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shabre-legacy · 2 years

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Returning Home Chapter Five

Up Against the World, Up against the Wall

Song: Any other way by All good things

It doesn’t take long for them to get to Carrick Station, and even less time to be in line for boarding a ship from the station to Coruscant. All travel costs on the Republic Army of course. There’s always a priority on moving soldiers around the galaxy, After all, the tensions with the Sith Empire were still high and based on what she had uncovered, they were actively, but quietly pushing into Republic space. Military and Jedi ships had priority on every Republic station and most of the private ones too. Even then, it takes enough time to make their way down to grab a drink and food that isn’t rations from the cantina before boarding.

The serving droid rolls away with their orders, leaving the two in awkward silence. They hadn’t had a chance to talk much since leaving Ord Mantell. Nyaisa had been well enough to travel, but without enough energy for additional conversation, so beyond being blamed for her squad’s actions ruining Jorgan’s career and a few check-ins, there wasn’t much said.

After a minute or two of the silence, Jorgan speaks first. “So.. Havoc Squad. Best of the best. Can’t say that I’m happy about the demotion, but it’s an honor to be here sir.”

Sir? That was going to take some getting used to, coming from the tall Cathar. He’d loomed over her when they’d met, with him challenging her experience and skill and her trying to stand up to him without breaking protocol.

She leans forward a bit. “How are you holding up?”

“You mean after watching Tavus flush my career down the fresher? What do you think?” There’s a dark growl at the end of his sentence, a promise of violence towards someone. “Four years at the academy. Seven years in the field, decorations, commendations. Would have made captain soon if command hadn’t hung me out to dry.”

Years of work, destroyed in a matter of hours. If he was telling the truth that is. For all she knew he could be a skilled liar and working with Tavus and only pretending to be this angry. But that, that seemed unlikely. Emotions typically ran hot with Cathar in her experience and this kind of anger felt genuine. “You and I both know Tavus’s defection wasn’t your fault.”

Jorgan just growled slightly at his tray. “Tell that to the brass when they need a scapegoat. But hey, water under the bridge. Command put me in Havoc to help you find Tavus and I intend to do just that.” His voice held less of the venom now. He wasn’t warm, but controlled, strong, determined. “I’ve hunted imperials from one side of the galaxy to the next. Used to command the Deadeyes, finest sniper squad in the Republic.” The note of pride in his voice makes her smile just a little.

“I look forward to seeing what you can do, Jorgan.”

“You won’t be disappointed.”

“Good.” She’s quiet a moment herself. “Hunting imps is something I’m pretty damn good at myself. Been doing it for years. So we shouldn’t have much trouble with this once we get the go orders and a direction to search.”

The droid arrives then, interrupting their conversation. After taking their food, they both dive in. Too concerned with the prospect of tasting real food to bother with talking. Too soon for her taste, it’s time to line up for boarding, always a long process in an environment like this one.

It takes some time getting out once they board and longer than she’d like to get checked in on the ship’s roster and get her bunk assignment. However, finally, she and Jorgan are released to go to their bunks as the Jedi the ship is transporting start to board. She’ll pay attention to that later after she’s slept. She’s still not fully recovered from her injuries and it’s taking a toll.

The small bunkbed in the tiny room she had to share with the angry, grumpy Cathar, somehow managed to look good after all the travel and the painful realization that her squad’s betrayal was real and not part of some horrible hallucination. She quickly stows her gear and practically rips off her armor, though she takes care to stack it carefully, ready to be cleaned and cared for as soon as she woke up. Clad now in only her tight black undersuit, she collapses onto the bed, not bothering to think of Jorgan in that moment, only considering how tired she was. She was aware of him doing the same, settling in for the multi-day trip.

She lies in the bunk for a while, she quickly loses track of time, but as exhausted as she is, sleep will not come. She keeps replaying that moment in her mind, the moment she’d burst into the hanger, shooting down the imperials, ready to die trying to rescue any of her squad, only to find their blasters turned on her, the moment that her CO had given imperials the order to kill her. Shooting at the ship and catching Fuse’s gaze, his eyes filled with just a hint of regret, perhaps for leaving her to die.

She’d survived, against everything the imps and separatists threw at her, she survived and took most of them down. But the betrayal cut deep. Even the promotion didn’t dull that sting. She waits quietly in the bunk, occasionally swallowing hard against the lump in her throat until finally Jorgan leaves. She doesn’t say anything, just pretends to be asleep until the door closed behind him and she breaks down. She sobs quietly into her pillow, pouring out all the pain from her injuries, the exhaustion, the betrayal, and the renewed feelings of loss she felt from the strange idea she’d had upon waking after the kolto tank that her little sister, dead for years, had somehow saved her. It woke the emotions she’d thought long buried. She hadn’t cried for her sisters for years, since before she’d found her brother. The day she’d decided to leave the academy she attended on Mirial and join the effort to liberate her planet, that had been the last time she’d cried for her siblings. She’d only cried for her cousins one night and even now, the tears weren’t for them. They weren’t. She was stronger than that grief.

She only cries a few minutes, her already quiet sobs, muffled to almost silence by the pillow, her shaking shoulders the only sign a regular human would notice. So by the time she hears Jorgan enter only a few minutes after leaving, she’s already brushing away the tears. That’s enough sulking. She has to move on. She can’t break down, not now. There’s work to be done.

She takes a breath, stretching out the cramped muscles as she heard the click of the datapad they’d been given with the ship’s schedule being placed back on the footlocker and the quiet room slowly fills with only the sounds of her breath and Jorgan’s above her as they lie in silence. It only takes a few more minutes before his steady breathing, so different then the humans she’d become used to bunking with, lulled her into a restless sleep.

It’s several hours later when she finally wakes. The room is empty once again and she glances hurriedly around, her hand reaching for her blaster before she freezes and forces herself to exhale. She’s on a Republic Military ship. The traitors who turned on her weren’t here. She is safe. Or is she? Had the Republic known? Sure, the officers she’d spoken to acted like they didn’t, but what if they really had? What if they had just decided to write her off as easily expendable? What if it was all just some kind of test? Commander Tavus… of all people… going imp? It sounds impossible just thinking about it. And what about Jorgan? Was he really put in Havoc for the reasons she was told? Was he just there to spy on her? Or had he been working with Tavus and just waiting for the right time to betray her as well? Which soldier on this ship was going to try treason next?

She pulls herself out of bed and stretches, grabbing the datapad and checking the time. Just enough time to hit the sonic before heading to the mess. It wasn’t like anything would get solved or figured out by lying in a bunk. She makes sure to guard her back as she grabs a clean uniform from her bag and stuffs her blaster into her belt and tucking a blade into one of her hiding spots. The holdout blaster went into the armful of clothing. She wasn’t supposed to have the second blaster or the blade. They were supposed to be in the armory with her other weapons. But she was not leaving herself that vulnerable. She wouldn’t be caught unaware next time.

She’s careful to stay aware of everyone around her as she makes her way to the fresher and grabs one of the few free sonics. It’s a relief to step into the jets, laying her blade on the shelf where soaps would go if they were on a planet and water showers were allowed. As it was just the sonic was enough to push off most of the dust and leave her feeling a bit better. It wasn’t perfect. She would love a long, hot shower right now, but it would have to do.

Mostly clean, she redresses, taking care to tuck the blade and holdout blaster were out of sight and easy to access. The weight at her belt and the cool durasteel blade tucked by her back is comforting and helps her breath easier as she makes her way out of the fresher, drops her things at her bunk and heads to the mess.

