comes back with a towel and fans her face as she dabs at the corners of her mouth with it.

“We can finish tomorrow if you’re not feeling well.”

She gives her head a furious shake.

“It could erupt at any time.” She mumbles. “I’m just a little hot.” At this point, she isn’t entirely opposed to finishing the shot with layers of body paint instead of restrictive clothing.

“I’ll tell the director that you want to finish the volcano scenes and that we can film the rest when you’re feeling better.”

There is no sense, she won’t feel any better for at least nine months. In fact, she is certain that she will feel worse with each passing day. She shakes her head. “I’m fine now. I can do this.” She has to, she has to. She is her father’s gleaming little star.

--------

“You should get therapy or something.” Zirin laughs. “Is there a rehab for workaholics?”

She nearly slams the phone down then and there. But sometimes she thinks that it is true. She thinks that she could use it for several things. Where her dad has alcohol she has an endless list of tasks and things that need to be done. She would rather get lost in these tasks than lost in her own mind.

She tries to think things over, tries to formulate a plan; to either work up the courage and work out a plan to get an abortion without her father knowing or to figure out how she would deal with carrying to term.

Both options are ugly. Everyone already sees her as cold and pitiless but she is no mother. And maybe it would be less evil to pick this baby apart bit by bit rather than letting life slowly pick it apart the same way it is deteriorating her.

“Perhaps I should.” She mutters.

“Geez,” Zirin grumbles, “I was just joking. But I do think it would do you some good to have a break. You’ve been so tired lately.”

“What makes you say so?”

For a moment there is only a soft crackle on the other end of the line. “I don’t know, you just aren’t as alert. A few weeks ago, Chan would have never gotten away with drawing a penis on the recording equipment.”

“He did what!?” She snaps.

“Oh...you still didn’t notice it…” Zirin trails off. “Yeah, there are three of them now. If you can find all of them, I’ll wash them off for you. No hints though.”

Azula crinkles her nose, she can’t say that she shares their sense of humor. She audibly sighs, “I’ll see you at practice, Zirin. We have a show tomorrow night and, tired or not, I still expect peak performances.”

She hopes that they will go hard on her if she can’t uphold her own standards.

“See ya tonight!”

Azula ends the call, puts her phone to the side, and flops onto her bed. She drapes one hand over her forehead and the other she leaves at her side. One leg is outstretched and the other is bent at the knee. She is so, so exhausted. She hasn’t even exerted herself today and she is wholly fatigued.

If her father saw her like this he would give her a verbal lashing like no other; she should know better than to slack so close to Audio of Agni. She reminds herself that she still has several months.

Several months and she is torn between preparing for the big show and preparing to give birth.

Her mind drifts again and she wishes that she had called for an early practice. This time when it wanders, it wanders in a brand new direction and with a brand new set of what ifs; if there’s one thing that she can be thankful for, it’s that she isn’t just some girl lingering at a locker.

She can only imagine what it would be like to wander the halls with a baby bump. Can only imagine the relentless sneers and comments. The complete social death.

She knows that she won’t have to imagine for long.

If she were just some girl, she would only have a few hallways, one building of speculators.

She has, possibly, the whole world.

She has to come up with a plan.

She has to make a decision.

She has always been good at strategizing, so why is her mind failing her now?

Had she been thinking productively she might have requested the money for an abotion disguised as funds for her music video. But she would still need his signature. He would still check over all of her expenses and realize that it doesn’t quite add up.

For the first time in ages, she wishes that her mother were still alive.

---------

Ozai slaps the magazine against her head. It is just a bundle of pages, it shouldn’t hurt. Somehow he makes it hurt. He throws it at her. “What is this?” He roars.

She scans her eyes over the headline. She nearly cries with relief. Absurd and humiliating as it is, at least it isn’t the truth. But Agni if it isn’t a reminder that she can’t hide for much longer. She holds the magazine, it quivers subtly with the shaking of her hands. It has been a long time since he has yelled at her like this, and he isn’t even drunk this time. She thinks that his sobriety somehow makes it even more terrifying. She knows that she has disappointed him and he doesn’t even know how profoundly yet.

His voice is booming. Clear. It puts a lump in her throat and a sinking feeling in her stomach; If this is how he is reacting to a sensationalized weight gain headline, she can only imagine how he will take the truth. “Tell me how this has happened!”

Sensationalized or not, it brings color to her cheeks. True or not, she feels disgusted with herself. He makes her feel disgusted with herself. And somehow she thinks that he has every right to make her feel that way. It isn’t just her own reputation she is ruining, not just her own image. But his as well.

She puts all of her focus into not stuttering, neglecting to keep the shakiness to a minimum. She knows that there is no good answer and there is no time to make anything up not like there is with anything else. Even if she could come up with a sufficient lie on the spot, her delivery is never quite impeccable when it comes to speaking with father. Or maybe it is. Maybe he just knows her well enough to see through even her finest performances. “I don’t know. It just did.” She takes a breath and repeats herself louder with more bravado. The kind that could possibly salvage her dignity.

She tries to stand tall. Tries to pretend like she is having a discussion with Zuko or Iroh.

Ozai inhales deeply and the next time he speaks, it is much quieter. The quality of his voice is almost soothing but the content rattles her to the core, “you do realize that this is embarrassing.”

“Yes, father.” And, truly, it is. It settles upon her that this pregnancy isn’t just going to reap her energy and mood but her aesthetics and confidence. There will come a point when the weight gain headline isn’t just the product of a paparazzi making exaggerations for an income boost. It is going to take everything from her.

“You know that I only want what is best for you? I want a healthy daughter.” His voice is so soft now. He reaches a hand out and strokes her cheek. “Unfortunately, this industry puts a lot of investment into looks. An ugly face doesn’t sell records. An unhealthy body doesn’t get views on music videos.”

“I know.” He has told her this before. Has made a point of beckoning to sultry photoshoots with low cut tops and poses to emphasize with a reminder not to reveal too much. There is, apparently, a fine line between sex appeal and whoring herself out. A fine line between glamor and beauty and crass poor taste.

She can’t rely on sex appeal, but she must use it as a tool.

She likes to think that she has mastered the art. She is almost sure that she has. Sure until today with her father staring at her as though she is the most disgusting sight that he has laid his eyes upon--but his hand is still on her cheek, he is still being tender--and her pregnancy isn’t even that obvious yet. The cravings and the ravenous appetite have not even set in yet. She finds herself wrapping her arms around her middle and dreading the day that they do.

“Do you?” He withdraws his touch.

“Yes.” She insists. She yearns to tell him the truth. To tell him that she has been as careful and cautious as ever. That she can take care of herself just fine. But she isn’t sure that she believes it. If she had been taking care of herself she wouldn’t have crawled in bed with Chan.

He takes another sharp inhale. “You are going to remedy this before Audio of Agni, yes?”

“Yes, father.”

“Am I going to need to get you a personal trainer?” The question isn’t for her. And he answers it immediately. “I am going to get you a personal trainer and a dietician. I will contact Mai’s mother and see who has been coaching her.”

“Don’t call Michi.” Her face is burning. Spirits, the last thing she needs is for Mai to hear about this. If Mai hears about this, so will Zuko. Spirits, they have probably already read the headlines. “You don’t need to, I can manage my own diet. I’ve been doing it for…”

“You can’t even tell me how this happened and you expect me to believe that you can fix your poor eating habits on your own?” His voice comes somewhere between that cool, suave drawl and a shout. And he says it with such conviction that she almost takes it for the truth.

He has thrown her own words back at her, she can’t exactly dispute herself. She sighs, resignation begins to settle in, in the form of a endless, expansive numbness. It creeps from her mind to every inch of her body. She is so tired. So, so terribly drained.

“Whatever you think is best, father.”

He pulls out his phone. He doesn’t bother to spare her a look, “you’re dismissed.”

Dejection. It is the only thing that cuts through the numbness. And it is so woefully heavy and she doesn’t have the strength to carry it. She has never learned how. She loathes that she has a reason to try to figure it out.

Somehow, even ascending the stairs seems like too much of a task. How the hell is she supposed to compete if the stairwell is too daunting, too draining? But he has to make it to the top of it. Has to get to her room. She knows that father doesn’t want to see her face. She doesn’t particularly want to see it either, she probably looks like hell. She sure feels like it.

She thinks that she should call Seicho or Ruon, maybe Zirin or Chan. She thinks, with the last fragments of her hope, that she could call TyLee and vent like old times. That, that could rekindle an old spark. She almost does. Her fingers hover over a contact that she could never bring herself to delete.

She puts the phone down. She doesn’t want to talk to anyone at all anymore. Instead she sits before her desktop and checks on the reception of their new album and music video. The numbers and statistics usually cheer her up.

Their music video has a record breaking viewcount. Aside from that one magazine the rest sing their praises; commend their musical capabilities and uplift their creativity. Their newest album has sold millions--it is only right for ‘the most anticipated album of the year’. There is nothing but applause and predictions of a strong future.

And it finally settles in that she is a failure.

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

It is a shirt. Just a dumb shirt. Maybe if it were a Blue Talon shirt or a Fire’s Reign shirt it would make sense. He would be able to justify it in his mind.

But it is just a shirt. Just a dumb fucking t-shirt with bold lettering and a picture of two birds. Something about, ‘professional tit spotter’ has struck a chord with him tonight.

“Take it off!” He demands of the young man. “Take it off or we won’t start the next song!” He feels jittery, twitchy. The room is too hot. His heart is too fast. “Take it the fuck off.” He feels the roar rumbling in his chest but somehow he still doesn’t feel like he is the one speaking.

“Zuko.” Mai mutters, it is cautionary. Her teeth are gritted. Brows creased and eyes stern. And yet he can’t find it in him to take the warning.

“Tell him to take that shirt off!” TyLee is shrinking closer to the back of the stage, further from him, her arms bunched up close to her chest. Each time he speaks elicits a new flinch. Somewhere in the back of his mind he begs himself to stop. To get a grip. To let it go. But this is overpowered by a throbbing anger. A violently passionate need to get that eye-sore of a shirt out of his sight.

“Zuko, you’re scaring her.”

“He’s trying to piss me off, Mai!” Zuko throws his hands up. “He’s wearing that shirt to...to get to me!” The light is glaring in his eye. A violent red.

“He doesn’t even know you!”

The light pulses.

“Then why is he trying to make me mad?”

It flashes and blinks. His head pounds. His anger pounds harder.

“Zuko you aren’t making sense.” There is a hitch in her voice. That should have been enough. That should have snapped him out of his...whatever this is.

“Will someone turn that off!?”

“They’re trying,” and “Zuko, no!” become one and the same in his mind. He isn’t sure who said what. Even with the strobe lights stilled he is seeing red. In the very far reaches of his mind he is also screaming, ‘Zuko, no!’

But the drugs speak louder. Their haze occupies the forefront of his mind. And so he surges into the crowd with his guitar in hand. “Where is he!? Where the fuck is he!?” His breaths are ragged and the crowd parts. “I just want to know where he went!” His voice booms across the venue. The circumference grows wider around him. And so grows his frustration.

He slams his guitar against the floor. Once... Twice... Five times maybe.

He is still going. Going until a crack forms in the wood. Going until he feels arms loop around him. “Let go!” He shouts. “You can’t do this to me!” He gives a kick and a thrash. The crowd parts further. When he looks up he meets Mai’s eyes and when he looks into them he doesn’t see anything. No anger, no sadness, no distress, not even pity. She shakes her head. He thinks that TyLee is crying.

And then he is seeing red flashes again. This time there is blue in the mix. And in the wail of the sirens he hears the sound of dashed ambitions.

.oOo.

‘From Ashes To Phoenix Singer Arrested: Drugs Involvement Expected.’ She should take comfort in the headline. It means that there is less competition. But what does it matter if she is no longer in the tournament herself. Somehow it only leaves her feeling hollow...guilty. At least Zuzu can depend on Mai’s bail money.

What can she depend on? She holds her hand to her belly. She inhales deeply. There is one person that she can depend on and it is time for that person to stop feeling sorry for herself and maintain the success that she has set herself up for.

She rises to her feet and smooths the wrinkles out of her shirt. She pinns the article to the wall, a reminder of what she won’t become. She has a show to get to, a crowd to impress, an expectation to live up to. Albeit it will be a small crowd. Small yet esteemed; in her audience she will find the ladies and gentleman of Wan Shi Tong’s Wing, The Tui Las, and Chong & The Gang. If she can impress the renowned artists then she can eclipse her other failures.

.oOo.

There are no studs and leather tonight. It is a more formal occasion, she just hopes that Zirin will put aside her stubborn aversion to conformity and adhere to the dress code. If the punk rockers of Freedom Fighters can do so, she can’t imagine it will be too hard for the woman. If Jet can comb his mohawk down for a night, then surely she can remove her choker for a time. She supposes that she won’t get so see what flavors they have added to their outfits until they leave their changing rooms. She can only hope that they have chosen well, or at the very least, that their mistakes will be as simple as scolding them to remove a mismatched accessory.

Azula holds her own dress up to her body, trying it in for size before actually dressing herself in it at all. The confetti dot sequined fabric is somewhat scratchy on her arms, she hopes that the inside is lined with a gentler fabric. Something less itchy.

Regardless, she is certain that she won’t find any comfort in the dress, just holding it up against her figure, it looks tight. She isn’t sure who she has to sternly lecture but she knows damn well that she had been adamant about getting something loose fitting for a change.

Her cheeks color at the private realization that it very well might have been loose fitting when her measurements had been taken and the order had been placed. She swallows, she is in for another stern lecture herself. It is just one more thing to fret over. One more thing that will make this a nerve wracking night.

She inhales deeply and pulls the dress over her head, praying that the zipper won’t catch. She doesn’t bother with the mirror once she does manage to zip it all the way up, she doesn’t have time to scrutinize herself tonight, can’t afford to study the changes and the way they make her hate herself . Instead she slips on her heels and calls for her makeup team to enter.

Azula tries to relax while the artists begin applying gold tinted mascara and a shimmery layer of red eye shadow. But she can’t seem to get comfortable in her chair, not with the dress feeling as tight as it does. Not with such a forceful reminder of the life swelling within her. She grits her teeth, she can’t think about that right now.

She isn’t sure when she can think about it. There never seems to be a good time. And perhaps that is why she is no closer to formulating a plan.

Himari, the sweet and quiet woman, running a brush through her hair speaks up for the first time in a long time, “are you doing alright, Azula?”

“Just fine, Himari.” She thinks to elaborate, to make some excuse for her constant shift in her chair and tugging at her dress. “I’m just fine.”

