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Reframing the “Steve nearly fainting because of the bat bites” scene so he stumbles into Eddie instead:
“Jesus, Harrington, you good?” Eddie says in alarm.
The gasping breaths coming from Steve don’t sound healthy in the slightest.
“Oh, sh—I’m fine, fine,” Steve gets out through the ringing in his ears. He tries to straighten up, but it just makes him sway again.
“Okay, okay, easy,” Eddie says quickly. “Just—sit down before you… woah, all right, there you—”
Distantly, Eddie can hear Nancy and Robin tearing up cloth for bandages, but his eyes remain fixed on Steve—and maybe if it was any other kind of situation, his brain would be fixed on Steve Harrington is shirtless in front of me, but right now Steve is lifting up his hand from his side with an awful wet sound, and—
“Oh, Christ,” Eddie hisses, feels himself pale.
Steve somehow manages an exhausted smirk. “Hey, if you’re gonna throw up, don’t do it all over the hole in my stomach, dude.”
Robin laughs, high-pitched. “Yeah, vomit wouldn’t cure the potential rabies.”
Steve rolls his eyes. “Yeah, aim for Robin’s hair.”
Eddie can’t find it in him to joke back, just watches the sluggish flow of blood from the wounds, the fucking bite marks, where the flesh was—
Okay, maybe he needs to sit down.
Nancy eventually takes pity on him, darting in front to wrap make-shift bandages with a tight precision that both impresses and frightens Eddie in equal measure.
And yeah, he is squeamish about blood, sue him, but he forces himself to watch, sees the way Steve bites back groans, how he stands afterwards like it was nothing.
And maybe this is the moment where it all finally clicks—Eddie seeing a montage of Dustin singing Steve’s praises in his mind’s eye, thinking oh, I get it now.
But it’s a grim kind of realisation. This is more than understanding that a kid’s hero worship was justified.
When they bike to the trailer, Eddie watches as Steve’s arm occasionally curls around his middle. Sees the bandages dampen with sweat, making the dried blood almost look like it’s flowing again.
This is how far he’ll go, Eddie realises. Take a hit then I’m fine. Rinse, repeat. And it’s too close, too fucking close for comfort. It can’t happen again.
Well. If there’s a next time, Eddie swears to himself, then he’ll just need to be faster than Steve Harrington.
#next chapter of nothing but the dead and dying out hopefully tomorrow instead but have this random thing rn! thanks for waiting ❤️#steddie ficlet#steddie#steddie fic#steve harrington#eddie munson#steve x eddie
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Gifts
Read on AO3
Prompt
Summary: Wild tells of the gifts the past Champions have given him. All that's left is for the others to witness these gifts.
Warnings: Descriptions of injury, temporary character death.
Notes: Finally got a prompt done. Y'all proud of me? If you are, then know I wrote this instead of Chapter 2 of Succumb because I'm an awful creature who has a solid idea for the entire fic except Chapter 2 and I'm avoiding it. Stop being proud of me now.
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“How about you, Champ?”
Wild blinks from the daze he's fallen into and looks up to see eight pairs of eyes all looking right at him. The moon hangs lazily above them, nothing more than a C-shape tied to the stars to watch them all talk themselves to sleep. Wild’s zoned out of this one, for reasons he can’t really explain why. It’s not that what they’re talking about tonight is particularly dull or offensive. It’s just… well… they’re talking about magic and discussing the common theme that seems most sources of magic that they know has been given to them.
Time and Great Fairies. Hyrule and wise men in caves. Wild’s sure the others all have similar stories, he’s just decided to not listen to them tonight.
“About me?” He asks hopefully. Maybe they have changed topics while he was trying to decide what the woodchip by his boot resembles.
Four leans forward on his knees, wiggling his eyebrows. “Any magical gifts that you’ve been holding out on us?”
Wild tries not to let his disappointment show on his face. “Ah.” He curls his fingers around the hem of his tunic before they could nervously knit with each other on his lap. “Nothing that’s important.”
Besides him, Twilight scoffs. “Nothing that’s important? Cub, either you really are holding out on us or you’re being humble.”
“Wild? Humble?” Warriors snorts. “Perish the thought.”
Wild sighs. “Really, I don’t have any cool stories to tell tonight. I’d much rather listen to you all.”
“Listen, huh?” Four challenges, grinning like an imp. “Who taught Hyrule how to shoot fire from his sword?”
Wild rolls his eyes. “Some old guy in a cave.”
“Actually,” Hyrule says with a soft, apologetic smile, “it was an old man in a basement.”
“What is up with you and old men?”
“Anyway,” Twilight says, giving Wild a hard look, “you’re obviously not listening. Is something wrong? You’re usually more talkative.”
Does Twilight have to be a doting old mother in front of everyone? Wild can feel himself bristling. “Maybe I just don’t feel like talking tonight. Vet isn’t talking and you’re not pestering him.”
“That’s because Vet never talks about himself,” Warriors says, foiling Wild’s entire argument. Legend has a smug look on his face. “Not unless he’s trying to heighten his own ego.” Legend’s smug look falls into a glare.
“Fine,” Legend says. “I’ll tell one. Then Champ can tell one, so that you all will get off both of our backs.”
“It has to be serious, Leg,” Wind butts in, completely oblivious to Wild’s dying hope of getting out of this conversation. “No ‘I got my magic from being super cooler than everyone else’ bull.”
“I wasn’t going to,” Legend snaps. “Besides, I don’t have magic. I have magical items. Which is just as useful.”
“Then what’s that one?” Sky points at the small clay ocarina in Legend’s hands. “You’ve been holding it all night.”
Legend stills and his face softens, and immediately the whole group can tell that whatever that ocarina is, Legend has feelings attached to it. He takes a deep breath. “It’s not very magic,” he says, his fingers rubbing over the holes reverently. “It used to be able to summon a gust of wind to take me wherever I needed to go. It could also awaken the dead under specific circumstances… now it’s nothing but clay. It doesn’t work anymore.”
“Where’d you get it?” Wind asked, and not unkindly. He, like the rest of the group, knows that Legend wouldn’t be holding an item so tenderly if it only didn’t work anymore.
Legend stays silent for a moment, allowing the crickets in the forests to sing uninterrupted. Then, his shoulders fall. “The most beautiful woman I ever met gave it to me. She had the most lovely voice. This… after… after I lost her, I woke up stranded at sea. It was around my neck on a string… it’s all the proof I have that she ever existed.”
Silence hangs over the group like a heavy blanket. Wild can’t help but feel a lob of guilt get stuck in his chest. All he can do is sit and watch Sky lean over and place a hand on Legend’s knee.
“Love is one of the most powerful magics an item can hold, even if it’s just a good memory.”
Legend brings a sleeve to his eye, holding the ocarina tightly with his other hand. “Oh shut it, you sap,” he says through a smile. Sky smiles back, and Wild curls his arms across his chest.
Besides him, Twilight looks at him. Not expectantly, though, but with understanding. Perhaps he knows now why sometimes someone would wish to stay silent during these kinds of nights. Not everyone got magical gifts from old men in caves. Or basements.
But the guilt sits, and no one is saying it’s Wild’s turn to spill some beans. Not even Legend. But how could he stay silent after Legend told something so personal and sad? It’s not fair, even if he’s the only one who thinks so.
He bites the arrow and takes a breath.
“I don’t have magic. I have… blessings. From friends I had before the Calamity.”
For the second time that night, eight pairs of eyes fall onto him.
“I don’t use them much anymore,” Wild continues; somehow his hands have made it to his lap anyways, knitting his fingers together like string on needles, “they gave me everything they had so I could defeat Calamity Ganon. Now that he’s gone, I don’t want to abuse their gifts any longer.”
“I don’t mean to pry…” Four says, “but maybe they gave you everything they had to help you. Maybe they didn’t consider it abuse.”
And somehow, Wild doesn’t feel like Four is prying at all. In fact, it startles a chuckle out of him. “Maybe. But not Revali, that’s for sure. He and I got along worse than Vet and Cap.”
“Not an easy feat,” Warriors says to the others while nudging Legend with his elbow. Legend rolls his eyes. “I’m impressed.”
“What blessing did he give you?” Wild asks. There’s stars in his eyes that always get there when he gets too interested in a story. Though, Wild supposes any story involving a rival-ship greater than their very own Legend and Warriors is something to be interested in.
“It was the power to call upon the gusts of wind he used to command with his powerful wings. He was a Rito, the best there ever was. He could fly into the air without having to jump off of ledges. The wind would carry him up itself, like it belonged to him.”
-o-o-o-o-
Agony is a poison pulsing through Hyrule’s leg. The fall had been great, and it’s a miracle Wild had been there to dive down and at least try to lesson the fall with his paraglider. The ground was weak in these desert-y canyons, and maybe Hyrule shouldn’t have gotten so close to the ledge to warrant his boot’s slipping, but at least Wild was there.
Hyrule’s ankle is broken, or at least badly sprained. Either way, it’s painful enough that he can’t even stand up as Wild paces the bottom of the crevasse they have found themselves in like a pair of cornered animals. The others… they’re close to an hour’s worth of time away. He and Wild were exploring and gathering whatever they could find that might be used as firewood as the sun began to set. It’s been a terribly awful day of traveling in the desert heat, and he and Wild were excited to experience the sunset’s breeze while the others set up camp.
They got too excited. Too far away. There’s no way anyone will hear them if they call. No one will come looking until the sky is black.
And who knows, maybe they won't consider that maybe they fell. Maybe, if they come looking, they won't look down the right scar in the land, and they will burn to death in tomorrow's sun.
“What do we do?” Hyrule asks through an embarrassingly choked voice. He’s been fighting tears since the moment his ankle bent wrongly in their crash landing. He knows Wild will not judge him for sobs, but it doesn’t make it any easier for him to allow any to escape.
Wild sighs and glares up at the lip of the cliff they’ve fallen from. “Any trinkets?” he asks back.
Hyrule bites his lip. He wishes he were like the others and had a trinket for every situation. Legend had promised to give him an old grappling hook he had hoarded away the next time they end up at his and Ravio’s place. “No.”
“Okay,” Wild says. Not angrily. “Okay.”
Determined?
“Champ?”
Wild takes a deep breath and looks down at Hyrule with… fire in his eyes. “I won’t be long. Will you be okay while I fetch the others?”
Hyrule licks his lips and looks down at his leg, already braced with brush twigs and the wrappings that usually decorate Wild’s arms. A cold breeze blows suddenly, making Hyrule shiver and remember the desert only takes what it’s given when it comes to heat. When the sun’s up, it thrives, and when it’s gone…
“Don’t take long,” he replies, even though he doesn’t really know what Wild’s about to do.
Wild nods, shrugging off the cloak he usually always wears and gives it to Hyrule. Hyrule nods his thanks and takes the warm accessory, placing it over his head and wrapping the caped section around his shoulders.
He watches as Wild walks towards the edge of the cliff facing where the others are with camp. Hyrule wonders what he’s about to do as he clings to the edge of the cloak. Wild unfolds his paraglider from his back, baffling Hyrule even more, and widens his stance.
A moment passes. Then another.
Then a gust of wind appears seemingly out from the floor, powerful enough to blow dust back and almost get in Hyrule’s eye if he hadn’t instinctively covered his eyes. There’s a flash of teal through his fingers… then an unfamiliar voice snorts.
“About time, runt.”
By the time Hyrule deems it safe enough to uncover his eyes without getting dust in them, Wild is already high in the air. The miracle gust of wind cyclones in the spot his friend used to be, growing weaker and weaker by the second before it’s gone completely. There’s no sign of whoever made that flash of teal… nor who spoke, but Hyrule doesn’t think too into it as Wild drops his paraglider and grabs onto the upper ledge of the cliff.
Far above him, Wild climbs to safety and looks over the edge. He waves, and Hyrule cannot help the giggle that climbs through his throat as he waves back.
Pain in his ankle be damned, whatever Wild just did was cool, and as Wild turns and runs towards the others he knows he won't be in pain for long.
Not much longer than an hour passes before the others come with their ropes and grappling hooks and worried voices. Wild glides down to him to help carry him up. There’s something about the way he stands that gives Hyrule the feeling that he… realized something today. He gives Hyrule a bottle of health, then helps tie a rope around his waist as his ankle begins to hurt a little less.
As he’s lifted off the ground towards the top of the cliff by his friends, he looks at Wild who is clinging tight to Hyrule’s body like a stronger lifeline than any rope or chain.
“Was that Revali?” He asks, without really thinking.
Wild looks at him with wide eyes, and then a wider smile. “Yeah.”
Hyrule smiles back. “He sounded like an asshole.”
A startled laugh bursts from Wild’s mouth as he throws his head back. “He is an asshole,” he agrees in good nature.
They reach the top. They reach the others. Twilight scolds their ears off the entire way back towards camp, and Hyrule can't stop grinning for his own safety… and for whatever mended in Wild’s heart tonight.
-o-o-o-o-
“What about the others?”
“Well… ah… there’s Daruk. He was one of my oldest friends. The strongest Goron there ever was, though he was a little fearful of dogs.” Wild laughs, as do the others politely; probably imagining the biggest Goron they could be scared of a small fluffy animal. “He had the strength to block anything, and he was always ready to take a blow for the team. Even after… even after… he still protected me. He gave me the ability to call upon even a fraction of that power, that way nothing could hurt me in case my own shield failed. Without him… I would not be here, I’m confident in that.”
-o-o-o-o-
They honestly should have expected an ambush before Warriors was the one to call it out. Four likes to consider himself lucky for coming from a comparatively peaceful time, relatively speaking, but even he should have expected the top of the hill to be lined with determined monsters with big rocks.
The first few moments of watching the boulders come down feels almost like Four is stuck in time. There’s nowhere to run, the expanse of the monsters at the top is too great. Left or right would bring more chances of being hit. They can’t run back down the hill and outrun the danger either. Their only option is to dodge through the rocks until they can get to the top and take out the danger.
Distantly, as time spreads up, Four is aware of Time and Wild each releasing arrows towards the top of the hill, igniting various monsters on fire, but soon it becomes pure chaos. He can only focus on himself as he does his best to jump out of the way of rocks that are much bigger than him. The colors in his brain scream as he tries to remain calm and collected. No Blue, he can’t just jump over the boulders because it will look cool. Red please calm down you’re screaming too loudly. He knows to go left, Green!
It’s a miracle he’s managed to last this long with the confusion. Which is why he’s not surprised when something finally hits its mark. He’s just glad that when the agony of a shattered bone shoots through his body, it’s only his right shoulder that took the brunt of the hit.
Not that he has time to be thankful for that. After the boulder hits into his side, his balance is knocked right out of him. He ends up crashing to the tilted floor in a jumble of limbs and dust. There’s tears in his eyes, and he can barely focus enough to lift himself back up. His entire arm feels like he’s stuck it into the mouth of a dragon—teeth and all. His chest feels tight and his hip all bruised. He wouldn’t be surprised if he’s broken a few ribs as well.
He barely has enough time to look ahead of him from where he lies on the ground. There’s another boulder bouncing right towards him. If… if he doesn’t move now… he will surely die.
But he cannot move. He cannot move because his entire side hurts too badly for him to go at a speed that matters. He closes his eyes and tries to make himself smaller. Maybe, if the goddess decides she likes him today, she will allow the boulder to bounce over him… or something as unlikely.
Either way, he accepts whatever fate he’s about to meet, even as he hears Sky scream his name.
And maybe it’s because he’s a coward and he’s scared, but he opens his eyes to look at his approaching doom. Only… that’s not all that he sees. What he sees is Wild jump out right in front of him with a ball of orange energy surrounding his entire body. A surge of horror swells inside of his belly the moment he sees this. Is Wild serious?!
Then, a heartbeat passes, and the boulder rams right into Wild. What happens next, though, Four would never have guessed. The orange energy explodes in shatters around him. Standing over Wild, however, is a ghostly Goron that’s bigger than anything Four’s ever seen. He shouts as the boulder stops in its tracks, crumbling before his mighty fists.
“I got you, little buddy,” Daruk’s spirit says. Then, the teal spirit disappears with the orange energy, leaving Wild standing there with the shattered remains of the boulder at his feet. Up the hill, Warriors, Legend, Time, and Sky take out the remaining monsters before they can release any more rocks.
Wild turns towards Four with a crazed, adrenaline fueled gaze. There’s a grin on his face though, one that Four finds himself matching.
Next thing he knows, Twilight, Hyrule, and Wild are rushing to his form and shoving various medicine bottles into his face; of which he takes gratefully.
“Thank you, Wild,” Four makes sure to say once he’s finally back on his feet with a makeshift sling over his only slightly aching arm. Wild turns towards him to give a blushing smile. He rubs the back of his neck with his hand.
“I couldn’t just watch you die. It’s the least I could do.”
Four hums. “I’m still thankful. Though… your Goron friend looked big enough to squish me between his fingers.”
Wild grins. “Daruk wouldn’t do that. It’s his hugs you have to watch out for.”
Four’s sure that if Daruk’s hugs are anything like Wild’s, then those hugs would be very tight indeed.
“I will take your word for it, then.”
-o-o-o-o-
“And then there’s Urbosa. She… if you think you’ve met a scary Gerudo, then you haven’t met her.” Wild waves his hands in the air, only slightly aware that he’s getting too invested in this story now. He didn't mean to spill his guts on his past friends tonight, but here he is, living their memory. Passing on their stories to his new friends. He finds he doesn’t mind it as much as he did several minutes ago. He doesn’t know why he was afraid. “She was the leader of her people, and she could summon lightning onto anyone who's ever defied her. She fought armies of Yiga all on her own and came out without a scratch. She’s blessed me with the ability to summon lighting as well. It’s my most powerful attack, and it’s saved my ass more times than I can count.”
-o-o-o-o-
This is bad. Very bad. Time can’t even properly express how bad this is.
An ambush of monsters? That’s manageable. He has confidence in himself and his companions to be able to handle a meager ambush. However, this? This is a whole army of monsters. Lizalfos, apparently, like to group up in camps when they’re not scrambling around in ancient dungeons and temples.
There’s enough to outnumber the heroes five-to-one. It’s not impossible to take them down if they had stuck to the outer edges of the camp and took a good portion of them out with long ranged attacks… however what happened was much less graceful. They walked into the forest, intending to make a camp for the night, just to wander right into a community of Lizalfos armed to the tails.
So now? They’re running; the monsters in an excited chase. Like Time said: This. Is. Bad.
“We lead them to the river,” Warriors suggests, ever thinking of solutions. “We can push them in and weaken their numbers.”
“I say we turn and fight!” Wind shouts. He looks too excited. He pulls a bomb out from his satchel and before Time can say anything, the boy turns around and throws it at their pursuers. There’s a blast, a few screeches, but nothing significant happens. The numbers are too great. Wind is pulling out another bomb.
“The river,” Time says, nodding at Warriors. Wind cheers as another explosion erupts. He leaves the boy to it. As long as he keeps up. “It’s the best bet.”
Time turns his head to tell the others about the makeshift plan, but before he can say a thing Wild looks him straight in the eye. “Have everyone get as far as you can away, I know what to do.”
“What?” Time asks, baffled.
Wild doesn’t explain. He just turns heel and runs the other way towards the enemy.
“Cub?!” Twilight shouts, turning around as well to grab his wayward protégé, but Time grabs his shoulder and keeps him running in the opposite direction. Twilight gives him a panicked look.
“I don’t know what he plans,” Time explains, “but he seems confident. Trust him.”
Twilight swallows and nods. Time shouts at the others to pick up the pace.
Behind him, the Lizalfos screech in delight, a sign they and Wild have now met face-to-face.
Whatever you’re about to do, wild one, do it now.
He doesn’t have to wait long. The smell of ozone becomes intoxicating all within a heartbeat. The hairs at the back of his neck rise as the sky goes impossibly dark for the time of dusk that it is. Then, light flashes all around him in thunderous claps. He can barely hear the sound of screaming monsters over the bolts. Time can’t help but stop in his tracks and turn, lifting a hand above his brow to see green lighting like he’s never seen before attacking the earth through the trees.
As soon as it begins, it ends, and the sky brightens with silence.
Time doesn’t waste time running forward. What he finds when he runs towards the small clearing Wild had met the monsters in is something he will never forget. Static energy seems to curl around his hand, raised into the air and on the end of a snap. Beside him stands a tall Gerudo woman, cloaked in a ghostly aura, her back towards the others and her hand on Wild’s shoulder in triumph and fierce protection. There’s nothing but black, charred corpses of monsters around them.
Time watches, as do the others, transfixed as Urbosa looks down at Wild and smirks.
“You should have called earlier, my desert flower.”
-o-o-o-o-
Everyone looks so transfixed, that Wild almost moves on without really thinking about it. Only… the words catch in his throat. He finishes telling of Urbosa, and just… freezes. His hands are back in his lap, wringing each other out.
He was so engrossed with his own stories that he’s forgotten that while he loves each of his past friends equally… not all are so easy to talk about.
The others must sense his inner struggle, as none of them call out his sudden silence. He knows that if he decided to stop now and not tell them of his last blessing… they would not argue. They must know this pause is similar to when Twilight stops talking about his adventure when he reaches the point where he meets a mysterious companion. Similar to when Time pauses in his magical tales of his childhood. Similar to when Sky looks off in the distance with his voice trailing off as he tells of special places in the sky.
It’s a pause of loss. A pause of something cherished. A pause of something that you fought so hard for, but will never come back.
A hand falls on top of his own. He recognizes the shape of Twilight’s calluses without having to look up at him. “You do not have to force yourself to continue,” he says.
Wild shakes his head. “I’m alright. I can continue…”
A beat of silence. Wild takes a breath.
“Last is… Mipha. Not only was she the most beautiful Zora I’ve ever met, but also the most beautiful soul. She… would always be there for me… whenever I got hurt. She could heal my wounds better than any potion. I…” his throat bobs, the words are no longer coming. “I cannot bring myself to tell of her gift. It’s too special. I pray I never have to use it again, nor must any of you witness it.”
-o-o-o-o-
Twilight didn’t know what to think when the attack had begun. It didn’t start with a shout. It didn’t start with the enemy running screaming out from the shadows of the trees with swords raised. It didn’t start like any kind of monster attack that Twilight had grown so used to.
It’s probably why they were unprepared for an attack by something smarter than monsters. Something that has no problem sitting quietly in the trees, waiting for the perfect moment to strike. He’s heard that there’s a group of former Sheikah in Wild’s world who have it in for the hero’s life, he just never really expected to meet them.
That’s probably why the arrow met it’s mark too. They’ve all grown accustomed to the sloppy ambushes put together by monsters. It’s the only thing Twilight can think of to justify how none of them saw it coming until there was a thwip of a feathered arrow flying through the air… and landing with a thunk in Wild’s stomach.
Wild fell to the ground, and with a flash of cards and light appeared several Yiga Clan members. Nobody stopped to stare. It was pure rage from the heroes at that point, and as soon as it began the Clan members all put their hands together and retreated into seemingly thin air. It all ended about as soon as it began.
And the only thing he could think about now is Wild laying there on the ground in a growing pool of his own blood. The arrow still sticks out of his midsection, undoubtedly having hit something important judging by the trail of red going down the corners of his mouth.
Twilight is the first to run up to his side, but thanks to the quick thinking of Warriors, he’s not the first to offer a way of healing.
However, by the time the bottle of the red potion reaches his life stained lips… it’s too late. Twilight can only stare in horror as the light leaves Wild’s eyes.
The Yiga Clan… they’ve succeeded… and everyone knows it when Warriors falls backwards in defeat to sit on his heels, looking down at the full bottle of healing in his hands. Sky falls to his knees. Hyrule chokes a cry. Twilight's sure the rest of them are feeling their own reactions of grief, but he can no longer pay attention to anything but his own.
He’s… he’s failed. The one person he swore he would protect… pass on his ways… his stories… his teachings… it’s all for nothing. All it is now is a gaping hole in his heart. His cheeks are wet with tears that came too quickly.
Suddenly, something happens. There’s a flash of teal, and somewhere behind him someone gasps. Twilight can only watch with wide, tear-drowned eyes, as the teal swirls around into the glowing form of a beautiful Zora.
All eyes are on her, but hers are on Wild. There’s a fondness to her face that could be mistaken for sadness. Her hand brushes his cheek, and to Twilight's surprise Wild blinks and breathes in a soft breath. The hole in his stomach glows bright blue… and the arrow dissipates in shining bubbles.
“I will always heal you when you need me, my love.”
Then, she’s gone before anyone, including Wild, can respond.
Wild slowly raises himself to his elbows, blinking and smiling sheepishly like he’s never gotten even a scratch.
“I’m sorry you all had to-” he begins, but Twilight cuts him off by launching himself forward and wrapping the idiot in his arms. Mipha’s gift, the one he wouldn’t tell them about because it was too special, the one he never wanted them to witness…
He’s such an idiot.
“Shut up,” Twilight says through a tight breath. “Thank the spirits… just let me hold you.”
Wild doesn’t say anything, he just returns the embrace and the hold just as tightly.
Thank Hylia and all of the goddesses for this miracle. Wild clearly has friends that care so much about him that they would protect him fiercely even after their deaths. Twilight knows that from now on, he will spend his nights praying thankfulness to them. Wild is a formidable hero, one of the best in fact, yet Twilight can only imagine where he would be without these gifts. Imagining it makes his gut twist, however, so he squeezes his hold just once before letting go.
He smiles at the younger boy, and Wild smiles back, everything that needs to be said being translated there alone. You scared me. I’m sorry. Don’t apologize, just be more careful. No promises… but I will try.
The wordless conversation passes between them in a moment, and the moment is broken by Wind pouncing onto Wild. Wild, the poor boy, is shoved straight onto his back from the force of the tackle, yet he’s laughing as Wind calls him an idiot over and over. Everyone else gathers as well, to tell him they’re glad he’s alive in their own ways. Time places a hand on Twilight’s shoulder and shares a knowing look.
“Let’s set up camp early tonight,” he says, and Twilight cannot help but agree.
As Time announces the plan to the others, separating the others and telling them to give Wild some space, Twilight lets his heart calm. Wild always says he was alone in his adventures, but now he knows that that wasn’t all true. He also knows now why Wild doesn’t abuse the abilities his friends gave him.
With a silent vow, he promises Revali, Daruk, Urbosa, and Mipha that he will work harder to protect their boy. For now, Wild has been barred from making dinner tonight, and Twilight has to be sure that Hyrule gets nowhere near the cooking pot.
#linked universe#hero of the wild#jin writes#fanfiction#violence tw#temporary character death#ficlet#blood tw
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The Art of Inversion
Neil x Reader
Chapter 22 - Not Strong Enough
Masterlist; Chapter 21
Summary: You reunite with Neil aboard the icebreaker. With the tension amping up and the mission nearing it’s finale, you have a difficult time making sense of everything.
Warnings: angst (yep, loads of it), swearing.
Author’s Notes: Here it is, finally! Know it took me ages, and I’m so sorry for that. Hopefully from now on it won’t be as bad... This one was fun to write since there’s a lot of emotions to go through :)) Hope you’ll enjoy! Let me know what you think!
PS. Now that we’re onto the icebreaker chapters let me just say that I’ve got a lot planned ;) and I’m excited to share it so thank you all who have sticked around <3
The moment you stepped out of the inversion chambers and into the normal world (well, normal but looking fucked up to you and eight days previously), Ives received the promised further instructions. Get to Trondheim with the local squad, regroup with the reinforcements there, get on board the icebreaker equipped with the inversion technology. At least that was the information you got. Easy. Well, almost, but thankfully nothing seemed to depend on you. Yet. So, you followed the rest of the squad onto the chinook, ignoring the phone that never rang anymore. That was okay. You would not even know what to tell Neil if he called. In less than two hours, you were on military transport to Norway. Again.
In the tense silence of those hours of flight, it was easy to rest. At least you have changed the setting and could focus on stressing about all that was to come instead of the personal matters. Yes, you would have to face Neil and probably work with him as though nothing happened. But the more pressing matter was the potential world ending. For that, you could endure the pain. Focusing on avoiding hyperventilation through the mask, you fell asleep, giving in to the tiredness. When Wheeler shook you awake hours later, you have landed at the base in Trondheim. The icebreaker was supposed to cross by the shore on the next day, leaving the night to be camped out in the military containers on the periphery of the base.
You were lucky to land a spot in the container shared with Wheeler, as she was second in command, and you were still considered ‘precious cargo’. Precious to whom you had no idea. But that did not matter. After a quick meal made up of tin food and weak tea from the thermos, your roommate left for an inspection of the troops and a confab with Ives. You had peace. Taking off the unnecessary layers of clothing, you intended to use the time to curl up under the covers and mope. But it was not meant to be. Suddenly the silence of the air-locked container got pierced by your phone ringing. What the hell… Glancing at the display, your heart stopped for a split second. For a moment, you wanted to ignore it. To pretend you are not available. But your heart knew better, unable to give up the possibility of hearing his voice after all this time. Sitting up on the cot, you picked up the phone. A long exhale on the other side followed by…
“Hey”
As simple as that. Fuck. Neil’s voice was enough to trigger the feelings. The husky tone, the tiredness you sensed through that one word alone. The advantage of the phone call was that he could not hide too much. Not from you.
“Hi… um, why…” you trailed off, annoyed at how something so simple could disrupt the fragile peace.
But judging by the long pause, it was not just you for whom the conversation was a struggle. Brilliant.
“TP told me to call you” right, “Give you a run-down of the state of affairs, so tomorrow is easier for us all,” he added, using that professional tone you came to detest.
Call you? The voice of reason tried to break through the amalgamation of thoughts and feelings. It did not make much sense, seeing as TP did not even trust you after the latest revelations.
“Me?” you blurted out.
Anyone else would have been a more obvious choice. But Neil called you. Why? You wanted to add that question to the mix, but before you could do so, he came up with an answer.