The room is too big and too loud and too full. She hates it as soon as she approaches. A deep breath, forcibly steadying her hands and she walks in with her head high. She’s a lieutenant now. She doesn’t have an option to show any sign of what had happened. She was handling it fine after all. She glances over her shoulder ever few seconds as she makes her way through the line and collects her rations and heads back to the seating area. Lucky for her, she spots Jorgan already sitting at a table towards the back. She makes her way down and clicks her tray down on the same side as Jorgan, with her back to the wall while Jorgan was closer to the aisle. “Get some rest?”

Jorgan grunts in response, scowling down at his tray and the bland excuse for food. “Some. Bet those passenger ships we saw taking off had nerfburgers and ronto roasts.” Nyaisa shrugs and turns to her own food. “You’re in the military. We don’t get those fancy civilian meals during transport.” She pokes at the food before forcing herself to eat. She can’t lose her strength or the next attack would be her last. After a few minutes of them both eating, she hears Jorgan talk. “There’s a bunch of Jedi on board. At least four that I’ve seen, heard there’s more.”

Nyaisa glances over before returning her eyes to the room. “That’s interesting, there must be something going on for them. Know who they are?”

“No. Rumor is that they’re guarding some other Jedi who’s being kept out of sight.”

Nyaisa hums. “Interesting behavior for a Jedi. Might have to go check them out. See who’s there.”

“Know a Jedi or Something?”

“My older brother Tyrenic is in training to be a Jedi. Last time I heard from him he was heading off somewhere to take a test to become a full Jedi.”

‘Brother’s a Jedi. Of course your brother is a Jedi.” She barely hears Jorgan mutter under his breath. There’s not the same hostility she expected to hear. Though it’s so close to being out of her hearing that she can’t be sure. She’d sure be a lot angry at herself if she were in Jorgan’s shoes. The fact that they can have conversations is good, at least for now while they’re stuck together.

She continues to poke at her food, nearly finishing when she hears the room go quiet. Two Jedi enter the mess, their robes standing out among the uniforms and armor around them. The lightsabers at their belts draw as much attention to them as the robes as they make their way to the line and after a brief discussion, receive two portions each. As they turn with their food, Nyaisa is able to get a good look at them. The first, a small cathar female, her fur a softer orange then Jorgan’s and a good deal more white and black markings around her face and the other Jedi A tall, Mirialan man.

The Mirialan Jedi looks across the room straight at her and smiles, Nyaisa grins, her smile tempered with relief as she watches Tyrenic tilt his head in invitation as he and the other Jedi walk out of the room. Nyaisa stands and grabs her tray, she clamps Jorgan on the shoulder as she passes. “See you later.” She disposes of the tray and hurries out, ignoring, as much as she safely can, Jorgan’s intense stare as she walks away.

Hurrying into the hall, she manages to catch up to the two Jedi. Tyrenic nods as she falls into step. “Nyaisa, it’s good to see you’re still alive.” His eyes cut over her quickly as he can while walking. “You’ve been hurt?”

She nods. “Almost died. Whole thing’s classified and what isn’t is just weird or sad.”

Tyrenic nods at that. “Ah, introductions. Nyaisa, this is Jedi Knight Annilai Jhasis, Annilai, this is my sister Sergeant Nyaisa Shabre.”

“Lieutenant.”

“Got a promotion then that you haven’t told me about?”

Nyaisa chuckles for the first time since everything at the amusement in his voice. “Yes, it’s part of that story. She leans past him slightly. “Good to meet you Master Jedi. A question if you don’t mind.”

She might be more casual around her brother then others might be around Jedi, but that doesn’t mean she isn’t still more than a little scared of them and as polite as any other soldier.

Annalai nods “Of course, though I may not know the answer.”

“Any relation to Ikhirr Jhasis?”

The jedi hums in thought. “Perhaps. My parents are, as far as I know, still alive. It’s likely that they had other children after I went to the temple, however I have chosen not to seek them out and focus on the Order instead, so I truly don’t know.”

“Oh, well just thought I’d ask, he’s an old academy friend.” Nyaisa looks over at Tyrenic. “So how’d that test or whatever you had to do go?”

“My trials? Well, circumstances meant that I never actually got to complete the formal trials, but the council deemed the situation suitable for substitution and knighted me anyways”

“Congratulations. That’s a big achievement. I assume that means you are here on a Jedi mission.”

Tyrenic nods. “We both are. Myself and Annilai have been summoned to Coruscant by masters there and are assisting in the escort of two Jedi who are traveling in seclusion. What about you?”

“Seclusion?” She hadn’t heard of Jedi traveling like that before. She’s able to move on, reminding herself that her brother was a Jedi first and would keep their secrets. “Transport to Coruscant for new orders following my promotion.”

Tyrenic nods. “Yes, it’s not common, but it happens from time to time. If there’s time while we’re both on Coruscant, we should meet up and talk. I’d love to do so now, but I have my duties.”

Nyaisa nods at that. “I understand that. I’ll message you once I know what I’m doing while on Coruscant and we’ll see what can be arranged. It’s good to see you again.”

“You as well Nyaisa. It’s good to know you’re still around,”

She smiles and lifts a hand in farewell as she walks away from the Jedi and back towards their bunk. As Tyrenic disappears from sight, she feels that creeping sense that someone is watching her return, glancing around, she confirms that those who are around are all involved in their own business. But it’s still enough to have her walking faster and keeping her hand a bit closer to her blaster.

The rest of the trip passed slowly, there wasn’t much for her to do so she gave herself a routine. A cycle of meals, training and sitting on her bunk when she got tired of watching her back all the time.

It was halfway through the first full day when she gets tired of being afraid. There’s only one way to find out if Jorgan is going to stab her in the back too. And that’s to make him reveal himself and that would only happen with time and until then, she needed to at least act like nothing was wrong and that meant being the squad CO. If he isn’t and she can’t be a good leader, then they could end up dead anyways. So she schedules training sessions daily with Jorgan. It’s tough, the chemistry between them when they spar, like finding the perfect dance partner is still there. But the banter of before isn’t, and she can’t bring herself to relax enough around him to fall into the same ease that they’d had on Ord Mantell. There’s still some tension between them. What with the circumstances and rank changes and the fact that she doesn’t know if she can trust him not to betray her and he doesn’t yet know if he can trust her to lead. He’s still respectful and follows her lead, but she doesn’t put too much pressure on them, letting them mostly do their own thing when they’re on their own.

It does bring her some relief though, testing her muscles and helping her build up her strength again after her injuries and helps her to sleep a little easier at night. By the time their three day journey to Coruscant was over, she was feeling much stronger and physically, almost back to her old self. She still sat with her back to the wall in the mess and carried a blade into the sonic. She still wondered every night who knew that Tavus would defect and who let it happen and what had broken so much in that squad that they would betray a squad member. She couldn’t comprehend doing so herself, unless they turned traitor. Her questions were interrupting her sleep. She busied herself studying everything she could about the previous members of Havoc. Her rank and command gave her a higher security level and she was able to get a lot more information about them then she would have before, but not enough. She would need to ask General Garza for the full records when she got to Coruscant. The information would help her know how to approach things. She also spent some time skimming Jorgan’s record. Not so much for details, just to get a better idea of what his skillset was. She missed the days on Mirial where by the time she knew about someone, she already had a neat little list of what they could and couldn’t do. The slower days even gave her enough time to send a few messages to friends and to Nordan. Her partner of the last two years, it would be good to see him if she could.

Judging by the glow above her, Jorgan spent time doing his own research. He’d shown her a few prototype blaster models he’d been reading about one morning and that had led to a lively discussion of weapon preferences.