She can insist it all she’d like, no matter what sort of bravado she puts on, she is anxious. And it goes beyond the baby bump; it is harder than she anticipated to push back scenarios that her mind conjures up for her; scenarios in which her voice cracks in front of the most acclaimed rock artists. Scenarios where she slips up and makes an absolute fool of herself before the pioneers of the genre and her father. And spirits, she can’t control her bandmates and what they do. If they flounder it is a reflection of her and her inability to manage her own band.

One of the artists takes her hand and begins applying polish, a bright red to match her dress with tiny gold pearl accents along the top. After several more minutes they withdraw their hands and makeup wands. Himari holds up a mirror; her hair is pulled into a loose topknot with elegantly curled bangs to frame her face. They have so gracefully winged her eyeliner and with a touch of makeup glue, her lashes sparkle with faux rubies and topaz. They have carefully painted her lips a glimmering red and outlined it in a glistening gold. She looks pretty and yet she doesn’t feel beautiful.

“Will this do?”

“Just fine, yes. Thank you.” Even if it weren’t to her liking she isn’t sure that she would be able to sit there with her discomforts for much longer. With a good twenty minutes to spare, she wanders out into the hallway where Seicho waits for her.

She clears her throat, “good evening Seicho. I trust that Zhao hasn’t been too much of a pest. He ‘doesn’t appreciate’ when I ‘invite guests backstage unannounced.’”

Seicho chuckles. “He’s been ignoring me for his sudoku puzzles.” She pulls Azula into a small hug. She steps back and seems to look her up and down. Azula finds herself absently biting the inside of her cheek while the girl makes her observations. “You look really beautiful tonight.” She finally remarks, brushing a sweep of curls behind Azula’s ear.

Her cheeks color softly and she clears her throat and holds her head high, “naturally.”

Seicho chuckles again, “you can say, ‘thanks, you too’ you know.”

Azula’s face flushes again.

“I’m teasing.” She gives her a nudge. “You earned that compliment.”

This time she does manage to muster a thank you. She thinks that she owes Seicho a second mention of gratitude for bothering to show up despite being sidelined for these very events. She clears her throat again, “thank you for being here, I’m not sure if father is…” pleased enough with her “...able to be in the audience tonight. He’s a very busy man. It’s nice to have someone.” Even still it is going to sting to pick out the familiar faces of Zirin, Chan, and Ruon’s families while viewing the empty seats reserved for her own family. Not that she expects Zuzu or Iroh to care.

“Of course!” Seicho grins. “I’ve been meaning to come see you play live again.”

Azula quirks a brow. “Are you sure that you didn’t come by just so you could meet Chong? Remind me, how many posters do you have of Chong & The Gang?”

“You’re right! What am I doing here? I gotta get by Chong!” Seicho declares. She slings her arm over Azula’s shoulder. “I can meet them later, I’m here for you.”

Azula’s heart flutters. Someone is here for her. Someone supports her. And that someone sneaks a little peck on her ear.

.oOo.

That kiss, however subtle, carries her to the stage. Within the dizzying kaleidoscope of her emotions, it brings her a more pleasant fluttering. And yet the dreamy haze that comes with it is dangerous. It is a distraction she can afford just as little as the insecurities that the kiss has momentarily driven out.

The stage is dark when she steps out onto it. She makes her way to the microphone and wraps one hand around the stand while the other holds the microphone in place. She fixes her eyes on the crowd. She can’t yet see them well and they can’t yet see her. She can’t see them and even if she could, she wouldn’t see her father’s face, the table reserved for her company is occupied only by Seicho.

Zirin taps out her first cymbal beats and Chan follows with his acoustic guitar before the stage lights come on. There is no frenzied applause, no whooping and hollering. The stage lights don’t pulse and flicker, don’t change colors. It is a steady stream of yellow-white and a silence with weight. This crowd requires delivery before revel. She intends to coax the claps out of them, intends to leave them begging for the encore, for the music that they should be excited for now.

It is a ballroom event, sure, a regal affair, but a light and leisurely clap couldn’t hurt. They are a tough crowd. It is just as well. It is a reason to do better. To be better. Her voice slips into the mix like windchimes amid a rustle of leaves. Soft, gentle, like a carasess. It is a very different style than she is used to, strange on her tongue despite having reversed these acoustic versions many times over. She can’t say that it is a bad kind of strange. In fact, it feels rather nice. Somehow the quality feels richer and unstrained. She doesn’t feel like she is tearing her throat apart note by note, doesn’t feel like she will need to down a cup of slippery elm tea post performance. But for all of the comforts smooth vocals come with, they are missing the raw power. The raw power that she needs to feel more fully confident. She wears metal music like armor and this acoustic performance is stripping her naked.

The first few songs are fine, they are older, impersonal. It is the new ones. They are the ones that pick her apart lyric by lyric. She hadn’t imagined that it would be this hard to work her way through them.Spirits, she can’t choke up now. But with a slower sound and a tweaking to minor key the song is sadder. It hits more intensely. Her own voice stabs into her hurt, her own message leaves her crumbling.

She thinks that her cheeks are growing wet. She isn’t sure why she is slipping now, it hadn’t been so unbearable during practice. She hadn’t been this weak.

She had anticipated a cracking of her voice, a snapping of a guitar string, a splintering of a drumstick, or a migraine inducing microphone feedback. Possibly even a stumbling over lyrics. She didn’t think that she would cry. She thought that she had desensitized herself thoroughly.

She isn’t sure when her father had slipped into the venue but by the time she notices him it is too late to toughen up, too late to conceal the tears that glisten in the spotlight, brighter than the sequins on her dress. She breaks a little more on the inside. She keeps singing. She always keeps singing. And without a hitch in her voice. Her perfect, silken voice.

Chan moves closer to her. His last note fades out with the bass and the drumbeats, leaving her to finish her final acapella. Hands now free, he takes to rubbing her back in small soothing circles. She wishes that he didn’t. She wishes that he would be as stoic and uncaring as her father. Somehow his touch drives it home, whatever this thing is that she is feeling. She thinks that his touch specifically is just what she didn’t need. The ending of her final song isn’t powerful in the slightest. It isn’t even graceful. Her last note ends in a choke. The spotlights cut and the stage goes dark, receding back into that heavy silence. Silent except for that last choked note reverberating through the ballroom.

And then they finally clap. She thinks that this is what the industry is; a celebration of her distress.

----------

They do her the kindness of closing the curtain before she drops to her knees. Her hair falls into her face, she stifles the more intense of her cries with her hands. “Come on.” Ruon says softly as he extends his hand. Chan helps her to her feet and Zirin helps keep her on them.

She can still hear the clapping. Apparently she has impressed the masters and yet it feels somehow hopeless, that is, if there is any emotion at all.

There has to be emotion if she is still weeping this much. Her makeup artists have only been able to cleans the makeup that had been running down her cheeks. Agni, she hopes that it is the hormones. She thinks that, that is part of pregnancy--becoming an unstable, emotional mess. Spirits, she needs to do more research. The thought of it makes her sob harder.

“Should we let them in?” Himari asks. She hadn’t even heard the knocking.

“Depends.” She manages. “Who’s on the other side?” Agni forbid it’s her father.

Himiari peers through the peephole. “It’s a girl with lots of tattoos and a plastic cup necklace.”

“Let her in.”

Seicho practically shoves poor Himari out of the way to get to Azula. She wipes the tears from her cheeks and pulls her into a hug. A rather tight one. Azula swallows and tries to put her emotions back in check. “That’s enough Seicho…” she mutters.

“Why are you upset?”

Azula shakes her head and shrugs.

“Those songs are personal, aren’t they.”

“They might be.” She folds her arms across her chest.

One of the makeup artists coughs, “excuse us, we need to get Azula ready for tonight’s dinner party.”

“Right, I’ll let you get to that.” She jabs her thumb at the couch on the other side of the room. She rummages through her backpack and pulls out a decently worn tattoo magazine and begins flipping through the pages.

Azula leans back and lets them re-apply her makeup. They work in double to cover the tear tracks that run down her cheeks. How undignified it is to have to have her team redo everything because she can’t keep her emotions in check.

.oOo.

She thinks that Seicho is the only thing keeping her from falling apart a second time. She hasn’t felt this way since she had been pulled out of Caldera High. Since the day she had tried, painfully unsuccessfully, to flirt with Jet. Walking back into those hallways after such a showy rejection had been its own kind of hell. Making her way back into the ballroom puts the same queasy flutters into her stomach. She rolls her shoulders and holds her head high as she finds the seat reserved for her. She offers Chan a wave as she passes his table by.

She notes that he is speaking with Chong. At her own table, her father is already deep into some discussion with Wan Shi Tong. She pulls out her chair and quietly slips into it.

Wan Shi Tong smiles and gives a small bow, “it is a pleasure, Azula.”

“Thank you.” Azula replies. “It’s...quite starstriking to have the opportunity to speak to such a eulogized musician.”

His smile doubles in size. “I must admit that, after hearing your songs, I hadn’t expected such polite mannerisms.”

She clears her throat gently. “I suppose that music is a way to explore...less savory sides of yourself.”

This earns her a chuckle. “You should hear Raava, charming woman, but some of the things she writes for The Tui La’s...the woman has a wild side.”

Azula nods and shifts in her chair. “I would love to meet her tonight.”

“Then lets get the two of you introduced.” He waves the woman and her husband over and Azula’s stomach squirms again.

Raava is beautiful; a sweep of long and flowing white hair, shot with vivid blue highlights and an even longer white dress. It glitters in a way that makes the chandeliers hanging overhead look dull and cheap. Her elegance is such a stark contrast to the black-red of her husband. His hair is also admirably long. Long and slicked back. His suit, also a satin black, shimmers with red thread. By the spirits, they are more stunning in person.

She bows to them and they return the gesture. “Good evening. I trust that my performance was enjoyable.”

“It was exquisite, dear.” Vaatu

“A voice like yours is a gift, truly.” Raava adds. “Not many people can go so flawlessly from smooth vocals to those rougher ones. And with such emotion. Your performance was refreshingly genuine.”

“You have a talent.” Vaatu takes a drink. “Though I’d wager you are well aware.”

Azula grins. For the first time that night she feels truly confident. Truly pleased with herself. She feels Seicho squeeze her hand under the table. For the first time in two months or so, she thinks that thing might work out just fine.

She hears her father laugh and she wonders what Wan Shi Tong had said. Regardless, her father is in a good mood tonight--she holds her free hand to her belly--maybe she can tell him. Maybe he won’t hate her if she can keep him in good spirits. If she can keep him from emptying the wind bottle sitting on the table. “Would you like a drink?” She offers to Raava and Vaatu. She eyes Vaatu’s glass, “a refill, rather.”

“I would appreciate that very much.” Vaatu replies.

“So, who is this?” Raava gestures to Seicho.

“This is Seicho, she’s my…” She is once again aware of the warmth of the girl’s hand on hers. “My friend.”

“I’m also her tattoo artist.” She adds helpfully.

Raava and Vaatu both study her arm for a moment. “It’s brilliant work.” Vaatu says at last.

“Very good attention to detail.” Raava sets her glass aside.

Azula traces her fingers over the ink. “I’ve been wanting to get a tattoo since I saw yours.” She gestures to the teal diamond on the woman’s chest. The white dot at its center seems to glow in the dark.

Raava smiles, “it is said that art births new art. Wonderful concept, don’t you think.”

“Very.” Azula agrees. She wonders if her child will be a musician too.

.oOo.

“She’s precious, Ozai.” Raava remarks. “I’d take her as my own daughter if she weren’t already yours.”

“I wouldn’t give her away.” Ozai chuckles. “A man only gets a daughter like mine every once in a while.”

“It has been a pleasure, Ozai.” Vaatu remarks. “Perhaps one day we can do a collaboration, for old time’s sake.”

“Perhaps we can.”

The door closes behind him. Azula hopes that Seicho can put off her squealing for just a little longer. At least until after her father leaves. So far things are going smoothly, she hopes that Chan, Ruon, and Zirin have managed to impress their respective idols as well. It will be a mighty good look if they had.

Ozai puts a hand on her back, a smile brings a slight curve to his lips. “You did wonderful tonight. I admit, I was getting worried, all things considered, but you have done extraordinary well tonight.”

He is so, so proud of her. Absently, her hand makes its way to her belly again. It is such a good night. She can’t ruin the mood.

#Avatar The Last Airbender #Azula #Azula/Background Character #Zuko #Mai #Maiko #TyLee #Fanfiction

3 notes · View notes

greekgeek21 · 3 years

Text

Percy Jackson & The Avengers: Convergence - hurricane percy hits vegas

EEE! I'm so excited for this chapter, and idk why. We get some Poseidon content tho, so yay for that! I'm pretty sure I'm just so excited cuz I just finished writing ch. 12 and IT. IS. AMAZING!!

Ok, so if you've noticed the change in my profile pic, you can figure out what I'm about to do. Well...surprise! Another pjo stan is coming out! I'm pan🏳️‍🌈✨

Anyway, remember to comment, like, follow me, and reblog! Stay safe and happy reading!

- your author

Ω ♆ Ω

Okay, so maybe jumping out of the window before Blackjack was within a hundred feet was a bad idea, but can you really blame him? If Percy had stayed, the others would have tried to convince him to wait and make a plan before leaving to save Annabeth, and it probably would've worked! But doing that gave her captors more time to hurt her. That was not okay with him.

Fortunately, his amazing pegasus could fly really fast when put in the right situation. Say, one like Percy freefalling from a skyscraper? He still cut it close, though. Percy got within six feet of the ground before Blackjack swooped up under him. It hurt like hades.

"What am I here for, boss? Not that I don't enjoy our hang-out sessions, but still, why am I here?" Percy heard Blackjack ask in his head.

"We're going to Vegas to save Annabeth. She's been taken by the people we've been hunting," he answered.

"Oh, no! I'll go into overdrive for this trip! Annabeth gives me donuts!"

If one looked closely, they would see that Percy cracked a small smile at that. Blackjack always knew how to lighten the mood.

"Just hurry, bud. They sent pictures of her tied up and beaten. I'm not sure what condition she'll be in when we get to her," Percy said.

"That's it! These guys are dead meat!" Blackjack sped up even more.

Percy was really afraid to look down because he was pretty sure that they had already passed four state lines, and his friend showed no signs of letting up. With all the complaining about being tired Blackjack did on their other quests, Percy would've never thought he could do this. Just goes to show what can happen when you hurt someone's friend.

Yeah, Percy had calmed down enough to rationalize that this was a stupid idea (maybe his worst one yet), but he was still going to do it! This was Annabeth we're talking about! There's nothing he wouldn't do for her, and that includes storming straight into that gods-forsaken casino and demanding to know where she was.