“Not exactly, but I’ve decided that you can pass it on to Ives and so on” the uncertainty in his voice ignited the spark.
“I see” that was the only comment you could muster.
But he understood. He cleared his throat before resuming the conversation. An image flashed before your eyes: tired Neil, with ruffled hair, curled up in the armchair in Oslo, glancing at you from the pages of the book you just borrowed him. That stupid soft smile gracing his exquisite features. Eyes sparkling with satisfaction and affection. Enough.
“We’ve managed to save Kat with that stunt in Oslo…” his voice brought you back to the present moment.
That was something. Despite not having even talked to Kat, you felt sympathy towards her.
“I’m glad. Is she alright?” you occupied the shaking hands with picking up pieces of lint off the blanket.
It did not help your racing pulse. Or the increasing ache in your chest.
“Yeah, she’s recovering. There’s a scar, but that’s nothing compared to what could’ve happened”
God knows what made you say the first thing on your mind then:
“We’ve all been scarred… one way or another” as soon as the words left your mouth, you knew that it was too much.
Fucked up again. It was difficult to remember that you were not supposed to share your thoughts with him anymore. That this was not allowed. Once again, so much had to be left unspoken just for the sake of your sanity.
“I know that better than anyone” his response and the sombre tone made you swallow hard.
Of course. You had no doubts he was regretting the decision to take that bullet for you in New York. After all, the scar was there to haunt him for eternity, reminding him of the time and effort wasted on you.
“TP met with Priya in Oslo…” the change of topic was vital, “She told him about the algorithm and got us the icebreaker” Neil explained.
Back to business. Thank God. All would be perfect if it was not for the audible strain in his voice. It was evidently torturing. For both of you.
“Sator’s got it? All of the parts?” clearing your head, you asked the most important of questions.
How fucked were you?
“Yes,” no hesitation.
Very much so. What would life be without a world-ending scenario taking place just when everything was coming apart? Too boring, probably.
“Fuck” you breathed into the phone, taking a beat to think, “Do we know where? When?”
At least anxiety now had a proper anchor. Something to dig into and stay fixed for a while. A constant companion.
“The day of the Kiev opera siege. But I don’t know where, TP won’t tell me” the remorse was palpable, “Kat helped us piece it together. Sator’s dying, and probably intends to kill himself and trigger the dead-drop, activating the algorithm” double fuck.
Could it get worse? You dared not ask. For a moment, you were grateful Neil called you with the news. At least that way, you heard it from someone you trusted. Or once trusted.
“Jesus…” the silence on the other end was almost comforting, “So that’s the plan? To go back and try to stop him…” you trailed off, raking your head for ways to fix things.
Inversion for over a week more was one thing. Actually pulling this off was another. Because you doubted someone like Sator would be unprepared. You could only hope someone had a plan. Or that your helpful texts would come around. One could wish.
“Yes, in essence,” Neil confirmed your thoughts with that ever-present gloom in his tone.
He was worried too. That eternal desire to comfort him nagged at your bruised heart. It would only get worse once he was within your reach. The collision was unavoidable.
“Okay,” suddenly you wanted nothing but to end the call and sleep, “I’ll let Ives know”
With the awkwardness burning bright, the goodbye was on the tip of your tongue. But…
“I-” Neil cut himself off suddenly.
What? The curiosity was relentless.
“Do you need anything else?” you sat up straighter, forcing the nonchalance.
“No,” after a beat, he added, “Well-”
Christ. There was no power to ignore him.
“Yes?” you stifled the butterflies in your stomach.
It could only hurt more. Surely he would not have anything better to say.
“How are you doing?” the question was dropped with merciless indifference.
You were right. Only he could be that blunt. Unable to keep cool, you cursed out loud:
“Fuck’s sake” taking a deep breath, you gathered all the needed strength to continue, “Neil, do you seriously want me to answer this question?”
There was not enough air in the room. Forcing yourself to calm down, you stared at the wall, counting dents in the metal. Anything to stop the panic.
“I just thought... we’re... I haven’t seen you in over a week and-” he stumbled over the sentence pathetically.
“Maybe it’s better you stop thinking,” you cut him off, feeling the familiar surge of anger “For a while”
How did he dare? You would have thought that he would know better. That he would understand that things changed, and he was no longer allowed access into your mind. But trust Neil to mess it up. To be ignorant of how you felt.
“I didn’t mean to hurt you” the soft tone took you by surprise.
Despite the shock, you were too pissed off to give in.
“... I’m afraid you’ve fucked it then,”
There was no stopping the words that spilled from your throat. They rolled off your tongue, fueled by bitterness and hurt.
“It’s not easy getting over rejection, but then you wouldn’t know that. Everyone wants you. And if they don’t, you move on. No hearts harmed in the process. But not everyone is that lucky” you finished only once there was no breath left in your lungs.
Now he knew. The words hung in the space between you, making the phone seem heavy in your hand. Too much too soon. Just when you thought Neil would not respond, you could hear him take a deep breath before asking:
“Is this really how you understand what I said?” the strange timbre in his voice was confusing.
It was as though he was utterly defeated, devoid of anything but resignation. But why? It was you who were hurting, not him. It made no sense.
“Yes,” that had to suffice.
You already said too much, exposed yourself again. Giving him ammunition to strike when necessary. There was no pretending that you did not care. Or that your misplaced love confession during your last conversation was a lie. A sudden noise at the airlock made you look up. Wheeler entered your shared container, oblivious to the drama taking place. After a second of hesitation, you found that you did not mind the company. Once your eyes met, you just nodded, giving her permission to stay. The sombre half-smile told you she suspected who was on the other end.
“I haven’t pushed you away. When you…” Neil’s voice came through the speaker again.
A hint of desperation. As though he wanted you to understand something obvious. But there was nothing there. You could not forget how he took everything but never gave anything back. It was rather simple.
“There’s a major difference between love and want” stating the truth, you could feel Wheeler’s attentive gaze on you “Doubt you’d push away someone as desperate as I was. Especially when you could have something pleasant out of it. But that doesn’t mean you love me” the strength needed to say those words was all you could manage “I need to go now”
You desperately wanted to bury yourself under the blanket and sleep. Maybe never wake up. That could be nice.
“…I’ll see you tomorrow then” the reluctance tore into the remains of your heart.
Tomorrow. Too soon. You knew there was no way of preparing for it. You would have to endure the unbearable and bear it. The world was more important than your comfort or pride.
“Yes, unfortunately,” the honesty could not hurt anyone.
Least of all Neil. You ended the call before he could say anything else and dropped the phone on the bed. Fuck. Burying your head in the pillow, you tried to level the breathing.
“Are you alright?” Wheeler’s question drifted across the narrow space.
“I will be,” you shrugged, turning to lie on your back and stare at the ceiling.
Emptiness. And even more anxiety. Amazing combo. And all because of that dyed blonde lanky bastard with eyes too blue and jaw too sharp. Trust you to fall for the unattainable.
“It was him, wasn’t it?”
“Yep,” you glanced sideways at your companion with a grimace, “He called to give me a summary of the events, so to speak” that part still did not make sense, but who were you to argue.
Wheeler let out a low hum, making you face her. You did not like the suspicious expression on her face. But you were too tired to ask. Ignorance is our ammunition and all that. You resumed the summary with a heart even heavier:
“And then he asked how I am, and I just…” you trailed off, giving in to the feelings, “Christ, I’ve no clue how I’m supposed to meet him tomorrow”
Pathetic, again. You half expected Wheeler to slap you for being an annoying, lovesick teenager pining after her crush. Which you were, in all fairness. But instead, you felt a hand pat your arm reassuringly.
“You’ll manage” glancing up, you met the warm smile of your companion, “You’re strong” before you could argue, she added, “And from what I’ve heard, you two really should talk, so maybe the opportunity will come up” it was her turn to shrug, wandering off to prepare the second cot.
“I suppose” that sounded like a nightmare “Got news for you and Ives, by the way”
You were hoping she will make you go to the squad leader right this moment. That would be a perfect distraction.
“Those can wait till tomorrow, get some sleep”
Well, fuck.
*** The nerves and increasing panic only caught up with you in the containers on the way to the icebreaker. The morning was spent in that blissful motion you needed so badly. You passed on the information to squad leaders, packed up, and got ready for the journey, which commenced after you got a call from the ship’s captain. The time spent on board was too short for your liking. Gripping the duffel back with your belongings, you focused on breathing slowly while the chinook approached the icebreaker, preparing to drop the containers and fly off. Somehow, the rattling and the cramped space of the metal box were almost comforting. No one could hurt you there. There was no one to escape and to hide from. But, of course, that too was over too soon. As the container touched the ground with a thud, making you all jump up, you only had a moment to clench your jaw. Ives stood up and opened the door as you all formed a proper formation for disembarking. The cold, piercing light of the sun hit you in the face as the wind tangled the cord connecting your oxygen tank to the mask. One look around assured you of two things – you would have to get accustomed to the sight of sea and sky for miles and that there was no hiding from Neil.
He was there, stood right next to TP, awaiting your arrival. It took you a moment to get accustomed to his military get-up. The black windbreaker zipped up, cargo pants with armour pads on the knees, and heavy boots. Hair windswept, falling into his eyes, making you want nothing but to brush it away. Brilliant. And naturally, he noticed you as well, eyes looking over your frame and face, searching for something. You did wonder whether he found it. To distract yourself, your gaze slipped over to look at TP. Still suspicious and serious. But at least he was not staring at you, trying to see into your soul. And that was enough.
“Welcome aboard” his grim countenance lit up for a second.
After a motion from Ives, you stepped up along with him and Wheeler, joining the two men. You had a proper look around. The rows of containers, rigs, and equipment being stacked in crates, ready for the upcoming battle. Eyeing the accommodation part of the cargo ship, you listened on to the conversation:
“Where exactly are we heading?” Ives’s voice cut straight to the point.
Good question. You glanced back at TP, only to find an enigmatic smile grace his features.
“All in the right time,” he responded, and you could see Neil grimace.
Somehow seeing him that frustrated did not cause any satisfaction. Quite the contrary even. To your inner horror, his eyes met yours right then. Curiously considering, before he reached out a hand:
“It’s good to see you” that was undoubtedly directed at you.
The empty pleasantry hurt like a bitch. But, with four pairs of eyes set on you, there was no choice but to accept the outstretched hand. Swallowing down the panic, you let his hand envelope yours in the casual handshake. Even that amount of contact was enough to make you spiral. Especially with how his thumb brushed over your knuckles. The eyes never leaving yours, urging you to understand something. What you had no clue. The moment was over before you realised, and Neil directed the next sentiment at your companions.
“All of you” they exchanged the handshakes while you stared on.
Once that was done, TP directed your attention towards the accommodation again:
“We’ll show you what’s where” he started walking, giving the directions on the go, “Let everyone else disembark in the meantime”
At least he was more like himself.
You followed them, taking in all the shown spaces. The lower part was occupied by the turnstile and potential training spaces. As you passed, you could hear Ives making arrangements for the troops to start sparing and shooting practice as soon as possible. Next, there were bunk beds and sleeping spaces for everyone. Rows upon rows of small bunks, only privacy was a curtain separating the mattress from the outside world. But it had to do, of course. As you moved up past the machinery, the kitchen, and the common spaces, you have been led to an airlocked corridor near the bridge.
“That’s where we sleep” TP waved a hand in the general direction of the many doors in the corridor.
There was a total of four cabins and a bathroom. Your gaze settled on Neil again. Entirely on its own accord. He shifted hesitantly before directing a question at the squad leader:
“Ives, do you guys want to stay with the troops?”
You could see the emotions bubbling under the nonchalant expression. It was not the usual charming, suave Neil you have met. Now there was uncertainty, doubt, and insecurity. As though he suddenly lost all the confidence and was trying to piece himself together. You did wonder what made him hurt that much.
“Yeah, that’s better for the morals,” Ives replied, ending your strange thoughts.
“As you wish,” Neil grinned in response, before glancing at TP, “I’ll go check on Kat”
Before anyone could respond, he disappeared down the corridor. Interesting. Could it be that he too was bothered by what was going on? Difficult to imagine but plausible.
“Those are yours, Y/N” the mention of your name made you look up.
TP was staring at you inquisitively, a hand on a doorknob, awaiting a reaction. That was unexpected. As much as the fact that he used your name. And did not look that pissed off anymore. You did wonder what was said during their journey back to Oslo. How much did he know?
“I thought I’ll be with the rest of the squad” you stared back quizzically.
“Neil made sure you got your own space” TP shrugged as though it was the most obvious thing in the world.
What the hell. Was that why he so casually run off?
“How very kind of him,” you muttered, feeling the gazes of everyone else burning on your skin.
Damn people and their curiosity.
“He’s down the corridor, if-” oh fuck no.
“Thanks,” you cut off the boss with the voice as cold as ice.
He understood, nodding curtly. Thank god. It was enough to know that Neil was close. You did not need the specifics. Or the insinuations behind the information. It did not matter; you would not be visiting him any time soon. Or ever.
*** You have managed to avoid meeting Neil throughout the day. It was busy, filled with getting settled aboard the icebreaker and planning what the next days are going to hold. You were not told what your destination was, but you had a clue Ives knew. That was… disappointing. You have happily missed the mealtime, choosing to hide in the 2 x 3 metres of space that was your cabin. The small bed, one round window, tiny bedside cabinet, and a chair were all you could depend on for the next eight days. Not bad. You were intent on staying there for as long as possible, avoiding the outside unless absolutely necessary. It was a good plan until, at around 1 am, your stomach started rumbling. Supposedly a whole day on just breakfast was bound to end like this. But you were still outraged. Because that meant going out. And here there be monsters. Sighing heavily, you put on the shoes and a jacket and warily stepped into the corridor. Silence. Cold metal walls and floors, deep dark shadows. With the official meeting taking place the next morning, you were hoping everyone was asleep. Or doing whatever people did at night.
Sealing the airlock in the small kitchen, you took off the oxygen mask and placed it on the small table. The galley was equipped with the necessary stuff, including a large, packed fridge, a kettle, sink, and some cabinets filled with non-perishable foods. The eerie silence was almost deafening, so you turned the kettle on, creating background noise. Going through the arsenal, you chose to prepare a sandwich and a tea and then promptly run away to your room. Just in case. As you set to work, confidence grew. Maybe you got lucky. You were in the middle of cutting the bread roll in half when the unmistakable sound of the zipper rung out. Fuck.
“… Hey,” of course.
Your hand slipped, knife slicing open the skin on your pointer finger. Blood dripping onto the counter.
“Shit!” you cursed and dropped the knife, bringing the injured finger to your mouth.
As the coppery taste dissolved on your tongue, you risked turning around to face the intruder. That was mistake number one. Neil was staring at you with concern etched onto his face. Lips pursed; brows furrowed. Hair ruffled as though he has been outside for an extended period of time. The moment your eyes met his, you felt trapped. There was nowhere to go. Just you and him, in 7 square metres. Bloody perfect. His gaze flitted between you and your wounded hand, hesitating and calculating. It was obvious, even to him.
“Are you alright?” the strange unfamiliarity took you by surprise.
You could see the conflict plain as day. Glancing at the cut, you were relieved to see that it was rather shallow, albeit still bleeding significantly. Turning on the tap to rinse it, you replied:
“Yep,” that simple.
And yet not at all. Neil edged closer, stopping right next to you but preserving a meter of space. Turning off the water, you looked up at him curiously. Too close. The blue threatened to drown you if you were not careful. He reached out a hand with fingers trembling slightly. You were frozen in the spot, seeing but unable to react, as he took another step forward.
“Show me-” the moment his skin made contact with yours, the paralysis disappeared.
God no. You jumped back, hitting the edge of the counter with your back. A dull throbbing was nothing compared to the hammering heart and the searing pain in your chest. His eyes widened in shock. Your reaction was evidently unexpected.
“No, that won’t be necessary” finding the voice again, you mustered a tight-lipped smile.
If this were to work, you had to avoid any physical contact. Somehow you knew that if he touched you, the resolve would begin to crumble. That could not happen. You took a deep breath and focused back on the task. The tension was of the knife-cutting kind. Swallowing you both in despair. In the corner of your eye, you could see Neil hesitate, watching you closely. Then he must have made up his mind, for he opened the fridge and started searching for something. After another minute of near-fatal awkwardness, you spoke up:
“Have you been outside?” a simple question dropped in an almost neutral tone.
Fitting perfectly between strokes of the butter knife on the roll. Small talk, easy enough, right?
“Yeah, I’ve watched the stars” Neil took out bread and settled by you at the counter “The sky’s pretty clear tonight” he glanced at you for a second, an enigmatic look on his face.
The walls were up. Back to pretending.
“Mhmm,” you nodded, praying to every god in the universe for help.
Thankfully, one must have listened… Well, sort of.
“You’ve missed the meal earlier,” he noticed while turning on the toaster.
Of course, he would. Forcing your hands to stay steady as you sliced up the tomato, you thought of a good enough answer. Because the truth would not do.
“Just didn’t feel like it” you shrugged, avoiding his eyes.
But he was staring. Leaning by the counter, watching you closely. You felt that this was it when it came to a casual conversation between you.
“But now you do?” this next question sounded differently.
There was a suspicious edge to his voice that you knew would be reflected in his eyes. Your acting was not good enough for this. Swallowing down the rising discomfort, you faced him and steeled your features.
“Yes,” that should suffice.
But then, seeing him attempt psychoanalysis through the means of staring, you chose honesty.
“I was hoping I won’t meet anyone around here this late,” you added and met his gaze.
A challenge. Tell me how I’m wrong, kind of thing. The truth he so clearly wanted. And Neil took it without hesitation.
“Anyone? Or just me?” eyes narrowed; lips curled into a smirk you did not like.
What the fuck? You felt a rush of anger. He maybe was right. But that did not mean he was allowed to question you. To make claims as clear as this.
“What’s your point?” you arched an eyebrow, forcing the most neutral of tones.
A shadow passed through his face, a hint of uncertainty. But as soon as you noticed it, it was gone. He shook his head with an almost imperceptible smile.
“No matter” waving his hand dismissively, he reached for the kettle.
Too close again. His arm brushed against yours as he filled in both of your mugs with the boiling water. You glared at that but chose to bite back the comment. At least he was being useful…
“You were rather quiet earlier...” Neil’s voice brought you back to the present moment.
Your head snapped up, meeting his intense stare. What? From the curiosity in his eyes, you deduced that he was waiting for an answer to that. You were sure to deliver.
“If you wanted me to publicly declare my hatred for you, then I’m sorry to disappoint,” shrugging, you took satisfaction in the way his eyes widened “Are you using that?” pointing at the container with sugar, you observed him a little longer.
Neil seemed less confident now. His tense posture and clenched jaw showed as much. Or the fact that suddenly he was not as eager to stare at you. Maybe that was a win. The only response you got was a head nod for ‘no’. But before you could celebrate the unlikely victory, he spoke again:
“Last time we talked, you said something a little different” there was that suspicious edge again.
You did not dare meet his eyes. The casual way in which he referred to the event made your blood boil. Because that was all the evidence you needed to confirm the worst-case assumptions: he did not care. To Neil, all this was a passing thing, something you can let go of when it becomes inconvenient. Trust you to give your heart to someone like that. The thought gave you an idea. What was said could not be unsaid, but…
“Yeah, but I thought about it, and... I take it back” once the words left your mouth, you felt a stronger surge of fury.
It only got worse when you caught a glimpse of hurt in the depths of his eyes. It was hidden well but still there.
“What?” Neil swallowed hard.
You could see that he did not expect that from you. Good. Perhaps it was a lie, but who was to say you had to be honest. After all, he was not, as it turned out. The look of confusion on his face made you turn up the emotions, throwing in irritability to the mix.
“I know you can be dense, but I’m sure you understood it well enough. I take back what I said in Tallinn” no effort was needed to be mean.
Just as easy as it was to lie. Perhaps too easy even. Out of curiosity, you watched him absorb what you said. At first, Neil’s lips parted a little as though he was holding in a gasp. Then he tensed, and eyebrows furrowed. That was denial. It was replaced with a painfully fake smile. One that did not reach his eyes. In summary, Neil did not seem relieved by what you said. Nor did he seem happy about it. Tough luck.
“Feelings change, huh?” nonchalantly he eyed you as though trying to find anything amiss.
The intensity of his gaze felt as though the fire was burning your skin. Suddenly the casual outfit seemed inadequate. Almost nonexistent in how he could see right through it. It took you a moment to shook it off. To remember that this was a duel, and you could still win. But only if you did not allow him to get too close.
“No. People do” you shrugged and went back to finishing the tea.
Just like that. A silence. And then the sound of a throat being cleared awkwardly:
“What are you trying to say?” unsure and shocked.
The metaphorical penny dropped. You could spare him the torture.
“You know,” putting away the teaspoon with a clink you eyed the toaster, “You might want to take that toast out unless you fancy eating carbon”
“Thanks,” Neil offered you a tight-lipped smile before he attended the burned toast.
You felt like that was the perfect metaphor for the state of your relationship. Or whatever the fuck was it. You were not sure what made you stay then. The walk back to your room did not seem convenient anymore. And the table was right there… It was rather risky, but then it was hard to deny yourself the pleasure. However questionable it may be. He was still your Neil, and his presence felt like the home you have desperately missed. Fortune favours the brave, or whatever. Ignoring his surprised look, you set down the plate and the mug and sat down at the narrow table. You did not have to wait long for a question:
“Do you mind if I stay?” the uncertainty in his voice made you look up.
Sure enough, the blue eyes were fixed on you with reluctance. As though he did not expect you to allow him that much. But then… why not? Perhaps it was the masochistic tendencies speaking.
“Suit yourself” you offered him the tiniest of smiles and focused on finally eating the carefully prepared sandwiches.
The ones you paid in blood and nerves for. At least they were good. After another moment, Neil joined, taking his seat opposite you. You could not help but snicker at the blackened toasts gracing his plate.
For a few minutes, you ate in silence, stealing glances at each other as though they were a crime. For you, they almost felt like it. His blonde hair (fake, as you had to remind yourself) reflected the fluorescents, giving him that angelic look that used to draw you in. It still did as much, only now it was paired with desperation everybody feels when faced with the unattainable. The forbidden fruit. Unable to stop yourself, you glanced at his lips then. The pull was still there, threatening to come crashing down and leave you gasping for air. But you could not give in.
“You saw us” as though Neil could read your mind, he spoke up, “Back at the airport, with Kat,” adding, he met your gaze.
You could tell that this was another attempt at small talk of sorts. You wondered how long this would take until another argument could begin to brew.
“Yeah,” nodding, you took a sip of the tea.
That was all he needed. The moment still sometimes haunted you. The look in his eyes when Neil saw you in Oslo. Now it all made more sense. The shock and apprehension. You were probably the last person he wanted to see back then.
“Why you’ve never said anything?” the question took you by surprise.
Neil, of all people, should know better. You took a moment to gather the thoughts, staring back into those eyes that seemed to see right through you.
“I just followed your favourite logic” upon his confused expression, you explained, “What’s happened-”
“-Happened” he grinned; too proud “You know me well”
His hand that was resting by the mug twitched as though he wanted to reach out. You could not tear your eyes away from it, battling the most primal of instincts that just wanted to touch him. Ignoring the urge, you finished the tea and muttered the answer:
“I thought I do”
It was another of those things that were too easy to tell him. Even though you were being vulnerable through admitting it. Most rules were broken already.
“But?”
You stood up, avoiding the desire to look him in the eye. Anything to make this easier. Enough. You got what you wanted, but now it was time to leave. To cut this torture short for you both.
“If Tallinn taught me anything is that I don’t know you at all. Not the real you, anyway” you rinsed the dishes and moved to the door “Now, excuse me-”
Neil moved fast. Before you could realise he stood up, his hand was wrapped around your arm, making escape impossible. Bewildered by the feelings rushing in all at once, you met his eyes. Even through the two layers of clothing, his touch was burning you. A reminder of all that you have lost. The immeasurable depth of expression in Neil’s face was not helping. You could discern determination, worry, and panic, among others. As though only now he has realised the extent of the damage.
“I never lied to you. Not even once” his grip tightened as he took a step forward.
Your back hit the wall, trapping you between him and the cold metal.
“Should I congratulate you?” stifling the raising panic, you stared up at him with defiance.
It worked.
“…Jesus,” Neil swallowed hard, unable to hide the exasperation, “Why are you like this?”
With the newly found position, you could easily judge his state of mind. He was annoyed, angry even. And that was triggering. Even though the proximity was slowly hazing your mind, proposing scenarios that could never happen. Fuck. You took a deep breath to calm down. To ignore how it felt to have someone look at you like this. Not platonically.
“If you need to ask, I think there’s no point in dragging this conversation any longer” finding your voice again you made sure to turn up the notch “I’d rather go to sleep than get rejected again” the coldness came out of nowhere.
But it was helpful. He did not expect that. The hand on your arm relaxed a little.
“I never rejected you” crease between his eyebrows deepened.
Right. Unable to stop the rising bitterness, you scoffed in his face. This was the opportunity to win the battle and get away before you could fuck it up even worse.
“You’re right,” you relished in the utter confusion visible “You did something worse. But I’m really not in the mood to argue, so… please let me go” gingerly, you placed your hand on his chest with the intent to push him away.
That was another mistake. Neil covered your palm with his, making you shudder. That was enough to make everything worse. Because there was no way of stopping the thoughts. Of ignoring the want, you tried to suppress for the past week. With him this close, touching you as though he meant it, you soon realised how bad it was. There was no way of getting rid of the feelings.
“I’m worried about you. You don’t look well” he broke the tense silence, forcing you to look up.
As if. His face was too striking. With blood pounding in your ears, you made another attempt at freeing yourself by trying to push him away.
“I don’t need your sympathy” taking a step forwards you hoped he would back off.
He did not. The concern visible in his blue eyes was overwhelming any last bit of sanity. All that was left did not make any sense. For a second, you wanted nothing but to have an innocent passerby interrupt you. The embarrassment could be worth it.
“I’m pretty sure you haven’t slept in days. And I-”
Neil was too close. The hand that was wrapped around your arm slid down to your waist while the other wandered up, fingers ghosting your neck. You closed your eyes for a split second, calming down the racing thoughts. This could not happen.
“Neil, stop,” shaking off the paralysis, you cupped his cheek “You can’t help me. So, let’s just leave it,” pouring in all the despair into your gaze, you met his eyes.
What you saw reflected was startling. You have never seen him that confused.
“I…” he faltered, losing the momentum that was there a second ago.
You were winning. But there was no satisfaction. Just the overwhelming despair, tempting you to make use of the predicament. Just this once. It was too easy to let your fingers caress his jaw, feeling the two-day stubble he did not bother shaving off. The disorientation in his eyes deepened as he stared at you with amazement. Speechless, frozen in the moment that seemed endless. As you brushed the pad of your thumb over his lips, Neil inhaled sharply, waking up from the reverie. His grip on your waist tightened, drawing you even closer. The expression in his eyes shifted. Pupils darkened as want took over the reason. You could feel yourself slipping down the slippery slope. Risking too much for god knows what. Or why. The air he breathed out ghosted your lips, an offer of what you could have. The exact same thing you have missed more than anything else. As if guided by the gravity itself, you leaned in, your noses brushing. Mere two inches of space. It would be so easy…
“If you don’t love me, then what is this?” Neil asked, breaking the silence and putting on another enigmatic smile.
The audacity of the question felt like a punch in the gut. That was the harsh wake-up call. Your salvation.
“Whatever it was for you in Tallinn,” you bit back, letting the anger seep into your answer “Let me go” the ice-cold tone was a perfect touch.
Neil took one last long look over your face before he stepped back, releasing you. The visible disappointment made you even angrier. Because how did he dare? What even was this? You had no clue. Only that you were right about touches being forbidden from now on.
“As you wish,” the pleasantry was thrown in your face with a mocking intonation.
You wanted nothing but to slap him. Punch him, make him bleed and hurt like you were. But that would be unbecoming for someone like you. And so, you straightened your back, grabbed the mask, and fixed it over your mouth and nose without as much as a glance in his direction. Enough now.
“See you at the meeting tomorrow” throwing the goodbye over your shoulder you unzipped the airlock.
“Good night” was the last thing you heard upon the exit from the galley.
Jesus Christ. Finally, there was air to breathe.
*** That night you did not get much sleep either, tossing and turning on the narrow bed, unable to make your brain shut up. It was hard not to come up with all the possible what-ifs. Not to wonder what could have happened should Neil stayed silent, and you were to continue. To let yourself get lost in him like you used to. And all of those questions were only amplified by the fact that you chose to sleep in the stolen sweater. Why? You had no clue. Like many things, even your brain stopped making sense a long time ago. And so, when your phone alarm finally rang, you could only accept the fate and grudgingly get up. The dark circles were hard to hide. Or the way your shoulders sagged at the mere idea of facing everyone else. But there was no other way. You got dressed in the most practical outfit and left the cabin with the heart hammering in your chest. All the courage accepted. The mere idea of facing Neil made your stomach turn. That vouched for an amazing start indeed.
The official meeting was supposed to take place at 9:00 on the indoor bridge, and as far you knew the purpose was to officially brief you and the squad. You followed the half-remembered directions, by miracle arriving at the airlock leading to a lounge-like space with sofas, a table with ten chairs, and panoramic windows proving splendid view of the inverted waves and occasional seagulls. It seemed like you were the first one to arrive. Taking a longer look to stare at the horizon, you jumped up at the sound of a throat being cleared. Not alone then…
“Good morning” tall blonde woman stood up from her position on the sofa.
Kat. The drama of the previous night almost made you forget about her. But there is only so long you can run away from reality. The anxiety spike made you take a deep breath before you could respond.