The arrival at Coruscant was announced a few minutes before they dropped out of hyperspace. As soon as the announcement was made, the ship fell into a flurry of activity. Those assigned to the ship rushed about completing their jobs for arrival and everyone else making sure they were ready to disembark. It wasn’t like either Nyaisa or Jorgan had much to gather up, so she took her time cleaning up after afternoon training and met Jorgan at the entrance to the training area. Together they walked back to their bunk and started gathering their things. There wasn’t a lot of talk between them. This was it. Once they touched down, they’d head straight to spec ops headquarters and start tracking down the traitors. They both were focused and mentally preparing for whatever they were going to face.

Once they had their things, they joined the other soldiers in line to disembark, early enough to be up at the front of the line. It took a good two hours to get close to the planet and get permission to dock. Eventually though, the doors opened and the ramp lowered, revealing a medical team waiting. She hadn’t heard of anyone hurt on the ship, but she and everyone else was being held back. Just as she started to wonder what was going on, she saw four Jedi carrying a stretcher towards the ramp. Tyrenic and Annilai were at the front. At the rear was a rather pretty togruta woman and a very large Mirialan man with a red tint to his skin, and spurs above his eyes and on his cheeks. On the stretcher was an older human woman. Her robes and the Jedi around her suggested this was one of the Jedi masters. Tyrenic and the other three carried the stretcher off the ship where the medical team took over, rushing her away as the Jedi formed what appeared to be a protective barrier around them.

As the Jedi rushed off, the rest were allowed off. “What was that all about?” She mutters under her breath. She sees the side-eye from Jorgan. “What? My brother doesn’t tell me everything!” She shifts her bag and picks up her pace, stomping ahead into the spaceport and over to the stations where they checked in. The machines had a large window nearby looking out over the city. It looked better than it had last time she was here. They both take a moment to stare at the cityscape.

“Wow, spend enough time on a backwater like Ord Mantell, you almost forget what a civilized planet’s supposed to look like. I did my officer training here. Back before I was deployed to Ord Mantell.”

Nyaisa glances over at him and hums slightly in acknowledgment listening as he continues.

“There was still a fair bit of reconstruction going on then. Rebuilding things the imperials destroyed. I still can’t believe the empire managed to sack Coruscant back in the war. The Capital of the entire Republic and they raided it like some outerrim mudball.”

“You’d think our capital would be better defended.”

Jorgan nods in agreement. “The Republic committed it’s forces to engaging the empire on outlying worlds. Defending Coruscant was an afterthought. Anyways, we should get moving- don’t want to keep anyone important waiting.”

She nods. “There’s probably going to be a bunch more people demanding answers we don’t have. That will be a fun mess to try and navigate.” She hrrmphs and turns. “Alright let’s go report Jorgan.”

He nods and falls in when she walks away from the window and all the memories attached to the disaster that was the war. There was a lot they had to do and there wasn’t any more time to delay.

#swtor #fanfics #aric jorgan #nyaisa shabre #my writing #nyaisa #tyrenic shabre

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primeguarded · 1 year

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// I thought I'd start posting the drabbles I've written with Kels in em, so have one where she bonds with Ratchet a lil //

Much Needed Company

Ratchet had been keeping his optics trained on the monitors all evening. Once in a while he stretched his legs, but for the most part, he stayed completely still, with his arms crossed behind his back. The rest of the autobots were on a tough mission to retrieve Energon, which would require a couple of days of them being gone. Luckily, the medic took watch on these monitors for extended periods of time. He was used to being awake for long hours. He needed to be there if something went wrong, if the team needed immediate evacuation via the ground bridge. Who knows how long he had been standing there for. But Optimus also told his old friend to watch the leader’s small charge, the human he held most dear.

Kelsey, from what Ratchet could gather, was sleeping in her small section of the base. She didn’t have to go home for curfew like Miko, Jack, and Raf, so the older but still tiny, human made herself a little space if she needed to stay there.

It was about one in the morning, so the medic was surprised to hear the sounds of a pair of bare feet slowly approach the deck where he stood. Turning, the autobot sighed deeply. Kelsey was awake. The girl didn’t look like she had rested however. She looked exhausted. In her arms she carried two blankets: a big one, and a small one, as well as a large plush pink elephant and a small pastel yellow bunny.

Ratchet looked down at the human who was groggily approaching him. As a medic, he would also be concerned with his patients getting enough rest. He definitely was concerned for this small one at the moment.

“Can’t sleep?” the towering figure asked, his attention removing itself from the screens for the first time in a while.

The blonde shook her head slowly in reply. She didn’t have her glasses on, and before she could walk face first into one of the poles that held up the staircase, the medic alerted with with “Ap bab bap-! Back up a bit. The last thing we need is you to have a concussion.”

“Sorry, Uncle Ratchet,” the five foot tall murmured tiredly, “…Don’t have my glasses.”

Another sigh escaped him before lightly pinching between his eyes, “I can see that….Come on, up you go. Just be careful not to trip on the stairs.”

With a nod, Kelsey gathered up her soft items in her arms and carefully ascended the stairs, her bare feet making the metal of each stair clang slightly.

Once she made it to the top, she walked over to the large robot, and stood by his leg, looking up at the monitors despite not being able to read any of the date air analytics shown.

“Have you been here all this time?” she asked quietly.

“Of course,” Ratchet replied insistently, “I need to be. If something happened to Optimus and the others…”

“I know,” the human trailed her eyes down to her blankets and stuffed animals tucked in her hold before, “I can’t sleep because they aren’t here.”

The bot looked down at the little human, seeing how worries her face was. He would’ve looked the same way, but Ratchet tended to keep his worries under wraps. That’s what he did as a medic, you set your emotions aside to help, until the job was done. Kelsey was the complete opposite. She was like Optimus in every way. She felt so much, maybe too much, wore her heart on her sleeve, and put others before herself. She was smart, but shy, passionate, but introverted. No wonder he decided to guard her. She didn’t even mess with Ratchet’s things like everyone in the base did.

She needed sleep. He knew she needed it.

“It isn’t a great feeling,” he agreed hesitantly, but confidence came back into his voice, “But, all we can do is have faith that they will return to base safely. You…don’t have to worry about looking at the monitors. You just…worry about getting enough rest. I can handle this.”

“I know you can,” she said before yawning, “It’s just…What if something happens?”

Ah yes…the young adult human was anxiety incarnate. How could Ratchet forget?

“Then we will help. But in the meantime, I don’t think Optimus would be very pleased to hear that his charge didn’t get any sleep. You can watch me for a little while, but then off with you to bed.”

Kelsey watched the medic observing for an hour. Nothing much happened. To get a better view, Ratchet even allowed the girl to sit in his hand. She weighed nothing to him. She had wrapped her heavy blanket around her small form, and held her stuffed friends and other blanket to her chest. Even though she couldn’t read anything, even if the text was large, she just wanted to have company. After that hour was up, Ratchet opened his mouth to say something like ‘Go on, off to bed with you’, but thankfully he stopped himself. That was because while he was observing, Kelsey laid down in his hand, bundled up in her blanket, with the large pink elephant being her pillow. The little bunny was hugged to her.

Another sigh escaped him. At least she was sleeping.

Carefully, he moved his arm close to his metal chest, his hand with Kelsey nestled on top. One of his fingers on his opposite hand traced down the little form’s back which was padded with blankets. 'Uncle Ratchet’ didn’t mind it. He needed the company as well. Monitoring the screens could get lonely.

#ooc.#owl's writing.