If you're wondering, yes, he did just that when they got there. Blackjack almost passed out as soon as they landed, but Percy was already hopping off and running in before the pegasus had even caught his breath.

"Get out of here, bud! This is gonna get messy!" he called over his shoulder before pushing the front doors of the Lotus Hotel and Casino open.

Ω ♆ Ω

It was very clear that something was wrong as soon as Percy stepped into the lobby. It was completely empty. The farther he went in, the less he found. There was nobody. The last time he had been there, it was packed with people from all different time periods and everyone was doing something, but now, nothing.

It was disconcerting, to say the least. It felt like the beginning to every horror movie out there.

What was worse, is that every activity was shut down but one: the ferris wheel. It was spinning with all of the lights on, a faint carnival music playing from hidden speakers. Once again, Percy's thoughts drifted to horror movies. He wouldn't be surprised if a ghost popped up in front of him.

Before he continued on, Percy stopped and took a breath, bouncing up and down to shake out the nerves, "Come on, Percy. You got this. Just go save Annabeth and get out. That's all there is to it."

He walked up to the ferris wheel and saw that there was a single occupant riding it: Annabeth. She was up on the top, but Percy would recognize those golden locks anywhere. Her form was slumped against the side of her car, so she was probably unconscious. As she got closer to the ground, Percy saw that she was even more beaten up than the picture had shown. Her hands and ankles were bound with celestial bronze chains and she had a gag in her mouth.

Percy's blood boiled.

"Annabeth!" He shouted, running towards her as soon as the cart got to the bottom.

It kept moving, but he quickly grabbed her and pulled her off and away from the ride.

"Annabeth, wake up. Come on, 'beth, you have to be okay," he muttered, pulling the gag out of her mouth and starting to work on the chains, though he wasn't sure where to start.

Her eyes were still closed, but he heard a faint whisper from her mouth say, "It's Annabeth."

He laughed in relief, pulling her to his chest in a tight hug.

"Don't ever do that to me again. I lost it," he said, kissing her on the forehead.

Her eyes slitted open, "No promises, Seaweed Brain."

Percy was about to bring her in for a kiss when a voice interrupted them, "I'm glad you got to save her, Perseus. Now it'll be that much worse for you when we take her away again."

Percy shot up from the ground, pulling out Riptide and going into a protective stance in front of a kneeling Annabeth, "You're not going anywhere near her!"

The voice belonged to a mortal man. He had a long cut along his face, which seemed to be made by a claw, and his hair was a dark brown with speckles of grey. He seemed pretty average besides the scar. He had three men behind him, along with a hellhound, two empousa, and a couple basilisks. All looked ready to strike at a moment's notice.

The man tutted, "Oh, but I think I am. You see, you're going to give her to us."

Percy glared, "And what makes you think that?"

The man smiled, "Because of your family, of course. The normal one. Your mom, Sally, and her husband, Paul, and what's the last one's name...? The baby... Estelle! Yes, Estelle. We know where they are right now, and with one order from me, they will be killed by the giants we have standing by."

Percy growled, lunging forward, but a growl from the hellhound stopped him, "You're not going to touch them or Annabeth! I'll kill you first!"

The mortal leader gave a fake frown, "Oh, Perseus, how naive you are. Don't you see what's happening? Your people are the monsters. You just threatened to kill a mortal, the very thing you are put on this Earth to protect! How would your father feel about that?"

Hundreds of pipes burst in the hotel. Percy was only holding himself back because of Annabeth. As soon as she was out of danger, he would let himself go. He didn't care that they were mortals. Those men weren't the type of people he wanted to protect.

But- his family were still in danger. Even if the guy was bluffing, Percy couldn't take that risk.

Annabeth pulled herself to her feet and put a hand on his shoulder, leaning in to whisper in his ear. "Let them take me. You know it's the right thing to do. I'll be okay. You just need to lead the Avengers to their base, okay, and then you can save me all over again."

She cracked a small smile, hoping to comfort him but ultimately just making Percy feel worse.

Percy pulled her in for a searing kiss, and when he pulled back, a defeated look in his eyes, Annabeth knew he was letting her go. She had to; it was the best solution. She could protect herself and the Blofis family couldn't.

"I love you," she whispered.

"I love you, too," Percy's eyes were misty and he was slipping on his control.

With one last, loving look at her boyfriend, Annabeth walked to the opposing group, allowing them to roughly grab onto her and pull her to the hellhound, who was ready to shadow travel her and the other mortals to wherever their base was.

Percy steeled himself for a fight because he knew there was no way it was that easy. He was not getting out of this unscathed. They had left the monsters there for a reason, and that reason was to probably kill him. That wasn't going to happen, though. They had chosen the wrong day to mess with Percy Jackson. He was going to let Hades rain down on them.

"Are we gonna stand here all day or are we gonna fight?" he asked, twirling his sword around, "You know what? Nevermind. I don't feel like fighting."

Then before the monsters could react, he released the storm within.

Ω ♆ Ω

"Come on people! Let's get a move on!" Steve shouted, already running to the quinjet.

He saw that everybody was still lagging, but wasn't sure what else to do. Fortunately, Piper had noticed his struggle and came to his rescue.

"Everybody hurry up! We don't know what stupid thing Percy is going to do, so we need to get there before he does it!" she yelled, lacing lots of charmspeak with her words.

Instantly, all of the demigods and Avengers sped up and were all on the jet within a minute. Steve gave Piper a grateful glance before climbing in himself, the daughter of Aphrodite following close behind.

Once everyone had taken their seats, Natasha and Clint up in the cockpit, they took off.

"So...does anyone even know what we're going to do when we get there? Or what Percy was planning on doing?" Leo asked, voicing everyone's thoughts.

Steve sighed, "We can only do damage control. If Percy hasn't done anything yet, we talk him down from it. If he has, we figure out a solution to getting it stopped, no matter what it takes. Now we don't know Percy as well as you five, so we need you to try and predict what he might do."

The rest of the Seven shared a look and Jason spoke up, "Percy and Annabeth are very...special to each other. If one of them is hurt, the other loses control very easily. So, basically, anything could have happened."

He glanced apologetically at the Captain, who just sighed in response. It was no doubt going to be a long day, and then an even longer one when Fury found out about this. Going down that train of thought made him more and more exhausted.

"Las Vegas, here we come," Tony muttered.

Ω ♆ Ω

As they started entering the Las Vegas area, it became abundantly clear that they were already too late to stop Percy. The sky was dark, thunder rolling through the clouds, rain pouring down on the streets around the casino. A whirlwind of water was circling the hotel and the ground was shaking. Geisurs were popping up just as fast as they were closing. It was a shitshow, basically.

"Percy did this? By himself?!" Tony exclaimed, staring in shock at the storm.

"Yep. He doesn't seem like much of a kid now, does he?" Jason said, strapping an arm guard on.

"Nope," Tony whispered.

Frank said, "How are we even going to get inside?"

"We're going to go from above, straight through the eye of the storm. It's the only opening, from what I can see," Natasha answered, already guiding the plane up and towards the center of the destruction, "Hold on. This is gonna get rough."

"Oh. That's comforting," Frank muttered, holding on to his seatbelt tight.

"Dude, if we crash, you can just turn into a fly or something and get out of here, but me, I'm going to die with the plane," Leo said, cracking a joking smile.

Hazel sighed, "Leo, your fireproof. If anyone would survive the crash, you would."

Leo chose not to point out that he was trying to lighten the mood with a self-deprecating joke. Hazel with confidence is scary.

Besides, that's when the shaking started. The wind and water was throwing the quinjet around, thrashing it from side-to-side, trying to throw it down but Natasha and Clint were keeping it up.

Slowly but surely, they got the plane lower and lower until it was hovering just above the courtyard of the hotel (if you can even call it that). It was an open area with rollercoasters and games all around. The Avengers couldn't believe they hadn't heard of this place before! It was amazing! The demigods, however, were shocked that the mortals could even see what was around them. The Mist was either weakening (unlikely) or the Avengers were starting to become clear sighted (could be bad).

"Ok, everyone, get out before this thing crashes!" Natasha yelled, gripping the steering gear like a lifeline.

It probably wasn't even her demanding voice that got everyone off the jet quickly, but they did anyway. The demigods and Avengers found themselves huddled behind a concession stand while they surveyed the area. It was easier for the demigods, who could naturally see through the veil of Mist surrounding it. The Avengers' eyes were refocusing every couple of seconds because something like a stuffed bear would turn into a stuffed Minotaur and then back into a bear again.

"Stay close, team. We're in unknown territory," Steve immediately slipped into his leadership role.

"Do you guys see Percy?" Hazel asked, looking around for her friend with a worried expression on her face.

"Um...yeah, I do. Over there," Frank's hand pointed towards the ferris wheel, and everyone's eyes followed it's path.

It led directly to the center of the storm, just as they all secretly knew it would. Everyone wanted to believe their friend or colleague couldn't be capable of creating a "natural" disaster until it happens. Now the team was left to clean up the mess.

"Oh, great. This should be fun," Tony sarcastically commented, seeing that Percy's eyes were closed and he was just sitting there on his knees.

He wasn't even wet, or affected by the storm at all. It seemed to be molding around the boy. The cracks on the ground had even left him alone. Percy was a force of nature.

"How are we going to get to him, let alone make him stop all of this?!" Jason asked, raising his voice to be heard over the screaming wind.

"I don't think he'll hurt us. He let us come down with the plane. If it was anyone else, he would've let it tear apart, but not us. He wants us to help him, and we're going to do just that, okay?" Piper answered, standing up.

She still had to stabilize herself on the cart, but she kept herself up. Everyone else in the group still looked skeptical of her plan, if you could even call it that, but they followed her lead and stood up as well.

With a calm determination only a demigod could possess in the face of battle, she started the trek over to their friend. Percy didn't make a move, either not seeing them or not caring.

"Percy. Percy. Listen to my voice, Percy. Everything is going to be alright. You need to focus on my voice, Percy," Piper started to say even though the wind was carrying it away a second later.

They had to try everything, and given the fact that the wind seemed to slow down just a tiny bit, Piper took it as a win.

The Avengers and the rest of the Seven were making slow movement, their feet feeling like lead as they forced themselves to keep going. They were grabbing onto whatever was nailed to the ground for support as small tremors rocked the building. It was obvious there had been a different, major earthquake that had caused most of the damage, so they weren't complaining about aftershocks.

"Keep going! We're almost there!" Steve yelled, digging his shield into the ground for something to hold onto.

It took a long time for a short distance, but they eventually made it to right in front of Percy. He had still shown no sign of knowing they were there.

"Percy! Can you hear us?!" Jason shouted, grabbing onto his gladius that he had previously stabbed into the ground.

Still no movement, though a tear did fall down his cheek. It was the only water that had actually touched him so far. Everyone but him was soaked to the bone, while he had stayed completely unaffected. Jason kneeled down and tried shaking his friend, only to be pushed back by a blast of water.

While he was sputtering out the liquid, Tony said, "We need a new plan! This isn't working!"

"Yeah, no shit, Sherlock! But do you see a plan laying around here somewhere, cuz' I don't!" Piper shouted.

That's when a sea breeze blew through the area and under their noses. Unlike the stormy sea smell that Percy was radiating right now, this one was calming and gave you the feeling of a relaxing day at the beach. Jason was the quickest one to realize what was happening, so he warned everyone else as quick as possible, "Close your eyes!"

The Seven followed his instructions without question, being used to this by now (plus Jason wasn't planning on nearly dying again). The Avengers, however, were a divided front. Natasha, Clint, and Steve all did as they were told, not willing to take a chance on Frank being wrong about whatever he was scared of. Tony and Bruce, did not. They looked around at Frank like he was crazy. Fortunately, they had turned enough so that when there was a blinding flash of light and a small pop, nobody had seen it full-on. What was left afterwards was a man in a hawaiian shirt and sandals. He had tan bermuda shorts and a beat-up old fishing hat with the words Neptune's Lucky Fishing Hat on it. But those weren't the most shocking features about the man. What was most shocking was his similarity to Percy. His skin tone, matching Percy's. His hair color, matching Percy's with only a few more grey spots. His eyes, matching Percy's without a doubt. Natasha was the first of the Avengers to come to the startling realization that this was Percy's supposedly missing-at-sea father.

He was completely unaffected by the storm swirling around them. Physically, at least. He seemed to be really worried about his son, and only spared a glance at the other befores crouching in front of Percy. He put his hands on his son's shoulders and gently shook him.

"Son, wake up," Poseidon said, "You have to stop this."

Percy made a groaning sound and slitted his eyes open. His arms were wrapped around his stomach in pain.

"Ow," he muttered.

Poseidon cracked a small smile, though his eyebrows were still furrowed in worry, "That's what happens when you create a tropical storm and earthquake in the middle of Nevada."

Percy's eyes shot open, "Dad?! What're you doing here?!"

Poseidon gave him a frown, "Making sure my son doesn't kill himself."

Percy grimaced, holding himself just a little bit tighter at the reminder of what was currently still going on around them.

"Percy, what were you thinking?!" the god of the sea exclaimed.

The boy knew he was in the wrong, so he just shrugged and gave his father a misty-eyed, helpless look, "I can't make it stop, Dad. What do I do?"

Poseidon sighed. Seeing how fragile his son was right now broke his heart.

"You can let me help. We'll stop it together."

Percy nodded, letting the deity help him to his feet and support him once he got there. Neither man spared a glance at the assembled group of heroes behind them, instead turning determined faces towards the storm.

"You focus on the earthquakes. I'll take care of the storm, Perseus," Poseidon said.

The son of the sea god nodded, kneeling down so he had his hands placed on the ground. He closed his eyes and focused; focused only on the shaking, and then imagined the shaking receding like the tide. Then, eventually, it stopped all together.

He felt a large weight be lifted off his shoulders at the feeling of his power pulling itself back inside of him. His father had made quick work of the storm, and now all that was left was a trashed mystical hotel and casino.

Percy turned back to father, and gave him a small, grateful, exhausted smile, "Thanks, Dad. And I'm sorry for letting it get so out of hand. I know better than that."

Poseidon grasped his son in a bone-crushing hug, "It's okay, son. I'm not one to talk. Remember San Francisco?" he turned to a whisper, "That was my own version of a temper-tantrum. Don't tell your Uncle Zeus, though. He'd skin me alive if he knew the real reason I did that."

Percy's smile widened just a bit, "Okay, dad. You can let me go now. This is getting weird. We don't do this. You're not even supposed to be here right now."