“Hi,” frowning at the awkwardness of the tone, you flashed her an apologetic smile “Sorry to interrupt if you’ve-”
“No, no, it’s okay,” she waved a hand dismissively and settled back on the cushions “I’ve just been watching the birds really. Still can’t get used to them” the thoughtful look in her eyes made you smile.
She could not be older than Neil. Tall and slender, dressed in practical military clothes as everyone else, she seemed so different from the woman you saw in Tallinn, bleeding and on the verge of death. Now there was steely confidence to her, intangible yet present. Tentatively, you joined her on the sofa, never taking your eyes off the horizon.
“It takes a while. The first time I got inverted, I panicked the moment I saw a pigeon flying backwards” you did not know where the honesty came from.
Or why you shared the story. But the bewildered smile that split Kat’s face was a good enough reward.
“That sounds horrendous” she choked back a laugh, meeting your gaze with sparkling blue eyes.
“It was cooing too” you added with the conspiratorial whisper, awaiting a response, barely concealing a giggle that was rising in your throat.
“Good God” she grinned in your direction.
Maybe there was some goodness in the universe…
“Yeah, basically” returning the smile, you reached out a hand “Sorry we’ve never got introduced, I’m Y/N”
“Kat” she shook your palm, smiling sympathetically “It’s nice to meet you. Are you part of the squad?”
“Well, sort of… I don’t really know what’s my role is in all this” shrugging helplessly, you allowed more honesty to permeate the sentence “But I’m too involved to ask questions”
“I know the feeling well” you knew the quiet resignation in her gaze from the reflection in the mirror.
As you opened your mouth to ask a question, a zip on the airlock made you freeze. Peace was not an available commodity these days.
“Good morning ladies” Neil’s voice rung out in the room as he stepped into the view.
The fake cheeriness looked out of place on his sombre face. After a quick scan, you could tell that he too has not slept well. And that he was trying his hardest to appear alright when he was everything but. A tell-tale sign was the untied shoelace and uncombed hair sticking out in every direction. Details easily missed by everyone but you. There was nothing you could do with that information. It felt like another tiny but painful stab straight into your battered heart. You did wonder how many more could you handle.
“Did you get a good rest?” Kat’s innocent question brought you back to the moment.
“Not quite” Neil grimaced slightly as his eyes slipped over onto you for a fraction of a second.
That was enough to make Kat notice. You were sure of it. Your cheeks reddened on their own accord, and you returned Neil’s tight-lipped smile. A finishing touch to the act.
The awkward silence that followed was deafening. Neil sat by the table, tapping his foot unconsciously. Kat seemed perplexed, glancing at you both, trying to understand. You would not even know how to explain it if she asked. Suddenly, a text alert pierced the silence, making you jump up. The device buzzed in the pocket of your pullover. With a shaking hand, you retrieved the phone and glanced at the display. TP.
“Fuck” you let out a curse as your eyes flitted over the text.
Passwords. To what? Hell knows.
“What is it?” Neil stood up and was at your side in a second.
You looked up, straight into his eyes. Whatever happened did not matter now. You both understood that.
“I don’t know…” biting down on your lip, you scanned the room, settling on a computer lying on the table, “Give me that laptop. Please” you gestured towards the device, urging him to catch up.
He did. Using those long legs that you always admired, he crossed the room in no time and handed you the laptop. Your hands were trembling as you typed in the passcodes and entered the folder where files from TP always appeared. It certainly did not help that Neil has perched on the armrest of the sofa and was looking over your shoulder. Or that his hand landed on the nape of your neck as he adjusted in the strange position. You swallowed hard, focused on finding the newest folder. Surely enough it was there. Password protected. You typed in the combination of letters and numbers from the text message and held your breath as the system loaded. A second later, you were staring at several files that appeared on the screen. Double-clicking on the first pdf, you opened up a map of a location.
“Is that…” Neil’s whisper came from right over your ear.
Breath ghosting over your neck, making you shiver. But there were more important matters to attend to. Shaking off the feeling, your eyes scanned the map.
“Stalsk-12” you read out loud, “I think this is our destination. TP sent those so we know what to expect” looking at Neil again, you were struck by the proximity.
He nodded, holding your gaze intently. You could see that he was processing what you said and all the implications. What the unexpected files could mean for you. And what were the critical steps to be taken.
“What do you mean he sent those? He’s-” Kat’s confused question made you both snap out of it.
It was terrifyingly easy to forget people other than Neil existed. Another issue to add to your list.
“I’m sorry, I really can’t explain it” you gave Kat the most regretful of smiles and opened a different file.
This one was a list of tips in a way. A short letter with instructions, addressed to you alone. Aware of the tension pervading the room, you scanned it, catching onto the things he mentioned. A tunnel leading to the dead-drop. Hypocenter in the middle of the Soviet secret city. Inverted and normal mercenaries. It sounded like something taken out of an action film. But, supposedly, that was your reality now.
“Anything good?” Neil chimed in, unable to control the anticipation.
You glanced at him again, catching the way he was staring at you rather than at the screen. The way the early morning sun reflected off his profile was tragic. The hair shone like rays of sunlight. The long eyelashes framed his eyes, making the blue stand out even more. Fucking masterpiece. He met your gaze warily, and his brows furrowed even more. That was the cue to answer his question. And to stop staring.
“He’s saying that the most crucial bit will be the lock leading to the dead-drop,” you explained, highlighting the line in the doc “And is sending you his regards,” adding, you gave Neil a small smile.
They were there alright. A final line, telling you to make sure he stays sane and alive. Worrying remark, but you were afraid the boss miscalculated your influence upon the blonde bastard. Maybe he was wrong about some things? Just as the man in question opened his mouth again, someone else entered the bridge, accompanied by the sound of heavy boots and puffs of air from the oxygen masks.
“Who’s saying what?” TP’s question made you frown as the man himself stepped into the room.
Of course, he’d hear that. Now came the dilemma you never knew you would have to face – how to tell your boss you have received information from his future, dead self? And how to make him believe you?
“We’ve got intel. About where we’re heading,” you were saved from answering the question by Neil, who stood up and faced the boss “It’s Siberia, isn’t it?”
Judging by the palpable shock and irritation on TP’s face, it was, in fact, Siberia.
“Who told you that?” the offensive edge to his voice felt like a flashback to Tallinn and the turnstile.
You would rather avoid a repetition of that. Standing up, you took a deep breath. Before anyone else could break-in, you spoke up:
“A very reliable source” when TP’s gaze settled on you, you shrugged.
Quiet confidence, right? A passing shadow of suspicion was not the most encouraging of signs.
“Reliable to who?” his gaze flitted between you and Neil.
Only now you realised how close you were standing to him. Your elbows brushed as you tried to think of an answer. Anything to win the case.
“All of us” Neil’s simple response made you look up at him.
His gaze was fixed on TP with adamant resolve. You felt like this was not the same man who had let his friend pin him to the wall and interrogate him in the most brutal of fashions. The boss sighed and looked at you again.
“How did you get it?”
Right…
“… password protected files” the half-truth felt like the worst of lies.
“From whom?” he pressed, all of the intensity of the dark stare on you.
You could only offer him another shrug and a remorseful look on your face. The scowl you got in response was concerning. But you could not give in.
“I know it sounds crazy, but it’s the best piece of information we could get. We’ve got terrain plans and intel about the dead-drop. Maybe with this, we can make it work” taking a step forwards, you hoped he can see the desperation in your eyes, “All you have to do is trust me” the addition felt necessary, even if hard to be spoken out loud.
The frown on TP’s face deepened as he sighed heavily.
“Bloody hell…” he glanced at the blonde man again, “Neil, what are you thinking?”
Only now you could feel how fast your heart has been beating. Or that sometime within the last few minutes, you have started to tremble.
“I trust her. With my life” Neil delivered the admission with the most neutral of tones.
Fuck. The heartbeat stumbled and then kicked back into action at twice the speed. Unable to stop yourself, you turned around to face him. Sure enough, he met your gaze with certainty. As though that was obvious. Well, maybe to him…
“And the fate of the world too,” he added after a beat, clearly highlighting what mattered more.
Another thing that did not make sense. You made sure he could see the confusion in your eyes as you gave him a formal nod. It was a public setting after all, and you need not make a scene in front of Kat and TP. But at least you had support in your fight, and that was perhaps most important right now.
“This intel is all we’ve got. We might as well make use of it,” Neil summarized, taking that step closer to you again.
You both faced the boss, taking concerning amounts of confidence from simply being able to do it together. You could see the internal battle on TP’s face. Worry, uncertainty, suspicion, conflict, trust…? Finally, he closed his eyes and exhaled slowly. When he looked at you again, you could tell that it was done. Only…
“If it backfires…” the unspoken hint of consequences if something went terribly wrong.
You just had to make sure it would not. Easy enough…right?
“If it does, then we’ll worry. For now, let’s get to work” Neil waved his hand dismissively, a rare genuine smile brightening up his face “The stage is yours,” tentatively, he placed his hand on your back, giving you a light push.
Permission to take over. Support and the inability to keep his hands off you. Enough to make you consider jumping off the afterdeck into the freezing depths of the Barents Sea. Because even that was better than approximately a week more of this. But the seals would have to wait. The blue eyes were fixed on you with a glimmer that seemed too affectionate for the state of the affairs. Let’s wipe it off with the best weapon available – the crushing weight of reality. You took a deep breath and began the explanation.
#tenet#neil tenet#neil tenet x reader#neil x reader#neil tenet imagine#neil tenet fanfic#tenet fanfic#robert pattinson#the art of inversion
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Consequences: Chapter 1
Synopsis:
Jordan Williams is a former Marine who starts a new life joining Medical school at age of 27.
Rachel Ferguson is a freshly out of college graduate and Medical school 1st year student.
Two complete strangers who fell in bed together for a night of solace from their moment of anger and hurt. By chance, they were brought together and their fates intertwined.
Not realising yet that not only they share the same house, they also share the person they cannot lose no matter what.
What will happen when the reality of the one night’s actions filled with lust and anger will hit them both? What will happen when he will find out that the girl he spent the night with is not only his housemate but also his best friend’s little sister? The one he swore to himself never to touch, the one for whom he will never be good enough. Will he be able to keep his hands off her? Or are they doomed from the beginning?
Words: 3600
Authors notes: Some chapters maybe NSFW or have a mature content
Jordan Williams x Rachel Ferguson (Rae, Rae-Rae)
**Warnings: Alcohol consumption, anger, bad decisions in next chapter.*
Jordan Williams never was the one who scared easily, or backed out of his decision for that matter.
Former Marine, even though his parents didn’t support him or approve of it... the one of the few survivors of his platoon… The hero, who single handedly carried his friends out from the burning hell on Earth not knowing if they were dead or alive. Who by some miracle survived, but was left with the nightmares to remind him of how lucky or cursed he was, and with the ugly scars to never let him forget of the ones who weren’t as fortunate. Limping on his right leg, but at least breathing and moving.
And today even though he still wasn’t scared, he was nervous. This was the last Friday before he was starting his new life. No more deployments. No more deaths, at least not on his watch. And as many lives as he could save after he would learn how to do that. After he would become one of the best surgeons and open the clinic for the people like him, who would survive beating all odds. For Doctors without the borders who wouldn't be scared to help people in the burning hells... who will be ready and willing to help as many dying to survive, be it soldiers or civilians, something that he failed to do then. But damn him, if he wouldn't do it now, after he would learn how to do that.
And he was determined to learn how… nothing and no-one would stop him, that is what he swore to himself that day. That is what kept him going no matter how difficult it was.
Trying to block the nerves raking through him he gripped the steering wheel firmer trying not to think of the only thing that overshadowed his new beginning. Of the fact that the place that he found for the living, was already occupied, which meant that he would have a housemate, something that he was determined never to have. The main reason why no matter how hard his best friend tried to convince him to rent a house together, he did not succumb to his persuasion. Preferring solitude instead to the company. Not wanting anyone to see him at his lowest or to hear his screams during the nights, while he would wake up sweating from yet another nightmare night after night. And as a result of that he got himself in a situation in which he was now, fated to share the house with the person he even never met.
He huffed, driving toward the lonely standing house, someone’s car was already parked there. He looked around, leaving his car in a free space. Getting out of his SUV, Jordan went toward the house.
Getting inside, he noticed still packed boxes in the hall, but he couldn't hear or see anyone else, which meant that his housemate left without unpacking.
Typicall. He thought, walking further into the house, entering a living room he would be forced to share with someone else. He looked around the neat and cozy room, two armchairs were standing opposite the fireplace, the massive bookcase was located along one of the walls.
He was about to go and check the kitchen when he heard his phone calling. Taking it out, he checked the Caller’s ID before answering the call, listening for a familiar voice coming from his mobile.
“Hey, Jody.”
“Morning to you too, Brandon,” replied Jordan, putting his keys into the bowl and moving further into the kitchen.
“I take it, you finally get to your new place? Settled in okay? How is your new housemate? Still not regretting not moving in with me?” questioned Brandon in his carefree manner, as if he wasn’t on the verge of death no more than six month back after he would save Jordan's life, and in return Jordan saved his. His cheerful voice caused a surge of amazement through Jordan while he listened to his friend.
“You know I hate it when you call me that,” Jordan growled frowning after finally the questions stopped in that annoyingly abrupt manner he hated. “And yes, I already got to my new place but had no chance to settle in just yet. Answering your last question, I have no idea who my new housemate is as I can see only unopened boxes there. But I do hope that the person I share this place with is someone who will not interrupt my study or throw constant parties... Although based on the fact that instead of unpacking, this housemate just left… I guess I can say goodbye to that…”
“Yes, yes… Got it,” brushed him off Brandon. “About your studies. Even though I still don't know why you need it in the first place, you always could join the forces, but what I do know, is the fact that you need to unwind before it starts… let loose... have meaningless one-night fun... sometimes I really think you forget how to have fun spending all your free time buried in books,” said Brandon, making Jordan flinch at his choice of words. He could be buried… they both could be... as were most of the guys from their platoon.
Pale, bloodied faces appeared in front of his eyes. His hand is suddenly covered in blood right in front of his eyes… screams deafeningly loud dying on their lips twisted in agony, leaving only few of them alive, and if no one would come soon they would join their comrades, their friends… faster than they could finish the prayer… not that either of them believed, not after what they have seen or could lose.
“What do you mean?” forced out Jordan, closing his eyes and letting out the slow breath.
“I mean that you wouldn’t recognise fun and beauty even if she bumped into you... And you are coming with me to the party. I need a wingman, and you need to unwind. Hopefully with some cute girl, whose face you will forget the next morning,” chuckled Brandon, making Jordan frown moving his phone a bit further from his ear.
“Never,“ cut Jordan, shaking his head. He was done with partying or with women. Done… "You know I don’t do parties… not anymore.”
“Yes, but you also know I will not give up until you say yes. So let’s make it easier on both of us. Should we?,” laughed Brandon.
“I need to unpack my stuff, and it may take the whole day. Also, I need to go to the library to pick up some books for my studies as tomorrow the library will be closed. So this time you will need to manage this on your own.”
“If these are the only reasons then I don’t see any reason why not.”
“I told you, I will not have…,” Jordan tried to say.
“Nope, still cannot see why you wouldn’t have time for some fun. I will be at your place in twenty minutes and will help you unpack, and then we will pick up your books before crashing this party.”
“You will not give up… aren’t you?”
“Man, you should know by now that never.”
“Fine…” sighed Jordan exasperatedly, looking at his watch. “Be here in twenty minutes, but I will leave the party before 10 pm. Understood?”
“See you in twenty minutes,” replied Brandon, ending the call.
Almost an hour later Jordan finally heard a knock on the door. Grudgingly, he opened it, letting his best friend inside the house.
“You are late,” stated he, holding one of the boxes in his hands. The pain shot through his body, but he didn’t even flinch, still staring at his friend.
“Sorry, I met my new neighbours. Movers bailed on her and her little boy, so I helped her to carry boxes inside,” shrugged Brandon nonchalantly passing by Jordan feeling not even the slightest bit sorry for his delay.
Another hour later and unloading the last boxes that Jordan brought with him, they finally started to unpack them. And in another three hours, they were finally done.
All the stuff that Jordan took with him were put neatly to their places. The bookshelf in the living room stocked with books he brought, and a picture of him and his older sister was put above the fireplace. They both looked in satisfaction around the room putting the empty boxes into the storage place. Brandon patted Jordan on the back before going toward the door.
“So now, when we finally finished unpacking,” started his friend. His eyes widening, when he noticed how Jordan with displeasure looked on his new housemate’s still packed boxes.
Quickly his friend marched back to him grabbing his hand and pulling him toward the door, letting him only grab his keys on the way out. “Don’t you even dare to think about that. You are NOT touching your roomies’ stuff. Now…. let’s go to this place, where you need to be quiet and bore yourself to death or we will be late to the party.”
That word again… thought Jordan. The word that made him flinch every time, remembering the day of his friends’ deaths. Still blaming himself that he couldn’t have saved them all, didn't see approaching danger earlier and when he did it was already too late to warn guys as all hell broke loose just a second after he sensed the danger.
“Can you stop calling it that? And the library can be fun when you know what you are looking for,” he snapped, hoping his friend missed his reaction before they both exited the house, shutting the door behind.
It was already three o’clock when they rushed toward the library, trying to get on time before it was closed. After another ten minutes of arguing that Brandon should wait for him in the car instead of constantly complaining about the place or flirting with every single girl they would meet, Jordan ran up the stairs taking two steps at the time before disappearing behind the heavy doors. When he was about to round the corner, he felt someone bumping straight into him. The heavy books the person was carrying fell to the ground hitting his foot painfully. Making him swear under his breath, looking at the person in front of him with the frown.
“Haven’t you ever been taught that you need to look where you are going?” huffed Jordan in annoyance, crouching in front of the girl with the blonde hair and helping her to collect scattered books. “Next time, watch where you are going,” said he with a scowl on his face, shoving the books into her arms before looking at her for the first time.
The girl looked at him with the wide open forest green eyes that looked somehow familiar, no matter how silly it may sound. He quickly raked his gaze over her, taking in every detail of her petite form, before hastily returning it back to her eyes. The tongue darted out running over her lips, making his gaze drop to them darkening just for a split second, while following the movement. Her rosy lips parted as if forming a reply, but he quickly shook himself out of his state and before she could utter even a word he raised to his feet and strolled into the library, leaving a startled stranger behind.
“What a jerk,” she mumbled, standing up with the help of her friends and adjusting her skirt.
“But he is a handsome jerk,” whistled an athletic-looking guy, watching after Jordan, throwing a hand over the blonde girl’s shoulder. “Isn’t he, Heath?”
“Ohhhh, yes. He is yummy, and that ass in low cut jeans,” moaned Heather turning to face her friend. “And did you see his lips? Rae-Rae, if I would bump into him… he wouldn’t leave… so easily,” said she with a wink.
“You two are just ridiculous... I hate you,” groaned Rachel, covering her face with books she was now holding in front of her. Her cheeks flamed. “Can you think of anything, but sex?”
Heather and Derek, the guy, who threw a hand over her shoulder, shared an incredulous look, before shaking their heads and answering in unison.
“Nope… never… And you love us, girl.”
“Don’t you have a boyfriend?” frowned Rachel, raising her head to look at her friend.
“Yes, I do. And this is why I don’t try to get the boy myself. Also, because he is straight,” shrugged off Derek, with a wide smile.
“And how exactly do you know that?” questioned Rachel rolling her eyes.
“Did you see the way he looked at you?” asked Derek, sharing another look with Heather, the plan already building in their heads.
“Okay, you two… drop it. I know this look, and you will not try to hook me up with him. He looked at me the same way as any other rich boy in town would look at me. He is a jerk and a snob. And I’m not interested. Besides you know I have a lot on my plate right now. So stop even thinking about this. Be thankful I even agreed to go to that party with you, because if my brother finds out I lied to him... He will kill you first for dragging me there and then lock me up until graduation... or death in solitude,” she mumbled quickly before taking a deep breath to calm her nerves. “And Derek, don’t you dare to forget that you promised me to do our dance. We need to practice.”
“Don’t worry. I’ll remember. I’m always up to show my new moves,” he said, wiggling his brows.
“Okay, then let’s go. You know I need to change first and unpack my boxes before my housemate will arrive, which you also promised to do with me,” reminded Rachel, and they went to her house, laughing on their way there.
By the time the clock struck seven, Jordan went into a club hosting a party, scowling at the number of people there. His posture was stiff and on alert while he looked around. Ready to jump into an action at any time.
“Brandon, tell me again, why exactly did I agree to go with you?” said he in a loud voice, while trying to get through the crowd and not to lose his friend from the view, who already scanned the crowd for the distraction for the night.
“To have fun, plus I needed a wingman... Actually... scratch out the last one, I see a target at the bar, bored, single, challenging, redhead. Wingman not required,” Brandon said with a wink, when they finally got inside, instantly starting to move into the direction of the petite girl who captured his attention leaving Jordan behind.
He followed his friend with a glance before looking around the floor. His attention immediately drew to a dancing couple in the middle of the dance floor. Both moving as a whole to the sounds of Latin Music. The sensual dance attracted the drunken crowd closer to them, creating a commotion on the dance floor from enthusiastic screams and whistles. His brows furrowed instantly when he recognised the same pretty blonde girl he met earlier today. Her hair laid in soft waves. And he felt how his gaze unintentionally riveted to her, watching her every move, unable to tear his gaze away.
He watched how the guy led her into a low dip. His hand shifted to the small of her back when another traveled along her neck caressing her body as if they were in the confidentiality of the bedroom. His hand slowly reached for her knee making her stretch out her leg. A beautiful red dress flowed around her body, dancing around her petite frame like flames. At some point during the dance, she looked straight into his eyes, and he felt as if falling under her spell. Her soft forest green eyes were burning with fire, alighting something unexplored inside of him. Something that had died with his friends that day, something that they never will have and something that he will never deserve.
He could feel how his heart sped up beating as never before, and his breath elevated, from the beats of sultry music and the way her body moved in another man’s arms. Waves of golden hair refracted the lights of the club, and she moved, holding his gaze as though burning him alive from the inside. As if under the spell, Jordan moved closer to the dancers not even realising it until a buzzing of his mobile broke him out of his daze.
It seemed that eternity had passed when in reality it was only a splitting second, second that he would be not able to get out of his mind. He could feel the pounding of his heart increasing with impending anger as he looked at the caller’s ID, blinking once... twice at the phone clenched in his hand. Contemplating for a moment to just let it go to the voicemail. Not wanting or ready for another confrontation that was inevitably coming.
Deep down he knew that it wasn’t a solution and no matter how long he would avoid it his mother would find the way to get to him, so before he could think about that more he went outside of the club to take a call, not even sparing another glance to the dance floor... or to the girl who’s eyes looked so familiar.
“Mother,” he said, taking a call. “Sorry, I…,” he started, interrupted by his mother’s voice “No mother, I didn’t… I’m with Brandon… Yes, he is still my friend,” replied Jordan, trying to stay calm, while listening to his mother. His grip on the phone was getting firmer and firmer with every word she said, surprised that it didn't break in half by the time he had a chance to speak again. “Mother, no I still plan to study Medicine and not business,” said he, annoyed by yet another remark from his mother. “MOTHER,” he said, raising his voice and losing control just for a split second, before taking a deep calming breath and closing his eyes. “This is my life, and I have all the right to decide what I want or don’t want to do with it. Look what you've done to Leslie? Isn’t it enough…,” exasperatedly said he, only to be shut up by his mother once again. “Yes, mother,” he gritted through his clenched teeth, feeling how his blood started to boil again, wanting nothing more than to get drunk, and to get away as far as possible from his family as he did while he served in the Marine Corps, until he couldn't do that anymore.
His hand reached for his hip by instinct. The wound was deep enough to make him bleed to death on that ill fated day leaving him dead, but it didn’t happen... Instead it made him limp, but he could manage that. This he could hide from everyone with the prescribed medicine when the pain got to the point of unbearable and with the gritted teeth when he just wanted to limp, not caring if somebody will consider it a weakness. And it took him the hell of a lot of willpower to remember it. To remember that he cannot allow himself to be weak, couldn’t allow to show it. No one knew how bad it was... no one except Brandon, who was there for him after he saved his life. The only person who knew that if the bullet would have hit the inch higher or if the help would get there a little bit later Jordan would bleed to death. The only person to whom he told how bad it is and how much pain it causes him even now.
“No, I will not change my mind,” said he on autopilot before ending the phone call abruptly without listening to what else his mother wanted to say. After a moment, he finally shoved the phone back into the pocket of his dark blue jeans moving back into the club and walking toward the bar.
The music has changed to something slower and sensual, and when he looked on the dance floor his eyes landed on the same tantalisingly beautiful stranger who was in the middle of the argument.
He could see how some man grabbed her hand, but she jerked it from him and stormed toward the exit.
He huffed, downing one drink after another, not paying attention to what he was drinking, his eyes dropping back to the bar in front of him. His thoughts involuntarily returned to the girl, but he pushed them away. Frustrated and angry by the fact that he couldn’t get her out of his head for some inexplicable reason. Hurt and angry by the fact his mother managed to get under his skin once again.
By the time he was done and ready to leave the club, the anger boiling inside him reached the limit. Jordan rose abruptly, almost tripping over his feet, when the pain in his hip shot through his leg, making him curse under his breath, taking a moment to compose himself.
He looked around, searching for Brandon, but couldn’t find him anywhere, so he typed him a quick message letting him know that he was heading back to his place. When he was just about to exit the club, he felt someone bump straight into him. His arms instinctively wrapped around the person’s shoulders, preventing them both from the fall.
Tagging: @choices-bound @lahelasaveiro
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The Rights Of A Nindroid
Chapter Twenty-Eight
(Previous Chapter Here)
Hey so this took a while shshgd
On the bright side I finished 29 before this one so you can get that tomorrow-
Sentry rubs at his forehead with one hand, feeling his exhaustion starting to bleed into his voice. “Do you know anything I could actually use? These ‘reports’ don’t really tell me much- other than that they’re suffering more and more every minute.”
He can see the exasperation reflected on Kyle, the blond seeming just as frustrated as he is. “Well, I'd like to see you go and be a double agent, Sentry.” The intern crosses his arms. “I'm doing what I can, you know? I don't have access to everything.”
Gritting his teeth, Sentry concedes the point. “I- I- okay, I get that. It’s just-“ He cuts himself off with a frustrated groan. This is hopeless!
After taking a brief moment to pull himself together, he tries again. “Have you at least seen them?” As soon as the words leave his mouth, another rush of fear overtakes him. “They’re- they’re both still in one piece, right?”
Cringing, Kyle glances away. “Uhhh… Question, do you consider the faceplate to be an important piece? Does it still count as 'in one piece' if it's gone?” He shifts on his feet, but Sentry can barely register the movement.
For a moment, all he can do is stand there, struggling to wrap his head around what was just implied.
“... sorry, are you telling me that their faceplates were removed?”
The words are tight with tension, but he can’t help it. They- hell, they had removed their faces?
Glancing away, Kyle scratches at the back of his neck nervously. “...Yes?” He admits. “Didn't answer my question, though-“
He cuts himself off, but Sentry can’t make himself reply. They- they had-
“I- I-“ He still can’t manage to get any words out, so he just… takes a moment before answering. “Okay. That- yeah, that’s a piece. Definitely a piece.”
With a deep breath and a lot of willpower, he decides to switch up his focus to something he’ll hopefully be able to use to help. “Alright, I can- we’ll just move past that. Other- other than the faceplate, are they okay?”
Kyle winces. “...Please don't get angry at my next question, but…” he gives Sentry a weak, strained smile. "Mentally or physically?"
His mind skitters to a halt.
He stares at Kyle, barely even able to process the full meaning behind the question. It feels almost as though his processor is lagging.
For a few moments, that’s all he can do. Until he’s finally able to get out an actual response to the words.
“Excuse me?”
The blond seems to have picked up on the emotions radiating off of him- honestly, they’d probably be pretty hard to miss.
“Do I really have to say it again?” Kyle chuckles nervously. “Because I feel like if I do it's my face that's gonna get ripped off-“
Sentry ignores the way he’s trembling in favor of staring the blond down, not letting him finish. “Both.” He narrows his eyes. “Are they okay?”
Kyle looks away, hesitating a long moment before he replies.
“They… are not,” he admits, still not meeting his gaze.
Even though it feels like it’s happened a lot today, Sentry finds that his voice just refuses to respond. There’s so many thoughts racing through his head that none of them are coherent.
It takes a while- a long while- before he’s able to get a grasp on himself.
Slowly, carefully, he looks the blond dead in the eyes, refusing to let him shy away.
“Kyle.”
The blond only stares, not seeming to be sure how to react to him. “...Sentry…?” He returns the name, looking extremely nervous.
Sentry idly notices that he’s stopped trembling. All of the raw emotions that had been pounding through him before feel condensed. Solid. So intense that he can barely recognize them as feelings.
“Are they going to get disassembled?”
It looks like his seriousness carried over, because Kyle quickly nods. “They aren't!” He blurts out the reassurance without hesitation. “As long as they follow orders, they're not even really threatened.”
Right. Following orders. Because that’s something they’re made to do. Treated like they’re less than human, like they’re not capable of conscious thought, like they’re just code rather than actual living beings that happen to be made of code-
Shoving the thoughts from his head, Sentry takes a deep breath, trying to calm himself down.
“... okay,” he murmurs. “They’re not in danger of dying. I- I can work with that.”
And he can. They need to hold out a little longer, just so he can get to them. He knows Cryptor well enough to know that he can handle this, he’s strong, and while he shouldn’t have to go through this, he’ll be able to. And Zane is… well, Zane. The white ninja, the master of ice, there’s a statue of him in the park! He’ll be just as-
Quietly enough that Sentry can barely even register them, Kyle mutters a few soft words.