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robininthelabyrinth · 3 years

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A continuation of NHS invites WWX to JYL's wedding, and what happened there? Perhaps about how the estemed Hanguang Jun ended up running off and eloping with the Nie sect heir's intended?

continuation of that short fic, now it’s own fic on ao3

Plus One - Chapter 2

“So,” Nie Huaisang said, sidling up to his brother and his two sworn brothers now that they’d finally gotten to the party part of the wedding and they could all huddle up in a corner to be anti-social together.

Or, well, for Nie Mingjue and Lan Xichen to be anti-social and for Jin Guangyao to be forcefully restrained from attempting to perform hosting duties, which he incessantly tried to do - it was like he had no idea what servants were for. Which Nie Huaisang supposed was understandable, given everything, but the way Jin Guangshan encouraged him to do it certainly wasn’t.

“So,” Nie Mingjue said, his voice only mildly ominous in a way that suggested, to Nie Huaisang at least, that he was still finding this whole thing incredibly funny.

Accordingly, Nie Huaisang ignored him. “How much do you think I can milk being horribly dumped?” he asked. “Because I think I’m about to be horribly dumped.”

“By your new ‘intended’?” Lan Xichen said, looking amused. “Really, Huaisang, I don’t know what you were thinking by bringing him.”

“Uh, that he deserves to attend his shijie’s wedding? Obviously?”

“But to bring him to Lanling…”

“He’s my guest,” Nie Huaisang said haughtily, bringing out his fan and doing his best ‘rich young master who is better than this and is most certainly above your petty questions’ Jin sect impression. “You aren’t suggesting that the Jin sect would take back an invitation they freely issued, would they? Or breach the rules of hospitality?”

“Huaisang, Xichen didn’t mean it that way and you know it,” his brother said, sounding annoyed, but in his relaxed run-of-the-mill ‘I hate parties’ type of annoyance, rather than specifically about his behavior. “Obviously the Jin sect won’t do anything about it. Regardless of any other considerations, anything they did would be refusing to show our Nie sect face, and then I’d have to make an issue of it.”

He sounded wistful. Probably thinking about how he could use it as an excuse to storm out and go home early.

“We’re only worried about you, Huaisang,” Jin Guangyao murmured, looking remarkably calm for someone who was definitely (if unobtrusively) being blocked from leaving by two very tall men with excessive mother hen tendencies. “You’re all grown up now, not a child – you need to think about the political implications your actions might have. Aren’t you concerned about your brother’s reaction?”

Huaisang was about to explain that he’d gotten his brother’s permission, but then he remembered that they were in Lanling, full of spies, so he decided to tell Jin Guangyao about that later.

“It’s not my problem that Sect Leader Nie has to think about politics at what should be a happy family event,” he said instead, nose in the air, and Lan Xichen frowned even as Nie Mingjue sighed, probably at Nie Huaisang’s total lack of caring about even the basic obligations of etiquette. Or possibly his reference to their little inside joke, but these were his sworn brothers, so they’d have to figure out sooner or later that Sect Leader Nie and Nie Mingjue weren’t always the same. “Besides, that isn’t what I asked. I asked about how long I can milk my terrible heartbreaking break up.”

“I thought you were getting dumped?” his brother asked, passing him a jar of wine. A good brother, even if he was mocking him.

“Getting dumped leads to a break-up,” Nie Huaisang insisted. “Wei-xiong is a thankless white-eyed wolf who was just using me with absolutely no consideration of my tender feelings.”

“You have tender feelings?” his brother said. “Why wasn’t I informed of this?”

Nie Huaisang kicked him in the shin.

As usual, it had no impact whatsoever on his brother and only hurt his own toes, but it was the principle of the thing.

“Huaisang,” Lan Xichen said, his voice oddly gentle, even softer than normal. “Did you – really – for Wei Wuxian –”

Nie Huaisang, who’d been taking a drink of wine, nearly choked. “Er-ge,” he said, mildly horrified. “Please. Wei-xiong is a very handsome gentleman, fearless and dashing, with all the skills one might ask for in a son-in-law –”

“Brother-in-law,” his brother muttered, as if he hadn’t been Nie Huaisang’s de facto father figure for years.

“– and, yes, I suppose we have similar tastes in drinking, carousing, and pornography –”

“Of course you do,” Jin Guangyao said, looking up at the ceiling as if it would hide how his lips were twitching.

“– but let us not forget: he lives in a trash heap. With Wen sect. I have standards!”

“I thought he was marrying in?” Lan Xichen asked, smiling again now that he had confirmed that there was no actual heart-breaking occurring in the vicinity. “He’d live in the Unclean Realm that way, wouldn’t he?”

“He would not,” Nie Mingjue put in. “I don’t care if they’re all enlightened saints that do nothing but charity all day, no one surnamed Wen is living in my home.”

“You see what I’m up against?” Nie Huaisang said, holding out his hands in appeal to his brother’s sworn brothers. “My da-ge doesn’t understand, he’s only good for swinging a saber! How cruel and heartless must a man be to stand in the way of true love?”

Lan Xichen covered his smile with his sleeve. Jin Guangyao pressed his lips together in such a way that made his cheeks especially round and quivering with suppressed laughter, like a mouse stuffing its face to bulging with rice.

“Er-ge, you wouldn’t be nearly this cruel if it were you, would you?” Nie Huaisang asked, reaching out and tugging said sleeve. “You’d be kind and generous about it – I bet you’d find them a nice little place to live, maybe next to those foothills you’re always saying you want someone to use but that you’re not willing to sell…”

“Were you planning on moving in with er-ge after your marriage, then?” Jin Guangyao asked. He looked much more amused and relaxed now – maybe he’d been stressing over this being some sort of scheme and was feeling much better now that he realized it was actually just Nie Huaisang’s nonsense. His paranoia had always been deeply endearing. “I don’t think your brother will like that.”

“Not me,” Nie Huaisang said, rolling his eyes at him. “But if it was Lan Zhan sweeping him away, er-ge would definitely support him. Right, er-ge?”

“I always support my brother,” Lan Xichen said with a smile.

“Good,” Nie Huaisang said, taking another swallow of wine. “Because he and Wei Wuxian just had a very intense conversation in a secluded corner that ended with them kissing and running off together, so it’s about to become your problem.”

Nie Mingjue choked, Jin Guangyao’s jaw dropped, and Lan Xichen’s eyes got really big.

“Not joking,” Nie Huaisang clarified cheerfully. “Totally serious.”

“Excuse me,” Lan Xichen said, getting up very quickly. “I need to – go see –”

He didn’t even bother finishing the sentence before rushing off.

“Go with him,” Nie Mingjue said to Jin Guangyao, who blinked owlishly at him. “It’s going to be a shitshow, isn’t it? Politically, I mean.”

“Uh,” Jin Guangyao said.

“Really, da-ge,” Nie Huaisang said. “The notorious ostracized-by-the-cultivation-world demonic cultivator Wei Wuxian, the Yiling Patriarch, is abruptly reintroduced to society as my intended bride, only to be stolen away by the Lan sect’s Second Jade, the second most desirable bachelor in the cultivation world, in the middle of a wedding party thrown by Lanling Jin? I have no idea why you think this would so much as raise an eyebrow.”

“That’s a lot of words to say ‘shitshow’, which is why I didn’t,” Nie Mingjue said. “Meng Yao – Jin Guangyao – oh, fuck it, A-Yao, someone is going to need to keep their head about them and think about the political implications long enough to keep Xichen from getting himself into serious trouble, and you’re better at it than I am. Go help him. I’ll cover for you two here.”

Jin Guangyao still looked torn.

“Don’t listen to da-ge, he’s worrying too much,” Nie Huaisang volunteered his own opinion. “How much trouble can the Lan sect really get into over a matter of love?”