At first, that last thought was just a flippant comment, but now Percy realized just how much trouble he, or his father, could be in with Zeus because of this.

"Dad! You're not even supposed to be here right now! You have to go! Right now, before Uncle Z finds out!" he shouted, shoving himself out of the hug.

Poseidon laughed, "Persues, think about it. You just created a 7.1 earthquake in Nevada, while simultaneously making a category 5 hurricane pop up nowhere near the coast. I think he noticed. He was actually the one to send me. He thought I'd be the only way to calm you down."

He gave his son a meaningful glance, and he got a sheepish neck rub in return.

Poseidon sighed again, "It's okay. He's not too mad. He's actually pretty happy that it wasn't one of his kids this time."

The god finally turned and acknowledged the other people in the room, giving Jason a look. Jason didn't seem to know what to do with that. He just kinda stood there, in shock that he had been noticed by Neptu- Poseidon.

Frank and Hazel both kneeled, soon followed by the rest of the demigods. It seemed that everyone was still recovering from the storm, and wasn't sure what to do with the fact that Percy's dad (a literal god) just showed up and was speaking with their friend like they were best buds (or more accurately, father and son).

The Avengers were giving incredulous looks to everyone, even the superspies. Ok, so first, a random fisherman shows up, then they find out that the guy is actually Percy's father, and then dad helps stop a natural disaster. But that was all easier to process than the kids kneeling to Percy's dad. Like he was God or something!

"Um, is anyone going to explain what the hell is going on right now?" Tony asked, head whipping back and forth between the look-a-like father and son and the rest of the teens.

Poseidon turned to the billionaire with an amused smile on his face, "Anthony Stark. Nice to finally meet you. My nephew enjoyed your work."

Percy snorted, realizing just what nephew his dad was talking about. Of course Ares would like a weapons manufacturer.

Tony smirked, smug, "Well, thank you, random stranger. That means absolutely nothing coming from you because we have not yet been introduced. I'm Tony Stark."

Poseidon turned to his son, "I like this one. Very brave."

"Give it a minute," Percy said, "It'll pass."

Ignoring the billionaire's protests, Poseidon turned to the demigods assembled, "Rise, half-bloods. You have saved Olympus enough to not need to kneel to me."

They cautiously rose.

"Olympus? Half-bloods? What are you talking about? Who are you?" Natasha asked, narrowing her eyes at the stranger.

She didn't trust him. He radiated too much power, power that was too similar to Percy's for her liking.

"I am Poseidon, Percy's father and a couple other titles. You may call me Lord Poseidon," was the answer she got.

She raised her eyebrows. The guy had a strong god-complex. Though she had met Thor before, and he had one just the same. Maybe these were more Asgardians or something like that.

"What are you?" Clint asked, not realizing just how much he was pushing it.

Poseidon's gaze darkened, "Be careful how you speak to me, mortal. I am being very gracious right now."

"Are you implying that you aren't mortal? Like Thor?" Bruce spoke up, literally surprising everyone.

The fact that he had come along was a miracle in itself, and now he was speaking to this obviously-powerful man.

Poseidon's nose wrinkled in disgust, "Thor is nothing like me. He is no god."

Percy decided to break in before things could get out of hand again, "Ok! Dad, you should probably get going. You know, oceans to run and everything!"

Poseidon's shark-like glare softened for his son and he nodded. But before he could leave, he pulled Percy aside.

"Tell them. You have our permission," he said.

Percy smirked, "I think I got that from you throwing around words like 'Olympus' and 'half-blood,' Dad."

Poseidon turned serious, "Be careful in the near future, my son. You have a rough journey through the Sea of Monsters to rescue Ms. Chase. She is on Polyphemus' island. That is all I could gather for you. I hope it is enough to keep you alive. I know it would be a fool's errand to try and convince you to not go. Your fatal flaw prevents it."

"I'll be okay, Dad. I promise."

Poseidon noticed how he didn't swear it on the River Styx. So Perseus had just as many doubts about this quest as he did. He refused to lose another son, though.

Placing a hand on Percy's shoulder, he spoke one last time, "Just be careful, Percy. For me, if you must."

Percy nodded.

"Alright," Poseidon said, "Everyone close your eyes!"

This time, everyone, including the mortals, listened.

Once the light had died down, Percy turned back to the Avengers and his friends, a hugely-apologetic look on his face.

"I'm so sorry, guys. Did anyone get hurt?" he asked, walking up to them.

"Reports are showing that there were only mild injuries, no fatalities," JARVIS' voice spoke from Tony's suit.

Percy felt some worry leave him at that reassurance, but the peace only lasted so long. He saw that every one of the Avengers were looking to the teenagers for an explanation, and now they had permission to give it.

The son of Poseidon heaved a great sigh, rubbing his gut again, "I think it's time you knew the truth. The full truth this time."

Ω ♆ Ω

Let me know what you think! I'm sorry for my wonky updating schedule...

other chapters :)

#pjo #percy jackson and the olympians #the avengers #avenger #mcu #superheroes #heroes of olympus #fanfiction #ao3 #fanfic #wattpad #series

5 notes · View notes

lokihzra · 3 years

Text

My Hearts on Fire For Your Love

Chapter 4

Loki tried not to.

He tried so hard .

But he couldn’t help but recite the words he spoke so many times while he was being beaten. The words that got him through the torture and the words that helped him stay together, the words that prevented Loki from losing himself.

“I will never lower my head to those who wish me dead and I will enjoy this pain because it’s the one thing that is keeping me sane” He sinks to the floor and simply stares at the tiles below him and keeps going.

“I will count every crack and crevice in the walls to keep from doing nothing at all, my mind will beg me to give in but I swear I will never submit” he takes in a shaky breath but the fear just gets worse. “My hands and knees may shake” they are shaking “my lungs and heart will ache but I swear I will never break” he won’t, he won’t give into his mind yelling at him to throw up “On Odin, Frigga and Thor. On my Father, mother and brother. I swear I will stay strong until I am no more”

It didn’t work.

He gags and hunches over before he scrambles over to the toilet and his mind goes blank as his whole body tenses up. His ears ring and his eyes tear up from the pressure of trying to force out everything in his empty stomach.

After Tony finished throwing up and made up an excuse to everyone saying it was because of drinking Tony marched down to Lokis room and didn’t even bother knocking before he commanded JARVIS to open the door.

Loki was laying on the bathroom floor, sweating, tears streaming down his face and shaking. “this is because of you” he snarls weakly, the whole situation not helping Tony fear him.

“what the fuck is this exactly?” Tony doesn’t even feel bad that Loki experienced the sweats and shit instead of him, it’s the least Loki could endure after everything.

Loki groans as he sits up, leaning back against the open bathroom door and sighing as he stretches his legs “the bond. It will try and bring us together”

Tony frowns at him, opening and closing his mouth before he finally finds his words “by making us feel the same way?”

“do you mean emotionally or physically?”

Tony’s face falls slack, his anger fading along with Loki’s “don’t be a smartass”

Loki chuckles before nodding “it will connect us emotionally yes” Loki says with a sigh.

“what about after that?”

Loki shrugs before pushing his hair back off his sweaty forehead “no one’s made it past the emotional bond” anyone that was lucky enough to find their soulmate usually embraced it because it was their soulmate.

Loki and Tony are a first.

“can’t you ask your parents or something?” Tony babbles “Thor said they’re soulm-“

Loki interrupts “you told him?” he quickly gets up, ready to fucking leave .

“no no I just asked if they were real, Thor is dumb enough to believe me but also smart enough to know i’m curious about everything ”

Loki sits back down with another loud sigh “curiosity killed the snake” he says quietly.

“snake?” Tony nearly yells “no no no it’s curiosity killed the cat and satisfaction brought it back”

“it’s snake, you midgardians changed it to cat ” Loki spits

“aren’t snakes like your symbol or something?”

“did your research I see” Loki nods before looking down at his hands “yes they are and yes the snake in the saying is me”

“not even gonna ask” Tony deadpans, he doesn’t want to know anyways, he doesn’t want to feel bad for Loki

“how do we stop this?” he asks instead.

Loki shakes his head and shrugs “we can’t” he scoffs out a weak laugh “there’s nothing we can do”

“what if I sell my soul?”

Loki barks out a laugh “that’s a myth, you can not sell your soul to Mephisto or Lucifer, they choose you” Loki deadpans “they’re annoying”

“I mean what if I sell my soul to you”

Loki gapes at him but Tony doesn’t falter, he waits and waits for an answer until a few moments later when the silence becomes unbearable “jesus say something please”

Loki presses his lips together and Tony does not stare at Loki's tongue darting out to lick his lips “you would be willing to do that?”

“I don’t want to be forced to fall in love with you and I don’t want to find out what happens if we don't, so yeah” Tony says nonchalantly.

“I would own you after your death” Loki says lowly and Tony can’t help but dig his fingernails into his knee as Loki continue “you would have to do whatever I want or you could simply rot in Hel with my sister”

“okay nevermind” Tony’s gaze falls on the bookshelf beside the bathroom door. “what if you sold yours?”

“to who, Thor?” Loki scoffs “Mephisto’s probably jumping up already, now that you mention it”

“we have to figure out something”

“we can’t Stark” Loki spits loudly “there’s nothing we can do”

May 12th, 2012

Tony nearly faints when Loki walks into the kitchen and starts making himself a coffee like nothing is wrong.

Loki looks good in earth clothing, that was undeniable but Tony couldn’t give a fuck about that because he finally realizes why Loki always wore sleeves as he stares down at the pale marks littering his arms.

Hundreds of pink and white scars cover Loki’s arms all the way to his knuckles and Tony doesn’t question why he’s never seen it before as he pulls Loki out onto the balcony with him.

He ignores Loki threating him, he ignores Thor and Steve frowning at them, he ignores the anger in his veins, most likely from Loki because he glares as Tony stands in his way of the door. “what?” Loki snarls, his hands balling into fists at his sides.

“who did this to you?”

“what are you talking about?” Loki steps back before he looks down at his arms.

“you can see them” It wasn’t a question, Tony could see that Loki knows by the way he instantly puts his hands behind his back.

“why couldn’t I see them before?”

“No one else can see them” Loki states and Tony sighs harshly, burying his face in his hands.

Tony rubs his face harshly as he says “we can see everyone else’s scars”

“yes we can see the scars of people with no soulmate”

“we need to do something about this Loki”

Loki sighs in frustration before he smirks and Tony instinctively steps back towards the tower “I could push you off” Loki suggests.

“we need to do something that doesn’t result in one of us dead” Tony spits back “i would love to see you dead but you’re Thor’s brother an-“

“i’m not Thor's brother now move so I can go inside” Loki spits.

Tony, being the stubborn bitch he is, stays in place “tell me who did this to you” he demands.

“doesn’t matter now move before I make you” Loki hisses, his veins burning with anger and he can see that Tony feels it too, his gaze becoming dark.

“tell me who the fuck-“

“we’re not friends, we’re not soulmates, we are nothing” Loki spits “so don’t act like you care and don’t demand anything from me” Loki finishes by pushing Tony out of his way and going back inside. Loki starts talking on his way in, annoying Tony even more “don’t push me around like I’m your pet because it won’t end well for either of us”.

May 15th, 2012

Loki was enjoying his shower when suddenly his arm started stinging. He hissed as the stinging got worse and looks down only to freeze.

There’s fresh cut on his arm that wasn’t there before, the blood mixing with the water and turning the floor beneath him a copper brown. He stared and stared until he feels another sting.

Stark.

He watches in horror as a new cut forms just above the other one, the cut appearing from nowhere and his heart drops as he scrambles out of the shower, not caring that he nearly slips.

Stark.

He throws on his clothes quickly, not even drying his hair or bothering to stop the bleeding. “I’m using my magic JARVIS” he announces and focuses hard.

Stark.

He appears in Tony’s room, what he guesses to be his room. He scans the room, similar to his except more modern, the furniture was grey and white but he quickly forgot about it as he sees the bathroom door slightly ajar, the light turned on.

Stark.

Loki doesn’t hesitate as he busts through the bathroom door to find Tony sitting on the floor, leaning against the glass shower door and blood dripping down his arm. Loki's heart drops and he doesn’t know if it’s his own feelings or if it’s tony’s panic overpowering his thoughts, he doesn’t care either way.

“Loki?” Tony breathes out quietly before he snaps out of it and throws something in the toilet. Loki ignores the clinking sound as he rushes over and drops to his knees in front of Tony, he gently takes Tonys hand to investigate his arm and to his dreaded fear he finds cuts matching his own.

“stop” Tony chokes out as he pulls his arm back “di-did you feel my-“ Tony stops and his face falls slack, his gaze trained on something beside Loki. Loki looks down to find Tony staring at his arm “I’m-I’m sorry” he whispers.

Loki presses his lips together tightly “why?”

“I wouldn’t-If I knew-“

“no” Loki interrupts “why are you doing this to yourself?” Tony can’t find his words. But he doesn’t need to because Loki can see the pain, fear, anxiety and desperation in his eyes. “how long?”

“I was eleven” Tony states quietly “Jarvis, was my dads butler but he was more a dad than Howard was” Tony voice breaks so he clears his voice and speaks louder “he killed himself, called me a couple hours earlier because he was on his christmas break” Tony bites the inside of his cheek as he feels the weight in his heart, the bad weight that makes him want to die. “he protected me from my father. After Jarvis, Howard got worse, so much worse-”

“he sounds like a man deserving of being your AI”

“no he deserves more” Tony states.

Loki nods as he stares at the gashes on Tonys arm, his own cuts throbbing in time with his erratic heartbeat “can I heal them?” he asks quietly and to his relief Tony nods.

Loki tries his best to stop his hands from shaking as he hovers them over Tony’s wound, focusing and sighing as he feels the warmth spreading through his palms. He watches as his seidr stitches together Tonys wound like it was never there before Loki moves back.

“sorry” Tony mumbles and Loki quickly shakes his head.

“been through worse”

Tony hesitantly makes eye contact “you said that you were tortured” he doesn’t say anything more, doesn’t want to.

He doesn’t want to feel bad for Loki, the man who destroyed the city.

Loki nods again “I’m not telling you anything” he deadpans.

Tony feels fucking bad and knowing that Loki can feel it makes him want to puke “I wasn’t going to ask you I just needed to know I wasn’t hearing things”

Loki presses his lips together as he thinks “being the god of lies doesn’t make me a liar. Thor being the god of thunder doesn’t make him thunder” Loki informs Tony, hopefully taking his mind off of everything for a second “we can just control it”

Tony’s mouth falls open “so you can control if people lie or not?”