“...And also Zane is going outside…”
Tensing, Sentry snaps his attention back to the intern. “Hang on, what?” He gets out, trying to make sure he heard that right.
The blond shifts nervously. “Uh, um… Well, I heard that sometime soon, they're going to escort him outside for a little while-“ He glances off to the side. “But I don't know when or where, though.”
A wave of mixed emotions take over, and Sentry sputters for a moment before speaking. “I- that- why didn’t you lead with that?!”
Not waiting for a response, he decides to ask some more pressing questions.
“That- okay, not when or where, but- maybe not an exact time, but you said ‘soon’, right? Does that mean ‘today’, or ‘this week’, or- or ‘before the end of the month’?”
Maybe he doesn’t know the precise time, but even a rough idea would be helpful. He-
“Sentry, I just told you that-“ Kyle sighs, looking a mix of exhausted and frustrated. “I said I didn't know the exact time, or else I would've told you! I have absolutely no idea what the details are. We're lucky I remembered the info at all, honestly.”
For a moment, all he can do is stare, unable to fully figure out what to say or do. “That-“ He shakes his head, trying to refocus. Freaking out isn’t helping anything.
“Alright, I’ll- I’ll just work with what I’ve got.”
Redirecting his attention, he turns to his computer as he pulls up another tab inside his head. Using both systems, he starts mumbling his ideas under his breath, hoping that saying them out loud might help him think better.
“… if I can triangulate his signatures, maybe I can- he’s got a unique power source, or maybe I can try seeing if his ice will come up in a scan, I could see if there’s been any unusual connection to the internet…” he trails off, pulling up some websites and programs to help him start setting up a system.
Even though he’s not looking at him, he can hear Kyle’s nervous fidgeting. “Good call, yeah. You do that. And I'll, uh… I'll leave you to it and go if that's alright.”
At the words, Sentry glances back, considering them. He hesitates a moment before he replies. “... alright,” he concedes. “Call me if you remember anything else, okay?”
With a tired sigh, Kyle nods. “Of course. I will. Take care, Sentry.”
With a nod of acknowledgement, he turns back to his work, starting to type up a new program to help him figure out where Zane might show up.
“... alright, so if I scan for a possible power surge…”
——————————————
It’s about a week later when he finally picks up a signal.
It’s coming from just outside Birchwood Forest.
Without waiting even a moment longer than he has to, he runs through the tower, choosing to take the stairs instead of the elevator- the tower might be tall, but with all the frantic energy he’s generating, it’ll be a lot faster than the elevator.
Still, it takes a lot longer than he’d like to reach ground level. After a split second of hesitation, he decides not to call Dad and tell him where he’s going- he doesn’t have time. He doesn’t even have time to call the ninja!
Grabbing a motorcycle from the armory, he doesn’t even bother putting on a helmet. His skin’s made of titanium- any gear would just be redundant at that point.
Every second feels like an entirety as he races out of the city, ignoring every single road and safety law that applies. The government’s confirmed that nindroids don’t have legal rights, so it’s not like they can arrest him for it.
When he finally, finally reaches the forest, he quickly turns off the bike and races in, running every scan he can think of.
Nothing shows up.
Is he too late? Did he take too long? Did they already leave? Why did they even bring Zane out here? What-
Just as he’s starting to panic, one scan of the terrain returns positive.
Footprints.
They show up easily in the snow, and Sentry follows them, a grim smile starting to form as he recognizes one set matching Zane.
Surprisingly, there doesn’t seem to be any sign of struggle- though it’s pretty likely they had something set up to prevent him from making an escape. They-
Wait a minute. What- that- why… why can he smell smoke?
The footprints suddenly become the least of his worries as he steps into a clearing.
And is horrified by the sight that greets him.
“No…” he breathes, shock flooding through him.
In front of him, he recognizes the smoldering ashes. Or at least, what they used to be.
So that’s why they brought him out here. This must have been… a punishment of some kind.
Even as he wants to follow where the footprints go next, he finds himself rooted to the spot, unable to tear his gaze away.
Unable to tear his gaze away from what he knows can’t be salvaged.
The workshop where Zane was raised…
Made of nothing more than ashes.
#the rights of a nindroid#ninjago fanfiction#ninjago#trauma#psychological torture#look you guys know the drill now-#this chapter isnt even that bad shdjh
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All the Many Shades of Gerry - Chapter 6
Chapters: 6/19
Fandom: The Magnus Archives (Podcast)
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Relationships: Martin Blackwood/Gerard Keay/Jonathan "Jon" Sims | The Archivist, Martin Blackwood/Gerard Keay, Martin Blackwood/Jonathan "Jon" Sims | The Archivist, Gerard Keay/Jonathan "Jon" Sims | The Archivist
Characters: Martin Blackwood, Jonathan "Jon" Sims | The Archivist, Gerard Keay, Tim Stoker (The Magnus Archives), Sasha James, Gertrude Robinson, Elias Bouchard
Additional Tags: Alternate Universe, Library AU, Librarian Jon, Artist Gerry, Trans Male Character, Trans Martin Blackwood, Canon Asexual Character, Asexual Jonathan "Jon" Sims | The Archivist, Ace Subtype - Sex Positive, Polyamory, Fluff, Fluff and Angst, Romantic Fluff, Falling In Love, Boys in Skirts, Kissing, Demisexual Gerard Keay, Minor Character Death, Past Character Death, Canon-Typical Child Neglect, Implied/Referenced Child Abuse, Flirting, Minor Jonathan "Jon" Sims | The Archivist/Tim Stoker, Adventures in Hair Dying, Happy Ending, Banter, Gerry has a lot of sass, Gerard Keay is Morticia Adams, Jon is a very grumpy Librarian, Martin adores them anyway.
Summary: In which Gerry is a kaleidoscope and Jon and Martin can't help falling in love with him.
He happens to love them back.
Find it on Ao3
[1] [2] [3] [4] [5]
"Do you really hate Keats that much?" Martin asks Jon, sounding faintly betrayed. They're sitting on a pile of cushions in front of Gerry's big window, while the man himself stands painting nearby.
There has been no previous mention of Keats since they arrived several hours ago, nor in the entire course of Gerry knowing them together.
Granted, he had barely been awake when they had arrived, having rolled out of bed just seconds before the knock came, but Gerry thought he had been keeping fairly decent track of the overall conversation.
He had thought Sunday brunch was a great idea when Jon suggested it during the week. Only remembering half-way through his shift the previous night that he was normally dead asleep during that time on a Sunday. But needs must, and after coffee and food, he was feeling downright perky at having two cute boys in his apartment.
Jon and Martin had settled into the pillow pile to occupy themselves while Gerry wandered off to paint, and they had spent several hours each engaged in their own artistic endeavors, simply enjoying the energy of one another's company.
Jon had started out reading but kept getting distracted by the way the light in the studio catches in Gerry's dark red hair, tied up in a chaotic messy bun, and had idly been strumming Gerry's old acoustic guitar for a while instead. Martin had been writing in a notebook, tongue often caught between his teeth in contemplation, glasses pushed up onto the top of his hair.
Jon stops playing abruptly and Gerry winces at the discordant note the guitar lets out in protest.
"I think Keats is pretty cool," offers Gerry cheerfully.
"Thank you, Gerard, very helpful," grouses Jon in return, glaring at him. Gerry blows him a kiss and returns to his canvas.
"I don't hate Keats, Martin." Jon's voice is slow and soft in the way that indicates that he's actually trying to be sensitive, "I just think he's overrated. After spending so much time in uni pouring over his boring symbolism, I'm just sick of him."
Jon's English literature degree, which Gerry remembers with some humour does not qualify him for a job at a library, had been a pain to get, and he doesn't always remember that part of his life with any great fondness.
"I know, but-" Martin cuts off abruptly and there's unexpected silence for a moment.
"Gerry, do you have a cat?" Jon's voice is incredulous and somewhat delighted at the new development.
"Yes," Gerry replies, very casually. He looks around to find that the cat has indeed wandered in and is sitting in a shaft of sunlight, black fur shining. "Jon, Martin, meet Saturn. Saturn, this is Jon and Martin."
Saturn blinks at them, before abruptly standing, showing them his butt, and then walking over to twine between Gerry's legs. Gerry deposits his painting supplies nearby and reaches down to scoop Saturn up, before carrying him over to sit with the others.
"He's not always great with new people, but hopefully he'll warm up to you. He can be a great cuddler when he wants to be." Saturn eyes them all speculatively before sitting on his own cushion and curling up in a fluffy ball.
"So he's like the Jon cat?" Martin asks, sneaking out a finger to scratch Saturn's fluffy little ears. He purrs lightly and Gerry grins to see them getting along.
"Well-" Jon splutters indignantly, face warming beneath his tan.
They both laugh and Gerry leans towards Martin to whisper conspiratorially, "He's not even embarrassed about being bad with new people. He's shy that we know how good of a cuddler he is."
Jon presses his lips together with a long-suffering expression, also reaching out a hand to pet the purring feline. Saturn rolls over towards him and gets a belly rub for his efforts.
"There we go," Gerry mutters happily. "All my favorite boys, getting along so well."
There's more sputtering from both Jon and Martin at that, but Gerry only laughs and leans over to kiss the tops of their heads.
***
Jon sighs and rubs the back of his neck, trying to release the burning tension sitting in all the joints of his spine.
It's 1 A.M. and the library is long, long closed, doors locked and lights turned out. He doesn't know how he gets here sometimes. Elias has certainly never overtly demanded he work overtime, and yet Jon always feels the need to push a little harder, do more than anyone would consider even remotely reasonable.
He accepted a while ago, that his irrational drive for perfection in this job stems from his self-doubt and fear of inadequacy.
And yet, that understanding does nothing to get him home at a reasonable hour, even when he remembers the two men who always seem to be around when he needs them.
It's unfathomable to Jon how he managed to find himself in a relationship with not one but two incredibly understanding and supportive men who love him. He considers it a downright miracle that they also seemed to be finding their way towards loving one another. Although, who wouldn't love Martin and Gerry?
He checks his watch again. Martin is definitely asleep, and even just stumbling in to lie in bed with him would disturb him. He knows the sweet man would say he doesn't mind, but he feels like if he can't get back at a reasonable hour, he doesn't deserve to sleep next to him at all.
Gerry, on the other hand, is mostly nocturnal. A quick check of his phone shows that it's actually Friday, and he is working at the bar for another hour or so.
While Jon has his phone in his hand, he opens up their text chain.
Gerry: Don't work too late. Martin and I want you functional so that we can drag you out to that street market this weekend.
Jon: I won't.
Gerry: Yes, you will. But try to keep it pre-midnight ;)
'He's awake,' Jon tells himself firmly. 'He'll be happy to see you, even if you did work even later than he predicted.'
So Jon packs up his stuff and leaves the library. He considers a cab, but it's only a few blocks and he thinks the fresh air and exercise will unlock the tension in his poor abused spine.
He arrives at the bar just before closing. Gerry is busy charming a few drunk regulars out the door with promises of undying love and that the bar will be back tomorrow afternoon. After they stumble off, he turns to find Jon walking slowly towards him. Gerry is wearing combat boots, dark jeans, and a loose leather tank top, over a lace undershirt. He has his favorite hoop in his nose, and the light glints off the many piercings in his ears.
"Why, Gerry Delano, aren't you a sight for sore eyes." Gerry grins at Jon's teasing tone and echoed words, no sign of recrimination about him.
"I always am." Jon reaches Gerry at that, and they draw together, pressing tired lips against each other gently.
Gerry's hair has faded out a bit from the moody red, and Jon slips his hands into his hair to hold him close for a moment longer. They rock together on the street for a long, frozen moment.
"To what do I owe the pleasure?" Gerry asks, pulling away and sliding his hands down Jon's arms to connect their fingers.
"I missed you," Jon confesses shakily, emotion spilling out of his voice.
"Good, I missed you too." Gerry drags him into the bar and fills the air with stories from his shift while he and his colleagues clean for the evening, closing up the bar.
They walk home arm in arm, Gerry flirting with him mercilessly. Jon sheds the day's tension as they go, and by the time they arrive at Gerry's loft, he's warm and relaxed.
He supposes he should probably go back to his own flat, but it's not a place he spends the night very often anymore, and he fears the creeping insomnia that will take him without Martin and Gerry around to soothe him into sleep. Besides, Gerry is right here with him, and he seems so pleased to have him around.
"Are you going to paint now?" Jon asks as they shed their work clothes. Jon is sorry to see the lace shirt go, but Gerry makes up for it by simply throwing a kimono over his bare chest. He throws him a T-shirt, so Jon wears that and his boxers as they settle on the couch. Gerry is still wearing his jeans, but both their feet are bare as they tangle on the coffee table.
"I'm not sure, do you want to?" Gerry asks as he lights a cigarette and offers Jon one.
"What? Do I want to paint?" Jon's voice is taken aback. He takes the cigarette and lights it.
Gerry shrugs as if it's obvious. "Sure, you used to draw with me when we were younger."
"Yes, but…"
"But what, Jonathon? You're too old to paint now? Too proper and straight-laced to get charcoal under your nails? No more piercings, no more creativity?" Gerry sways into his shoulder, drawing smoke into his lungs and letting it out as he speaks.
"No, it's not that." Jon grouses back. Gerry hums derisively in return. "I just don't see the point of wasting your drawing paper when you can do that." Jon gestures wildly towards Gerry's most recently completed painting.
Gerry eyes it critically. It's the commission that he's been slogging over petulantly. It's large and impressively done, he can accept that, but he doesn't like it very much. He hates the subject and composition Peter Lukas has demanded and compensated by pouring all his best technique into it. It makes him sad and sullen to look at, and Gerry will be relieved when it's finally gone.
"For every painting like that I've ever done, Jon," Gerry spills all his affection into the name, and Jon can feel it, "I've done a thousand ridiculous sketches and colour studies. Art is time, and diligence and joy as much as it ever is masterpieces. You don't sit down one day and magically just know how to be a maestro."
Jon looks over and up at him with big green eyes. Gerry can't help but lean over and slide his hand into Jon's hair, pressing their lips together for a moment. "So Mr. Sims. Can I tempt you to make some art with me?"
***
What they create in those soft early morning hours can only generously be called art, even Gerry's efforts. But they laugh and kiss and somehow get covered in charcoal and acrylic paint. Gerry even allows Jon to choose the Spotify playlist. Slow piano music with nature sounds play softly in the background of their impromptu art party, reminding Gerry of nothing so much as Jon himself.
The dawn is just breaking through Gerry's massive bank of windows when he allows Jon to drag him off to bed, and they collapse together in the soft morning light.
***
Late the next morning, Martin lets himself into the flat and bounces down onto the bed between them, sending Saturn flying off in a huff.
"So, I heard there was a slumber party. I brought breakfast."
"Fuck off," Gerry slurs, but rather undermines his own point when he pulls Martin down and tucks himself around him. Jon does the same from the other side, and Martin finds himself in the middle of a very sleepy man sandwich.
Gerry seems to instantly fall back asleep, but Jon eventually drags himself to consciousness, even buried in Martin's neck. "What's time?"
"Almost ten," he responds, very cheerfully.
"WHAT-" Jon flies out of bed in a blind panic, desperately looking for his phone, which is dead when he finds it anyway. "I'm already so fucking late!"
Gerry groans.
"Relax Jon." Martin tries to soothe him but is hindered by the fact that Gerry is still clinging to him in a very enjoyable way. "Gerry, love, let me go. Jon is having a meltdown."
"How unusual," Gerry mutters very unsupportively, Jon manages to notice. He flops over onto his other side and attempts to bury himself in pillows instead of Martin.
"Jon, breathe." Swinging up to sit on the edge of the bed, Martin uses his best man-disaster steadying tone. Gerry has come to realize what that tone is, but he doesn't mention it to anyone. "It's Saturday."
Jon slumps and drops the pants he was desperately trying to wrangle himself into.
"It's Saturday?" He asks.
"It's Saturday," Gerry confirms from the pillow fort.
Jon glares at Martin in a very put upon way. Martin smiles at him brightly.
He turns and wanders off to the bathroom in an effort to collect himself. Martin resumes his spot in the middle of the bed, and drags Gerry towards him, tucking himself into his back.
"Hmmm. So much noise on a weekend." The goth mutters as he attempts to resettle himself in Martin's arms.
"I'll make it up to you later," Martin promises, pressing a kiss behind his ear.
"You let that happen on purpose, didn't you." It's not a question. "Just to see that look on his face."
"Yes," Martin says, chuckling into Gerry's pillow.
"Very good, sir."
#the magnus archives#jonathan sims#martin blackwood#gerry keay#jongerrymartin#gerard keay#also on ao3#fic
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Alone Together; Chapter 1
A/N So yeah, another story, but a bit different then what you are used from me. This is a more realistic story then my others, but I love it very much. And as you can see it is multi-chapter. Massive thanks to my amazing beta @therubyjailcell
AO3 link
Chapter 2
Trigger Warnings: Kicking out, transphobia, food mention, panic attack, unintentional misgendering
Please report any mistakes I might have made, then I can fix them
The day hadn’t started that weird for Patton. At exactly seven am he was woken up by the neighbor’s rooster, had stretched, showered and baked an egg for himself. He greeted the mailman, Nate, who was as normal late again, and he was now sitting in his chair, reading the newspaper and thinking about the new freelance job he had gotten. What wasn’t according to plan however, is that at ten am his phone went off. He didn’t expect any calls, nobody called him anyway besides from his sister Angela on his birthday. And seeing that it wasn’t his birthday, he was extra surprised that it was actually his sister that was calling him. He took up the phone but didn’t even get to say hello because Angela immediately started talking.
“Patton, thank god. Say you still live in that small town in Canada right? Carston?” she rambled, gasping for air at the end of the sentence
“Carstairs yes, but why...” Patton tried to ask more, but immediately his sister started talking again
“Okay, good. You remember Valerie, right?”
“Your daughter? Yes, you told me about her a few times, sounded like a lovely child”
“Well she is not so lovely anymore” the disgust is clear in her voice. “She will be put on a plane tonight, and will arrive at your home tomorrow,”
“Wait, Angela, what is this all abou…”
“She will stay with you until she can act normal again. Hopefully that town of yours can slap some sense into her. It did it to you,”
“Angela…”
But it was to late, the line went dead, and all that could be heard now was the beeping of a line cut off. Patton was confused, but nothing to be done about it now. Tomorrow his niece would arrive, so he should start making the guest room.
~~~
At 3 pm, the next day, a cab turned up in Patton’s driveway. Patton just finished baking a chocolate cake for his guest, because he thought it must be scary for her too to suddenly have to stay with an uncle she had never met and probably only heard about on a handful of occasions, if ever at all. He quickly threw his now very flour stained apron in a washing basket before walking to the door. But when he opened the door, it was not really what he was expecting. Instead of the girl in a sundress, there was standing a child with short, purple dyed hair wearing an oversized patched jacket and ripped jeans, together with some obviously worn out Vans. She looked, like a boy…
Patton quickly pulled himself together. It is not his place to judge the fashion of adolescents, he thought. He has probably been living so long in the middle of nowhere that everything has probably changed. Then he noticed that Valerie was looking extremely nervous.
“Owh, I’m sorry kiddo. I was probably staring. It is just… I have never seen you,” Great Patton, he thought. Way to make it awkward.
Valerie shook up, clearly startled by Patton suddenly talking.
“No, ehm, I’m sorry” she says, fiddling more with the sleeves of her jacket.
“No, no need to be sorry. I guess it is just a pretty nervous situation for both of us. Besides it is not good to make the present tense,” Patton said with a cheeky smile.
Valerie first looked up in confusion, before letting out a small chuckle and after that immediately slapping her hand before her mouth. Patton noticed it but decided to not say anything about it but instead giving her a reassuring smile.
“Now, Valerie, I made chocolate cake you want some?”
All the joy that was first in Valerie’s eyes immediately disappeared and she went back to fidgeting with her sleeves while muttering something, tears clearly forming in her eyes. Patton immediately stopped walking towards the kitchen and knelt next to her.
“Hey, kiddo, what’s wrong?”
Valerie said nothing, the fidgeting only increasing.
“Is it something I said? Please tell me, then I can change it in the future,”
“Can’t. Bad. ‘m being annoying,” she muttered, just loud enough for Patton to hear.
“You’re not being annoying Valerie, please tell me what’s wrong? I want to help you,”
Valerie flinched again.
“Can’t. Mom angry. Don’t deserve,” Her breathing was getting heavier, more irregular. Patton knew this was not good and having seen his friend Logan once getting a panic attack, he now knew the signs of one.
“Valerie, look at me,” Patton said, but to no prevail. The sobbing only increases. The name, he thinks then. Every time he has said her name, it got worse. Okay, new tactic.
“Kiddo, can I touch you?” No words come out, but Patton sees her head slightly shaking so he doesn’t do it.
“Okay, no touching. Can you listen to my voice?”
Nod
“Good. Now, we are going to breathe in for four seconds, can you do it with me?”
Valerie gets in a shaky breath, but after two seconds she starts coughing.
“No worries, we can just try it again. One, two, three, four. Good job. Now we are gonna hold that breath for seven seconds. Yes? Good. Now we are going to breathe out for eight. Yes, there you go,”
Valerie does everything he askes of her, and after a few times her breathing gets more evened out and the sobs start to become softer.
“Can I touch you now kiddo? You want a hug?” Patton asked. Valerie nodded in return. Patton enveloped her in a hug, slowly stroking her hair while she sighed against his chest. They sit there for about ten minutes, Valerie noticeably becoming calmer. After a few minutes of silence, she suddenly said something, but it is muffled by Patton’s shirt. Patton slowly looked down, still stroking her hair.
“Sorry, what did you say? I couldn’t really understand you,”
Valerie looked up for a moment, eyes red from crying, before she starts talking again.
“My… my name is Virgil,”
Taglist:
@emologan @therubyjailcell
#Sanders Sides#virgil sanders#patton sanders#Trans!Virgil#thomas sanders#cassie can write#Alone together AU#tw: transphobia
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Woke the F*ck Up- Chapter 21
April 5th, 2018
“All right everyone! That’s it. Make sure to drink water and walk around a bit because that was an intense forty-five minutes. Remember, next week is Spin with a Friend and your friend gets in for free. Please pre-register, it fills up fast.” Kara calls after her escaping class. She smiles at their exhausted faces, knowing that despite the complaints, that almost all of them would be back for the next class. She hops off her own bike and begins toweling off the sweat from her arms, neck, and stomach.
“Hey, Coach K!” Kara jumps at the bright voice of the woman standing a little too close.
“Hey, Amanda. What can I do for you?” Kara asks her. She was a regular at her gym since the beginning.
“Well, I’ve been coming here for a while and I…” Amanda trails off, biting her lip and glancing away.
“What is it, Amanda? Is something wrong?”
“No! No. I was just wondering if maybe you would like to… Would you like to go on a date with me?”
“Oh, umm… well…” Kara was caught completely off guard.
“Forget it. It’s stupid. I should go.” Amanda hikes her bag higher on her shoulder, face beet red. Kara catches her wrist to keep her from running away.
“I’m sorry Amanda. I am so flattered. Really. I am just not in a good place right now.” Kara tries to let her down gently.
“Right. I saw the tabloids, I just didn’t realize they were true.”
“They aren’t,” Kara says tersely, but she sees the hurt in Amanda’s face.
“I’m sorry. As you can see, it’s very complicated, and it wouldn’t be fair to you at all.”
“I get it, Kara. It’s fine. Just thought I’d shoot my shot. Seems I missed.”
“I’m sorry,” Kara says.
“Please, there is nothing to apologize for.”
“Still, I’m sorry.”
“I’ll see you around Kara.” Amanda touches Kara’s shoulder before leaving the room. Kara exhales. Amanda was a sweet woman, but, if Kara was honest, she felt her and Lena were becoming something and as long as there was that hope, no one could change Kara’s heart. Kara grabs her gym bag and heads to let her employees at the front that she should be in her office. Then she heads down to see if Winn has anything new.
“Nothing. Nada. Zippo.” Winn says in lieu of a greeting. Kara sighs and sits next to him.
“Where could she be?”
“An Alternate Universe?”
“I think that would be easier to find,” Kara says, rubbing at her temples. Kara’s phone begins to ring.
“It’s Lena,” Kara tells Winn, heading over to her living space to answer it from the comfort of her couch.
“Hey, Lee.”
“Hey, Kara. Just taking a break from recording. I was wondering if you had any news?”
“Ugh no. Nothing new. Hows that banjo going?” Kara can practically hear the eye roll.
“Wonderfully. It turned out better than I thought. Sam is still skeptical. But don’t change the subject. You really have nothing?”
“We just can’t find her. It’s like she has disappeared. Wherever she is, it doesn't exist.”
“I’m sorry Kar, I wish I could help. Besides the kidnapping, I haven't spoken to my mother since before Lex… Wait. Doesn't Exist. I have an idea.”
“What is it, Lee?”
“Luthor Mansion.”
“I’m sorry. Did you say mansion?”
“Yes. My father’s family were upper class in Scotland. Then my great-grandfather came over to the New World, giving up his inheritance. He barely scraped by, dying and leaving my grandfather an orphan. He spent his life being a petty thief. Rumor is he got in with the wrong crowd and committed murder before he and my grandmother died in a fire. Lionel basically built himself an empire from those ashes and the insurance claim. When Lionel had the money, he bought out what was left of the Luthor family in Scotland, then, just because he could, he had the family mansion shipped over, brick by brick, and meticulously reconstructed here. Well, right outside of Smallville.” Lena pauses as Kara absorbs these new facts about Lena’s family.
“Okay. So what are you getting at?”
“That mansion, is on a huge property, most of it undeveloped forests. All off the public record. Also, my father installed cloaking devices around the actual mansion so it is obscured to satellites. Basically, it doesn't exist.”
“Wait, so, your family has a secret mansion and this is the first I’m hearing of it?”
“Well, I haven't been since I was a child, and it went to Lex after Lionel died. It should go to me after his trial. But until then, well I haven't thought about it since I was ten. Once the Smallville Luthor Factor was closed, Lionel didn’t want to go back.”
“Thank you, Lee. We will check it out. Are you coming back for the trial?” Kara hears Lena sigh.
“I don’t know. I’ve been asked to testify. It's just hard, and I feel...confused.”
“I’m sorry I can’t be there to help you through this. But he is still your brother, it is okay to be sad. Talk with Sam to work through it. Even if you don’t go to the trial, maybe you would still be willing to come to this side of the pond?” Kara asks hopefully.
“If I’m not going to the trial then I want to be as far from that courtroom as possible. I’ll let you know though.”
“Okay. I’ll call you if Winn finds anything on the Luthor Mansion.”
“Please do. I want my mother caught just as much as you do. I’ll text the coordinates. Bye, Kara.”
“Goodbye Lee.”
Kara walks back over to sit with Winn, her phone dings with coordinates from Lena. She fills Winn in on what Lena told her and he plugs the coordinates into his system. It takes a moment for the maps to load. Kara waits in tense silence. This is the closest they had come. Disappoint sweeps through her as an image of treetops fill the screen.
“Well, You did say there was cloaking. Give me a few minutes.” Winn’s fingers flew across the keyboard as he typed lines of code. A lot of things happened that Kara didn’t really understand. But then, suddenly, it was like layers being stripped away and there was a sprawling roof nestled between the pines.
“There it is!” Kara exclaims. Winn flinches away from the sudden outburst.
“I’m going to work on getting live imagining. But that’s going to take longer. Maybe go set some arrangements because if you want to get there by tomorrow you should leave as soon as possible. I don’t think you should fly because you’ll need all your equipment. Smallville is pretty far away.”
“Your right. I’ll be back soon.”
After an hour, Kara has contacted her manager and assistant manager to cover her shifts for a small bonus. Making excuses to her employees about going to Metropolis to hunt for possible expansion location for the gym. Which technically was true because Winn was already in contact with a realtor there. Then Kara went out the front door to grab her bike before getting food for her and Winn and returning to their secret entrance. She plopped the breakfast burritos in front of him as his eyes stare intently at the screen. Kara looks at what he is staring at, confused at the red moving dots overlaying the image of the house.
“Okay, so I may have acquired access to a couple of different satellites. This is thermal imaging, each red blob here is a person. It looks like there are at least fifteen men patrolling. This one here, that one hasn’t left that area so I think that may be Lillian. It’s hard to tell without any schematics of the building. You will be going in practically blind.”
“I still have to go. If there is a chance that Lillian is in that house, I need to put an end to it.”
“Okay. I do have a new toy for you. In your mask, I installed new lenses, they can switch to thermal to help you see through walls. That should give you an advantage in unknown territory.”
“Thanks, Winn! Okay, I’m going to finish my food and go.”
“Shouldn’t you bring Alex in on this?”
“Not yet. If I tell her now she will pull the federal card and forbid me to go, then they will cause a standoff and I just know that Lillian will slip away again. I’ll call her on the way so I can have a head start.”
“Okay. I’ve programmed the fastest route into your motorcycles computer.”
“Where would I be without you Winn?” Kara stands and squeezes his shoulder as she scarfs down the rest of her burrito. She heads to change out of her work out clothes and pack her suit into the bike.
“Probably dead.” Winn mumbles, but Kara doesn’t hear it.
**
April 6th, 2018
“And why the hell didn’t you call me before you left?” Alex yells into the phone
“Because you would have told me to stand down,” Kara replied calmly, zipping up her jacket, black instead of her normal red and blue, and fixing her mask into place. She was still in the cover of the woods surrounding the house, driving up as close as she could without risking being heard. She would go the rest of the way on foot.
“You’re damn right. Do not go in there. I am taking a helicopter to our metropolis branch and I’ll be there in three hours. Their assault team is already assembling to move as soon as I get there.” Kara could hear helicopter blades start to kick up in the background. Alex was moving fast.
“Sorry, sis. I’m already here. I can’t risk her escaping again. I already tried it your way and she escaped. Now I’m trying my way.”