“I’m going at once,” Jin Guangyao said, and ran after Lan Xichen.

A moment later, Nie Huaisang handed the jar of wine back to his brother.

“Well done,” he said, voice much more neutral than it had been a moment before. “Assuming your goal was to deprive Sect Leader Jin of san-ge’s assistance while we define the situation to make it come out the way we want.”

“Couldn’t have done it without your timely assist,” Nie Mingjue said, pinching the bridge of his nose. He did so hate politics, and he hated being good at it even more. Truly there was nothing better, in Nie Huaisang’s opinion, than forcing his brother to relent and give in to the sneaky bastard half of his heritage. “Anyway, Sect Leader Jin is drunk and his heir is the groom, and thus occupied. It’s only reasonable that I, as the person with the next highest status, take charge of dispersing the news.”

“And by ‘dispersing the news’ you mean rehabilitate Wei-xiong’s reputation, get him reinstated in the Jiang sect, and arrange an appropriate marriage between him and Lan Zhan before anyone can complain about an inappropriate elopement, of course.”

“It’s called being efficient, Huaisang,” Nie Mingjue said.

“It’s called creating a countervailing alliance to the Jiang-Jin sect connection, getting both the Jiang sect and the Yiling Patriarch to owe our sect a favor – not to mention the Lan sect, too! – and conveniently also undercutting Sect Leader Jin’s authority just at the moment he’s trying to install himself as the new ruler of the cultivation world.”

“Don’t be ridiculous, Huaisang,” Nie Mingjue said, finishing off the jar and putting it down. “I’m far too stupid to be considering any of that. Only good for swinging a saber, remember?”

Nie Huaisang sniggered.

“Yes, I remember,” he said. “You won a whole war against a much stronger, more numerous, and more unified force on Baxia’s strength alone, no brains required. How can I help? You want me crying or excited?”

“Whatever you think is best, Huaisang.” His brother solidified his scowling angry face, just the sort of thing a dumb brute might wear when dealing with politics that he was far too ignorant to understand. “Let’s go right some injustices, shall we?”

#mdzs #nie huaisang #nie mingjue #jin guangyao #lan xichen #my fic #my fics #plus one #mentalcarebear

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marsbutterfly · 3 years

Note

Hello dear ! Can I request an Imagine where Hanji and her girlfriend get married ? They both decided to get married before the battle of Shiganshina because they were afraid of not coming back alive (they came back alive) . The ceremony is very beautiful and joyful and since reader no longer has a family, Erwin offers to accompany her to the altar.

(I have this personal headcanon that whenever a member of the scouts is getting married, Historia will always be the one who celebrate this union)

(I'm the one who send you a message about a cute imagine with Hanji)

Take care ❤

I Hear A Symphony

Summary: Previous to the mission to retake Shiganshina, you decide to tie the knot with Hanji before it's too late.

Wattpad! | AO3! | |◁ II ▷|

Warnings: None.

As you sit through this meeting, Commander Erwin’s voice goes in through one ear and leaves out the other. Your mind wanders away to the soft hand touching yours underneath the table.

Your heart palpitates as Hanji’s fingertips softly brush against your skin. It’s a feeling you’ve known all too well but still haven’t gotten used to. She traces your veins without taking her eyes off of the whiteboard sitting ahead of you.

Trying to focus on the blonde man’s words, the only sentence you can pay attention to is "The mission to retake Wall Maria will succeed". But the excitement that courses through your veins isn’t from that but rather from the event that will take place later that day.

You take a deep breath, trying to calm yourself down but you can feel the warmth spreading across your cheeks.

“That’s all for today.” The tall man standing in front of everyone says, focusing his eyes on the massive pile of papers standing in front of him.

Sadly but quickly, you remove Hanji’s hand from yours, a sad expression taking over her features. Trying to cheer her up, you flash her a bright smile and gently hand her a half-opened book, a small piece of paper marking a specific page.

“I’ll see you later!”

Before she has time to respond, a hand grabs your wrist and drags you towards the other side of the now mostly empty room.

The man standing in front of you seems nervous for the first time since you’ve met him, his hand has a subtle tremble to it and you smirk, looking down at your feet while gathering up the courage to ask him for a favor.

“Commander, would you...” You ask, tilting your head slightly to the right. He raises his hand as a sign of interruption and takes a deep breath while shyly looking around the room, making sure no one can hear him.

“Y/N, would you give me the honor of accompanying you down the aisle today?” He says, taking one of your hands on his. The smile on his face is genuine and you can’t help but smile in return.

“Of course. Other than Hanji, you are the closest thing to family I have left.” You reply and you feel as his long arm wraps around your body. Your head rests on his chest and your arms are wrapped around his shoulders. “We grew up together, Erwin.”

“You used to collect butterflies.” He says, his hand playing with your hair and you snort.

“And you used to wear that stupid vest.” You reply and he laughs, a contagious sound that brings out a laughter of your own.

A knock on the door breaks you away from the moment and you look around to find a very nervous Moblit holding a clipboard close to his chest as if his life depended on it. He looks at the clock resting above the mantle.

“Y/N, you need to come with me so you can start getting ready,” Moblit says, sweat dripping down his forehead as he looks at the clock once again.

Erwin’s arm falls to the side of his body, letting you go in the process. He tilts his head towards the door signaling that it is time for you to leave. You plant one kiss on his cheek as a token of your appreciation and Moblit quickly takes your hand, dragging you out of the room.

“Moblit, you don’t need to grab me so tightly.” You say, trying to get him out of the zone he currently is in, “I won’t run away”

He shakes his head, finally releasing your arm and you gently massage the harmed area. Alongside the nervousness in his eyes, there is now a hint of concern and you can tell his intention was not to hurt you, on your wedding day much less.

“I’m sorry, I just have to make sure everything is perfect today.” He says and before you have time to respond, a soldier walks in between the two of you. His actions show you how apologetic he is so you decide not to say anything.

“Sir, the flowers are ready but Sasha keeps trying to steal the food from the buffet.” The soldier says and Moblit sighs while pinching the bridge of his nose. While he deals with the situation, you feel yet another hand pulling you but in a much gentler manner this time.

You don’t have time to complain. The sweet perfume of the figure ahead of you lets you know exactly who they are and you can’t help but smile. It had been months since the last time you had seen Historia and spending time with her had always been one of your favorite things.

“Your Majesty, what are you doing here?” You ask quietly, not wanting to give away her location in case she had sneaked past her guards yet again. “Shouldn’t you be at the church getting the blessed cloth?”

“It’s all ready for the ceremony!” She says, the excitement in her voice is undeniable but still so quiet. “I just had to come and see how you are doing today.”

“Nervous but in a good way.” You say, a smile on your face, and she giggles, wrapping her small arms around your torso.

“I can’t wait to officiate your wedding!” She exclaims, a few excited jumps following closely behind, “You are the first of my friends to get married. I am so happy for you!”

“I know, I love Hanji and I can’t wait to spend the rest of my days with her.” You claim, a hint of sadness present in your voice, “Even if it won’t be for much longer.”

“Stop it! You both will come back and Shiganshina will be saved thanks to all of your efforts.” She replies, nuzzling her face against your breasts in a caring manner.

Your conversation is, unfortunately, cut short when a very concerned Levi knocks on the door. He is under the impression that Hanji is the one you are talking to and kicks down the wooden surface, a bath scrub in his hand while a cap covers his hair.

“Where is your fiancee?” He asks, looking at you dead in the eye. A chill travels down your spine and you shrug your shoulders, unable to provide him with an answer. It takes a second but he finally believes you and resumes his search elsewhere.