Loki nods “I hate using it, no better than mind control”. Leave it to Odin to give Loki the one power he hates the most, father of the millennium.

“can you tell if people are lying?”

“only if I want to know, like when I suggested to lush you off of the balcony-“ Loki watches Tony’s expression harded “-you contemplated it for a moment”

“I don’t get the feeling that I’m the only one that is suicidal”

“suicidal no, uncaring for my life and if it ends? yes”

Tony frowns, shaking his head before he retorts loudly “same damn thing” making Loki smile , not enough to make Loki laugh genuinely but a smile is enough for now.

Tony will get him to laugh eventually.

3 notes · View notes

ramblings-of-a-foolish-mortal · 4 years

Text

Constellations in your soul - C2

///Preface: this chapter has dissociation and some self deprecation in it. After releasing the first chapter I realized that some warnings might be in order so that people who are sensitive to the topic don’t suffer because of it. I hope you enjoy it and as always, comments and suggestions are welcome. :)///

Sirius sat on a toilet lid in the abandoned bathroom, holding up his arm up in an uncomfortable position while holding his shirt in his lap. Remus had spent a solid 10 minutes inspecting him to see what injuries there were before he’d even started to put Sirius back together. Remus held a grimace on his face and briefly brought his sleeved hand to his nose, like trying to wipe away a scent or a smell.

“Jeez, blood has a strong smell…” his grimace faded as he rolled up his sleeves, kneeling back to get a better look at what he was doing.

“So, remind me why we never use magic to do this?” Sirius leaned back a bit before Remus gently reminded him he needed to sit up straight for this. Haha, straight.

“Because healing spells are complicated, and while I may be smart I’m not about to rearrange your ribcage for something I could easily do with my hands.” Remus frowned as he spoke, mumbling things under his breath as he took note of them. His face scrunched up a little bit when he was concentrating, and his eyes remained focused on his target. His intense glare was one you didn’t usually want to be on the receiving end of, and it was pointed right at Sirius’ chest. Right now, he appeared to be trying to glare Sirius’ injuries out of existence. “What happened to make her this mad? I thought she doesn’t usually beat you like this unless she thought you did something?” Remus’ voice cracked when he said ‘beat’ like it caused him pain just to think about it.

Aww, you really think he cares about you Sirius. He just feels obligated to help you, you’re a burden in his life and thorn in his side.

I know…

“Uh- It wasn’t really anything bad,” Sirius shifted to prop his arm up on the water tank of the toilet, “She got upset at Regulus because he burnt the bacon, but I distracted him. At least, that’s what I told her, so she got mad at me. It’s not really that-!” Sirius growled quietly when Remus pressed on his side, pain flaring up his side and in his lungs. Shit that hurt…

“Sorry,” Remus muttered as he stood, walking over to an empty stall at the end of the row and coming back with a briefcase full of muggle first aid supplies. They’d hid it in here last year when Sirius had first explained what his family was like. Remus was very astute and had noticed Sirius consistently sleeping on his stomach and changing in the bathroom rather than the dorm, like the other boys (among other things like pained expressions and groaning in his sleep, which Sirius had no memory of doing.) Remus pulled out bruise cream and started spreading it across Sirius’ back and chest.

Sirius felt his face flush, looking up at the ceiling. “Take me on a date first, Remus.” A small, possibly awkward laugh left him, immediately replaced with a grimace as his ribs shifted slightly. Great… now he thinks I’m weird. I mean, he probably already did. I’m so fucking awkward why am I like this?

It’s because you’re worthless. Awkward? Closer to repulsive. He’s seen you beaten and bruised and broken so many times. Do you honestly think he still sees you the same way as before? Sirius’ grimace faded as he stared at the ceiling.

He cares, I know he cares. If he didn’t, he would’ve run away a long time ago.

PLEASE. You, James, and Peter are the only people who would accept him for being a werewolf. He’s got it SO much worse than you, and yet you make him take care of you. Bend to your whim.

Just shut up…

“Sirius, are you alright? “ Remus looked up at him from his crouching position at his side. Sirius looked down at him, leaning forward slightly.

“Yeah?” Remus held his eyes for a moment, studying Sirius for a moment, then offered him back his shirt.

“I finished. Your shirt might stick a little bit, but once your skin absorbs it you should be good. We’ll want to change the bandages on the cuts in a couple days.” Remus smiled slightly, offering Sirius a hand. Sirius took it, pulling himself up.

“Wait, there were cuts?” Sirius frowned slightly. “I didn’t think… I didn’t think I felt any cuts… “ Remus gently touched Sirius’ back, right between his shoulder blades.

“Yeah, there were some right here, and a couple on your upper shoulder. Make sure not to move your arms too much. At least as best as you can.”

“Yes, Nurse.” Sirius sent a smirk at Remus before trying to pull his shirt on, face immediately contorting into a pained expression when his arms went over his head. Remus laughed quietly.

“Aww, do you need help getting your shirt on?” Sirius glared at him, pulling his shirt down, huffing quietly. “I’ve been reading a First Aid book published by a muggle health organization. It’s incredibly informative. I really enjoyed reading it too.” Remus let himself smile while closing, clipping, and rehiding the bag of First Aid supplies.

“You’re such a nerd, Remus. I mean, why would you read when you can climb trees or flirt.” Sirius waited until Remus was next to him to start walking back to the dorms with him.

“Because I find books much more enjoyable than people. They’re quiet, usually, and don’t require me to move very much. Pair that with the inevitable social interaction required when surrounded by other people, I tend to avoid people when I can.” Remus glanced over at Sirius as he spoke. Sirius had to tilt his head up slightly to look at Remus’ face, noticing how his hair reflected the torchlight. Well hot damn, I’m just too gay for this shit.

Sirius laughed at himself quietly, and they walked the rest of the way to the dorm in comfortable silence. Once Sirius climbed into bed, he carefully laid on his back and stared at the ceiling, thoughts racing through his mind as everything from How can I frustrate Professor McGonigal tomorrow to Should I leave James and Remus and Peter so they can finally have some peace?

His thoughts continued to wander as he fell asleep, pulling the blankets up another inch or two before drifting off.

While Sirius lay sleeping, Remus lay awake in his bed, trying to distract himself from the repetitive image of Sirius’ bruised and welted chest. Under different circumstances, Remus would’ve been incredibly embarrassed and flustered touching Sirius like that, but the bruises, cuts, welts, and scars had him in a significantly darker mood. Why would they hurt Sirius like that… actually, nevermind, they’re bastards with no souls. The better question is: Why does Sirius put himself in harm's way like that. He knows he’ll get it worse than Regulus, but yet he still chooses to take the blame for things, even small things. This is the worst I’ve seen him injured since second year…

Remus frowned at the memory of Sirius laying in his bed, asleep and severely injured. That day he’d traveled via firepit to Remus’ house after having almost been beaten to death by his own mother.

He could remember clearly the moment when he ran downstairs to see what had caused such a loud thump in his living room and panicked at the sight of Sirius covered in blood and bruises. It had taken quite a bit of both muggle remedies and magic to heal Sirius. They were lucky Remus’ mother knew First Aid and his father had become acquainted with healing spells through his work. He’d sat by Sirius for days, making sure he was okay, keeping him safe, getting him water and food and anything else he needed. Remus had been glaring at the wall with such fervor he’d given himself a headache. He groaned quietly, turning to his other side. He could hear Sirius breathing and chose to focus on that. The steadiness of his breath was calming, though Remus heard him occasionally heard Sirius’ breath hitch in his chest when he inhaled too deeply, heaven forbid he have a good night’s rest. I will have to invest more time in First Aid. It’s quite useful…

Remus closed his eyes, willing himself to sleep, after a long time of his mind disobeying him, he started to ease into foggy rest.

A few weeks had passed since the first day of the term without much transpiring in the way of excitement. James was still preparing for his first big stunt of the year, and Sirius had been busy helping him. They hadn’t gone to bed until late the previous night due to planning what had to be their biggest, awesomest project yet, a map that would be able to track the students and teacher. One only they would be able to use.

Because of the late-night, and subsequent awful sleep, Sirius woke up at the unholy hour of 05:00 AM. He didn’t normally rise this early, but after waking up in a cold sweat from a nightmare he wasn’t too eager to go back to sleep either. Slowly, he sat up and blinked slowly. His mind and body felt like they were dry and stiff, not wanting to move exactly when he needed them to, and he felt phantom pains from the dream stacked on his physical injuries. While fighting his lethargy, he got out of bed while grimacing as his rib cage shifted, then rummaged through his suitcase, yet to be unpacked, and then padded towards the bathrooms. His hair was likely a mess, but that would be fixed with a shower. And if it was still knotted, well, Remus was the only person he really let mess with his hair. James pulled too hard and hurt him, and Peter was so clumsy that the one time Sirius had let him touch his hair, it’d ended up so mangled it took Remus 3 hours to untangle. Sirius opened the doors to the bathroom, beginning to wash himself off. The water slowly woke him up enough to function, though there was still this lingering fog similar to silt covering his mind. A thought hit him in the middle of washing his hair, Today is gonna be shit… He frowned, frustratedly glaring at the wall. No, today is going to be FINE. I’m going to go to class like every morning. I’ll joke around with James, flirt with some people, and it will be good.

He stayed in the shower for another several minutes, simply because he felt like he didn’t have the energy to leave. When he finally gathered himself, he wasted more time while drying off. By the time he’d finally made it back to the boy's dorm room to put his dirty nightclothes in a basket by his bed, the other boys were up. One look at Remus told Sirius he hadn’t slept well either. They exchanged a mutual look of ‘You too, huh?’, before Remus broke eye contact to pull his sweater over his shirt. Remus had a tendency to only be semi-functional in the morning and preferred not to speak until after breakfast.

Sirius walked over to his nightstand to grab his brush, reaching out and halting when his hand closed around nothing. It’s not here… He glanced around the room and saw Remus holding it up in one hand while smiling slightly. Ah, there it is. Sirius sat cross-legged on the floor in front of Remus while James threw himself on Remus’ bed. Remus brushed out Sirius’ hair, occasionally using his fingers to untangle knots the brush wouldn’t pull through easily.

“You guys look absolutely awful. I keep forgetting you’re grouchy in the mornings.” James turned to lay on his back, watching Remus’ expression pass through 3 or 4 emotions before settling on mild dissatisfaction. Most people probably wouldn’t have noticed but, well, James had been his friend for 4 years and picked up on some things. Sirius knocked on the top of James’ head, grabbing his attention.

“Well, you see, James, when two people-” Sirius had a grin on his face before Remus cut him off.

“Late night, little sleep, you’re a baby,” Remus spoke in a quiet mumble, probably still half asleep.

“Yeah, you’re one to talk James. If you don’t get your beauty sleep you’re grumpy all day! At least Remus turns functional after 3 gallons of coffee.” Sirius grinned as he spoke, though it was partially to cover up concern. He knew Remus hadn’t gotten to sleep until the small hours of the morning. I wish I could add more hours to the night, or knock him out. He might actually get some decent sleep if we drugged him… Remus poked the hairbrush over Sirius’ shoulder, catching Sirius’ eye and pulling him out of his train of thought.

“Here.” It came out barely audible as Sirius moved out of the way so that Remus could pull on his shoes. “Breakfast… Coffee… Tired… “ Remus shoved his hands in his pockets and started to trudge down the stairs. Sirius watched him leave, eyes trailing from his back to his muted and messy blond hair. He’s frickin’ adorable when he’s tired… Sirius smiled slightly, then glanced to his side where James had been only a few moments before, though now there was only an empty spot on the bed. Did he already go down to breakfast? Or did he go to flirt with Evans? Sirius stood up, walking into the common room just in time to see Lily telling off James for being a bother this early in the morning.

Sirius felt himself smile when he saw James trying to look sincere while staring at Lily with doe eyes. For some reason, James seemed to think it was hot when she was angry, though Sirius didn’t really understand it. He turned, continuing towards the Great Hall for breakfast, climbing out of the porthole and meandering down the hallway towards their normal spot for breakfast. Remus had all but claimed the spot as solely theirs. Even though he was so tired and usually the last one awake, he was also the first person to breakfast every day. Well, almost every day. Sirius glanced at the portraits on the wall, letting his thoughts drift. He knew Peter probably wouldn’t be there until the last 10 minutes, considering he wouldn’t be waking up for another 30 minutes at least. Sirius felt the smile melt from his face while looking at the portraits on the wall, a kind of quiet resignation worming its way into his brain. These wizards have all done great things. Only half of them have gone to Hogwarts but all of them have made some kind of great achievement… I’ll never make it on this wall… or into someone else’s wall, I won’t be on my own wall in my room by the time I’m old enough to move away… His body stiffened for a moment. I won’t be on my own wall… Since when did he want to be on his own bloody family tree? Since when did he want to be part of his own piece-of-shit family in his whole life? He turned, walking the rest of the way to the Great Hall. Of course, you want to be on your own wall, with the rest of your family. You’re just like them. Manipulative, hurtful, abusive. You’re so full of yourself you’re constantly playing the victim because nothing is ever your fault. How many other kids in this hall do you think have parents like yours? Probably all of them. They don’t have the kind of money your family does, they don’t have your kind of house, your parents' jobs, your siblings, the noble life. You’ve got it so much better than them and yet you think you have it bad? What kind of pathetic kid are you?

Sirius’ nails bit into his palms as he shoved his hands into his pockets. He knew the voice was right, but what could he do about it now? He’d already told Remus 2 years ago. His skin crawled at his own deceptions. I made Remus worry about me. I whined to him about my problems even though he has worse problems than any of us. Especially me. His thoughts turned and tumbled through his mind until they seemed to fade out. Like turning translucent. He watched the doors to the Great Hall pass overhead while his head grew lighter and his emotions turned into a little ball of chalk in his chest, compressed and hard and out of the way. He sat down at the table, sending a smile to Remus out of habit. Remus will worry… He didn’t talk most of breakfast, though he wasn’t incoherent. He frowned slightly when breakfast was over. I thought… I just sat down to eat. My food is gone… I guess I ate… Sirius stood up, watching his plate disappear before walking to his first class of the day, his satchel slung over his shoulder. I hope I can pay attention…

Almost an hour later he was finally able to start paying attention to his class, jotting down messy notes while flipping to a page in his Potions book. Sometimes he'd get spacey like he had earlier today, which was a pain because he had trouble focusing when he did that, and then he'd have to catch up on notes… which inevitably meant extra work. A mental groan pushed into his thoughts, along with yet another round of awful thoughts. Why won’t you just shut up for a while, huh? It’s not like I’m a COMPLETE failure. I have decent grades, at least. It’s hard to focus with all the noise in my head. He quietly growled at his papers, frustrated at his own lack of attention. Maybe I’ll just live under a bridge and join a troll. Or I’ll live as a stray dog. At least then I won’t take up unnecessary space. At least- His thoughts were interrupted by Remus touching his arm. Little bits of electricity raced around where Remus touched the fabric of Sirius’ shirt as he shifted his gaze from the parchment to Remus’ perfect face.