“Ugh, Kara! Do not-”
“Sorry!Can’tHearYouOverTheSoundOfTheHelicoptor.Bye!” Kara rushes out and hangs up, cutting her sister off. She will pay for that later.
Kara set off in the direction of the mansion and called Lena.
“We think we have her. I’m headed to the mansion now. Satellite imaging shows sixteen people inside.”
“What? Seriously?”
“Yeah. Just wanted to let you know before I go in.”
“Please tell me you aren't going in alone to take on sixteen people.”
“Alex is on her way,” Kara says in a slightly higher pitch than normal.
“And are you waiting on her?”
“No…”
“Kara…”
“I’m sorry. I can’t risk it. I can’t let her get away again. What if…” Kara trails off.
“She kidnaps me again?”
“I can’t risk it. I need to end this. Today.”
“You aren't going to…” Lena says slowly.
“Oh, no! That’s why I called Alex. The authorities can take care of the justice. I just want to make sure she can’t escape again.”
“Please, be safe.”
“I will.”
“Good.” A moment of silence and then the line disconnects. Kara takes a deep breath before dialing Winn.
“Overwatch at your command PG.” Kara rolls her eyes.
“I’m half a mile out. Anything new?”
“No, it’s all the same. Patrols look like they are pretty well spaced out, three circling the outside the rest are inside. From what I’ve timed out, they will change shifts in an hour.”
“Copy that.”
Kara reaches the tree line and watches from the shadows in the fading light of day. The patrols were regularly spaced which would give Kara an opening to take them out. She slips from the tree line and into the shrubbery surrounding the imposing building, behind one man and before the next rounds the corner. She lets the first man go. When the second man is close enough, Kara lunges out, covering his mouth and injecting him with Winn’s Night-Night Serum. The Man collapses on Kara and she drops him in the bushes. She does the same thing twice more, knocking each man unconscious as they made their rounds. Then she slips into the window and into a vacant room on the first floor.
She turns on the thermal imaging and begins assessing what to do next. She is in a room stacked with boxes, it all looks like its stuff that has been stored away for several years. From what she could tell, there were five men on this floor, five on the second, and six faint signatures on the third floor. She turns it off, the different colors throwing her off. Everything is dark and quiet, except for the muffled sound of boots passing outside the door. Kara listens intently. She hears the man turn at the end of the hall and start back towards the door. Quickly, Kara gets to the door and cracks it open, the moment she sees the man’s back, she springs out and injects him. He goes limp immediately and Kara drags him into the storage room. She shuts the door behind herself and enters the elegant hallway. An expensive lush carpet runs across the deep mahogany floors. Art lines the walls, painting and vases and tapestries. All of it was cast in shadows and made uncertain shapes in the dark.
Just before she rounds the next corner, Kara hears the next man and ducks behind a pedestal and knocks the man out from behind again using another syringe. She lays him in the shadow against the wall and continues on. Trying to take out each man as she goes without raising an alarm. Soon the first floor is clear and she finds stairs tucked away in a corner, old servants stairs she assumes, to do the same on the second floor. Dust seems to cover most surfaces that are not covered in white sheets. The mansion had not been lived in a long time. Kara gets to the next floor using the servant stairs again. The third floor poses more of a problem. Kara can see lights are on and when she cracks the door, the rest of the doors in the hallway are open. It is most definitely being used as the main living space. Kara hears two deep voices talking and quickly shuts the door again without making a noise.
Kara turns back on the thermal imaging. One man is lying prone in what Karra assumes is a bedroom. Two guard the door right outside the servant's door and two are patrolling the long hall. Kara definitely not in a good position to take each of them out. The last heat signature is sitting bent over a desk behind the guarded door. Lillian. Kara is trying to think, going over her mental map of what she has seen so far to find a way without a major fight that would allow Lillian to slip away again. Winn beeps in on her comm.
“DEO is five minutes out. What should I tell Alex?” Kara chews her bottom lip, thinking.
“Have them come in the front. That should pull the guards off the door and I can grab Lillian before she has a chance to go anywhere.”
“Copy that.”
So Kara waits. It feels like an hour but she knows it really is minutes. Suddenly, a crash echos through the building. Shouting and indistinct chatter reaches Kara’s ears. Through the thermal, she sees one of the men reach for an ear.
“Alpha team, come in. Alpha! Beta team! Shit. You go hold them off. I’ll get Ms. Luthor out of here.” Kara hears. The second man nods and raises his gun, moving with towards the commotion with the others. Kara sees her opening. She turns off the thermal and opens the door.
The man had turned to open the office door. He saw the movement out of the corner of his eye. His hand flies up to his trigger but Kara is faster. She kicks his hand away and hears the small snapping of fingers breaking. He cries out but grabs a knife from his tactical vest with his good hand, swinging it at Kara. Kara doges to the side, grabbing the extended and twisting it until the shoulder dislocates. Then she drugs him and allows him to slump to the floor. Gunshots ring out behind her and Kara fights off the worry for her sister as she opens the door to the office. She sees a frantic Lillian packing papers into a suitcase.
“Henshaw, we have to go now. Radio the helicopter.”
“Your sorry excuse for a bodyguard is unconscious,” Kara says, leaning against the door frame. Lillian’s head jerks up and every muscle tenses.
“How did you get in here?” She asks cooly, slowly continuing to put the papers away.
“A window.” Kara shrugs.
“And how did you find me?”
“Your daughter. She wants you behind bars as much as I do.”
“She has always been a disappointment.”
Kara laughs then. She laughs at the ridiculousness of it all.
“Lena is the only Luthor not in jail or dead.”
“I’m not in jail,” Lillian states, still rummaging about her desk. Kara hears the tactical team coming down the hallway.
“You will be soon. Those gunshots are a government assault team on their way here to arrest you.”
“I don’t think so.” Lillian pulls a gun and shoots before Kara can react. The impact hits her shoulder and nearly knocks Kara off her feet. Kara pulls her Night-Night gun and fires.
“Shit, that’s going to hurt later.” Kara rubs her shoulder to make sure her jacket is still in one piece. Kara silently thanks Winn for his genius, both for the suit and the sleep serum. She slumps back against the door frame.
“Kara!” Alex yells as she sees Kara hunched over. Boots pound down the corridor and suddenly her sister’s face appears before her. She was in full tactical gear, gloved hands cupped her face turning her from side to side, then checking down her arms and looking for bullet holes. Kara silently points to the wood frame where the bullet ricocheted and embedded itself.
“Don’t worry. Nothing broken. No bleeding.” Kara manages.
“Is she…?” Alex nods towards where one of her men is inspecting Lillian.
“Asleep. Wi- Overwatch’s Night-Night gun. There are three men outside, and five on each the first two floors also.” Kara says, aware of the DEO agents milling about as they wait for Alex to take command.
“And you are sure you are fine? Just the bruised shoulder?”
“Yes. I am fine.”
“Good,” Alex says. Then she punches Kara, hard, in her bad shoulder.
“Fuck! What was that for?” Kara grabs her shoulder.
“For not waiting. You make me so mad sometimes. And worried. And mad. Now go. Get out of here before you completely ruin my crime scene. I’ll see you back in National City.”
“And you will personally put her behind bars?” Kara asks.
“Yes. This is finally over.” Alex says. Kara sighs out in relief and stands up, wincing in pain. She pats her sister on the shoulder and walks away.
“Overwatch?”
“Yeah, PG?”
“Call Lena for me and patch her through. I can’t reach my phone in the hidden pocket right now.”
“Of course. Give me a moment.” Kara hears a beep and the dial tone.
“Kara?” Lena asks.
“It’s over. The DEO is taking your mother into custody.”
“It’s really over?”
“Yes, Lee. Alex is not leaving her side. She won’t be getting away this time.” Silence from the other end. Then Kara is sure she hears a muffled sob.
“Lee?” she says softly.
“I-I’m sorry. I d-didn’t realize h-how relieved I-I would f-feel about t-this. It’s l-like a weight has b-been l-lifted off my chest.” Lena stutters out between sobs. Kara hears a couple of deep breaths.
“Thank you,” Lena says softly.
“You're Welcome. She needed to be stopped. Now, call Sam. I don’t want you alone right now.”
“Y-yes. You’re right. I’m calling her now. Thank you again, Kara.”
“Goodbye Lee, I’ll see you soon.” Kara hears the beep of Lena hanging up as she sneaks out the back door. The front of the house being flooded with DEO agents.
“Overwatch?”
“Back yard is clear. Do you want to come straight back or would you like me to get you a hotel room?”
“I’m just coming back. I’m tired but I want to sleep in my own bed.”
“Copy that.”
**
April 7th, 2018
Kara rummaged in her freezer for anything cold to put on her shoulder. It was an ugly black and purple blotch. She settles on the bag of frozen vegetables wrapped in a towel. Kara slumps on her couch, wincing slightly at chill before sighing in relief. She props her feet up on the coffee table and turns on the news. The story had broke about Lillian’s arrest and now was plastered on almost every outlet; newspapers, television, internet sites, magazines. Kara watched different news anchors argue about everything involved in it, from Cadmus to crime rates to Powergirls involvement. Some debated whether or not the arrest was even legal. Kara scoffed at that.
A quick knock on the door precedes an exhausted-looking Alex. She throws her keys on the counter and her jacket on a stool before flopping down next to Kara. Alex pinches the bridge of her nose and squeezes her eyes. Kara just watches her sister, waiting for her to say whatever is on her mind.
“I am still mad at you,” Alex says without looking at Kara.
“I know. But I am not sorry.”
“You could have been killed.”
“Please. That was the easiest infiltration I have had with Cadmus. Lillian relied too much on the houses invisibility to up the security. Although I am pretty sure she was nearly out of money.”
“You’re right. She wasn’t able to destroy her files. From what we gathered, she was lying low until she gathered more investors. We are still decrypting some emails of potential co-conspirators. Also, Lillian had a database with her network but that may take a few days also. Seems you surprised her.”
“Yeah,” Kara says quietly. They both watch the news for a bit.
“I just keep waiting for the other shoe to drop,” Kara says softly.
“I know, me too. But Lillian is on a constant rotating guard of the most classified agents. Each will be debriefed after every shift with at least three days in between. She won’t be able to buy or blackmail anyone. She is in isolation with zero human contact at a DEO black site. We have torn that mansion apart and seized everything. It’s over.”
“I hope so,” Kara says. Alex pats her knee.
“How’s the shoulder?” Alex asks. Kara removes her makeshift ice pack to show the unsightly blemish. Her sister winces in sympathy.
“Yeah, it may not be so bad if someone hadn’t punched me right after being shot.” Kara elbows Alex in jest.
“Well someone wouldn’t have been shot if they waited for back up.” Alex shoots back with a raised eyebrow.
“Touche. I’m still not sorry.”
“I don’t expect you to be. But what will you do now? Now that Cadmus is being dismantled and Lex and Lillian will hopefully rot in jail until their last breath.”
“I don’t know. Power Girl, she was everything. She made me feel complete in a way that I haven't since Jeremiah’s death. But now, this gym Winn and I have built, its something. It’s going to be something. I feel like maybe I should dedicate my time to that. Vigilantism is not something I can grow old in. One day, someone could get lucky. No matter how many precautions I take. I saw that when Lillian nearly killed me all those months ago, but I couldn’t walk away from it then.”
“As your big sister and your best friend, I support you in any decision. But also, I worry about you every day. It would make me feel so much better if you didn’t put your life at risk every day.”
“Says the federal agent.” Kara shoots back.
“Hey, mine is not every day. And actually, my director, J’onn, he wants to start training me to take the position of Director. Which means it will be less field work.” Alex says. Kara squeals and hugs her sister.
“That is amazing! But don’t you love being in the field?”
“I do. But, I have been doing a lot of thinking and I need to make new steps in my life. Being director will help regulate my hours, no long steak outs, or cross country jaunts. I have done a job I love for a long time, but I think I want something more now.” Alex squeezes her sister's hand.
“What is that?”
“Love, a wife, maybe even a family. I mean the whole reason Maggie and I broke up was our different view on kids. I want that. I want to raise a little girl and take her to karate class at your gym. I want to teach her to drive and how to break out of handcuffs. But I can’t do that if I’m staring down the barrel of a gun every other day.”
“I want that for you too. Guess I need to work on adding some children’s classes. Oooh, or how about ‘Kara’s Kids Corner!’” Kara stands, excitedly emphasizing the title with her hands. Alex laughs and pulls her sister back down to the couch with her.
“Okay, goober. Sit down. That would be wonderful. But that is a long way down the line. I also want to find love.”
“What about Sam? I mean I know you guys saw each other a couple of times. And you seemed very happy, as happy as you were with Maggie, I think.” Kara asks.
“We did have fun. But the distance isn’t exactly feasible.”
“Fine, but I know you’ll find love. Oh, what about Vasquez?”
“What? No! First, she has a girlfriend. Secondly, she is technically my subordinate and that is just weird and against policy.”
“I’m not giving this up. I’ll be the best wing-woman ever.”
“What about you?” Alex asks, Kara hesitates, just long enough to be saved by the delivery guy knocking on the door.
“Who knows? I’m just taking my life one day at a time.” Kara gets up to grab the cash and relieve the teenage worker of the large amount of food.
“So what are we watching tonight?” Kara changes the subject before her sister could pry further.
**
April 11th, 2018
Kara dropped the man off the edge of the roof; his cry, muffled by the gag, cuts short as the rope is yanked taught just above the nondescript car. She hears a faint cry from the occupant and the woman emerges on a mass of wild hair and cursing. She casts about before looking up at the hooded figure above her, illuminated by the full moon.
“Good Evening, Detective Sawyer. It’s been a while since we spoke face to face.” Kara greets, voice modulator distorting her voice. The detective crosses her arms and raises an eyebrow.
“Power Girl; it’s more like face to mask. At least you didn’t dent my cruizer this time.”
“Live and learn.” Kara shrugs.
“So is this what you're doing now? Hog-tying low-lifes?"
“Cadmus is almost completely dismantled. Think of me as an exterminator, killing off the roaches that got away and squirmed into the cracks and crevices of the city. We don’t need anyone trying to fill the power vacuums.” Kara takes half a step forward, plopping down on the edge of the two-story building, allowing her feet to dangle over the detectives head.
“So how am I supposed to book this guy?” Maggie pokes the man, causing him to swing and protest through the gag.
“Three ounces of cocaine in his breast pocket. The gun in his waistband matches a homicide from two weeks ago. Oh, and he is high right now. Take your pick.”
“Well don’t you know how to treat a girl,” Maggie says, getting into her cruiser and putting on rubber gloves to pat the man down and bag the evidence.
“What can I say? I’m a pleaser. Are you good?” Kara asks, indicating the swinging man. Maggie nods.
“I bet, too bad blonde is not my type.” Maggie puts the evidence in her car.
Kara pulls out one of her knives and easily slices through the thick rope. The man hits his head the side of Maggie’s hood before hitting the ground, knocking him unconscious.
“Ah, come on. I just got this car.” Maggie complains.
“Sorry Detective. Guess my aim was a little off.”
“Dent my car again and you better hope my aim is off,” Maggie says, only half joking. Kara laughs and gets back to her feet.
“I’ll keep that in mind next time.” Kara turns to go.
“Power Girl!” Maggie calls out.
“Thank you, thank you for making this city safer again.”
“This is my city too, Detective. I couldn’t sit by anymore. Cadmus has hurt people I care about. At least now it’s almost over.”
“What will you do when it is over?”
“I don’t know yet. I’m just taking my life one day at a time.” Kara jumps off the ledge and runs across the roof into the night.
“Wait! How am I supposed to get him in the car!” Maggie cries after her, getting no response.
“Good luck, Kara.” Maggie whispers.
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Lost And Found | 1
Also available on AO3
Pairing: Varric Tethras x OC
Word Count: 4,075
Summary: Instead of the nothingness she had craved, Crystal woke up in the world of Thedas. What had once been merely a story that she loved now seemed very real and she was right in the heart of it all. She soon finds a reason to live again and a love in the arms of someone as quietly broken as her.
Warnings: Attempted suicide (not graphic, but possible trigger). The OC has depression and low self-esteem, so don’t expect her to be some bright mary sue. At the same time, this sounds darker than it is. It’s going to have fluff and comedy and all that eventually, but OC has some growing to do first. She’s just not the usual strong and easygoing character many oc’s are. She’s more of a delicate creature. Also, it is Dragon Age, so there will be descriptions of war/battles/violence.
Notes: And there we go, a beginning. This was nearly 10k, but I felt like that was too long for tumblr to handle each chapter, so I’ve cut them into smaller ones. So the next chapter will be here very soon. Regardless of how this fic goes in the future, I’m happy that I finally typed something up for this, after nearly a decade of wanting to. I played fast and loose with characters and timelines sometimes to fit my story, so don’t kill me. PLEASE let me know what you think.
The view was lovely.
The moon was full and bright, reflecting off of the rippling water in a way that called to her. It was so calm and quiet here tonight, unusual for this particular bridge. Almost like the world decided to finally do her a favor and make sure that no one was around except for the ducks to witness her one last dumb decision.
She was so tired.
Tired of everything. Tired of having nothing. Tired of being alone.
There would be no one to mourn her. No one to care.
She closed her eyes and let go.
It was time to rest.
As consciousness came to her, so did despair.
She couldn’t even get dying right.
Flashes of murky water filling her lungs turned into green shadows surrounding her, whispering as they pulled her lower. They promised it wasn’t her time. She had a purpose and somewhere she belonged. That she was under someone’s protection. That she needed to live more and become strong. She hadn’t believed them. Thought them to be some sort of hallucination.
Whatever had happened, she was apparently still alive.
Her eyes fluttered open, cringing as she realized her arm was killing her. She managed to raise her head up enough to glance at her left arm, seeing that it was wrapped in some sort of cloth sling. She didn’t remember hitting anything when she was in the water, but it certainly felt like something had happened to it. She could hear moans of pain and soft voices murmuring to them. She tried to sit up a little more, releasing a whimper as she realized her ribs hurt as well.
“Hush now. Lay back, child. You’ve been quite injured,” a soft voice ordered as they placed a gentle hand on her head to coax her back down. “Can you tell me your name?”
“Crystal. Crystal Foster,” she responded, looking up at the strange woman leaning over the little cot she was on.
The outfit the older woman was wearing looked strangely familiar, all crimson and gold with splashes of white. The tall headpiece bore similar colors and a name came to mind as she observed it.
But it couldn’t be.
“It’s a pleasure to meet you, Crystal. I am Mother Giselle. Do you remember where you are?”
Crystal knew she could be in one of three places, depending on the timeline, but she was almost afraid to voice any of them. The conclusion she was coming to about where she could be was insane. She must have finally lost her mind. Or maybe she was in a coma after being fished out of the lake. Maybe the afterlife was some sort of limbo where you just lived through scenes of whatever had brought you happiness during life.
“I...I am not sure.”
Mother Giselle pet her hair gently, trying to calm her as the slowly rising panic became more obvious.
“We are currently in the Hinterlands. This area is the Crossroads. Is anything sounding familiar, dear?”
Shit. She was in fucking Dragon Age. As in the video game she’s been playing and obsessing over for nearly a decade. She’s had dreams about this place before, but nothing so vivid. Nothing where she felt every ache in her body, could smell all the various scents of the little village outside, could hear conversations that she’d never heard in the game.
“Yes. I know where I am now,” she answered shakily.
Mother Giselle breathed a sigh that sounded like relief, probably happy she didn’t have someone that had lost their mind on her hands.
Little did she know.
“I’m afraid your arm is broken and two of your ribs are cracked, not surprising considering how high that tear in the sky was and with you being so small. We’ve been giving you healing potions and have set the bones in your arm, but those only go so far. Most of the mages skilled in the healing arts are either in the battle or have gone to Redcliffe, otherwise we would have had you healed and out of here within a couple of days. Instead, you’ll have to take it easy and drink some of the elfroot tonic every six hours.”
“Tear in the sky?”
Mother Giselle’s eyebrow rose in surprise. “Were you not aware of how you got here, dear? You fell from one of those horrid green tears right onto the ground below. Since they’ve appeared, we’ve only seen demons spew from them, but we had you looked over and you seem to be a regular human. The only other person we know of that just emerged from beyond like you is the man they are calling the Herald of Andraste. Perhaps you are here to aid him.”
“I don’t know about that, but I can assure you I’m not evil or anything.”
“That’s good. Now that you are awake, I will have someone bring you some water and broth. You’ve been out of it for a couple of days and we couldn’t get you to take much. You’ll want to sip the broth slowly, then we’ll move you onto solid food tomorrow. Do you have any family you’d like us to alert to your presence here? You’re going to have to be careful for a few weeks and it would be helpful to have a family member to assist you.”
“I don’t. There’s no one.” No one in real life or this crazy dream.
“I’m sorry to hear that, my child. This is a trying time for everyone; many here have lost their families as well. You’re free to stay in the village for the time being, if you’d like. I’d worry if you wandered off while you’re so injured. Once you’re fit, we could always use your help around the village. There’s so few of us left here and we need all the help we can get.” Mother Giselle sighs wearily and pats Crystal’s hand. “There’s a hut that just opened up that I can put you in for now. The owner passed away a few days ago after being attacked by bandits. We can get you set up tomorrow after you rest a bit more. I’ll ask Corporal Vale about supplies for you and perhaps some tasks that will keep you busy while you heal.”
“Thank you, Mother Giselle.”
“You’re welcome, child. Eat, sleep. I’ll see you tomorrow.”
Mother Giselle left the large tent after speaking to someone that Crystal assumed was a healer. They nodded after whatever they’d been told, leaving together, hopefully to get the promised food and water. Her throat was killing her. She took a moment to glance to her right, seeing five other cots lined in the tent, filled with people in various states of health.
Crystal took stock of her situation. She was injured in the middle of the Hinterlands, a place that came from a video game. The NPC’s were talking and moving and breathing like real people. She didn’t know if she was dead or not so this could be a coma, some weird limbo thing, or she’d finally lost her damn mind. She supposed there were worse things to hallucinate about.
Except if she was in the Crossroads at the same time as Mother Giselle, that meant they were in the early stages of Inquisition, and there would be Mages and Templars battling everywhere. Not to mention, there was a shortage of food and other supplies. She wondered how long it would be until the Herald got here.
Crystal let herself have a little fangirl moment as she thought about the fact that she might see the Inquisitor in the flesh, and their party. Well, as flesh-like as whatever this insane dream would allow. Everyone else seemed real enough, why not them? She wondered who it was.
The chantry woman that Mother Giselle had been talking to before finally came back with a tray holding a bowl of broth, a small chunk of bread, some water, and a small vial of green liquid. She pulled a tiny table out of the corner and placed it in front of the bed, putting the tray on top of it and placing the spoon in Crystal’s unhurt right hand.
“Hello there! Make sure you drink your broth before taking your healing potion. You haven't had much in the way of food for a couple days and I don’t want you to upset your stomach. There’s a tiny bit of bread there, just in case you feel like you can handle it.”
“Thank you,” Crystal responded gratefully, stomach gurgling at the thought of food, even if it was just broth and bread. She doubted they had much more than this anyway, if the game was anything to go by.
Once every bit on the tray was gone, she attempted to drink the potion. It tasted similar to the wheatgrass shots she’d occasionally get at a smoothie shop when she wanted to pretend she was healthy. She shrugged and chugged it down, the healer giggling at her obvious disgusted face.
Once the hunger pangs were gone, Crystal could feel just how exhausted she was. How you could feel tired in a dream, she had no idea, but she decided to stop questioning everything and just go with it. She’d wake up eventually, she supposed. She hissed from the pain of her ribs as she adjusted herself back down on the cot. What she wouldn’t give for a pillow. She sighed and closed her eyes, falling into a deep sleep.
Of all the fucking places in Thedas she could have been thrown into, it had to be the damn Hinterlands. She hated this place enough in the games, but it was nothing compared to the reality of actually living here.
She’d been in the Crossroads for a total of three weeks and it was so far very much like an extended camping trip, only with more actual death around her.
The hut that she’d been given wasn’t completely horrible. The man that had lived here before had lost all of his family months before he himself had died, and he’d kept all of their things in here. She’d managed to find some clothes that had belonged to his daughter that was small enough for her to wear, and easy enough to deal with one-handed. The wife had plenty of clothes here, but with Crystal being a mere five feet tall, they were practically tents on her.
Unfortunately, the furs and blankets the man had in the hut had already been distributed among the survivors, leaving her with only one fur to put on top of the cot to make it somewhat comfortable, and a raggedy blanket no thicker than a light cloak to cover with. The nights were steadily growing colder and she missed the heating in her apartment.
Bathing was another issue. Crystal managed to wash up a bit by boiling some water at night and wiping herself down with a cloth, but without any soap there was only so much she could do. She usually braided her brown hair into one long rope, it being the only hairstyle she could manage with her hair as gross as it was. She’d heard that the people used to be able to get scented soaps from Redcliffe, but with the Templar and mage battles taking over the area they’d shut the gates and the village here had decided they had more important things to worry about than body odor.
Food was also getting incredibly scarce. Everyone was too terrified to go hunting with all the fighting everywhere. She remembered that there was an area filled with rams not too far from here in the game, but with only one arm functioning she couldn’t help. She’d tried to talk to others about it, but many here were still wary of the outsider and not willing to brave the fields.
Still, people were starting to fuss, but Crystal held onto the knowledge that the Herald would be here at any moment. She’d questioned Mother Giselle a few days after she’d first woken up, and she’d learned that word had already been sent to Haven that the need for aid here was great. As her stomach grumbled for the third time, she hoped it would be today. One bowl of what was basically hot water filled with herbs was all she’d had for the past couple of days, since she always passed the bread and jerky she’d been given off to the children.
Most of her time here had been spent helping with the wounded, although the blood and guts were something she still had trouble getting used to. She didn’t think she’d make a good healer anytime soon, but she made herself useful on the sidelines. Though the healers looked at her strangely for it, she often could be found sterilizing their equipment and bandages in boiling water and alcohol, having watched enough medical dramas to know a few things about cleanliness and infection. She tossed leeches out as soon as she spied them, remembering all the gruesome deaths she’d heard about due to bloodletting and their use.
Most often she could be found simply sitting next to the patients giving what comfort she could. They often entrusted her with letters to their families or begged her to just talk to them. She held their hand as they drew their last breath. Often, seeing how desperate some of them were to live made her feel guilty that she’d ever thought to give up her own life so easily. She knew that if she ever woke up or got another chance, the faces of the people crying because they didn’t want to go would haunt her enough that she didn’t think she’d make the same choice again.
As for her theory that this was all a dream, it was being tested on a daily basis. When she could feel the sharp pangs of hunger every day and hear the agonizing screams of the dying it was a little harder to believe. After burying little four year old Alice today because she got hit by a stray fireball when she wandered a little far from home, it seemed very real. Just yesterday she had the girl sitting right in front of her as she’d told a rapt group of kids the story of Pinnochio. She’d been full of laughter and questions, just the sweetest little thing. And now she was buried next to her mother who had died just a week prior, leaving her father all alone. He hadn’t wanted either of them on a pyre like they did with most of their dead here, and Crystal had stood up for him against the Chantry people telling him he shouldn’t. She knew that having them somewhere he could visit would be a great comfort.
There was no way that any dream of hers would force her to go through something like this, though. Not even if she was in some sort of limbo as punishment for what she’d done. These people were real and dying, but she didn’t know how or why she was here. Only the strange flashes of memory after she’d hit the water.
Crystal had escaped to her little hut after the small ceremony for Alice to mourn in peace. All of this death was so new to her that it was almost unbearable. She wished she had the courage to fight to make this stop, but didn’t think she could do it. She had the knowledge that could help, but to actually pick up a sword and go out there was madness. She’d be dead in minutes. Years of working in retail in the middle of a big city sadly did not prepare you for living in a battle zone.
To help keep her mind off things, she stood at the little side table that she’d converted into a sort of workspace. With everyone so busy actually using the potions to keep the wounded alive, there hadn’t been a lot of time for the healers to make the potions themselves. And the nearest Alchemist that anyone knew of was all the way in Haven. Crystal had taken it upon herself to help with that, figuring it wouldn’t be too difficult to brew a few potions with one arm. Though their supplies were running very low, she did the best she could with the instructions that one of the sisters had given her. She’d been told her results were good and she found the task soothing. When she was in here brewing, she wasn’t out there listening to the cries of pain and hunger.
She’d just thrown a handful of elfroot into her mortar -wishing it was a juicer instead - when a light knock rattled the rickety wooden door. Curiously, she wandered over and answered the door, smiling as the older man was revealed.
“Giles! To what do I owe the pleasure?”
Giles was a sweet man, probably in his early fifties and acted like he was the mayor here. As the “village” was merely a series of houses placed around the crossroads, there was no mayor needed, but Giles worked like one anyway. He was a font of information and a horrible gossip, not a great combination in most cases, but luckily he was a kind man. He was one of the first to treat Crystal like an actual person instead of the freak that fell out of the sky.
“Came to share a bit of bounty. Knew you probably wouldn’t peek yer nose out of the door unless someone made ya. Going ta stay and make sure ye actually eat it all down and don’t give it away fer once too.”
The smell hit her first. The rich scent of warm roasted meat filled her senses. Her mouth began watering even before he pulled off the cloth to reveal a plate full of meat, a couple of potatoes, and a bit of cabbage. The pains in her stomach that she’d begun to get used to felt almost excruciating as she accepted the plate with shaking hands.
“Where did this come from?”
Giles patted his own belly that she noticed extended a tad more than usual today, probably having already feasted himself. He sat himself down in the old rocking chair in the corner, sighing loudly as he settled in.