By the time he is gone, a guard has caught on that Historia is missing and begins to scream her name around the castle causing her to immediately run away giggling, the amusement she feels is undeniable.

You take a deep breath, finally being able to make your way towards the area where your makeup would be applied. The artist awaits for you patiently and you shoot her a smile, silently thanking her for her time.

“Are you ready?” She asks as you are sitting down and so you nod.

The gentleness of the brushes against your skin is nearly enough to lull you to sleep but the anxiety you are feeling is much greater. You close your eyes, allowing her to work on your eyelids with a gentle pink shadow.

Her strokes are precise yet delicate much like the claps of a butterfly’s wings. The artificial blush spreads across your cheek giving your already beautiful skin a much more elegant look.

Once she is ready to apply the lipstick, you open your eyes and finally see yourself in the mirror. You can’t contain the smile that comes out and you gently begin to analyze every feature on your face, delighted with the result.

“And you’re done!” She says and you thank her for her time.

When the makeup artist leaves, another woman enters the room: the hairstylist. When she asks for what you would like, a blank canvas comes to your mind and nothing comes out so instead, you ask her to surprise you.

She decides to not do anything too adventurous so she simply braids your hair, a simple yet elegant hairstyle perfect for your wedding day. And the best part is that the veil would fit perfectly.

You thank her for the time she has spent with you and she exits the room, leaving you all alone with your thoughts.

This is it. The big day you have been dreaming about since you were little and the best part is that, from now on, you will be able to share your life with the person you have loved since you became a part of the Cadet Corps.

Before you have to get into your dress, you make a very important decision.

"I want to go see Hanji!" you say to yourself, glancing out of the window. It takes you a few seconds to realize that you are alone and can come and go as you please. A smile appears on your face as you get out of the chair, excitement rushing through your veins as you hear your shoes touching the floor.

Before you can make it to the room where she is, a pair of hands drags you back to your chamber, “It’s bad luck to see each other so close to the ceremony. I’m sorry but you’ll have to stay here.”

You frown, crossing your arms much like a child throwing a tantrum but all your behavior does is earn an honest laugh from Mikasa. “You’ll see each other in less than an hour, it’s time to put your dress on.”

Tightly, you clutch your hands shut in an attempt to stop them from shaking. Your mouth is suddenly as dry as a desert while the soft cloth of the dress makes its way past your torso, slowly sliding down to its designated place.

The white silk fits you perfectly and you feel like bursting into tears but decide against it when you realize it would ruin your makeup. One glance in the mirror was enough to let you know that this is the dress of your dreams.

“You look perfect!” Sasha says, her mouth stuffed with a potato Moblit gave her to keep her away from the buffet table.

“Now all that is left is the veil,” Eren says, slowly placing it on your head. You smile at them, tears shining brightly in your eyes.

Mikasa hands you a red bouquet, a few of the petals gently fall against your hand towards the ground, forming a path through the places you walk past.

One after the other, the younger soldiers make their way towards Queen Historia before taking their designated spots for the ceremony and that is when your eyes land on her.

She has a white suit on with a red tie matching the flowers in your hands. Her hair is in a high ponytail and it looks clean, giving you the impression that Levi successfully managed to bathe her.

Your heart beats at 100 mph and you feel like it is going to come right up your throat. Your nerves are only soothed when Erwin’s hand touches your shoulder, he presents you his right arm and you happily take it.

It’s time to walk down the aisle.

"Do you know what time it is?" you face her with a bright smile hoping she would catch on and realize what you have in mind.

"Around 21:47" She replies and you frown at her, realizing she has not caught on to what you were hoping for. “We have another important day tomorrow, you should go to sleep.”

"Ok first of all, how do you know that, you don't even have a watch." you shake your head at her, making your way towards the chair she's sitting on. Your cold hand touches the warm skin on her chin, her eyes meeting yours as you continue to flash her an even brighter smile,

“Second of all?” She asks.

"Second of all, you should come to bed with me, staying up so late is not good for you, you might run into... Levi." you whisper his name as if it was forbidden, her laugh fills your ears as she puts her papers down.

"You have a point there, Y/N. So, what time is it?"

"It's cuddle time with your wife!” You reply and Hanji nods, picking you up in her arms while taking you towards the bed.

The very next day, the Battle For Shiganshina began. Many lives were lost: Moblit, Erwin, nearly every single recruit. Levi had been stuck in his office since returning, he plans on going back there and recovering Erwin’s remains, hoping to put him to rest next to his father.

Hanji, who barely bathed, has completely stopped taking care of herself. The nightmares have gotten out of hand to the point where she needs to be strapped down to the bed so she won’t be able to move during the night.

You constantly look back at the ceremony, how all of your friends came together to celebrate your decision to join your life with Hanji or how the Queen’s words truly touched every person present.

Being faithful to your vows, you take care of her. Day and night you stay by her side, making sure to let her know you aren’t going anywhere.

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pastpatientlywaitingforimagines · 3 years

Text

Wormhole | Spencer Reid x Reader Platonic

WC: 10k

A/N: This is a comfort fic disguised as a CM episode. Also, I had a lot of fun writing this.

WARNINGS: Kidnapping, murder, general CM things, hospitals, mentions of blood, psychopaths

You weren’t normally nervous to talk to Agent Aaron Hotchner. Sure, he was your boss, but he had also been leading the BAU for so long that you always trusted his reactions and motives. Still, the reason you had asked him to meet was so far out of left field that you were nervous he would tell you you were insane.

You were the first one in the office for the morning, perching on your desk in the empty bullpen while you waited for Hotch to arrive. You stood up when he entered the office, but waited to move until he made it to his office door and beckoned you to follow him inside.

“Good morning, (y/n).”

“Morning, Hotch,” you stood awkwardly in front of his desk, clutching the file in your hands.

“Please, sit. Is everything ok?” As soon as you made eye contact with him, your nerves settled. Everything about his behavior showed that he was genuinely concerned for you and interested in what you had to say. You took a deep breath, sliding the file onto his desk.

“I was looking into this cold case from the eighties, in Illinois. Mia-Rose Horn, 16, found murdered under a bridge. I have a theory, and I was hoping I could take a couple of days to go check it out.” You bit your lip while he picked up the file, thumbing through it.

“What’s your theory?”

“The only suspects considered were older transients in the area because the town was so biased against migrant workers. My preliminary research shows that the unsub profiles as younger, someone who knew the victim and her family personally. It feels like there’s a piece of the puzzle missing, and I think victimology can really help this case. I’d like to visit the dumpsite and walk the crime scene. I’d also like to go through the evidence to see if I can narrow it down a little more, and possibly do updated DNA analysis. I’ve already contacted the lead detective, he said it would be fine if I went out there.”

Hotch was quiet for a minute, reading the case information from the file. The longer you sat in silence, the more you feared he would say no. Finally, he closed the file and handed it back to you, “the FBI wasn’t invited in on this case when it was active, how did you find it?”

You blushed, hard. “I was watching a cold case documentary and when they talked about this one it just didn’t feel right, so I asked Garcia to pull the file. Once I looked it over more I realized my hunch was correct. They barely built a profile and the one they did make was wrong.”

“Do you work on cold cases often?”

“I’ve only worked on it when we don’t have an active case and I’m caught up on my paperwork, it makes me feel like I’m still making a difference when things are slow here.”

Hotch nodded, “you’re a good agent, (y/n). I trust that you’ll represent the BAU well. I can’t let you take the jet but you’re welcome to an SUV. However, as soon as we get an active case it takes priority. Do you understand?”