“Are you okay?” Remus spoke quietly, mostly mouthing the words. His touch on Sirius’ arm lightened like he was about to pull away. Sirius nodded, then shot him a winning grin.

“Ooh, Remus. It’s so nice to know you worry about me, but I’m fine.” Sirius purposefully made it sound flirty, letting his eyes close a little while pushing a small smirk. Remus arched an eyebrow at Sirius in what seemed to be suspicion or maybe just irritation. Sirius watched Remus for only a moment but felt his smirk turn into a smile, turning back to his work. “Really, I’m okay. Thank you for asking, though.” As he turned back to his work, his mind felt clearer, though he felt strangely cold once Remus retracted his hand, returning to his work. As Sirius continued taking notes and working, he felt more at peace with Remus there. He knew that Remus cared, and he knew Remus would be there if he ever needed him.

The thoughts didn’t entirely go away for the day but it got easier to ignore them, or at least make them quieter. Most of the day passed tediously slow, except the few times he got spacey again, as opposed to the first class that had passed almost in the blink of an eye. Sirius couldn’t even remember concretely if he’d actually gone to those classes, though he was sure he had because he had a nonsense compilation of notes from all the classes combined into an incomprehensible document. It wasn’t until after dinner that he realized how tired he was. He’d spent all day either on the run between classes that were on opposite ends of the castle or trying to be coherent in class while spacing out. As he started walking back to Gryffindor Tower, James smacked the back of his head as he ran past Sirius. Snapped out of his stupor, Sirius glared at him while smiling.

“You DIDN’T.” Sirius felt his smile grow wider before Remus stepped up next to him and took his bag. After a brief smile of thanks to Remus, Sirius took off after James, chasing him down the hall and dodging around people.

“Get him back for me, Sirius!” Peter called out to Sirius, cupping his hands so Sirius would hear him. Remus smiled slightly, glancing over at Peter for a moment.

“They are pretty ridiculous.” Remus shifted Sirius’ bag higher on his shoulder as he spoke. Peter let Remus have the moment before hesitantly opening his mouth to speak.

“Hey, Remus?” Peter glanced up, raising his head quite a bit to see Remus’ face, which was almost an entire head taller. “How far away until the next visit to the shack?” Remus’ face lost the smile. Their group had started referring to full-moons as ‘visits to the shack’ in an effort to normalize their conversations about it without letting everyone in a general vicinity know about Remus’ condition. Remus let out a quiet sigh, seeming to sag slightly.

“It’s two weeks away. Supposed to be on Wednesday. Though I don’t know if that’s 100% accurate.” Remus glanced out the window momentarily to look out the window onto the Hogwarts grounds. He saw the Whomping Willow in the corner of the visible grounds through the window. Remus could only stand to look at it for a moment before returning his gaze to the floor inside the castle. Peter nodded beside him, then turned down the hall towards the Gryffindor Tower.

“I have some chocolate from the house-elves. If you want some? I’d be happy to share, it’s honestly too much for me.” Remus smiled as Peter spoke. He was very sweet, and could usually see when someone needed something and acted on it frequently. That in its own right was very brave. Remus knew more people than he chose to count that rarely acted when they saw someone in any kind of pain.

“That would be wonderful, Peter. Thank you.”

By the time Remus and Peter made it up to the tower, James was sitting on the common room couch talking to some younger students about the quickest routes between different classes, and Sirius was nowhere to be found in the common room. He’s likely laying in bed, he seemed very tired earlier today… though he also seemed upset. I wonder what’s bothering him? Peter pulled a bar of chocolate out of his bag, handing it to Remus, smiling.

“Let me know if you want any more, I think I’ve got two more bars.” Peter sat down on the couch a moment later.

“Thank you, Peter. I think I’ll go to bed, though. Today has been rather tiring.” Remus gave a short wave to Peter and James, returning Peter’s smile. He unwrapped part of the chocolate bar and began to eat it as he walked up the stairs to the boy’s dormitory, trying to think of what could be bothering Sirius. Maybe someone said something about his parents? Or someone may have said something unkind about Peter or me? In all honesty, it could have been anything, I shouldn’t be worrying too much. Remus’ thoughts stopped when he saw Sirius draped over his bed. He hadn’t even bothered to get under the covers, hair a mess all over his pillow, sprawled on the bed with one hand under the pillow. God, he’s gorgeous… Remus broke from his stupor, holding the chocolate bar in his mouth, then set his bags by his bed before walking over to Sirius, pulling back his covers and spreading them over the sleeping boy. Remus sat down on the edge of his own bed and watched Sirius for a moment, wondering what had exhausted him so thoroughly. It only took him a few bites to finish the chocolate bar. He pulled out a book as he took the last bite and felt a little disappointed that it had disappeared so quickly.

He shifted back on his bed until his back was propped up against the wall, opening the book he’d been reading to the bookmark. It was a muggle book he’d borrowed from his mother, and he enjoyed the story very much. It was about a simple, calm hobbit that got pulled into an adventure he wasn’t entirely ready for, Remus related to the character a little with all of the insanity James and Sirius pulled him into. The character was relatively soft-spoken, though not to be spoken over, and very protective. Remus smiled as he curled up, enjoying a quiet evening of reading The Hobbit and listening to the sound of rain.

///Thank you for reading. I don’t know how quickly I’ll be able to get these done, But i will try my best to post every other week, they may come more often, long chapters might take a little longer. :) Have a wonderful week and take care.///

#Constellations-in-your-soul #sirius black #remus lupin #remus x sirius #sirius x remus #wolfstar #marauders #harry potter #angsty #it will have fluff eventually I promise just not right now #slowburn

6 notes · View notes

whump-tr0pes · 5 years

Text

Honor Bound 2 - 27

This is a series. Start here, continued from here.

This is a sequel series for Honor Bound.

AO3

Cw: whumper POV, past torture, past death, past consensual sex

Gavin lay on his stomach in bed. Every fucking moment, agony shot through his back, gripping him with every breath. He felt sweat bead on his skin as he shivered against the pain. Even now, days after he’d been beaten, he hurt. Finn had seen to him every day. They had checked his bandages, examined the wounds for signs of infection. They had even applied a salve that made the marks feel a little cooler for a few hours.

What the fuck am I doing here? He’d asked himself the same question over and over and over, ever since he’d shown up on the team’s doorstep and Isaac had lost his shit.

He guessed he couldn’t really blame Isaac. After Isaac had nearly bashed his face in, Gavin had had nightmares for months about Isaac coming after him with hands made of steel to break him and break him until there was nothing left. The nightmares had faded, as the scars did. The pit of hunger that had opened in him as he recovered pushed away all fear of Isaac. For months, he’d hungered for Isaac’s blood, for his pain. He’d lain in bed, just imagining Isaac’s screams. How his throat sounded raw near the end. How no matter what Gavin did to him, no matter how badly he hurt him, Isaac just… wouldn’t… break. Even now, when Gavin couldn’t even think of someone else’s pain without feeling faintly ill, the thought of Isaac’s strength made him feel something else entirely.

And after Vera had slaughtered his father… He couldn’t deny that he was scared of Vera, too. The nightmares about her were so much worse than the ones he had had about Isaac. In those nightmares, a demon with razor teeth and Vera’s face chased him through his childhood home, over and over and over, shrieking for his blood at the top of her lungs. He could never run fast enough. He could never escape her teeth.

So he understood why Isaac was scared of him.

He didn’t want him to be, though.

After being caned, Gavin understood the pain a beating could cause, even days later. He’d always known it was painful, but… for some reason, he had never actually connected the two things in his mind that the pain was bad. For him, for his whole life, from his first memories of other people’s pain, pain was good. It had always made him feel good. And then when his parents found out about the strange feelings in him, instead of punishing him, they had rewarded him. They took him downstairs to watch his father hurt people. Then he’d been taken downstairs to hurt them himself. And it had never been bad. Never been wrong. The feelings inside him, the buzzing in his stomach, the shivering waves of pleasure that always moved over him when he drew someone’s blood and drew out tears and pain… they had never been wrong. His parents had showered him with love and affection whenever he followed those feelings to their end. How could he have known it was wrong?

Why would he have ever questioned it, when that was when his parents loved him most?

When Isaac had beaten him nearly to death, Gavin had been furious, but he understood. He had felt nearly overcome with a dark, inescapable desire to drag Isaac back to his home in chains, put him on his knees, put him under his knife again, hurt him and hurt him and hurt him until he broke open like he never had before… but he had understood. He liked that Isaac fought. It was why he –

Nevermind.

When Isaac fought back, when he sacrificed his body to help Sam, it made things so much better. Isaac was strong. Isaac had gone willingly. And then he’d broken under Gavin’s pain, too.

Gavin had been bored of Sam when he’d first started into them. They were a young, sniveling, crying mess and there was no drama in that. But the moment they opened their mouth and told him about Isaac, about the brave protector that would come for them… Oh. Oh. Hurting Sam had a purpose then. Hurt Sam, hurt this mysterious protector. Hurt Sam, and watch them try to be brave for their beloved Isaac. Hurt Sam, and figure out how to hurt the others more.

Sam had been fun, in the end. Sometimes Gavin just needed to break someone. It was always a puzzle, finding his way into other people’s minds. And Sam was so easy. Sam, the youngest, the weakest, the least skilled, enamored with Isaac, wanting to help the others and not being able to contribute like the others did. Sam, the baby of the family. Coddled and protected. Sam, too weak to protect the family that guarded them over all else. Christ, it had been easy. Find the weakness. Worm his way in until he found what would shatter them. Pry them open on the fulcrum of pain.

It was easy. So easy. Always had been. He’d never been nearly so good at anything else.

Isaac was easy, too. Fuck, Gavin had his number from the moment Isaac said “take me instead.” So that’s the type of idiot Isaac was.

And Isaac had more cracks than Sam. So many more. Gavin had seen them, but he always needed to explore a little, at least in the beginning. Isaac needed to protect Sam, but why? He needed to give his life for his family, but why? He thought he was nothing, but why? Those were the pieces that made up Isaac Moore. Stab him in any one wound, and watch him break.

And yet… he hadn’t. He hadn’t broken. Not until the very end. And that was just making him beg: a small victory, if any. Isaac never gave away an iota of information that was useful about his family. He never agreed to help Gavin hurt them just to spare himself pain. He never renounced his devotion to them, even when Gavin had him tied to a table and moments away from his death. He never cracked. Not even once. He had broken, but that hardly counted at all. He begged for the pain to stop. It was a moment in time when he begged for the pain to stop. That was hardly worth anything. He hadn’t given of himself, not in the slightest. Gavin had never had anyone so strong.

He had no idea what he felt about that.

What was he supposed to do with that? What was there to do with Isaac’s strength? Or Vera’s, for that matter? Yes, Vera had folded when he’d slapped her, but… that was cheating. She was already broken. His father had broken her. And, he now knew, he had helped. What fun was it to break an already broken plaything? There was no challenge in that. No fun.

He knew now that Vera was a creature beyond ferocity. Vera was a monster of blood and rage trapped in a body seared with scars. What he felt for Vera was something between fear and fascination and longing to understand her. To get close to her. Her cracks were easy. They had been manufactured into her. What was she like beneath those? Between them?

As for what he felt for Isaac? He couldn’t answer that. There was something about Isaac, something about his strength and devotion… something about how his eyes darkened when he was afraid, how his hands moved to protect before they ever moved to destroy. There was something about the shift of his body when he saw someone that needed his kindness or courage. There was something that filled him up in that moment when he found someone who needed protecting, like a golden light that shone through his eyes and his scars. Isaac fell into protection like he was born to do it. Like he was made for it. Isaac protected his family. Isaac protected Vera. He protected Sam most of all.

And they loved him for it. The devotion in their eyes, when they looked at Isaac, was so much stronger than all the fear Gavin had ever seen when people looked at him. He’d never seen something so powerful in his life.

He wanted to be a part of it.

There was a part of Gavin that was tainted, he knew. The person he was when he hurt people was someone he could never be again. That part was gone. Poisoned by his father’s blood.

Another piece of himself was growing now. A piece that longed to be filled up with something… else. He wasn’t sure what it was. He just knew that when he looked at how Isaac was with his family, he got a little closer to the answer.

It was something like…

He moved his awareness through his own memories like a hand through still water, stirring them up. There was something like what he felt now, buried deep inside him. Soft fingers on his forehead when he was sick. Warm arms holding him when he was very, very small. His best friend from childhood, the one that had held his hand as they played, before either of them knew why grownups did that. Ezekiel. He felt it when he thought of the people he’d slept with. He’d never done it much, and admitted he probably wasn’t very good at it for that reason. It never mattered before now. The feeling he got when someone shuddered and died under his knife had never, never been as good as the one that came with someone else’s ecstasy. But somewhere in the mess of hands and mouths and breath, sounds, feelings inside him and moving around him when he was close to someone like that – Somewhere in there glimmered something like what he was longing for now. Much as it frustrated him, he couldn’t put words to what it was.

He’d never not known himself so much.

He couldn’t explain it, no matter how hard he tried. If he couldn’t hurt people anymore, what would fill that gaping hole in him? His mind flitted through images of the others. Finn and Ellis, and how sweet they were to each other. Endlessly attentive. Ellis was guarded with every single other person in this world, but with Finn, they were open. They were free. Maybe that was a part of what he was looking for.

Tori and Vera, and their love. They were both so broken. I did that. And yet they were unwaveringly devoted to each other, even when they were each in the throes of the past creeping up and into their bodies without warning or relief.

Tori and Gray. Maybe if Gavin had had a parent like Gray— He cut himself off from that thought at the unexpected wave of grief that rose over them at that thought. When he watched Gray and Tori together, he sometimes couldn’t help but think, what if I had that?

He watched Sam and Isaac together. How they seemed like they were made for each other, their movements mirroring each other, their bodies constantly aware of where the other was. Constantly ready to protect the other. Sam was small, almost ridiculously so, but something told Gavin that if he raised a hand to Isaac ever again, not that he ever wanted to… Sam might be the one to take him down. And when Isaac looked at Sam… there was always such raw and ardent connection there that it made Gavin sad to think about. Sad that he didn’t have that, and sad that he had almost been the one to take that away from them. He never imagined he could ever feel anything other than joy at causing others pain.