“That lad they call the Herald came by with his crew. They ran into a bear on their way here and apparently had no trouble. Even brought some supplies from Haven with them, so we were able to make everyone a decent meal for once. Shame we have to wait for the bear hide to be tanned properly before it can be used, but that’ll be one more blanket for someone when it’s done.”
Crystal was already shamelessly digging into the meat with her bare hands as he explained, too hungry to care about things like manners right now. She’d never eaten bear before in her life, but she was so hungry this rivaled even the Wagyu beef she’d tried once, and that was supposedly the best steak in the world.
“See, lass, everyone is hungry but don’t think I don’t know why you’re that hungry. I’ve seen ya sneaking yer bread and whatnot to the little ones. Slow down so you don’t hurt your stomach there,” Giles wagged his finger, her only answer a pleased moan as she bit into the roasted potato. It was just a potato, but it could have been an ice cream sundae based on the way she relished it.
With her belly slowly filling for the first time in days, she was able to concentrate a little more on what Giles was currently rambling on about.
“Wait, did you say The Herald was here? I missed him?!”
“Well, ye were off helping with Thomas’s wee lass. They came and dropped everything off, had a word with the Mother and Vale and off they went. One of the villagers mentioned the field of rams up the hill so they’ve gone off to hunt for us. Said they’d be back in an hour or two.” Giles grabbed her mug, pouring her a glass of water and pushing it towards her with a nod that he wanted her to pause for a drink. She accepted it, her hand still slightly shaking from lack of food. She hoped she wouldn’t spill on herself, although that wouldn’t be the first time today.
Giles scowled, “Mother Giselle told them about ye and the boy's eyes lit up so I imagine they’ll want ta have a word. Just be careful and don’t let them talk you into doing anything you don’t want to do. If he’s Herald of Andraste, yer Andraste herself. He’s not the boss of ye.”
Crystal snorted, poking around her plate as she tried to pace herself.
“Pretty sure that’s blasphemy. What would Mother Giselle say?”
“Don’t rightly care, lass. You’ve done more for the people here than she has, and ye do it with only one working hand and nothing to yer name. You go out of yer way to help others before yerself, and the people can tell ye actually care. The Mother does it because she sees it as her duty. In fact, she’s been looking a little tubby lately while ye give the little ones yer share o’ the food.”
“Oh, hush. She does quite a lot too. I don’t have half of her skills.”
“Ye don’t need skills to have a heart, lass. People overlook ye because you’re such a quiet, wee thing. But I see ye. If I had any, I’d bet money that all of Thedas is going ta know yer name soon, and they’re all going to love ye.”
“You’re a drama queen.”
Giles lifted an eyebrow. “How am I a Queen, girl?”
Crystal giggled. “It means someone that is overly dramatic.”
“Why didn’t ye just say that then? Always with the strange words that mean something other than what ye say.”
Crystal laughed at Gile’s perplexed but amused grin before attacking the rest of her meal. She finished in record time, almost sad when she took the last bite of cabbage. Her stomach felt bloated, almost uncomfortably so, but she was full for the first time in weeks.
Giles took the plate from her, patting her on the head as he stood up from the rocking chair and walked to the door.
“They cleared out some of the road if you wanted to go looking for herbs for yer potions. There should be plenty of elfroot to the left of the main road. If ye walk a little further north, there will be plenty of spindleweed. I’ll tell Vale to lend ye a man fer protection.”
“Thank you, Giles. And thank you for the food.”
“Yer welcome, lass. I’m going to watch the roads while these newcomers roam if ya need me. Remember what I said. Don’t let them bully ye. You’re more than welcome to make your home here if ya want, or go with the lad if they can help with all that tear in the sky business.”
Giles left the hut, closing the barely stable door softly behind him. Crystal sighs wearily and sinks into the chair. She could feel her body working hard to get used to having food in it again and she felt extremely tired, much like she used to feel after a huge Thanksgiving meal when she was a kid. She didn’t think she had the energy to go hunting for herbs today. Instead, she’d hoard the bit of energy she had left so she’d be ready to meet the Inquisitor.
She still had no clue who it was. Giles hadn’t said anything about what race The Herald was, but he had called him a boy. Perhaps it was a human male. Giles was a very unjudgemental man, but even he would have said something if a huge Qunari had wandered into the village claiming to be The Herald.
At least she knew who the companions would be. The game always started with Solas, Varric, and Cassandra. Crystal had been very much looking forward to them getting here in the hopes that Solas would be able to properly heal her. If she continued the way she was, it would be another five months before her arm was healed. A mage like Solas could have her healed up in moments.
She was also very excited to see Varric. He’d been one of her favorite characters for years, and the thought that she was about to meet him in person blew her mind.
Crystal giggled to herself at the image of her fangirling over them, squealing like a nutjob. She knew that she wouldn’t do that, but the image of Cassandra having to deal with a crazy fan was hilarious.
She pushed herself up, humming to herself as she checked on the healing potion she’d already started. She had plenty to keep her occupied until they came back.
((AN: Don’t ask me why Giles suddenly sounded like he came from the highlands of Scotland. He told me what to say and I just wrote it down. PLEASE let me know what you thought of this so far. Since it’s my first attempt at writing for DA I need all the feedback I can get))
#Dragon age#DAI#DA#Dragon age fanfic#dragon age fanfiction#Varric#Varric Tethras#Varric fanfic#Varric fanfiction#Varric x oc
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Unlikely Friendships and Great Adventures - Part 5
Notes: Hey guys! As promised, here is part 5 to my Newt series! Part 6 will be up tomorrow and I hate to say it but it will be the last part of this series. However, I’m in the process of writing Newt fics so hopefully, I’ll keep them coming. Also, as I said before, let me know if you want to be tagged in the finale of this or if you want to be tagged in anything else I write! I love you guys and thanks for the support.
Summary: What happens when you find yourself in jail and have to revisit your past? Bad things, that’s what.
Unlikely Friendships and Great Adventures - Part 5
Newt Scamander x Reader
Word Count: 3,396
Warnings: death (not a major character), sadness, not good relationships with your family, almost dying, etc.
Here’s the rest of the series:
| Chapter 1 | Chapter 2 | Chapter 3 | Chapter 4 | Chapter 5 | Chapter 6 |
You wake up with multiple blankets wrapped around you, but you’re still shivering from being so cold. You realize you’re in different clothes, as well as a different environment. One you usually relax in. You’re in the case.
“Newt?” You croak, looking to your left to see Newt clutching your hand, fast asleep. Then your eyes rest upon Jacob in the corner, also asleep.
“Hm? (y/n)? Wait, you’re awake?” Newt’s eyes widen in realization as he quickly releases your hand and stands up, making the chair he was sitting in scrape across the floor loudly, causing Jacob to wake up.
“What’s happening?” Jacob asks, yawning.
“(y/n)’s awake!” Newt grins and hugs you, glad you’re finally back. You blush madly, hoping Newt doesn’t see your burning face. Luckily it was already tinged pink from the cold, so he didn’t notice.
“How long was I out?” You ask.
“Oh, not long. Just a few hours.” Newt shrugs and hands you something to drink. You drink it.
“Okay.” You nod, suddenly feeling much better and warmer. You throw the blankets off you and stand up, getting dizzy and almost falling down if it weren’t for Newt catching you.
“By the way, (y/n), if you don’t remember, we got the Erumpent. And, also, I’d like for you to call me Jacob now. Not Mr. Kowalski.” Jacob beams at you. You nod, smiling back at him.
“Two down, one to go.” Newt smiles. Suddenly, there’s a knock on the case. You exchange surprised looks with everyone.
“I’ll go first, (y/n) you follow me, then Jacob you go last. Just in case it isn’t...well, I don’t know. Just go.” Newt sighs and rubs his temples, you frown. You follow Newt as he opens the case, climbing out of it. You look up to see Tina standing there. You relax a little, see as it’s only Tina. You climb out and stand next to Newt, tensing up again. It was not only Tina.
“Scamander? (y/l/n)?” A British voice asks. You cringe.
“Oh- er- hello, Minister.” Newt closes the case and picks it up once Jacob is out. You slightly wave to the Minister.
“Theseus Scamander? The war hero? And (y/m/n) (y/l/n)? The Best Auror?” Someone gasps. You tense even more, if possible. You hated people bringing up your mother. Especially her occupation. She died while hunting Gellert Grindelwald. In the most honorable way, but still tragic. It wasn’t a pretty death, either. She had been tortured to death.
“No, this is Theseus’s little brother and (y/m/n)’s daughter. But what in the name of Merlin are you doing in New York?” The Minister asks you and Newt. You hang your head, not wanting to even speak anymore.
“We came to buy an Appaloosa Puffskein, sir.” Newt answers for you, putting a hand protectively on your shoulder. He knew that your mother was a sensitive subject for you.
“Right. What are you really doing here?” The Minister asks again.
“Goldstein- and who is this?” The President of MACUSA asks Tina.
“This is Jacob Kowalski, Madam President, he’s a No-Maj who got bitten by one of Mr. Scamander and Miss (y/l/n)’s creatures,” Tina explains, and you shoot her a cold glare as the whole crowd gasps.
“No-Maj? Obliviated?” You hear whispers among the crowd.
“Merlin’s Beard.” You hear Newt breathe from beside you. You decide to look up and come face to face with a dead man. Literally. A dead man’s image was floating amongst the ceiling of the room.
“You know which of your creatures was responsible, Mr. Scamander?” Madam Picquery asks him.
“No creature did this...don’t pretend! You must know what that was; look at the marks…” You point out, giving her a glare.
“That was an Obscurus.” Newt finishes for you. You nod, looking down all of the sudden.
“You go too far, Mr. and Mrs. Scamander-” But you cut off the President.
“Mr. Scamander, Miss (y/l/n).” You correct her.
“There is no Obscurial in America. Impound that case, Graves!” The President yells, ignoring your correction. Graves summons the case and it lands next to him.
“No… Give that b--!” Newt draws his wand, as do you, but he’s cut off by Madam Picquery.
“Arrest them!” She yells. Multiple spells hit you, Newt, Tina, and Jacob and you’re all slammed to the ground on your knees. Both you and Newt’s wand fly out of your hands and is caught by none other than Graves. You give him a cold, harsh glare. He winks back at you.
“No! No! Don’t hurt those creatures! Please, you don’t understand! Nothing in there is dangerous, nothing!” You and Newt both plead, staring at your case.
“We’ll be the judges of that! Take them to the cells!” She yells once more and you’re dragged backward. Your eyes land on Graves and he stares back at you, a slight smirk on his lips.
“Don’t hurt those creatures- there’s nothing in there that is dangerous! Please don’t hurt our creatures! They’re not dangerous! Please, they’re not dangerous!” You and Newt both plead to everyone. No one listens.
~~~
Later, you’re sitting in the corner of a cell, huddled into a fetal position. Newt’s sitting a little ways away from you, giving you space. But all you really wanted to do right now was hug him and cry.
“I’m so sorry about your creatures, Mr. Scamander. I truly am.” Tina apologizes to Newt, but not you.
“Oh, so now you’re sorry? After you’ve been imprisoned, too?” You snarl, giving her a harsh glare. She smirks slightly at you but it disappears as Newt lifts his head to look at her.
“Can someone please tell me what this Obscurial- Obscurius thing is? Please?” Jacob asks, confused.
“There hasn’t been one for centuries-” Tina starts, but you cut her off with a growl.
“Newt and I met one in Sudan three months ago. There used to be more of them but they still exist. Before wizards went underground, when we were still being hunted by Muggles, young wizards and witches sometimes tried to suppress their magic to avoid persecution. Instead of learning to harness or control their powers, they developed what was called an Obscurus.” You and Newt explain together, switching turns talking.
“It’s an unstable, uncontrollable Dark force that bursts out and- and attacks...and then vanishes…” Tina explains a little more thoroughly to Jacob. Then, you see her reach realization.
“Obscurials can’t survive long, can they?” Tina asks Newt.
“There’s no documented case of any Obscurial surviving past the age of ten. The one we met in Africa was eight when she- she was eight when she…” Newt trails off, not wanting to finish the sentence.
“She was eight when she died.” You speak quietly, it was a touchy subject for the both of you.
“What are you telling me here- that Senator Shaw was killed by a- by a kid?” Jacob asks, appalled.
“Yes.” You whisper. Jacob looks surprised beyond compare.
~~~
A few minutes later, two executioners walk towards your cells and lead Newt, you, and Tina away from the cell. You look back at Jacob who’s clutching the bars, looking sadly at you three.
“It was good to make your acquaintance, Jacob, and I hope you get your bakery.” Newt smiles at Jacob.
“As do I.” You give a small, sad smile to Jacob as you turn around and head toward the interrogation room.
~~~
A little while later you’re in a small, black-walled, windowless room with Newt, Tina, and Graves.
“You’re an interesting man, Mr. Scamander.” Graves looks through his file. Then he turns to you.
“And you, (y/n), you’re very intriguing. I must say I found your story rather...dark.” Graves chuckles. You give him a cold glare as Newt casts you a confused look. He might’ve known about your mother, but he didn’t know your full past. He didn’t know who your sister was.
“Mr. Graves-” Tina steps forward, but Graves holds a finger to his lips, silencing Tina.
“Newt and (y/n), you were thrown out of Hogwarts for endangering human life-” Graves starts, but you intervene.
“One, it’s Miss (y/l/n) to you. And two, that was a misunderstanding!” You tell him.
“That was an accident.” Newt cuts in, too.
“-with a beast. Yet one of your teachers argued strongly against both of your expulsions. Now, what makes Albus Dumbledore so fond of you two?” Graves asks.
“We really couldn’t say.” Newt answers.
“So setting a pack of dangerous creatures loose here was just another accident, right?” Graves asks, ignoring Newt’s answer.
“Why would we do it deliberately?” You scoff.
“To expose wizardkind. To provoke a war between the magical and non-magical worlds.” Graves tells you.
“Mass slaughter for the greater good, you mean?” Newt asks.
“Yes. Quite.” Graves nods. You restrain yourself from lunging at him.
“We’re not one of Grindelwald’s fanatics, Mr. Graves.” You answer coldly. This strikes a nerve in Graves, you can tell.
“I wonder what you can tell me about this, Mr. Scamander and Miss (y/l/n)?” Graves asks, pulling out the Obscurus from you and Newt’s case. You suck in a breath. You didn’t like looking at the thing. It brought back too many haunting memories.
“It’s an Obscurus-” Newt starts and looks at Tina’s disbelieving face, “But it’s not what you think. I managed to separate it from the Sudanese girl as I tried to save her- I wanted to take it home, to study it-” Newt continues, looking at Tina’s shocked face now, “But it cannot survive outside that box, it could not hurt anyone, Tina!” He pleads, trying to get her to understand. You tense up, noticing how he said ‘I’ instead of ‘we’. As if he caught the Obscurus all by himself. As if you weren’t there. It crushed you.
“So it’s useless without the host?” Graves asks. You give him a cold stare.
“‘Useless’? That is a parasitical magical force that killed a child. What on earth would you use it for?” You scoff, glaring at Graves. He merely stands and brushes off your question.
“You fool nobody, Miss (y/l/n) and Mr. Scamander. You two brought this Obscurus into the city of New York in the hope of causing mass disruption- breaking the Statute of Secrecy and revealing the magical world-” Graves starts.
“You know that can’t hurt anyone, you know that!” Newt yells at him. You remain quiet, knowing nothing will help.
“-you two are therefore guilty of treasonous betrayal of your fellow wizards and are sentenced to death. Miss Goldstein, who has aided and abetted you-” Graves continues.
“No, she’s done nothing of the kind-” Newt tries again, but to no avail.
“-she receives the same sentence.” Graves ends, staring coldly at you. You snarl at him. He smirks back and you feel the tip of a wand on your neck.
“Just do it immediately. I will inform President Picquery myself.” Graves tells the executioners.
“Tina-” Newt starts, but Graves presses a finger to his lips again, silencing Newt.
“Shh.” He smirks, then turns to the executioners, “Please.” He dismisses all of you.
~~~
You’re taken down a long, dark hall before entering a completely white room with a chair in the center of it, floating over a black metallic looking pool of rippling potion.
“Don’t do this- Bernadette- please-” Tina tries everything. Nothing works.
“It don’t hurt.” One of the executioners tells you as she leads you forward first, raising her wand and pointing it at your temple. You know what’s about to happen.
“(y/n)-” Newt starts, but another executioner shushes him. The executioner holding onto you extracts all your happy memories and casts them into the swirling pool. You suddenly feel vacant and mildly happy, yet dazed as if nothing of your surroundings really registered through your mind.
You look into the rippling potion to see your mom calling to you when you were younger.
“(y/n/n)...(y/n/n)...Come on, sweetheart- time for bed. Are you ready?” She asks you, smiling in the memory.
“Mom…” You trail off, looking fondly into the water.
“Don’t that look good. You wanna get in? Huh?” An executioner asks you. You nod vacantly and Newt looks at you, an expression of worry evident on his face.
The chair floats down to the edge of the sea of potion and you happily get into it, looking down at your memories. You see your younger sister when she was three, then four, then five, then six, then seven, then eight...then you see the last happy memory you have of her. It was when she was twelve and you were thirteen. You and she were playing a prank on one of the bullies at Hogwarts. You were high-fiving her. Then, the memory changes.
“Let’s get the good stuff out of you-” An executioner starts to put their wand to his head, but they’re cut off by Newt breaking out of his cuffs. He sends the Swooping Evil out and abruptly knocks the guard out with a clean punch.
A lot of things happen at once. Tina watches Newt as he takes an executioner’s wand and points it at the other one, firing it and making her drop to the floor. Her wand is dropped out of her hand and goes into the potion.
Your next memory is gruesome. It’s the night your sister died. You look into the sea of potion to see yourself talking to a black mist in an old, dark, abandoned house.
~Memory~
“(y/s/n)...please...just, don’t do this…” You tell the black mist in the memory. The real you is looking down at the potion, horrified. You look at it, reliving the memory. What happened. Then the black mist turns into a child. A twelve-year-old child. You rush up to her.
“Don’t touch me!” She screams at you. You back up, looking hurt and slightly scared.
“But (y/s/n), I’m...so sorry. I truly am. I would never purposefully hurt you, you know that!” You protest, stepping forward. She starts to grow into a black mist again, causing you to take a step back. She returns to normal as she looks up to you with a scowl and an evil glint in her eyes.
“This is all your fault!” She screams and erupts into the black mist, pushing you back into a wall. Then white spots start to show up on her so she releases you, turning to the person casting the spells. Aurors.
“No! Stop! Please!” You yell, running over to them. But it’s too late. The black mist, your sister, dissolves into nothingness. You scream and grab a fracture of the mist that’s left, but it dissolves in your hand.
“(Y/S/N)!” You scream, clutching your hands to your chest, crying uncontrollably.
“(y/n), it was for the best. She was a monster.” You hear a familiar voice behind you. You turn around to see your mother. She was tearing up, too. But she was one of the ones who killed your sister. Her own daughter.
“No! She wasn’t the monster! You are! You’re the one who killed her! Your own daughter!” You scream at her. She flinches slightly.
“What? You think I’m going to become an Obscurius, too? Is that it? Are you afraid of me, mother? Would you kill me, too?” You scoff, turning around and disapparating.
You apparate into an alley and continue crying. You couldn’t believe it. Any of it. Not the fact that your sister was dead, not the fact that your own mother had killed your sister, not any of it. It was surreal. Like a dream. No, like a nightmare.
~Memory Over~
You look up, suddenly snapped out of your trance.
“Newt!” You scream, standing up in the chair and almost falling over. You grip the back of the chair tightly. The sea of potion was starting to bubble and rise up, almost to your full body height.
“Don't panic!” Newt yells back.
“What do you suggest I do instead?” You yell at him.
“Jump.” Newt suddenly says, looking at the Swooping Evil.
“Are you crazy?” You scoff, looking at the Swooping Evil. No way were you jumping on him.
“Jump on him,” Newt commands again. You shake your head as you watch the Swooping Evil.
“(y/n), listen to me. I’ll catch you. (y/n)!” He makes an intense eye contact with you. The potion was close to engulfing you.
“I’ll catch you. I’ve got you, (y/n)...” He trails off, trying to reassure you.
“Well, I’m going to die anyway.” You sigh.
“Go!” Newt yells and you jump, landing on the Swooping Evil for a quick step, then jump off it and land into Newt’s arms. You, out of breath, look up wide-eyed at Newt. He’s looking down at you, a small yet- wait- loving smile on his face? Since when?
Your thoughts are cut off abruptly when he grabs your and Tina’s hand and starts running.
“Come on!” He yells as you run. You charge through the corridors, but your hand has slipped out of Newts. Although Newt and Tina are still holding hands and running. Maybe you mistook the look he gave you. Maybe he didn’t love you. Maybe you were just seeing things.
Newt sends out the Swooping Evil again and it knocks out an Auror.
“Leave his brains! Come on, come on!” Newt yells, making a clicking sound. Communicating with the Swooping Evil. You had learned how to do that together.
“What is that thing?” Tina asks Newt.
“Swooping Evil,” Newt explains, not going into detail.
“Well, I love it!” She grins, and he smiles at her with that loving face of his. Your heart drops.
Then you see Queenie and Jacob round the corner, almost colliding with you, Newt, and Tina. You all stare at each other for a little while.
“Get in!” Queenie gestures to the case. You all nod. You get in and wait. Wait to get back to safety. And wait to get away from Newt.
~~~
A while later you’re all on a rooftop, looking at the dazzling city below. There’s a pigeon coop at the top of the building. Where Queenie and Jacob are. You, however, are sitting on the edge of the building. Looking at the sights and trying to ignore the dying feeling you feel inside.
“Your grandfather kept pigeons? Mine bred owls. I used to love feeding ‘em.” Queenie giggles. You stare out into the distance, thinking about the memory you saw as you eavesdrop on everyone’s conversations. Mainly Newt and Tina’s. They're standing a little bit away from you, also on the ledge.
“Graves always insisted the disturbances were caused by a beast. We need to catch all your creatures so he can’t keep using them as a scapegoat.” Tina suggests to Newt.
“There’s only one still missing. Dougal, my Demiguise.” Newt tells her. It stings when he says my, not ours. Because he was both of yours. You had both found him. They were both of your creatures. Not yours. Not his. Both of yours.
“Dougal?” Tina asks, interested.
“Slight problem is that...um, he’s invisible,” Newt explains sheepishly.
“Invisible?” Tina laughs, thinking it’s so absurd it’s funny.
“Yes- most of the time...he does...um…” Newt trails off, not knowing how to finish the sentence.
“How do you catch something that-” Tina starts, but Newt cuts her off.
“With extreme difficulty.” You can hear the smile in his voice. He enjoyed Tina and her company. Something you could no longer give him. Enjoyable company.
“Oh…” Tina trails off, sighing. You can feel the tension as you glance at them out of the corner of your eye, they were smiling and staring at each other. And Tina was getting awfully close, leaning in like that.
“Gnarlak!” Tina suddenly exclaims.
“Excuse me?” Newt asks, taken aback.
“Gnarlak- he was an informant of mine when I was an Auror! He used to trade in magical creatures on the side-” She starts to ramble.
“He wouldn’t happen to have an interest in paw prints, would he?” Newt asks, excited. You sigh.
“He’s interested in anything he can sell.” Tina grins.
“Great, let’s get going then.” You tell them abruptly, your mood souring the good one. Newt frowns at you, slightly concerned.
“Are you o-” Newt starts, but you cut him off cruelly.
“Fine. I’m fine.” You growl and stalk off. Everyone stares at you as you walk away, speechless. Queenie grimaces, trying to read your thoughts.
~~~
You were outside the Blind Pig with everyone else. Tina and Queenie suddenly raise their wands and change into flapper dresses, instantly gorgeous. You watch Newt stare at Tina. You raise your wand and change into something similar, but not the same. What you don’t notice is Newt staring at you as he magics himself a bowtie. Then, after Tina knocks on the door four times. A suspicious guard stares you all down before opening the door for you.
You look around, noticing the goblin jazz singer, multiple house elves, and many more magical people surrounding the speakeasy. You also notice the goblin jazz singer is singing something, but you pay no attention to her. You sit down at the bar with Jacob.
“How do I get a drink in this joint?” Jacob half-jokes, but then a thin bottle of brown liquid zooms into his hand. He’s stunned.
“What? Ain’t you ever seen a house-elf before?” A short, scowling house-elf asks Jacob.
“Oh, no, yeah, no, yeah of course I have...I love house-elves.” Jacob scoffs, playing along, trying to act nonchalant.
“My uncle’s a house-elf.” Jacob shrugs, obviously lying. You laugh slightly, looking at the skeptical look of the house-elf.
“Six shots of giggle-water and a lobe blaster, please.” Queenie orders as she walks up. The house-elf begrudgingly gets her order. You decide to leave those two alone and go do other things.
Seeing nothing else to really do, you sit down at an empty table. Newt sits across from you a few moments later. You look at him, surprised he’s here and not with Tina somewhere.
“You can tell me to mind my own business….but I saw something in that death potion back there. I saw you speaking to an Obscurius...and to your mother...something about her killing the Obscurius and stuff…” Newt trails off, hoping you’ll explain. You sigh.
“The Obscurius’ name was (y/s/n). She was twelve when she...when she died.” You clear your throat as you tear up, “she was my sister.” You whisper. Newt looks at you, his eyes wide in surprise.
“And that’s why you’ve never had a good relationship with your mum? Because she...she killed your sister? Her daughter?” Newt asks, realizing. You nod.
“And then when my mum died I just...I broke down. I don’t even know where my dad is. He’s disappeared off the face of the earth. Gone. Didn’t even get to say goodbye to him. And my mother and I were on terrible terms when she died. My sister and I were, too.” You sigh. Then you chuckle sadly, realizing your situation.
“It’s like the world hates me, Newt. Everyone dies at the worst time for me. My sister died right after I...well, I had accidentally told the wrong person that she was an Obscurius and they kidnapped her and tortured her and she told me that is was all my fault, which it was...but she died right after that fight, that’s why she was the Obscurius. Because she was mad at me. Also, my mother died pretty soon after we had finally gotten in contact again after our huge fight about her killing (y/s/n). It wasn’t good contact. I was trying to reconcile but she wouldn’t have it. I ended up getting angry too and it just...didn’t go well. And my dad, well, I haven’t seen him since I was three.” You explain basically your whole family life to him. He looks at you, stunned.
“Wow.” is all he can say.
“Pretty messed up family, yeah?” You chuckle sadly. He nods.
“He’s here,” Tina tells you two, jabbing her thumb behind her at a goblin. You all walk over.
“So- you’re the two with the case full of monsters, huh? Didn’t expect a face so pretty to be getting mixed up in that kind of stuff.” Gnarlak chuckles. You scowl at him.
“News travels fast,” Newt ignores Gnarlak’s comment, “I was hoping you’d be able to tell us if there have been any sightings. Tracks. That sort of thing.” Newt explains to him.
“You’ve got a big price on your heads, you two do. Why should I help you instead of turnin’ you in?” He asks.
“I take it I’ll have to make it worth your while?” Newt asks.
“Hmm- let’s consider it a cover charge.” Gnarlak smirks. Newt pulls out a few galleons.
“Huh- MACUSA’s offerin’ more’n that.” He tells Newt, unimpressed. You pull out a beautiful metal instrument and place it on the table.
“Lunascope? I got five.” Gnarlak tells you, unimpressed.
“Frozen Ashwinder egg!” Newt exclaims, taking an egg out of his pocket.
“You see- now we’re-” Gnarlak starts, then he pauses, taking a long look at you.
“-wait a minute... She’d do good.” Gnarlak stares at you, checking you out.
“Gross.” You give Gnarlak a pointed look.
“No.” Newt shakes his head.
“Ah, come on, that’s a good deal. She can stay with me. Am I right?” Gnarlak asks you. You look at him, your stare icy and cold.
“You’re not having her,” Newt growls.
“Well, good luck gettin’ back alive, Mr. Scamander and all you, what with the whole of MACUSA on your back.” Gnarlak stands up and walks away.
“Wait.” You call. He turns around, staring at you. Newt’s eyes widen as he turns to stare at you, too.
“I’ll do it.”
Gnarlak grins viciously.
“(y/n)...no.” Newt shakes his head vigorously.
“It’ll be worth it. You can get MACUSA off your backs, you’ll have Tina, I’ll be fine. I can hold my own here, Newt. I’ll be okay.” You reassure him. He continues to shake his head.
“No. I’m not leaving you here.” He refuses.
“Newt, I’m forcing you to,” You growl, turning to Gnarlak, “You’ve got yourself a deal.” You nod your head and him and in a quick stride, you’re by his side.
“Ah, yeah…” Gnarlak continues to grin viciously, staring at you.
“House-elves, take her to her living quarters.” Gnarlak snickers, staring at you in delight. You growl at him.
“Keep staring and you won’t have eyes anymore.” You threaten him. His eyes snap up to yours.
“Keep talkin’ back like that and you won’t have a tongue.” He warns you back.
“Threaten me again and I’ll turn you in.” You growl.
“Not without turning yourself in.” He growls.
“It’s a risk I’m willing to take.” You scowl. He growls again.
“Take her away from me. Away from here.” Gnarlak waves his hand and dismissal and you’re led down a hallway, away from Newt who’s yelling about how he can’t take care of the creatures by himself, that he needs you. If only it were true.
“I’m sorry, Miss.” A nice house-elf tells you.
“It’s alright. I made this decision on my own.” You smile at him sadly. He smiles sadly back before leading you to a door.
“Well, here we are. I suggest you-” But he’s cut off by a loud voice in the main room.
“MACUSA IS COMING!” It screams. You look, wide-eyed, at the nice house-elf. He lets go of you.
“Oops, I guess MACUSA somehow got you away from me.” He smiles at you and walks away.
“Thank you.” You whisper to him before dashing off.
“(Y/N)!” You hear Newt yelling your name.