You stood up quickly, excitedly gripping at the file, “Yes sir, of course. Thank you so much. I promise I wouldn’t be asking if I didn’t think I could do something. I won’t let you down, sir.” Hotch smiled softly at your energy. You had reached for the door handle before he spoke again, calling after you.

“(y/n),” you turned, hand still on the doorknob, “take Reid with you, I assume he knows the details of this case, too?” You nodded quickly, practically bouncing back to your desk with excitement. You checked the clock, Spencer would probably arrive in the next ten minutes or so, giving you time to arrange everything you’d need for the trip.

As soon as he stepped out of the elevator, you were waiting for him, go bag in hand.

“Hotch said you could go?”

“Not only that, he said you could come with me,” you smirked, falling in step next to him as he walked to his desk.

“Really?”

“We’re leaving now, so get your go bag.” You did a little happy dance as he started to gather his things.

“Ooh! Where are you going?” Penelope joined you at Spencer’s desk, hot cup of coffee in her hands.

“(y/n) is solving a cold case, we’re going out to Illinois to get more information.”

“The one I pulled for you? You actually solved it? Is there anything you can’t do?” Penelope asked in disbelief. Just last week she had explained to you why she was convinced you were a superhero.

You laughed brightly, “I don’t know if I can solve it yet, that’s why I need to go check it out for myself. Yes, I’ll call you if I need anything,” you answered when she opened her mouth to speak again. She hugged both you and Spencer before you left, making you promise you’d call her with updates and letting you know she’d call the detective to let him know you were on your way.

In true Spencer fashion, he had brought enough audiobooks to last the whole drive. You didn’t mind, your brain was more focused on driving. You didn’t talk about the case until you were nearing the end of the twelve hour road trip. Spencer was the one to bring it up, turning down the volume knob on the console.

“How are you feeling about this?”

“To be honest, Spence, I haven’t really been listening.”

“I meant about the case,” he chuckled.

“I’m trying not to get my hopes up. It’s been a cold case for over three decades for a reason, you know?”

“We wouldn’t be in Illinois right now if you weren’t on to something. Instincts exist for a reason, and your instincts are usually right.”

You fiddled with the air conditioning vents absentmindedly, “I don’t want to dredge up old wounds for the family and the town unless I’m absolutely certain I can bring some closure to them as well. The detective is the only person who knows we’re coming. I don’t want to start interviewing witnesses until I know I can do something to help.”

Spencer nodded, “I’ll follow your lead, you just tell me what you need.”

You spent the rest of the time discussing the details of the case, Spencer looking over the file again while you navigated to the police office. Having Spencer with you made you feel a lot better. You knew the case front to back, but this was your first time leading an investigation and you didn’t want to accidentally miss something in the file out of nervousness. Spencer’s eidetic memory and genius brain would keep you on track and ask you questions you knew would only help you in the grand scheme of things. Spencer was also your best friend, your biggest supporter. Any considerations he had would always come from a place of love and mutual respect.

When you arrived at the police station it was late in the evening, but the detective was waiting for you. He was an older man, tall and mostly bald.

“Hi, you must be Agent (y/l/n). Nice to finally meet you in person.”

“Detective Reeves, nice to finally meet you, too. This is my partner, Doctor Reid.” Spencer brought a hand up to wave. “Thanks for letting us take a look at this.”

“Thanks for making the drive out here. This case…” he sighed, “Mia-Rose went missing two months after I started this job and I’ve been hunting her killer ever since. It’s been thirty two years, a fresh pair of eyes will do this case good. It’ll do the whole town good if you can see somethin’ I haven’t.”

“We’ll see what we can do,” you said, not wanting to promise any results to him. “Is there a room we can set up in?”

“I’ve brought all of the evidence to our conference room. Use it for as long as you need.”

“Thanks,” you took off to the door that he had pointed at, Spencer on your heels. He shut the door behind you, dropping his bag on a chair while you picked up examination gloves.

The next few hours were spent meticulously going over the evidence that had been collected. You occasionally made comments to Spencer about where the item had come from and any notes that had already been documented about it.

The clock had just passed midnight when you were ready to move on to the next part of your investigation. You wanted to walk the dumpsite, but it would be useless to go while it was still dark. Instead, you retreated to a small motel at Spencer’s insistence that you needed sleep.

“I don’t think I’ll be able to shut my brain off enough to actually sleep,” you confessed once you were wearing sweatpants and leaning up against the headboard of the bed.

Spencer wandered out of the bathroom, giving you the softest look as he sat down next to you.

“What are you thinking about the most?”

“The evidence told me exactly what I thought it would, but I can’t build a decent mental picture of what happened until I see the dump site. What if I get there and it still doesn’t make sense? What if I’m in too deep on this one, Spence?”

“This case has been cold for thirty years, it can wait one more night. You are an incredible FBI agent. You’re an incredible human, at that. I know you can handle this, and Hotch knows you can handle this, too. If you aren’t able to solve it, you’re not letting anyone down. It’s been a cold case for a reason, I’m sure you’ll solve the next one.”

“Logically I know you’re right, but that isn’t making sleep happen any easier,” you sighed, sinking down onto a pillow. You could tell from Spencer’s expression that he had an idea when he reached up, turning off the lamp beside him and laying down next to you in the dark.

“This is called Image Distraction, all you have to do is close your eyes, try to relax, and listen to my voice.”

“Are you hypnotizing me?” you giggled into the darkness, feeling like a small kid at a sleepover with their best friend.

“No, it’s just a strategy to help you fall asleep. I’m going to describe a scene to you and the idea is that it takes up enough space in your brain to prevent you from re-engaging with other thoughts. Hypnosis doesn’t actually put you to sleep, just in a trance that seems like you’re sleeping. It’s been proven to help change habits and thoughts around sleeping though. There was a study done in 2010-”

“Is that what I’m supposed to be picturing? I’m seeing dudes in lab coats and creepy hospital walls.”

You felt the mattress shake next to you as Spencer laughed.

“No, that wasn’t it. I’m going to start now, picture a waterfall. As you walk closer it gets louder, pounding onto the rocks below it and spraying a mist into the air. The droplets of water stick to your face. You can see a rainbow that touches the pool at the base of the waterfall. The plants growing around the pool of water are greener than emeralds, bright and shining in the sun…”

That was the last thing you remembered him saying before succumbing to sleep. You had a very vivid dream while you were sleeping, not uncommon for someone in your field, but it wasn’t one you had had before.

There was a teenage girl walking in front of you down a long hallway. You instantly recognized her as Mia-Rose. She turned around every so often, beckoning you to come closer, but no matter how fast you tried to move your feet it was impossible for you to catch up. The hallway was familiar, you realized it was one in Quantico that you walked down every day to get to the elevator. It took longer than normal to reach the end, and just when you thought you could catch up to Mia-Rose, Hotch stepped out in front of you, holding Spencer with one arm and holding his gun to your best friend’s temple with the other.

“You have to choose, (y/n).”

“Choose what?”

“One of them has to die. Him or her?” he moved his gun to point the barrel at Mia-Rose.

“I don’t understand, why can’t I save them both?”

“One of them has to die.”

It only took you a moment to consider, “me. Shoot me. Let them live.”

“Brave choice,” Hotch’s gun came to point at you and his finger squeezed the trigger.

You woke up.

Soft morning light was coming in through the window and Spencer was already awake, quietly tying his tie while perched on the edge of the bed.

“Morning,” he grinned when he noticed you watching him.

“Morning,” you panted, sitting up and rubbing the sleep from your eyes.

“You were dreaming.”

“Yeah.”

“Do you want to talk about it?”

“Hotch made me choose between him shooting Mia-Rose or shooting you.”

“What did you choose?”

“I made him shoot me instead.”