Gavin was looking for something, longing for it. The desire felt… clean, somehow. Pure. Not like when he wanted someone else’s pain. This felt… singularly his. He couldn’t name it.

Love. Maybe that was what he was looking for. He rolled the word around in his mind, feeling out the edges of it, pressing into it to see what it felt like if he tried to imagine it in his bones.

No. That was stupid. He was going to have to keep looking.

Continued here

@untilthepainstarts, @womping-grounds, @free-2bmee, @quirkykayleetam, @walkingchemicalfire, @inpainandsuffering, @redwingedwhump, @burtlederp, @castielamigos-whump-side-blog, @insomniacscoprio, @cursedscribbles, @whumpywhumper, @stxck-fxck, @omega-em-z-02, @whumps-the-word, @slaintetowhump, @finder-of-rings, @neutralcinnamon, @thatsthewhump, @im-just-here-for-the-whump, @orchidscript

#honor bound 2 #whump #whumper POV #caning #isaac's PTSD #the thing #Gavin's crushes #gavin is my bisexual disaster child #past torture #past death #past consensual sex #recovery arc #angst #my oc: Gavin

47 notes · View notes

rwbyvein · 4 years

Text

Sunlit Knight: Kiss and Made Up: Part III/III

Dark Form: *pounces from the shadows*

Jaune: *catches Blake a few feet before she reached Yang*

Blake (hanging from Jaune's arm): Hehe?

Jaune: Nice try.

Yang: It's like having my own shield follow me around.

Ruby: *turns into rose petals and charges at Yang*

Jaune: *catches her midflight*

Jaune: *lifts Ruby up to look him in his eyes and gives her a questioning look*

Ruby: What?, it looked like fun.

*shadow appears over Jaune*

Jaune: *turns around to see Nora barreling down with her hammer*

Jaune: *barely has time to use his aura like a shield to stop her*

Nora: *giggling*

Nora: *raises her eyebrows suggestively*

Jaune: *turns around to find Ren in his space*

Ren: *heel palm pressed against Jaune's chest*

Ren: It did, indeed, look like fun.

Weiss: *unsure if she should admonish them, or join in the fun*

* * *

Jaune: *chopping wood shirtless*

Ruby and Yang: *intently watching him*

Ruby: I feel like we should be doing something.

Yang: Uh-huh. Uh-huh. Or we just enjoy ourselves, and make sure he enjoys himself later.

Ruby (still staring): But?..

Yang: Alright, Rubes, take your eyes away and I'll believe you.

Ruby: But he's gorgeous - and shirtless - and - and...

Yang: Oh, I know. Trust me, Rubes, I know.

* * *

Jaune: *still shirtless, blowing into the camp fire to get it going*

Ruby and Yang: *still staring*

Yang: So, Rubes, still want to help him?

Ruby: Yeah...

Yang: Still can't look away, can you?

Ruby: . . .

Yang: That's what I thought.

Weiss: Do you two intend to lounge around all day?

Yang: We're... just...

Weiss: Staring. Quite intently. And before that, Jaune carried you for half the day.

Ruby: I thought he wasn't allowed to carry both of us.

Weiss (self-confidently nods her head): He carried each of you for half a day. And now you spend the whole evening...

Yang: Uh-huh? Hard to look away, isn't it?

Jaune: *still shirtless, starts throwing meat onto the grill he set up*

Blake: Are we just going to let Jaune do all of the cooking for us?

Yang: It seems like it, yeah. I mean, he's a fantastic cook.

Yang: *looks at Blake*

Yang: I mean, not saying you're not...

Weiss: He does seem to enjoy taking care of us.

Yang: And we take care of him.

Weiss: . . .

Yang: At night...

Weiss: *weak huff*

Ruby: You have coffee.

Yang: Because you make FANTASTIC coffee. And cakes.

Weiss: Pastries.

Yang: Still fantastic.

Ruby: And Ren usually does breakfast.

Yang: I mean, what's left for us to do?

Weiss: Other than the tent.

Yang: Clear night.

Yang: *points at their joined sleeping bag*

Blake: I know, a bath?

Weiss: And just what are we going to use for a bathtub?

Blake: . . .

Weiss: Even if it does sound wonderful.

Yang: *walks toward Jaune and offers him a wet towel*

Jaune: *starts cleaning himself off*

Ruby: Nope.

Weiss: Nope?

Ruby: He's OURS.

Weiss: I hardly intented to...

Blake: He is fun to watch, though.

Weiss: I believe that's something we can all agree with.

* * *

Jaune: *lays slumped against a log*

Ruby and Yang: *snuggle into him*

Yang: You're too good for us.

Jaune: *scoff*

Ruby: You have to know how much we love you.

Jaune: Okay, yeah, but too good? Even for one of you, I find that hard to believe.

Yang: Did you see yourself today?

Jaune: *stares her into her eyes*

Jaune: Uh, no? Kind of hard to see myself.

Yang: That's not what I mean.

Ruby: I don't know, I think he has a point. He doesn't see just how amazing he is.

Yang: You know what?, I think you're right. So, what do we have to do to prove to you how amazing you are?

Ruby: Nothing.

Yang: Oh, I love your schemey face.

* * *

Ruby and Yang: *snuggle back up to Jaune*

Ren: We were asked to explain to you how feel about you.

Nora: Like, totally awesome.

Jaune: You definitely believe that, but I don't know why.

Nora: . . .

Ren: Perhaps our history is in order. We have never told you the whole story, so to speak.

Ren: *breathes deep*

Ren: As you have likely surmised, I grew up in Kuroyuri. Until...

Ren: *breathes deep*

Ren: It was a happy childhood. My father was a hunter... not a huntsman, but a mundane hunter. He was often away from home, as hunters often were, and so wanted to teach me responsibility from my earliest days.

Jaune: And Nora?

Nora: I was an orphan. Not the happy kind, either...

Ren: I first came across her, as she was... being beaten. I am ashamed to say I did not initially do anything...

Nora: But... you?..

Ren: It was only when my father reminded me of responsiblity that I acted.

Nora: Oh, come on, you were just a kid.

Ren: *breathes deep*

Ren: I know... but it is still my greatest shame.

Jaune: Not?.. I mean...

Ren: *breathes deep*

Ren: During the fall of Kuroyuri, I found strength I never had before. My father could barely delay the Nuckelavee, nevermind fight it. The only thing I could do was save Nora... and myself... That's where my semblance first manifested. If we panicked, we would be dead. We had to remain calm, escape, and evade. It took the upmost strength for us to flee.

Nora: There's no way I could have made it without him. He... he was the one who calmed me down... and has been doing every since... until...

Ren: Until the Emerald Forest. It was in the first time in our lives when we were not alone. We met RWBY, Pyrrha... and you... In our lives, we had only fought to flee, or aid others in doing so. We never fought for ourselves, we never... stood... and fought...

Nora: Until you. Like, you had to stand and fight.

Ren: And you did.

Nora: And we did.

Ren: For the first time in our lives, we fought for something.

Jaune: What?

Ren: *quietly looks down for a moment*

Ren: We honestly don't know.

Nora: But you do.

Ren: Ever since, you've given us something to fight for. We're always confident that you made the right choice, and our fight was righteous.

Nora: And all we had to do was fight. Which is the part I'm good at...

Ren: It is wholly freeeing and invigorating.

Jaune: . . .

Jaune: I... mean that much... to you?..

Nora: I mean, come on, you ask us to join you on an epic quest and we didn't even had to think about it.

Jaune: You... did pause... for a moment..

Nora: I was trying not to sound too eager...

Ren: I was trying to contain my elation.

* * *

Weiss and Blake: *kneel in front of Jaune, still with the sisters snuggling up to him*

Weiss: We have been asked to share our feelings on you.

Jaune: *looks at Weiss fearfully*

Weiss: *scoff*

Weiss: I thought we have long since gotten over that unpleasantness. You were young and naive, and simply tried to court me... even if you had no idea how to go about this. I will admit... it was annoying... But, as I said, we have long since gotten passed that.

Jaune: Since when?

Weiss: Since, perhaps you saved my life?.. I still cannot believe my first words to my saviour were so... uncouth...

Blake: As for me... you... kept the hearth burning...

Jaune, Ruby, Yang, Weiss: *look at her curiously*

Blake: It's a metaphor. You kept RWBY together. Who knows what would have happened if you hadn't gone with Ruby? We probably would have never gotten back together. Your biggest problem is that you care too much, for everything and everyone you come across. It's your greatest strength and your greatest weakness... but it's a strength none of us, other than Ruby... have...

Yang: See, told you, Ladykiller.

Weiss: *huff*

Weiss: I assure you he has not... killed... my lady... But that does not mean we do not respect you, or consider you a true friend.

Blake: We wouldn't be here without you.

Ruby: *kisses Jaune on his cheek*

Yang: *more passionately kisses Jaune on his cheek*

Ruby: *even more passionately kisses Jaune on his cheek*

Weiss: And you seem to have them frothing at the mouth.

Blake: Among other places...

Jaune: *squeeze the girls*

Ruby and Yang: *stop in their tracks*

Jaune: We'll have to save that for later.

Weiss: We can excuse ourselves to give you a bit of privacy.

Weiss: *stands up*

Blake: Just believe in yourself, and if that doesn't work, remember that we believe in you.

Blake: *stands up*

Weiss and Blake: *turn to walk away*

Jaune: *forces Ruby and Yang to kiss*

31 notes · View notes

gaamagirl565 · 4 years

Text

Matters of the heart S2 Ep13

Matters of the heart Season 2 Episode 13 Lost Dreams

{OPENING CREDITS}

{Open to Isaiah opening his small pouch and counting out the coins; Benny walks by with a cloth bag} Isaiah: Find anything good? Benny: not really... a couple of moldy pieces of bread, an old turkey wing that looks like it was already eaten, and some old fruit. ‘Saiah, if we eat in any of this we’re gonna get real sick. {Isaiah doesn’t listen and keeps counting with a conflicted face} Benny: ‘Saiah?...Isaiah? {He still doesn’t listen and she leaps on him} Benny: ‘SAIAH! Isaiah: AH! WHAT!? Benny: what’cha doing? Isaiah: I'm counting out how much funds I have... it's not enough… Benny: Not enough for what? Isaiah: enough for a map and food... I can't get both. Benny: then it looks like you're in a pickle. Food is necessary and it's a long trip back to Corona on foot. Isaiah: and I can't leave without a map. I've no idea how to get back to Corona from the dark kingdom.

Benny: Well don't look at me I've never left the dark Kingdom. I was practically born here. Isaiah: Benny you were born here. I can't really afford to make this choice. a map or food. both are necessary. Benny: there's always another option. Isaiah: and what would that be? if I get a map I'll barely have enough money for food, and if I get food I won't have enough money for a map. but please tell me your grand scheme. Benny: don't buy food. Isaiah:... and here I was thinking you were some sort of survival genius Benny: watch it stinky! you didn't let me finish! don't buy the food... hunt for it! Isaiah: Hunt for food? I've never really killed anything before. Benny: well boo hoo! where do you think the leg of mutton that you eat for supper comes from? it's either that or starve on your trip your choice! {Isaiah looks back at his coins and sighs; Cut to Varian looking over the map of Corona with Eugene and Lance} Eugene: From what we've been able to gather from him The cult has multiple hideouts. they never stay in one place very long. Varian has told us this before but now we have it confirmed by an actual member. or rather a former member. Varian: I was able to find out some of the previous hideouts from him and under your order I've already sent some Scouts to the areas. perhaps we'll be able to find some members still lurking there. Lance: if that's true that means that this group is bigger than we ever thought. Varian: it's because they target those low in spirit. basically people who have been screwed over in life, people easy to manipulate. Eugene: like trying to train an animal to be violent. you can do the beating yourself or let Society do it for you. {a knock sounds through the room; Rapunzel walks in} Eugene: Sunshine! Rapunzel: I think I have an idea. Eugene: well do tell cause this is just getting depressing honestly. Rapunzel: from what Noremoth has told us the cult targets the weak, gives them false promises of Glory, and a better Society. we also know that Noremoth was one of the first to join. Varian: and? Rapunzel: he told you about his past. he was a child on the street. an orphan misanthrope. he may have been given a high rank within the cult but I think he's just another Pawn. and given the fact that he was one of my subjects I feel just as responsible for what happened. Lance: how do we know he's not lying? Rapunzel: the kingdom keeps a book of all subjects, homeless, and those passing through. I decided to take a look back at the pages during my father's reign. he's telling the truth. his name is written in the book. it looks like he came to Corona a little bit before I was found. Varian: I knew King Fredric was a control freak but… Rapunzel: the point is he was a member of Coronin Society. he was ignored and had to fight every day of his life. he never really got to see the true beauty of Corona or life as a whole. Eugene: so what are you suggesting? Rapunzel: we show him some Corona spirit. we show him what it means to be a true Society! to work together! Eugene: we integrate him into our kingdom? Rapunzel: exactly! we show him life doesn't have to be dark and depressing and a constant fight for survival. we teach him to trust again. Varian: I don't know if that'll work. Rapunzel: we have to try. The most beaten of dogs can become the most loyal of hounds if given the chance and a little bit of kindness. {Varian sighs} Varian: sorry but I have request. Rapunzel: Oh um...okay? Varian: it takes place in Old Corona. that way I can keep an eye on him. I’ll alert you if I see any funny business. Lance: sounds fair to me. this whole thing has been really hard on Akina. My girl lost a good friend and Varian lost a son. as long as we can get answers from this guy I don't care what has to be done. Eugene: then I guess it's agreed. I'll have Noremoth released within the hour. {Both rapunzel and Eugene walk out of the room; Lance looks at Varian who groans}