“Here!” You tackle him to the ground. He looks at you in surprise. Partly because he’s on the ground now, partly because you’re the one who tackled him.
“Thank Merlin you’re all right.” He sighs and hugs you. You’re surprised at first since he’s not usually into hugs, but you quickly hug back, taking the moment in since you know it won’t last. He’s in love with Tina, after all.
“We have to get out of here.” You tell him reluctantly.
“I know.” He nods and gets up, helping you up too. He then grabs Jacob’s elbow and Tina’s hand. Tina grabs Queenie’s arm. You shoot a smirk at Tina then hug Newt around his waist. He’s surprised at first, not totally uncomfortable since it’s you, but not exactly in his element. He disapparates anyway.
Tag List: @xbarrjallenx @witchyandkin
#newt scamander#newt scamander x reader#newt x reader#newt#x reader#harry potter#cinnamon roll#crimes of grindelwald#fantastic beasts and where to find them#fantastic beasts the crimes of grindelwald#reader insert#x (y/n)#(y/n) drama fluff#(y/n)#reader#fanfiction#fanfic#newt scamander fanfiction#newt scamander fanfic#newt scamander x reader fanfiction#newt scamander x reader fanfic#fantastic beasts#fantastic beasts 2#hufflepuff#fbawtft#cog#fbawtft:cog#fbtcog
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Title: Homeless at Home Fandom: Red Dead Redemption Genre: fanfiction, chapters, angst, reader insert, fluff, slow burn, friends-to-lovers, pre-game Characters: Young!Arthur Morgan, Dutch Van Der Linde, Hosea Mathews, Arthur Morgan/ Reader, Female reader, Arthur x Reader, Arthur Morgan x Reader, Arthur/ You Chapter: One || Two || Three
Follow me on AO3!! Read it there too!
(Hello! Here is chapter three, sorry if it's like... not good. I wasn't feeling this chapter. Anyways, I hope you enjoy!! Next chapter is when MC/Reader is finally introduced! I'm not sure if I want to switch the POV once MC/Reader is brought in. Please let me know what you guys think? Should I keep it the third person or make it second person??)
Description:
Arthur didn’t even have to ask, Dutch handed the cigarette to Arthur, “You remember what to do?”
The cigarette was hot and burned his throat. The nicotine made him a little light-headed, but he liked it, “Yep,” he coughed a few times, “Use knives and get up to the hatch on the roof of that car,” He pointed at a gray car at the very end of the train. Arthur’s voice cracked a bit but he blamed it on the cigarette, “Grab as much as we can and run,”
Dutch gave Arthur a smile and a hard pat on the back that made him cough again, “Good,” He took his cigarette and pulled a cloud of smoke in like it was nothing. He laughed in a low tone that rumbled like thunder, “Let’s get this show on the road, son,”
______________________________________________________________
The sun wasn’t that hot, not if he stayed in the little shade the sheet gave him. He stared up at the white thin fabric fluttering in the wind, tied down at each corner by a pole.
Arthur tried his best to ignore the heat and his boredom at the same time. Crows cawed overhead like this camp was abandoned and filled with the dead. Close, but no. There was no end to his suffering, was there? He hated waiting, baking in the heat, for when they’d return. Several months had passed since Dutch Van der Linde had plucked Arthur from the streets. Life in the gang was very different than life on his own. For starters, Arthur had a meal every day and a bed every night. He had clean clothes that -yes he had to wash- but they were better than rags. Hosea was even teaching him how to do math, read and write.
Sadly the “Adults” didn’t think Arthur was really ready to join them on their illegal escapades. He was instead tasked with watching over camp and working on his vocabulary.
The only plus side to staying back in camp was that no one was around to tell him what to do.
Arthur got up from his little chair and started walking around camp. There was a tree at the center, small and dying, were Arthur could sit in the shade and by the fire. He chose to walk over to his own tent, snug between Hosea and Dutch’s own personal spaces. It wasn’t much, just a little tent on the ground with a bed in it. He had some boxes under his bed that he pulled out and started to dig into. He found his mother’s journal and started to read it the best he could.
A lot of words didn’t make look right, and it was hard to read her poor handwriting. But he saw his name a lot. He could read a bit about how much she loved him. How cute of a baby he was, how she was excited to see him grow up. She wanted to teach him how to read but she couldn’t find the time because she was working. Never once however did she write about his father.
While Arthur was squinting over the pages of his mother’s book, he could hear the low hum of horse hooves along the desert. They were back. He caught them just as they slowed and dismounted. Susan seemed pissed, like always, and didn’t take long to B-line to her spot under the tree where she kept her liquor. Dutch didn’t seem like talking either, he seemed angry in some way.
It was up to Hosea to explain the tension in the air. Arthur approached him with caution, afraid he might be told to run along. It may have been a few months, but he was still unsure of these people, “How’d the robbery go?” He asked slowly.
Hosea cleared his throat and kept his gaze fixed on hitching his horse to the post, “Not good,” He was never one for details, “We didn’t much,” Hosea moved to the satchel on his horse, dug around inside and pulled out small but complicated lockbox.
Arthur had never seen anything like it. When Hosea handed it to him, it was lighter than he expected, “This was it?”
“Yep,” Hosea pressed his lips thin and spoke his next words quietly, “Dutch is not happy with this. We can’t get the damn thing open and he owes Colm some money,”
Oh that would make sense. Arthur gave a slight nod of his head, “What are you guys gonna do?”
Laughter slipped into Hosea’s words, “Get the damn thing open!” He seemed overly optimistic with a hint of sarcasm. He pointed to the top of the lockbox and Arthur noticed the two keyholes, “I’m gonna pick these,” Then he pointed to the safe lock, “And hopefully crack this too,”
“Can I help?” It was hard to ask that question, but Arthur did it anyways, “I know how to pick locks,” He remembered his times on the streets, “I use to break into people’s house a lot,”
Hosea looked slightly surprised but then smiled. He looked pleased to hear that, “Sure, of course!” They walked over to the tabled in the shade provided by the sheet. While
Hosea went off to find some tools he left the box with Arthur. He looked it over, up and down and on each side. It was a light green and looked like it was crafted for the military. Arthur brought the box up to his ear and shook it slightly. Something shuffled around inside. What on earth could it be? Money? Cash? It didn’t sound like a lot. It sounded more like two or three papers. Maybe a dozen. He wasn’t totally sure.
When Hosea returned he had the tools to pick open some locks. He gave Arthur a pair and asked him, “You know what to do?”
His face was blank for a second but then Arthur nodded, “Yeah you just…” He picked up a long skinny thing with a ninety degree angled hook at the end, “Take this and this,”
He picked up another skinny looking pick, “You jam this one in the bottom as a tension wrench and wiggle this around trying to pick the lock,” Arthur felt himself start to get nervous because Hosea was just staring at him, “Right?”
A low but humble laugh came from Hosea, “Yes, just like that. You got the basics,” Hosea picked up his own tools, “You wanna do this one? I’ll get the other one,” No time was wasted getting to the locks. Arthur would dart his gaze between his hands and Hosea’s.
While his hands were young, they were cut up and covered in scars. They didn’t look that different from Hosea’s hands. Broken, beaten, rough and dirty. Working on this together made Arthur feel useful for the first time in a long time. Every time he slipped up and had to start over, Hosea would say something like, “It’s alright. Tough huh? I’ve lost it twice already,” then laugh like he was remembering something from the past.
After a few minutes, Hosea asked an odd question, “Have you ever gone fishing… Arthur?”
He never had, no. Arthur wasn’t sure what to say so he shrugged, “Never wanted too,”
Hosea put down his tools and caused Arthur to do the same, “You want to go fishing tomorrow?” How strange of a question. Why would he want to do that? Was there even a place to go fishing out here in a sandy waterless world?
“What about the lockbox?” He sounded so dumbfounded. Arthur cleared his throat then spoke again more clearly, “I-I thought Dutch needed what was in here?”
“We can’t work on this forever,” Hosea warned, “We’ll keep trying for now. We have all day tomorrow too, but you can really only go fishing at dawn,” He wasn’t going to let this thing go, was he?
Arthur didn’t really see a downside to this anyways, “What time do we need to wake up?” He picked up his tools again and went back to wriggling the lock open.
Hosea did the same, but he did so with a small and tiny grin on his face, “Before the sunrise. Maybe around five,”
That sounded awful, “Alright,” Arthur said, “Fishing it is,” He felt a little odd. Hopeful maybe, or scared. Or just awkward at feeling things in general. It was awful being his age. He was supposed to be a man by now but he was so far behind. He couldn’t read all too well. He barely understood math. He couldn’t really shoot a gun but he did good enough to kill someone if he had too. Yeah, he could pick locks… but nothing like this.
In the background, he could hear Dutch talking to Susan. Something he tried to keep out of his hearing range. Susan was his mistress of some kind. Dutch loved women, he loved talking to them in a certain voice that caused them to swoon. Sometimes Arthur wanted to have that power. But his lanky body and cracking voice made that impossible.
The sun in the sky had started making its way to the horizon. Little progress was being made on the two keyholes. Hosea had switched to cracking the spin dial safe lock. He wouldn’t let up on that thing, even as Susan made food and demanded that they all ate together. Like some family. Somehow Hosea didn’t have to eat dinner that night.
Arthur sat by the fire with Susan and Dutch. They were talking about what could be in the lockbox. What they’d tell Colm. How much money they needed before moving again. What to do with their other ‘business partners’ and such. He wasn’t really paying much attention until there was a yell.
“I figured it out!” All eyes were on Hosea, “I think I got it! Dutch! Come here!”
It was like a bomb went off. Everyone dropped what they were doing and ran over to Hosea. Dutch’s eyes darted around, “What is it?”
“I know how to unlock it,” Hosea shook a hand slowly, “It-it needs to be unlocked at the same time. All three of them,” He pointed to the safe lock, “The code for this is 15-25-6, and I figured out these. Arthur, son, help me will you?”
With shaky hands, Arthur got to work. He felt incredibly nervous like he was going to mess up this somehow. He followed Hosea’s instructions and did as told while Dutch got to working on the safe lock, “On the count of three,” Hosea said slowly, “One,” Arthur stared hard at his lock, “Two,” He could barely begin to guess what was in here, “Three.”
The lockbox popped out with a loud click! A latch came undone inside and the box lid came jolted open. Dutch pushed everyone to the side and made room for himself. He looked at everyone, Arthur, Hosea, and Susan, gaze darting between them. He took his time as he slowly placed his hands on either side of the lid, “Friends,” he said in a low voice, “Let’s hope this is something good,”
He flipped open the lid and inside the box was a stack of cash beside an envelope. There had to be a thousand dollars there. Dutch smiled and began to laugh, “What do we have here?” he tossed the cash to Hosea who was just as giddy.
Dutch tore open the letter and read it out loud, “Dear…. Mr. Ferguson…” His grin grew larger and he eyed everyone, “I’m so pleased to have done business with you. You have indeed keep your promise and in that regard. I thank you. As promised in my return I have sent the rest of your share to Dale Creek. There you will find the rest of your money, and gold from the mines aboard your train awaiting you at the station this Friday at 9:00 pm. Please enjoy my personal passenger car as you have a long trip ahead of you. Get back to me as soon as you can. Sincerely, Mr. Wells.”
The air was extremely thick and silent. Arthur could barely grasp the situation. Here they had a thousand dollars and more… just waiting at a train station? Gold…?!
“That’s tonight,” Susan said, “In three hours. It’ll take at least one to get to Dale Creek,”
“Then we have to go,” Dutch made it sound like that wasn’t even a decision.
“We don’t know how many men there will be there,” Susan just loved poking holes in plans. But that’s why she was here, wasn’t she? “Three people can’t do much,”
There was a split second of silence before Dutch said, “We’ll bring Arthur. We can not let something like this slip between our hands,”
Susan looked like she really wanted to protest. Arthur was extremely glad when she didn’t. Everything was happening so fast. One second he was at a table being handed guns, the next he was on a horse tailing behind Dutch. This was it…. This was his first heist.. his first robbery with the gang. He was actually doing it!
Adrenaline pumped through his veins and suffocated his heart in a throbbing buzz. Arthur’s mind went a thousand thoughts a second. This wasn’t anything like his petty thefts in the city. It was an attack. He could see the lights of Dale creek off in the distance. As it got closer he could feel himself grip the reins tighter.
Dale creek was a very small town. It had a store, some stables, and a train station. There wasn’t even a sheriff’s office, or a bank or jail. This place was just a dot on the dusty map of the desert. They hitched their horses a bit outside of the town. Dutch made the plan very clear, Hosea and Susan would go to the station, create a distraction so that he and Arthur could sneak on the train and steal as much money as they could. Hosea suspected that much money would be in a safe car and well guarded.
He didn’t want to admit it, but Arthur was extremely nervous. He felt a fear he’d never known before. The fear of failure. The train came exactly when the letter said it would. He and Dutch sat waiting in the bushes while Susan and Hosea did their thing. Dutch sparked up a cigarette, there was a deep scowl on his face.
Arthur didn’t even have to ask, Dutch handed the cigarette to Arthur, “You remember what to do?”
The cigarette was hot and burned his throat. The nicotine made him a little light-headed, but he liked it, “Yep,” he coughed a few times, “Use knives and get up to the hatch on the roof of that car,” He pointed at a gray car at the very end of the train. Arthur’s voice cracked a bit but he blamed it on the cigarette, “Grab as much as we can and run,”
Dutch gave Arthur a smile and a hard pat on the back that made him cough again, “Good,” He took his cigarette and pulled a cloud of smoke in like it was nothing. He laughed in a low tone that rumbled like thunder, “Let’s get this show on the road, son,”
With their faces covered with bandanas and knives ready to kill, Dutch and Arthur made their way towards the train. In the distance, there was the sound of arguing. It was
Susan and Hosea. The stood in the train station screaming at each other like a bitter married couple, drunk and ready for divorce. The few guards on the train took the bait inside. They left their posts to go see what was happening.
Following Dutch, Arthur made it onto the train. Dutch climbed up the side and got to the roof, “Come on,” He held his hand down for Arthur to grab. He hoisted him up and they made their way over to the opening of the safe car.
The latch was heavy and opened with a loud scream. Someone inside the car started talking and asking what was going on. Dutch was quick about that, he slid inside the car and a loud thud immediately followed. Keeping sure to keep the latch door open, Arthur fell inside the dark hollow car. There was a lantern on the ground that provided the only light.
“Holy… Hell,” He looked over to see Dutch with bars of gold in each hand, “Arthur… I think we struck gold!” He started to laugh and threw them inside the bag he got, “Oh we are going to make it now, Arthur. Get some! Go one! Get the cash from those drawers!”
There was more money in here than Arthur could have ever imagined. He easily counted up to ten grand in cash, plus a dozen bars of gold that Dutch was gathering, “What are we going to do with all thing money, Dutch?”
“Gonna pay Colm, first. Then find someplace to lay low, store all this money someplace safe. Maybe head north to Montana territory or Washington,”
“Hosea want to go to California,” Arthur said, he wanted to add he did too. California seemed so nice and so far away.
“I know. There’s to much law the-” Dutch’s words got cut off. There was a thud on the roof of the car. Footsteps echoed throughout the darkness and stopped right in front of the hatch.
“Someone left this thing open,”
“Close it, we don’t need no one getting in there,”
It happened in seconds, but Arthur saw it in slow motion. Their only way out was slammed shut and locked in place. The moonlight that has once leaked in like water was gone and replaced by the low warmth of the lanterns.
Dutch dropped everything in his hands and yelled out, “No! God dammit!” He climbed up the latter and started smashing his hands on the door. What the hell just happened? Arthur picked up the lantern and looked around for another way to escape.
He couldn’t see anything. Just when it couldn’t have gotten any worse, the train tugged forward. The force caused Arthur to fall to his knees. Dutch jumped down and ran over to one of the steel walls, “Hosea!!” His screams were harsh and raspy, “Hosea!! Stop the train!!” Arthur was so shocked he couldn’t move. The second time the train jerked, he stood up and ran over to the same wall as Dutch.
“Hosea!! Susan!! Someone get us out!” Their pleas fell on deaf ears. The engine of the train roared to life and nothing could be heard over that. There wasn’t much oil left in the lantern.
Arthur felt himself grow cold as the train pulled out of the station. Here they had all this money but now they were good as dead. Where the hell was this train going? When was it going to stop and who was going to open that door next? How were they going to get out of here alive?
#red dead redemption#red dead redemption 2#red dead#red dead head canons#rdr#rdr2#red dead 2#per gang#dutch van der linde#pre game#x reader#athurmorgan#arthur morgan#arthur morgan x reader#arthur x reader#young!arthur#hosea mathews#susan grimshaw#fanfic#fanfiction#head canons#rdr head canons#canon time periods#chapter#three#you#/reader#/you#arthur morgan/ you#arthur morgan/you
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AO3 Link - FF.Net Link
Notes: Long time, no update. I'm so sorry! There was so much happening in my life these past few weeks - months actually - that I couldn't have the right break to write and when I did I had to focus on my RCIJ fic, but now I'm back for good and I will finish this fic. Oh, we won Best Belle/Rumple Original Child with Rose at the R.H.E.A, so thank you so much everyone! I love you all!
Chapter Twenty-Two
They didn’t waste time after Henry’s arrival, in the very next day the group parted to Wonderland. Henry had been there before, he told them, but the clues he had found always seemed to take him somewhere else. He hadn’t seen Cora around or heard of her name, but he knew that something weird was happening, because the place looked abandoned and the few people he had met there were as mad as one could be.
Rumplestiltskin knew that his grandson was right about that place seeming to be dangerous by the moment he stepped a foot outside the portal that took them there. He felt the undeniable magic, which Henry probably hadn’t noticed because he didn’t have it in himself like the imp did. Sharing a glare with Gideon, he touched one bush wall, which’s leaves were getting brown and falling. In the past this had been a colourful and beautiful land, but now, everything was dark and he could feel why.
“My mother is here,” Regina said. “Her magic is a powerful poison, but I think that she is not alone.”
“Definitely not,” he answered, picking an old silver pin, notched to form a circle with some symbols around. “I know who this belongs to. Gothel.”
“Gothel?” Emma inquired. “Who the hell is Gothel?”
Regina exchanged a glare with the Dark One, picking the pin from his hands and lifting it closer to her face, so she could analyse it better. The blonde princess walked towards her, peeking a look at it above Regina’s shoulder.
“She used to be good in the past, but then she started to kill humans, which is why she was banished from this realm. I only heard of her as a legend, but somehow, my mother should have found a way of bringing her back from wherever she was.”
From where he was, Robin tightened his grip on his bow, glancing at Neal. They all were tense now, the imminent threat haunting their thoughts.
"How can we find them?" Henry inquired. "I've walked around this whole land and I have found nothing but destruction wherever I went to."
"My mother is fool, her only way of protecting herself has always been blood magic. I can find her and I can take us inside her lair," Regina guaranteed. "We will find Belle and Ella today, then we will take them home."
She took Henry's hand in hers, squeezing a little as they shared a hopeful smile, but everyone else knew that although Regina wanted to give her son something to look forward to, they still had a rocky road ahead. Rumplestiltskin knew that better than anyone. He had been Cora's professor, he taught her everything she knew and was pretty aware of how dangerous that woman could be, as for Gothel, she was a legend and legends should surely be feared.
It got him even more worried about Belle. They were having quite a troubled year and now they were separated again, she and their unborn child, facing a great danger. The imp didn't like to think about that and he was glad to have other concerns, like keeping an eye on his sons and making sure none of them got hurt during their search, however Belle was still the main thing on his mind.
"Where should we go?" Gideon asked. "We should start looking somewhere, I don't want to have my mother stay in their hands for long."
Waving a hand, Regina made a necklace appear on the palm of her hand, alongside a tiny bottle. She opened its lid and poured the blue contents on the red gem, making it start to float.
"This is going to take us to my mother and hopefully, Gideon, to yours too," the dark-haired woman said, proudly.
Fighting his urge of rolling his eyes and tell her majesty, the former Evil Queen that it might not be as easier as she seemed to think. Yes, blood magic was something very characteristic of Cora, but with Gothel by her side, he doubted that she was going to be so careless when she knew that she had two daughters and a few grandchildren running around and that all of them would want to stop her from doing whatever she was planning.
He let the group start to follow the necklace first, staying behind and looking around, certain that their enemies should already know they were there and were just waiting to attack at any second. Gideon, of course, noticed there was something wrong with his father and stopped walking, looking back at him.
"Father, what is it?"
"Let's be careful, alright?" Rumplestiltskin started patting his son's shoulder. "Your mother's life is in danger and our enemies are not such idiots as Regina appears to think they are."
The boy nodded, eyes fixed in his. The air around them seemed to be heavy, very different from the last time Rumple had been there, years after Cora mysteriously disappeared. It was Gothel's power, he realised. Every single bit of life in that land was gone and now it felt like he was in the Underworld instead of a place that once before had been so beautiful.
"We will get mother back, papa. Don't worry," Gideon said.
"Aye," he nodded. "But just so you know, don't try to be the hero today. If anyone has to make a sacrifice, then this person is not going to be you. Belle would never forgive me if her beloved boy came back home with a missing ear."
Gideon gave him a sceptical glance.
"You know that I'm not a five-year-old anymore, right?"
"At five you helped me defeat your evil grandmother," the imp chuckled. "I'll need to get used to the idea that you'll need to take your own risks someday, just not now."
"Yeah, fine, we need to catch up with the others."
A tiny smile crossed the Dark One's lips and he held Gideon in place by taking his arm when he was about to follow the group ahead.
"Remember Roderick is waiting for you at home," Rumplestiltskin advised. "Thinking about your mother is what always stopped me from doing stupid things in the heat of the moment. She needed me to come home alive and so does your man."
It was a sincere and wise advice that he never imagined himself giving his son in that moment, however if Rumple didn't start to think about these things now, he wasn't sure if he would have a tomorrow to do so. He would save Belle, no matter the cost and if it was his life, as he started to imagine it would be, then he would go in peace.
A man had told his son, months ago that his days as the Dark One were counted, and back then Rumple had laughed at it, but now the reality of the situation was starting to hit him. Cora, Gothel and probably someone else waited for them and only the gods knew what the real hell they wanted.
Following her father had been a bit harder than Rose thought it would be. The first thing she and Roland had to do was to get out of the Dark Castle without anyone noticing and, when you considered that Mr. Potts was pretty angry at her and the girls kept asking for new hairstyles, seemed to be really an impossible task. She knew that Roderick and Mr. Dove were not a problem, but it took them a while to get over the others and finally escape to the woods.
By the time they finally reached the cabin outside Rumplestitskin’s property where the portal had been open, they were long gone. There was some rambling about how they would ever get to Wonderland now and some desperation coming from her, until Roland mumbled something about how his mother kept three magic beans hidden in their castle back in Sherwood.
She it was wrong to steal from Regina and that they would most likely get in trouble for that, but Rose couldn’t sit and wait like a child while her whole family was searching for her mother. So, what happened was that they travelled to Roland’s home, stole the bean and opened a second portal to Wonderland, appearing in the opposite side of the land than the others were. Of course, they didn’t know it.
Rose had heard incredible things about Wonderland during her life, but now that she was there, the girl needed to confess that she was really disappointed. The air was cold and the plants were dying, destroyed pieces of furniture spread around, a castle in ruins and the remains of what seemed to once have been a beautiful garden.
“What the hell happened here?”
“Something dark,” Roland answered. “That’s for certain.”
He was carrying the bow she gave him, the one that belonged to his father, and held an arrow tightly just in case someone appeared. Rose loved that Roland was that careful, it made her feel safe.
It was night and the dead cold air made her tremble, so Roland suggested they found a place to sleep and start to search for their family in the next morning. She didn’t want to agree at first but needed to admit that her clothes weren’t suitable for the weather, so Rose decided to accept his decision and followed him. They needed to light up the way with fire as the sky got more and more darker and their only option was to hide inside an abandoned little house.
Someday in the past it must have been beautiful, but now it was only dirty and stinky, however, it would serve their purpose for a night.
They found the master chambers and climbed up the bed together, using Roland’s cloak as a blanket. Rose hugged him, laying her head on his chest as she let herself fall into a deep sleep. She was still worried about her mother and what tomorrow might bring, which was why later that day she thought that it would have been a good idea to bring Gideon’s anti-vision necklace.
In a minute she was just enjoying the great rest the darkness provided her, but then all of the sudden it begun. Rose was kneeling on the floor, her clothes damp with blood and a squealing infant screaming somewhere in the background. She held the wrist of the woman laying limp in front of her and shook her head for someone. Dead, of course.
"Rose," the loud scream interrupted the vision and she started to feel her own body again. "Rose, wake up. Darling, wake up, it is just a vision!"
Taking a long, deep breath, Rose opened her eyes to see her betrothed shaking her shoulders desperately, his eyes wide in panic and his cloak almost falling to the dusty floor.
"Roland," she breathed. "Oh, gods!"
Her hands were trembling and some perspiration made her face feel odd. She swallowed hard, allowing Roland to pull her into his embrace and stroke her hair until her heart stopped racing madly.
"Calm down," he whispered to her ear. "Tell me what was it about."
"A woman dying in childbirth, I couldn't see her face just skirts full of blood," Rose answered in a weak voice. "Do you think I saw my mother's death?"
"No," Roland immediately said, shaking his head at her. "It could be anyone."
Tears were starting to stream down her face now, the mere thought of losing one of the people she most loved in the word splitting her heart in two.
"I can't lose her, Roland. I can't lose my mother."
The boy touched her wet face, brushing her tears away and kissing the top of her head. They had grown up together and he knew every and each way of soothing her, just like her family members did. However, it couldn’t stop Rose from panicking inside, she had predicted too many deaths in her life to not be worried just now.
"It's alright, it won't be her," Roland kept saying.
"But what if..."
"No what ifs,” he commanded. “We are going to rescue her, take her home, she will be fine and soon you'll have a new sibling."
Rose was about to protest, but he silenced her with a kiss. It wouldn’t make her forget what she had just seen but it would momentarily make her feel that the world was way sweeter than in reality, and for Rose, it was enough.
Cora held a long piece of parchment in her hands, feeling her fellow partners' eyes starting at her as she ran a finger along the short phrases of the spell. She knew they were analysing her every movement and that anything she said or did wrongly could end this strange partnership, which was why she was being so careful and secretive all the time.
Bringing Belle to them had certainly bought some trust, but Cora wasn't a fool, she knew that none of them would be stupid enough to fully believe one another. Leaning back against her chair, she nodded pleasantly at the parchment, pulling it back on the table as Facilier arched an eyebrow at her.
"Are you sure this is going to work?" Gothel inquired. "The last time someone tried to cast this curse, it was a failure and I don't need to say that this failure is on your darling daughter's shoulders."
She had to hold herself not to snarl an answer to Gothel and Cora only did so, because right now they needed each other and, without that woman’s power she wasn’t really sure if she could cast that curse.
“Regina is weak,” Cora said, slowly. “She loves too much, that’s why she failed, but I have never made this mistake. I have never loved someone, not even my daughters and that’s why I will succeed.”
Gothel narrowed her eyes at her, not even a bit convinced of that. Facilier, in the other hand, took some steps towards them and pulled a chair for himself, taking a seat beside Cora as he traced invisible patterns in the table. One of his voodoo dolls was laying in front of them, a perfect copy of the imp he had been silently chasing along the years, waiting for the right moment to take the Dark One’s powers for himself.
“How can you guarantee us that you will have a heart to crush, Cora? If you don’t love anyone then you can’t really cast the curse.”
“Oh, I can,” she assured him. “Once I put my own heart back inside my chest I will feel affection again, I will look after Regina and play my part. I only hope you can play yours.”
Sighing, he took the voodoo doll in hands and smiled wickedly. That smile, was the reason why Cora had agreed on bringing Facilier into this collaboration in first place. He wouldn’t hesitate in doing what was needed and that was why he was so priceless to their plan.
“Nobody is going to stop you,” he responded in his husky voice. “Rumplestiltskin and his family won’t have time to. Now… Gothel, do you have your ingredients?”
“Of course,” she answered. “Two women of fire’s essence, to bring magic to a land where there is any. The life of an innocent child, to take us to the right place and time… This one is just a delivery away, but don’t worry I have the right kind of tea to sped up things.”
“Wonderful. So, now, my dears, we must prepare ourselves. We don’t have much time.”
With a wave of her head, Gothel agreed, pulling her chair back and leaving the room in which they had been reunited, heading straight to the dungeons where Belle and Ella were locked. Cora took a deep breath, thinking about the hardest thing she would have to do in a long time, put her heart back inside her chest. She was about to follow her own way too, when Facilier chuckled, looking up at the ceiling as if he thought it was really amusing.
“What is it?” Cora inquired.
“We have visitors,” he said, a moment before disappearing into a dark cloud of smoke.
An empty teacup was placed carefully in front of Belle, the brown and yellow patterns of it, estrange to her unlike the white and blue china they used to have in their castle. She was sat on the floor against the wall, one hand caressing the small mound of her belly was the other played mindlessly with a hairpin. Belle didn’t know how much time could have passed ever since she was imprisoned there, but she guessed it wasn’t a lot.
Rumple should be looking for her as Henry had been looking for Ella all that time and it was what scared her the most. If Ella couldn’t have been found, then so wouldn’t she and Belle didn’t want her child to be born in a cell like this, it was Rumplestiltskin’s heir and it deserved the word and not the enclosure of a dungeon, being threatened by Cora and her friends.
Belle knew that she was probably going mad, but she poked Ella’s arm, until she woke up, rubbing her fists against her eyes and yawning a bit, complaining about how she couldn’t get a proper night of sleep ever since Belle arrived.
“Ella, I have a plan. I’m going to take us out of here.”
“What? Belle… I don’t think you can. I’ve tried before.”