Varian: My wife is going to kill me. {cut to Isaiah being rung up by a cashier} Cashier: one map to Corona. that'll be twenty gold pieces. {isaiah hands it over} Cashier: thank you...you seem a little young to be venturing out. Isaiah: you seem a little old to still be working cashier. Cashier:... touche...now get! {Isaiah walks out of the store and Benny runs over} Benny: Did ya get it? Isaiah: Yeah and it cost me twenty gold pieces. Benny: ouch...how much ya got left? Isaiah: Well that was all my gold pieces. I have 10 silver and 4 copper. Benny: that'll maybe get one loaf of bread and some jerky… Isaiah: I had a sailor tell me the four days walk to Corona but I reason to believe that it's more than that. mostly because he was sleeping on some crates and was probably not in his right mind. Benny: oh yeah it's totally more than 4 days. also he was using a boat so his sense of time is probably a little..meh… Isaiah: Great!...just great...so I got the map but now I do need to hunt for food. how am I supposed to do that without any wea- OOF! {Isaiah falls back after bumping into someone} Isaiah: HEY! WATCH WHERE YOUR-..... {He looks up at Hector} Isaiah: ...Okay...N-Nevermind. Hector: don't I know you from somewhere? Isaiah:... I hope not… Hector:.... you're that kid that was passed out in the cave a few days ago. I told Juniper you were a kid from town. {Hector pulls him up making Isaiah yelp} Isaiah:...gah...A-actually... I'm not from this town I'm not even from this Kingdom I'm trying to get back to Corona. Hector: Corona? you're a long way from home. Isaiah: yeah I just practically spend all my money on a map to go back there. now I need to find a way to get provisions. Hector: you don't need to pay for Provisions around here. the forest has all you could possibly need. Isaiah: do you know how to hunt? Hector: did you really just ask a man with the fur cloak on his back if he knows how to hunt? Isaiah:... that is a very fair point and that one is on me. maybe I should be a little more clear do you know how to hunt when you don't have a weapon. Hector: Good lord kid, how are you not dead? I'll say it again the forest has all you need. break off a stick from a tree and then sharpen it with a rock that should make a pretty good spear. And as for traps.. your little friend hiding By The Fruit stand over there should know all about those. Isaiah: hiding by the-!? {Isaiah turns around to see Benny hiding behind a cart of apples} Isaiah: BENNY! {Benny ducks} Isaiah: I can still see you! Hector: she's always sabotaging traps in the forest trying to steal food. she should be more than aware of how to build and work one. Isaiah: this is some really useful information I don't know how to thank you. Hector: when you get back to Corona... if you could say hello to some people on my behalf it would be most appreciated. {Isaiah turns to leave} Isaiah: yeah I'd be more than happy to just tell me who they are. Hector: my sister Adira and my nephew Varian. Isaiah: Adira and dad!? {Isaiah turns around but hector is already gone; Benny runs up to him} Benny: well did you get an answer to your problem? Isaiah: yeah... but I also think I gained more questions… {Cut to Noremoth sitting next to Varian on the wagon; Cat and Keira sit in the back} Keira: Thanks for giving us a ride, V. Varian: really it's no issue. {Noremoth looks back at Catalina} Noremoth:...Cat? Catalina: I have nothing to say to you. Noremoth: please cat I just want- Keira: she said she has nothing to say to you. back off! {Varian motions Noremoth to turn back around} Noremoth: women will always continue to be a mystery to me. Varian: Noremoth... she's right there. {Catalina stares Angrily at him} Noremoth: nevermind. {She rolls her eyes; as they pull up to Old Corona a Villager runs up} Villager: Varian! Sir! Thank goodness! {Varian is immediately at attention and hopes down} Varian: What's going on? is everyone okay? Villager: it's Nathaniel! we're all worried about him. he went into the South Orchard some time ago and hasn't come out. we sent someone to go check on him and they came right back saying he was just striking a tree with a dagger. Varian: ugh...alright I'll go talk to him. Keira can you put the horse back? Keira: yeah no problem. {Varian walks off; Noremoth grins at Catalina and hmphs and turns away; cut to Nathaniel driving a dagger into an apple tree that is already covered with many holes} Varian: I think you about got that tree, Nathaniel… Nathaniel: AH! Mr.V-Varian!...I was just..I...um..it’s not what it looks like. Varian: well it looks like you're stabbing a tree I don't know how else I'm supposed to take that. {Varian holds out his hand and motions for him to hand over the dagger; Nathaniel hands it over} Varian: now tell me what this is about. recently you haven't been the one to be causing trouble. Nathaniel: I just...umm… {Varian sighs and pinches the bridge of his nose} Varian: Nathaniel you have to tell me what's going o.n this isn't like you. hasn't been like you for a long time. {Nathaniel’s shoulders heave and Varian jumps slightly but his face softens} Nathaniel: I-I’m sorry… Varian: you don't have to apologize Nathaniel I just want to know what's going on. you stabbed a tree it's not like you stabbed person. Nathaniel: me and Isaiah came up with this... it's a way to relieve anger...started off with a flour sack in a pumpkin head. B-but Isaiah started to do it to trees. {Varian bites his lip at the mention of Isaiah} Varian:...Okay... so you developed a healthy way to get rid of your anger. so tell me... what are you angry about? Nathaniel: I..I’m.. Varian:...C’mon buddy... I'm not mad at you I want to make that clear. Just tell me what you're mad about. Nathaniel: I’M MAD AT EVERYTHING! {Varian jumps at his shout} Nathaniel: I'm mad at everything! I was an idiot! I made fun of Isaiah and then he went blind and I got these burns on my arms! my dad betrayed The Village and killed Quirin as a result! A-and with Dad gone I have to put bread on the table by going out to the field every morning! Varian:....Buddy...thats- Nathaniel: and now my best friend is dead! he was murdered! And there's nothing I can do about it! I feel so useless and stupid, and...and tired. I just want everything to go back to the way it was. I want my dad back... I want Isaiah back. I want everything to go back! {Varian walks over, bends down and pulls Nathaniel into a hug; Nathaniel looks shocked at first but eventually hugs back and sobs out loud into his shoulder} Varian:....it...it’s okay...it’s gonna be okay… {Nathaniel continues to cry and unbeknownst to Varian he is crying to; Fade out to Isaiah walking into the forest with Benny} Isaiah: Okay... look for a stick and sharpen it with a rock... seems simple enough. and you little missy since you like to steal from people's traps you get to make some. {He hands over the bag of supplies} Benny: Or ya know we could just steal what’s out here. {Isaiah glares at her} Benny: Fiiinnnee! No Stealing I get it…. {She walks off to set up the traps and Isaiah jumps up and pulls a branch off a tree; He grabs a rock and strikes it a few times} Isaiah: Okay this is going to be a lot harder than I thought… {He hears barking and growling; Benny screams} Isaiah: BENNY! {He grabs his stick and runs in her direction} Isaiah: BENNY! WHERE ARE YOU!? Benny: Over here! {He runs towards her hiding behind a tree} Isaiah: Benny! Are you hurt? Benny: No...but look! { Isaiah turns and sees a thin canine of some sort with its leg caught in a trap} Isaiah: that was fast... did you-? Benny: no! That trap was already set up by a hunter! a professional Hunter! {The wolf lunges but yelps with its leg still caught} Isaiah: H-hang on...hold this… {Isaiah slowly walks over towards it} Benny: What are you doing!? {Isaiah shrugs and slowly inches closer; the wolf growls} Isaiah: Steady... Steady girl... it's okay.. {The wolf bites at him and he dodges} Isaiah:...Verbena... give me your apron. Benny: What!? Isaiah: just give me your apron! I have to trigger the release mechanism on the trap! Benny:... we're all going to die… {She unties it and hands it over; Isaiah takes it and moves to the side} Isaiah: Easy…. {he cautiously places the apron on the wolfs head and pets her side} Isaiah: good girl… {Isaiah reaches down and springs the trap; once the wolf feels that the Trap has been released it immediately moves its foot. the wolf shakes the apron off of its face and stares at Isaiah} Benny: ‘Saiah! Isaiah: Steady...easy girl… { the wolf inches closer and sniffs Isaiah’s face; Isaiah clenches his fists and try to remain absolutely still; after a few moments the wolf begins licking his face} Isaiah: Ah! Haha! Good girl! What a good girl! Benny: Huh!? Isaiah: see you're not a big bad wolf you're just a little puppy dog. Benny: we have very different ideas on what is a little puppy dog. {The wolf flops over for belly rubs} Isaiah: I've read about this breed of wolf it's native to the dark kingdom. a very lean and thin body perfect for running through the trees. a Sleek coat... perfect for blending in. looks like a dog but is actually a wolf. Benny: You're crazy… Isaiah: we could use a nice Guard Dog in Old Corona. Benny: you know what we can also use? some food! stop playing with your puppy and lets actually get some hunting done. Isaiah: all right all right! Benny's quite the Grumpy One! but you'll learn to like her. you need a name. hmm... I know! Gaia! Like the forest! {The wolf groans as he scratches her chin} Isaiah: Oh good girl… {Cut to old Corona; Zapada stares at Noremoth} Noremoth:...Can... can I help you? Varian your wife is staring at me. Varian: she tends to do that at people she doesn't like careful she also bites. Zapada:...grr… Noremoth: what the... anyway... thank you for taking me in. I know you didn't have to. Varian: you're right I didn't have to especially after everything you've done. let's make one thing clear I still don't like you and I don't have to like you. the only reason that you're here in my house is so I can keep an eye on you. the queen believes that you have the chance of being rehabilitated. and considering what happened with me...I want to believe her. Noremoth: what? Varian:.... I want to believe there's good in everyone. you've had it rough I'm not going to lie. you've been used and abused in many different ways. I just need one thing to be made clear. you may not like what I have to say. Noremoth: honestly what could possibly be worse and what I've already went through? Varian: I want to know...are you clear on the fact that the cult has betrayed you? I need to know this because we're giving you a straight shot here. I need to know if you'll take it. Noremoth:.. yes... I do know that. Varian: Good the-!? {Screaming is heard outside} Varian: never a dull moment! {Noremoth watches Varian grab his alchemy belt and sword and run out the door; He looks at Zapadawith concern and follows him; once he’s outside he sees Varian toss a goo bomb at a bandit} Varian: oh petty thieves back for round 2. Bandit 1: do you ever take a vacation? Varian: no not really... {Varian dodges an attack and clashes swords with one of the bandits; Noremoth watches from the road; Varian swipes the feet out from one bandit but is cut on the cheek but another} Varian: Augh! Zapada: Varian! {Varian is hit with the hilt of a sword and hits the ground harshly; Noremoth looks around for a weapon; one of the bandits prepares to bring his sword down on Varian; Varian looks up in shocked horror} Bandit 2: RAGH! {Just as he brings it down Noremoth jumps in with a wooden leg from a table and blocks it; Varian’s eyes widen; Noremoth pushes against the man, his body trembling; eventually he overpowers him and shoves him before smacking the man in the head with the wooden table leg} Bandit 2: AUGH! MY EYE! {one of the other bandits runs over and grabs him} Bandit 1: Fall back! Run! {They jump on their horses and ride away; the crowd of villagers cheer; Noremoth drops the wooden table leg and helps Varian up by the arm} Noremoth: You alright? they did quite a number on you there, you might need some stitches in that cheek..seriously those guys weren't even Petty thieves they were just bullies. Bleh… {Varian rubs his cheek and Zapada runs over and hugs him} Zapada: Iubirea mea! Thank the heavens...O, Doamne! Your face! Varian: I’m okay Zapada...just tired. Zapada: I go fetch the first aid kit! {She runs off} Varian: ...You... you saved my life. Noremoth: I couldn't just stand there and let them decapitate you. despite popular belief Varian I'm not heartless. Varian:...I...I um...thanks...thank you Noremoth. Noremoth: yeah. Don’t mention it. {Cut to Isaiah walking into town with Benny holding a rabbit by the feet and himself holding a bag of three fish; Gaia walks behind them} Benny: I can't believe you're actually keeping that thing. Isaiah: if the dog follows how can you turn it away? Benny: by saying no, go away, or shoo! Also, that’s not a dog. Isaiah: ... well we have a rabbit three fish and two loaves of bread. plus at least we know how to hunt now. we should be able to get back to Corona. Benny: I'm sorry… “we”? Isaiah: yeah! umm... I was going to ask you... I don't really feel comfortable leaving you behind it in the town where you’re scraping by for food every day. {something catches benny’s eye and she walks away from him} Isaiah: you know Coronas a nice place. big Kingdom, lots of people… I'm sure somebody there would be willing to-...Benny? {he looks over and sees her staring in a shop window; curiously he walks over and looks; in the window on a display is a silver pendant necklace with a blue gem in the middle} Isaiah: …. you like that? Benny:.. yeah.. I kept my eye on it every day. it was my mama's. Isaiah: what? Benny: after the fire people started looting around my house. pulling whatever they could from the wreckage. that was my mama's necklace. My papa gave it to her when I was little. Isaiah: and you just come here every day to stare at it? Benny: until the store owner chases me off with his broom… Isaiah:... you got to be kidding me. Benny: huh? {Isaiah walks into the store} Benny: ‘Saiah! Isaiah: excuse me? Shop keeper: how many help you? Isaiah: I was wondering about that pendant in the display window. Shop keeper: that piece of junk? I only put it out there because it looks nice and catches the eye, in reality, it's pretty worthless. Isaiah: Is that so? Shop keeper: quite. the pendant itself may be made out of silver but the gemstone is so comedy. a typical blue sapphire. Not as rare as beautiful as the other gemstones in my shop. if you want to go give you a nice deal on a pretty emerald necklace for a lady friend. Isaiah: what do you want for the pendant? I have 10 silver pieces and 4 copper pieces. I'll give you all I have for it. Shop keeper: hmm...10 silver and 4 copper. Isaiah: you could always smelt down the 10 silver pieces and make a new necklace. I'm sure you have plenty of gems in here to make a far more illustrious necklace. you said yourself it's pretty worthless. Shop keeper: I did. That I did...fine. Deal. {Isaiah throws his money pouch on the counter; The shop keeper goes over and takes the pendent and hands it to him} Isaiah: Pleasure doing business with you. {He walks out of the shop and over to benny} Isaiah: here turn around. {She does so and he places the necklace on her} Benny: ... Mama's.. necklace…Thank you! {She tackles him in a hug: he hugs back} Benny: Thank you so much ‘Saiah! Isaiah: trust me.. I get it. and I was wanting to ask you something. Benny: huh? Isaiah: I don't feel right about leaving you behind. I know the dark kingdom is your home and it's where you were born but you have to think about this. you're only seven and you're living on the streets eating scraps from garbage cans. you talk like you're a grown adult because you’ve been surviving like one. I want the chance to show you how to be a kid. Verbena... will you come back to Corona with me? Benny: what? Isaiah: there's plenty of warm homes and a lot of kind villagers! especially my Village! we're always welcoming of newcomers! I'm sure you'd be able to find a great home there and you wouldn't have to eat loves of moldy bread ever again! I swear it! will you come home with me? {She nods} Benny: mmhmm! Yeah! of course, I'll go! {Gaia runsover and licks them both; Isaiah laughs} Benny: EWWW! Dog germs! {END CREDITS}

#tangled #tangled the series #TTS #RTA #rapunzel’s tangled adventur #matters of the heart #MotH #Noremoth #Rapunzel #Eugene Fitzherbert #lance strongbow #Varian #tts oc #rta oc #fanfic

6 notes · View notes