Shaking her head at her, the Dark Lady pulled herself up on her feet, accidentally kicking the teacup and breaking it as she made her way to the front bars of her cell, fighting against the locker as she plugged her hairpin into it, twisted a few times and made it swung open with a happy giggle.
“Come on,” she said. “I’m going to free you, Ella.”
“But, how are we going to escape? Please, think twice, Belle, if not for yourself then for your child, they will kill us as soon as we show up at the hallway.”
“No, they won’t. I won’t let this happen.”
Belle worked quickly to free her and took a look around, searching for a weapon, but the only thing she found were the torches that were hanging on the walls, illuminating the room. She took one of them. It would have to do it. If anyone got close to her, she would set the person on fire, she wouldn’t die here or this way, not when she still had so much to do. After all, she had promised Rumple that she would find a way to get rid of the dagger.
“Are you coming?” Belle asked Ella.
The other woman, took a deep breath, then she reached for the second torch and nodded. They were going to escape.
#rumbelle#rumbelle fic#mine#writing#rumplestiltskin#belle french#gideon gold#baelfire#neal cassidy#ao3#fanfic#gidrick#roseland
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The Ship Wars
Masterpost
Chapter Fifteen Sacrifices
AN
Time line is going to get a little weird. I'll explain it when it's important.
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Warnings: This fic is not a light fic so beware. Blood, homicidal tendencies. Colder than the ninth circle of hell, Jefferson is really bad right now, be careful.
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Hamilton lifted John from the boat and carried him on board the Adrienne. “Someone get me the surgeon! Now! Come on, stay with me, John.” Hamilton gingerly set John down inside the captain’s quarters, not caring that it wasn’t his ship, and pressed his drenched coat against the bleeding wound. “Goddamnit! I want a surgeon now!” Hamilton yelled.
The surgeon, however, was busy treating all the other yelling sailors. French crewmen came first, not some lowly pirate captain’s first mate. Hamilton swore and set about removing the ball himself. Laurens’ groaned in pain, his body jerking away. Hamilton pinned him down as he worked and was eventually rewarded with the musket ball. Luckily, none of the clothing got shredded pushed into the wound. If it had and Hamilton had been unable to retrieve it, it would get infected quickly and be a death sentence for John.
Hamilton pressed his coat back against Laurens’ wound, willing the bleeding to slow to a stop. He didn’t have anything to stitch it up so all he could do at this point was pray until a real surgeon showed up, if John lived that long. Hamilton kissed John’s still lips, “Stay with me, John.” He didn’t know how long he stayed like that until the surgeon finally showed up and finally set to work, kicking Hamilton out of the room.
There was more for Hamilton to see to. He had his crew to take care of, how many had survived? How many were crippled? How many had been sent to the Davey Jones’ locker by Jefferson? Too many.
Hamilton spotted Lafayette looking through a spyglass and followed the direction to find another approaching ship. Please be French or Spanish. Lafayette lowered his spyglass and growled, “English.” Goddamnit. Lafayette turned and took in the state of his ship. If they engaged, there was the possibility of losing and sinking as well. Lafayette was an exceptional captain but he knew when the best decision was to outrun. “Make sail!” he commanded, “East, avoid the English vessel at all costs!” he turned the helm as all available sailors leaped to their jobs.
Hamilton watched the wreckage of his ship and the Monticello steadily grow more distant. If Jefferson lived and the English ship picked him up, Hamilton would hunt him down and slaughter him. If he was already dead, Hamilton would hunt him down and slaughter him in hell. If John died, Hamilton would burn the entire English navy. John was not a sacrifice Hamilton was willing to make.
He blocked out the pained noises that rose from the ship as he watched the dark English ship pull up to the Monticello and set sail again after finishing rescuing sailors. Hamilton was surprised when it didn't give chase, an odd decision for an English ship that had the upper hand. Hamilton supposed he should be relieved, instead, he hated not knowing whether or not Jefferson survived.
He turned back to his pained crew. “Where's Morris? Did he survive?”
“Here, sir,” Morris called, getting to his feet and limping over, favoring his left side heavily.
“Are you going to be able to handle this right now?”
“I'm just a little beat up sir, nothing broken or pierced. I'll be fine.”
Hamilton nodded, “Take command for a bit, respect Captain Lafayette’s orders. It's his ship after all,” and returned to the Captain's quarters. Hamilton wasn't one bit sorry for getting blood stains on Lafayette's bed. The surgeon was just standing to leave. “I've done all I can. It's up to him now,” was all he said as he hurried out the door to treat other people. Hamilton filled the chair the surgeon had just vacated, taking John’s hand in his own and rubbing circles in the flesh between the thumb and finger.
Hours passed and John continued to breathe shallowly, any breath could be his last. Hamilton was slumped over him, still holding his hand, but barely keeping his eyes open when Lafayette walked into the room, rubbing his face tiredly and throwing his coat into the corner of the room.
“Ah, I see my bed has been taken,” he said humorously, “and here I thought I was going to get a couple hours of sleep.” Hamilton looked at the tall Frenchman who looked just as frayed as Hamilton felt. “I didn't take you for such a softy.”
“I'm not soft,” Hamilton growled, dropping John's hand.
“Yet your first mate lies in my bed when the rest of your men are spread out on the deck. And you seem to have no regret.”
“Ran out of the room.”
Lafayette laughed. “Okay, Alexandre. Sleep with your boyfriend then, I’ll find other accommodations.”
“He's not my boyfriend,” Hamilton said lowly.
“Yes, he is,” Lafayette replied, shirking off his pants, leaving him in his undershorts and a loose billowy, long sleeved shirt.
“You're mistaken. He's just a close friend.”
Lafayette threw some blankets on the floor and stretched out on them, groaning as the aches of his back loosened. “Alright, then come sleep next to me instead.”
“The bed is more comfortable.”
“The bed has a dying man on it.”
“The floor has a man with a death threat on his head.”
Lafayette chuckled. “Whatever you wish, Alexandre, I don't care where you sleep. Just get some while you can. Tomorrow is going to be rough,” Lafayette said, curling up on his side and pulling a blanket over himself. A smile curled his lips when he heard Hamilton blow out the candle and slip into bed next to John.
***
Madison and Kinloch we're having a much different time.
After what was assumed to be a few minutes lying face down on the beach, Kinloch decided it was time they made sure they weren’t going to die anyway. “Madison, do you have any salt water in your lungs?” His question was met with silence. “Madison?” Kinloch asked, raising his head to see Madison lying face down in the sand too. “Goddamnit, Madison,” he muttered, crawling over to the smaller, sickly man. He was either dead or unconscious. If he was unconscious, was it from exhaustion or something else? Like his illness. Kinloch rolled him over and found him breathing. There was probably a whole bunch of salt water in his lungs from nearly drowning as he did. If Madison were to have a chance of surviving, that water needed to come out. Kinloch opened up Madison’s coat and started rhythmically compressing, hoping to resuscitate him.
Madison snapped awake and rolled out of Kinloch’s reach, having no idea what was going on. “What the fuck are you doing? I’m not-” Madison bent over and started coughing up water, “Shit.”
“Let me do a little bit more. I’m sure you’re aware that it’s going to dehydrate you and make it harder to breathe,” Kinloch said, “and with your condition, I don’t think harder to breathe is going to help you.”
Madison just wanted to fucking sleep. Was that too much to ask? To just let his exhausted body get some rest? Yes, definitely too much to ask. “Let’s find some shelter,” Madison replied, forcing himself to his feet and walking toward the canopy of the forest.
“Madison, you’re honestly a strong man but if you think for one second that you’re going to survive with any salt water in your lungs, you’re not as smart as I thought,” Kinloch said, pushing himself up and following behind Madison.
“I’m not an idiot, I’m well educated on drowning.” He’d nearly done it before after all. “You can try and force whatever salt water I have left out when we’re safe out of the storm. I don’t want to get it all out only to be dragged back out to sea again by high tide and have to start all over.”
“Of course,” Kinloch said, stepping under the shelter of the canopy, “If there’s one good thing about a storm, it’s that there’ll be lots of wood to work with once it’s passed.”
They walked along for a bit, getting further away from the beach, hearing the harsh wind whistle through the trees. It wouldn’t be long before the rain started, hopefully, the canopy was thick enough to where not much would hit them. “What about you?” Madison asked, “Do you have any saltwater in your lungs?”
“Most probably,” Kinloch answered. “This is far enough, lie down again, I’ll help you and I’m sure you’ll do the same for me.”
“Shelter first,” Madison coughed. He hated help.
“We’re under the canopy. Deal with the water first. You’re going to die if you allow it to sit there.”
“Fine.” Madison found a mostly flat spot and lied down, hating every second.
“Thank you.” Kinloch set to work.
Turns out, Madison had a lot more water than he thought. Apparently, having a coughing fit in the middle of the ocean during a storm and almost drowning will do that to you. Madison wiped the remaining water from off his mouth and turned to Kinloch. “Now you.”
He didn’t have it nearly as bad as Madison, considering he managed to keep his head above water almost the entire time. “How about some mouth to mouth?” Kinloch joked, wiping his chin.
“Shelter, Kinloch,” Madison said tiredly.
He rolled his eyes, “Of course, Madison. Any ideas?”
“This doesn’t seem like an island with caves so we’ll have to build something. How about a lean-to?”
“Sounds good, let’s get to some higher ground, maybe we can find a decent place.” As they searched, the storm steadily got worse, so they eventually decided on a spot that would do. They could always relocate later, the goal was to get out of the storm as quickly as possible. Madison though logically over anything else. Sure, Kinloch wasn’t someone he’d choose to survive on an island with but he was who Madison had. At least he was strong and could carry his own wait...and Madison’s too apparently.
That’s another life debt to tack onto Madison’s list. Fuck. Like he didn’t have enough of those.
“Separate shelters?” Kinloch asked, looking to Madison.
Madison looked up at the sky and felt rain drops start to hit his face. “One. It’s faster. Less material. Warmer. Less work.”
“Works for me,” Kinloch said, searching for sizable logs to build the structure with. Madison started dragging some over as well, he knew he was putting too much strain on his body after just going through what he did. He was barely standing as it was, usually, he’d have to sleep for at least a day afterward, depending on how bad it was. He didn’t have that option right now, the storm was too close. His body, just to prove his own thoughts, decided to gift him with another one, as if that would help.
They started off low and easily suppressed as he dragged logs across the clearing. When they started to become more obvious the more he worked, Kinloch looked over at him. “Are you sure you got all the salt water out?” Kinloch needed to keep Madison alive. Why? Because Kinloch was shit at survival and hopefully, Madison was better. If Madison died, every chance Kinloch has went with him. He had to make Madison into an ally that would help him live.
“Yeah, I’m sure,” Madison coughed lightly, picking up the log and setting it in place.
“Take a break if you need it.”
Thunder cracked ahead and they rushed to finish. As soon as they did, Madison crawled into the lean-to and instantly fell asleep, his abused and exhausted pulling him into unconsciousness.
Kinloch would’ve stayed up to keep watch but then the rain started pouring relentlessly and the wind howled horribly so he decided to crawl in and sleep as well.
***
Fast forward several days. (Keep in mind that we’ll probably rewind those days later, I’ll let you know)
Jefferson woke up to a dark room and unimaginable amounts of pain that burned up his right leg. He tried to sit up and cried out, immediately sinking back down on the cot. He winced as his leg throbbed. Jefferson gritted his teeth and pushed himself up, looking down at his leg which ended mid thigh.
He let out a shaky breath and closed his eyes. Breathe. Jefferson took several more breaths before opening his eyes again. Nope, still gone. His hands clenched, nails digging into his skin. He was going to kill everyone on this ship, just as he promised. He was going to start with the son of a bitch who cut it off and then he was going to hunt down that bastard Hamilton and slaughter him where he stands.
Jefferson grit his teeth and swung his legs-leg-over the side of the cot, he cried out in pain and doubled over. He stayed that way for several minutes and forced himself to stand, swaying uneasily on one leg. How was he going to walk out to the deck if he couldn't even take a step?
Jefferson grabbed his sword, which was leaning against the wall at the head of the bed and used it like a cane, leaning on it heavily, as he hopped a couple inches forward. That's when he realized all he was wearing were undershorts and his billowy white shirt. Where were his pants?
Glancing around the room, he spotted them draped over a chair, one leg was shredded, not that it mattered since Jefferson didn't have that leg anymore. He thought about trying to shove his leg into them and decided that people wouldn't mind if he killed them while only in his underwear.
Jefferson dragged himself out of the room, scooping up his pistol, and down the hallway, managing to shoulder open the door onto the deck. He wasn't noticed at first but when he drew his sword, leaning on the sheath, and demanded to know where the scumbag that took his leg was, people started paying attention. Burr seemed to materialize out of nowhere, standing erect and taking in Jefferson's condition.
“You're bleeding,” he stated. It was true. Blood had soaked through his bandages and was dripping down onto the deck. “And staining my deck.”
“Fuck off, Burr. I'll kill you in a minute. He's first,” Jefferson said, cocking his pistol and aiming it at the man who had cut off his leg.
Burr stepped forward and kicked the sheath out from under Jefferson's hand, sending him sprawling the ground in pain. Jefferson cried out and Burr stepped up to him and looked down at him, a look of indifference. “Somebody drag him back to his room, I have a letter to send André about a delusional Captain,” he turned on his heel and walked off, scooping up Jefferson's pistol as he went. “Rebandage the moron’s leg while you're at it.”
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My Heart’s in the Highlands - Chapter 2
Fandoms: OUAT, Hamish Macbeth
Pairing: Bellish
Rating: T
Summary: With Rumplestiltskin gone, Belle can’t face going back to the Enchanted Forest without him. She leaves Storybrooke forever, travels the world, and ends up in a small village in Scotland, where she meets a constable with a very familiar face.
AO3
Chapter 2: The Twilight Home Past
“I swear, I didnae do anything,” Hamish Macbeth hissed as TV John hovered over the still form of the stranger lying on the sofa of the police station. “I offered to help her with her tire and she just...” He fluttered his hands to indicate that she’d fainted dead away.
That was a novel experience. He knew he wasn’t exactly hard on the eyes - took no small amount of pride in how well he wore his uniform, in fact - but he’d never had a woman swoon on him before. It wasn’t all it was cracked up to be. Women could be damned heavy when they fainted, and of course he’d had to catch her; couldn’t have her braining herself on the pavement. He scratched at the back of his neck and tried to ignore the way TV John’s lips were twitching, choosing instead to focus on his unwitting houseguest. Doc Brown was on his way and hopefully they could revive her but until then...
She was pretty. And that wasn’t really something he should be thinking about an unconscious stranger in his police station, but there was really no way not to think it because she was. Heart-shaped face, creamy ivory skin, rioting dark curls, full cherry lips - he hadn’t got a good look at her eyes before they rolled up in her head but he had the impression they were blue. And she was tiny. Half a head shorter than him and light as a feather to boot.
Doc nearly whistled at his first sight of their visitor. “Holy hell, Hamish, what did you do? Knock her out with a club and drag her here?”
Well. He knew he had a reputation as something of a dog, but that was uncalled for. “‘Course not,” he snapped. “just make sure she’s okay, will you?”
The doctor had scarcely finished his brief examination when the woman’s eyelids fluttered and she breathed in a deep gasp. She flinched away from the doctor, who immediately backed away to prove he was no threat, and she locked eyes with Hamish again. He swallowed hard. Yes, blue - an unreal, translucent blue-green that rivaled the sea at its most breathtaking.
She muttered something under her breath and shook her head a little, never breaking eye contact. Her staring was beginning to unnerve him, so he glanced away and pretended to be fascinated by the typewriter on the desk. He could tell she’d gotten his hint when Doc introduced himself and she answered, her voice that low Australian alto he’d remembered from an hour ago.
“Do you know your name, m’dear?” Doc asked, and Hamish felt it was safe to look back.
“Belle French,” she said shakily. One hand rose to smooth her hair while the other was captured in Doc’s grip as he checked her pulse.
“Date of birth?”
“August 28, 1990.”
“Mother’s name?”
“Colette Johnson French.”
“Do you know where you are?”
“No, but that’s not...I mean, I left Inverness this morning and I - well, I didn’t really have a plan, so…”
“So you were just...driving for the hell of it?” Hamish asked, ready now to risk her piercing gaze again.
She glanced at him but, thank God, didn’t resume staring. “Yeah. I just wanted to see what was down this road. If it got late before I found a place I was going to sleep in the car.”
“Well, you don’t seem to have a concussion,” Doc Brown said. “Just take it easy tomorrow, eh?”
Belle nodded.
“Thanks, Doc, I’ve got it from here,” Hamish said brusquely. Doc nodded reluctantly and turned to go, squeezing Belle’s hand in encouragement.
“All right, Miss French,” he said when Doc was out of sight. “Why don’t you tell me what’s really goin’ on here?”
“Just what I said,” Miss French said calmly, pulling herself into a seated position and combing her fingers through her hair. “I’ve been on a sort of - pilgrimage, I guess? - a trip, anyway, around the world, for the last two years or so. This is just my latest stop.”
“And what exactly are you running from?”
“I’m not running from anything. I’d always meant to see the world, and when the opportunity arose, I took it.”
“How did that opportunity arise, if you don’ mind me askin’?”
“I do mind, as a matter of fact,” Miss French snipped. “It’s none of your business. Now since I’m not dying or under arrest, could you point me in the direction of my personal effects and then the nearest hotel?”
“I didnae say you weren’t under arrest.”
“What could you possibly arrest me for?”
“Illegally parked vehicle. Assaulting a police officer.”
Miss French’s eyes flashed. “I didn’t assault you.”
“Me back remembers it differently.”
“Next time you’re welcome to let me fall.”
He grinned. “You plan on swoonin’ on me again? That’s downright flatterin’.”
Miss French huffed, but he thought he saw a flicker of a smile on her lips. “My things?”
Hamish jerked a thumb towards the table and she rose, looking carefully over her purse and its contents before nodding at him. TV John offered to take her to the Lochdubh Hotel and set her up for the night, and then she was gone with nary another word or glance his way.
“Hamish means well,” TV John told Belle as he walked her to the hotel. “We dinnae get mony visitors here, that's all. Certainly none as found us themselves.”
“Driving or walking on any road that caught my fancy is how I had some of my most memorable adventures,” Belle said.
“Well, I hope this road doesn’t disappoint.”
Belle was introduced to Barney and Agnes, the couple who ran the hotel, and shown up to her room. It was clean and spacious, if extremely dated, and Belle unpacked her things into the dresser drawer. This leg of her journey had begun to feel like the last, but she wasn’t sure what she’d do when she decided to settle down. Boston hadn’t agreed with her, and she had a feeling that she’d like New York (where the newly minted Cassidys had ended up last she’d spoken with them) even less. She loved visiting in cities, but she’d always been a provincial girl. Avonlea had been, as Rumple described it on his only visit there, a “little town,” and she’d been completely charmed by Storybrooke. Thankfully the world was full of little towns and villas into which she could disappear and quietly live out her days.
Belle French’s education included a degree in library science. Perhaps she could be a small-town librarian or bookshop owner. The thought of spending her days surrounded by the written word filled her with joy as nothing had in the last two years. Her head spinning with ideas and plans, Belle fell asleep quickly despite the sounds of the restaurant/pub below.
The next morning found her rested and ready to explore the hamlet she’d found herself in. Today would be a day for the streets and shops, tomorrow for hiking, and then, probably, she’d be on her way. Two years of travel had seen a significant change in her wardrobe. Gone were the short skirts and floaty dresses and flirty heels she’d been fond of in Storybrooke (most of them anyway), replaced by sensible tops and shorts and cargo pants and boots and tennis shoes. A few dresses for nights out remained, but no one in Storybrooke would recognize her now. Sometimes she scarcely recognized herself.
The pub attached to the hotel served breakfast, she’d been told, so she shouldered her messenger bag and headed out. This early in the morning the pub was hardly a hub of activity, but there were a few people at booths. With a little flutter of nerves she noticed that the constable - the one who so resembled Rumple - was there with TV John and the doctor who’d examined her last night. They were all nursing mugs of coffee, but when the doctor saw her he leapt to his feet and was before her in an instant.
“Miss French! How are you feelin’ today?”
“Much better, Doctor, thank you,” she smiled as she shook his hand.
“Well, you certainly look better. Less peaky. Here for breakfast?”
“Yes, I…”
“Och, you must sit with us, come on.” He hadn’t released her hand and began fairly pulling her to the booth.
“Oh, but…”
“No arguin’, Miss French, I willnae hear of it.”
“Belle, please,” Belle sighed as she was gently shoved into the booth across from the constable and TV John. “I’m not sure anyone’s ever called me Miss French.”
“Belle,” the doctor said almost triumphantly. “A bonnie name.” The constable snorted and Doc Brown glared at him. “Well, it is,” he said defensively.
“Ay course it is, divit,” the constable said with a crooked grin. “That's what ‘Belle’ means. Beauty.”
“Ah, bugger off, Hamish,” the doctor grumbled, puffing his pipe madly.
They were interrupted by Barney, who brought her breakfast, and Belle tucked into her meal with enthusiasm. She looked up after about ten minutes of silent eating to see that all three men were staring at her avidly.
“Sorry...do I have egg on my face or something?”
“No, no,” PC Macbeth said. “Has it been a few weeks since you had a decent meal, then?”
She narrowed her eyes. “No. And I don’t appreciate being stared at like an exhibit in a zoo.”
TV John cleared his throat and stood. “Sorry, lass. Hamish, I’ll be at the station.”
“Aye.” The constable’s eyes didn’t waver from hers.
The doctor, his eyebrows raised, glanced between her and the constable. “And I, ah, probably have a patient tae see somewhere.”
“See you later, doc.”
Belle raised her eyebrows and met his stare, forcing herself to notice differences between him and Rumple. He was younger, for one thing, but then everyone in this world was younger than him. His hair was shorter, his eyes less haunted (though not entirely serene, interestingly enough) and his bearing was different. However much he resembled Rumple, he was very obviously not the same man.
She shouldn’t be surprised that she was attracted to him - she’d always been drawn to Rumplestiltskin and this man could be his twin - but she was surprised nonetheless. She hadn’t felt attracted to anyone since she’d left Storybrooke, and had not unreasonably assumed that she wouldn’t again. True Love didn’t come along every day, and it certainly didn’t die easily, and she didn’t think she was crazy to think her chance had come and gone.
Still, there he sat, his bottomless dark eyes boring into hers, his mouth quirking into a half smile, and her insides quivered ever so slightly. She recognized that look; she’d seen it on countless men who’d tried to pick her up in bars around the world. He knew he was handsome, and he capitalized on it. The only way to depress impertinence like his was to meet it with her own.
Adding a sparkle to her eyes, she speared a sausage with her fork and lifted it to her lips. Locking her gaze on his, she took a deliberate bite and smiled when his grin faded a little and his eyes widened.
He’d been wrong the night before, Hamish mused as Belle polished off her breakfast. She wasn’t pretty. Her baggy, comfortable traveling clothes and weary face had concealed the truth from him.
She was bloody gorgeous and nothing less. His mouth had run dry when she stepped into the pub, fresh as a daisy and sexy as hell with her fluttery knee-length skirt and long slim black-tight-clad legs. Every unattached man in this pub (and probably one or two of the married ones) was imagining those legs wrapped around various parts of his body, and she’d sat across from him. The fact that she didn’t seem to reciprocate his attraction didn’t bother him; she was just passing through, a pretty little tourist to admire, nothing more.
“You still have questions,” Belle said, scraping up the yolk of her eggs with her toast.
“Aye, if you’re open to hearin’ ‘em.” He rearranged the questions in his head, dragging the most policeman-like ones forward and the dog-like ones to the recesses of his brain.
“I’ll hear any questions you care to ask. I might not answer them, though.”
Hamish grinned. “Where’re you from, Belle?”
“Here and there.”
“That's no answer. It’s a simple question.”
“Not really, in my case.” Belle studied her glass of water with a strange expression. After a few moments she took a deep breath. “I was born in Australia, but I grew up in Maine. My father’s business took us there. I came into some money a few years ago and finally got to do what I’ve always wanted to do.”
“And what’s that?”
“Travel. See the world.”
“Alone?”
Her face clouded over, her eyes darkening and taking on a haunted look that suddenly made her seem decades older than she was. “No. That wasn’t the plan, but…” shrugging, “we do what we must, don’t we?”
“What’s on for today?” he asked after a few seconds.
“I thought I’d walk around town, visit the shops, see the beach. I don’t need a permit or anything for that, do I?”
“No, of course not.” Where the hell had that come from?
“You’re sure?”
“Aye, I’m sure.”
“Then I won’t need a police escort, will I?”
Hell. How had she known he was planning to show her around? He fidgeted in his seat. “No.”
“Great.” She rose and tossed a few quid on the table. “Then I’ll wish you a good morning, P.C. Macbeth.”
Lochdubh was many times smaller than Storybrooke. It only had the one main street, and there were very few shops along it. Before lunch she was fairly sure she’d met all the principal inhabitants and seen all the important sights in the town itself. Rory the grocer had shown her around his store and convinced her to buy a few of his apparently famous crumpets; Esme, one of the schoolteachers, had given her a tour of the school and invited her to sit in on a Gaelic lesson; Lachlan McCrae, in town selling some of his wares, had waxed eloquent about his farm and various business ventures. She was now nearing the end of the street, enjoying the brisk breeze from the harbor and scrutinizing the mountains. Tomorrow she’d pack a lunch and a dinner and spend the whole day up there, losing herself in nature.
A building near the end of the street caught her eye; while most of the buildings on the street stood in need of a few repairs, they were all open and busy, but this building had boards on the windows and a chain on the doors. Curious, she walked closer and tried to discern what it once had been. The sign above the door was faded, but when she was directly before the building she could read it.
Lochdubh Public Library
Some emotion she couldn’t define surged through her, compressing her lungs and choking her. Images of another library, boarded and abandoned, swam in her head and she clutched at her elbows, pulling her arms around her body. “We may sit in our library and yet may be in all quarters of the earth,” she whispered. Tears trickled down her cheeks and she bit her lip hard. “Rumple…”
Magic was hard to come by in this land, but destiny knew no boundaries. Libraries were how she grounded herself, how she knew she was home and safe and loved. She’d felt that connection in Avonlea, she’d felt it at the Dark Castle, she’d felt it in Storybrooke, and she felt it now, growing and spreading and digging deep into the pavement at her feet as if rooting her there. Scotland had already felt like home, and now there was a library in need of love. She’d always known that since she couldn’t return to Storybrooke, she would need a home somewhere, and if the tugging at her heart and the heaviness in her legs didn’t signify that she was home, she didn’t know what would.
Cautiously she approached the doors and peered through the cracks between the boards. With no curse to keep everything pristine, she could see dust gathered on everything. Several of the shelves were missing books. It would be no small task to clean and arrange it all, and she would need to expand the collection, but…
“I hope you’re not thinkin’ of goin’ in there.”
Macbeth had found her. She kept her back to him. “I thought you said I didn’t need an escort.”
“You don’t, but I thought you might like a tour guide.” He grinned as he came up beside her, but the expression dropped when he caught a glimpse of her face. “Is summat wrong?”
Belle turned her head and wiped at her face. “I’m fine.”
“Och, aye, many a lass I’ve found weepin’ her eyes out over an abandoned library.”
“How long has it been closed?” Belle asked, ignoring his huff of frustration.
“Six months or so. Mrs. Coffey died and no one in town’s got the background tae take over.”
Belle hummed, studying the facade. “Would it be worthwhile to reopen?”
“Eh?”
“Has the town missed having a library? Would it do well if it opened again?”
“I, eh, really couldnae say. I suppose so. Folk around here aren' great readers, but they’ve been known tae crack a book frae time tae time.” He chuckled. “Why, d’you need a job?”
Belle shrugged. “I am a librarian, and it’s not as if I have anything else to do or anywhere specific to be.”
Macbeth was silent for several seconds. “So you’d - what - open it for a month or two and hand it off?” She turned to look at him and raised her eyebrows. “You cannae mean you want to stay here.”
Rolling her eyes, Belle turned back to the library. “I never tire of hearing someone tell me what I want.”
Macbeth huffed. “You must have somewhere tae go. People you miss.”
“I really don’t.”
“Now, why dinnae I believe that?” Macbeth stepped closer to her.
“Because you’re an arse?” Belle snapped, her temper rising.
“Or maybe because you’re still not telling me the truth.”
Her temper spiked and her vision went red. “What do you want me to say?” Belle rounded on him, and he backed away a step, his eyes widening. “What will get you off my back? Do you want to hear that I have no family or friends anxiously awaiting my return? That I have no place to call home?”
“I - “
“Or maybe you want me to tell you all about how I watched my - the man I loved die. That I was powerless to stop it - that I wasn’t even able to hold him or tell him I loved him as he faded away. That I couldn’t go home because I just couldn’t face life there without him.”
His face had gone pale and he looked as if he wanted to say something but couldn’t determine what.
“Have I told you enough, P.C. Macbeth?” she asked, ice in every syllable.
“Aye, lass. You have.”
Her words had run out, and she walked away, struggling to calm her heart and slow her breathing. In two years she had never - not once - even hinted at what had driven her around the world, not to kindly boarding-house owners or sympathetic bartenders or friendly fellow travelers. The memories seemed at once too precious and too terrible to share with another soul. In this land without magic, how could she explain what Rumple had been to her, how empty and frightening the world had seemed without him, how powerless she was to do anything but run and never return?
She was tired of running, of never having a fixed home, of doing odd jobs to pay for her next plane or train ticket - and of dipping into the dwindling funds the sale of the antiques had provided. She wanted to feel useful again, and the library needed her.
Belle nodded to herself as she climbed the stairs to her room. She would canvass the locals and determine if the library were a valued resource; if it was, she would know what to do next.
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