You expected Spencer to launch into an analysis of your dream and what it meant, but instead he asked another question, changing the subject.

“Can we stop for coffee before we walk the dumpsite?” he pulled a blue cardigan out from his go bag and stuck his arms through the sleeves.

“Sure,” you said, stretching as you stood up. While you got ready, Spencer found the nearest place to get coffee, and you stopped there before continuing on to the bridge where Mia-Rose’s body had been found thirty years ago.

“I’m too used to walking active crime scenes,” you murmured when you pulled over to the empty dumpsite. Normally dumpsites like this were taped off with officers present, as well as some news reporters and civilian gawkers. You were sure that it had looked like that when the crime had first happened, but now it was just a bridge that nobody thought about.

When you stepped out of the SUV you noticed a small memorial for Mia-Rose nailed to a tree, wilted and weathered flowers around it. You stopped for a minute to look at it, then continued through the brush to the overpass.

Mia-Rose had fallen off of the bridge onto the ground beneath, where you were standing now. Her death was originally ruled a suicide, which had slowed the investigation until her parents insisted she wasn’t suicidal and had her autopsied, revealing ligature marks and evidence of assault. Just from reading the file, you knew that her parents were right. She didn’t profile as suicidal, and if she was she could have jumped from further down the bridge into the flowing river to your right, not onto the ground where she likely would have survived.

“Mia-Rose was found right here,” you pointed, “and her belongings…” you turned to your left, Spencer moving from behind you to stand where the girl’s school backpack and shoes had been found, a handful of yards away.

“They were found next to this rock.”

“That doesn’t make sense,” you said, facing him from where you stood, “the ME found traces of motor oil on her skin, so she must have been transported in a car. That means the unsub was driving on this road, stopped here by the bridge, then tossed her over the side. Why not just toss her stuff after her?” After thinking in silence for a minute, you started moving. “Stay where you are,” you instructed Spencer as you climbed the embankment. Once you reached the bridge, you stood on the edge so you could see both locations of dump sites.

“Spence,” you called to him, “how long is the average car?”

“Anywhere between 10 and 18 feet, depending on the size of the vehicle,” he answered quickly. You positioned yourself in line with where Mia-Rose’s body was found, then paced out roughly fifteen feet, landing you almost squarely in line with where Spencer was standing down the hill.

“What are you thinking?”

“This might sound kind of out there, but what if there was a partner?”

Spencer furrowed his eyebrows, trying to figure out how you had gotten there. He climbed up to where you were standing before asking you about it, “what makes you think that?”

“Eyewitness accounts said they saw Mia-Rose in a car with a man the night she went missing, and they were both sitting in the front of the car, but that’s about all anyone can agree on. What if there was a second unsub sitting in the back? If I’m the unsub getting Mia-Rose out of the front, you’re taking her stuff out of the trunk and tossing it over the side,” you acted out.

“Which means my DNA should be on her belongings,” Spencer concluded, finishing your thought, “I’ll call the lab and start getting things processed.”

“Good idea, I’m going to call Garcia and then we can head back to the station,” you said, pulling out your own phone as Spencer took a step away to make his call.

“Crimefighter! What have you’ve got?” Garcia answered her phone quickly.

“Hey Penelope, can you go through the list of Mia-Rose’s family members and get me some updated contact info?”

“Of course! Did you get a lead? I knew you could solve this,” she rambled. You could hear the clicking of her keyboard as she multitasked.

“Not quite, just a better understanding of the situation. I want to start interviewing family members to really nail down victimology and see if they know of anyone who fits my profile. Spencer’s calling the lab to get some evidence re-examined. When they send you results can you run them through CODIS?”

“Absolutely. Anything else?”

“That’s it for now, thanks Garcia.”

“Anytime, my love. I just sent the updated contacts to your tablet. Garcia out!”

Spencer was waiting for you in the SUV, once you finished your call with Garcia you drove back to the station. Detective Reeves assigned an officer to help you call the family members and invite them in for interviews.

“Mrs. Horn, thank you for coming in to talk with us,” you said gently to the elderly woman sitting across from you.

“Anything to help you find my little girl’s killer. Do you really think you can solve it?”

“We’re trying our best. Any information you can give us will make our job easier. Mia-Rose was walking home from school when she went missing, and was later seen getting into a blue car. Is there anyone she would have willingly accepted a ride home from?”

“No, she always walked, rain or shine so she could say hello to the neighbors on her way home. Except for Tuesdays, my brother Dylan would drive her home from band practice on Tuesdays because it was after dark.”

You exchanged a glance with Spencer, silently acknowledging that Mia-Rose was abducted on a Friday.

“Did she have any enemies? Anyone who would want to hurt her, bullies or friends she might have had a falling out with?”

“No, she was sweet to everyone. That’s why it was such a shock to the town when she was killed. There wasn’t a soul who hadn’t been touched by her kindness.” Mrs. Horn spoke so highly of her daughter, further validating your theory.

“Let’s take a break,” you said, noting the way she was tearing up, “excuse us.” You stepped out of the room with Spencer.

“We should talk to Dylan,” he said once you were out of earshot of Mrs. Horn.

“I agree. He was interrogated by police when Mia-Rose first went missing, but I don’t think he’s a suspect. His alibi was rock solid, but he might know something about what happened.”

You had the detective bring in Mrs. Horn’s brother, Dylan Godfrey. While he agreed to an interview, he was much less cooperative than Mrs. Horn.

“I told the police thirty years ago, I had nothing to do with it,” he drawled, “I was at home with my wife, God rest her soul. I didn’t even have my car to kidnap Mia if I wanted to.”

“Where was your car?” Spencer asked quickly.

“My boy had it, out with his friends. He had just gotten his driver’s license. You know how kids are, impossible to control.”

This was the first you were hearing of his son. Nowhere in the records from the original investigation did it say Dylan Godfrey had a son, let alone a son who’s whereabouts were unknown on the night of the crime.

“Mr. Godfrey, let me ask you this. How old was your son the year Mia-Rose was murdered?”

“Eighteen.”

“Do you know where he was that night?”

“Out, like I said. He didn’t come home until after two o’clock in the morning.”

“Do you know where he is now?”

“Last I knew he was working on a farm just out of town, the McGilroy’s place.”

As soon as Spencer had gotten the information out of him, you were firing off texts to Garcia. She sent you the address of the farm, and you called her once you were en route.

“You’re on speaker, Garcia. What have you found about this guy and why didn’t we know about him before?”

“I’ve been asking myself the same question. He wasn’t included in any of the original witness statements. I’ve barely been able to find information about him online. I know he’s still alive because I don’t have a death certificate, but other than that no home address, no phone number, no nothing. Everything I know about him is from his childhood, before Mia-Rose went missing.”

“Something is better than nothing, what did you find?”

“Daniel Godfrey, born in 1965 to Mary and Dylan Godfrey. He was a decent kid from what I can tell. He got good grades in school, even got a scholarship to a college in Chicago but he turned it down at the last minute. I’ll hit you back if I figure out why.”

“Thanks Garcia,” you chirped before she hung up. You pulled up the long dirt drive of the McGilroy’s farm, putting the SUV in park and getting out. Spencer was by your side in an instant, you noticed the way his hand rested on his revolver.

“My goal is to get him in for a voluntary interview. If we can get him talking, we can figure out what happened that night and why his known locations on that night fit our timeline. Best case, we get a confession and the name of his partner, worst case, he had nothing to do with it and we’re back where we started.”

Spencer nodded, so you reached up to knock on the door. After a moment, a blonde woman opened the door.

You flashed your credentials, “hi, I’m SSA (y/l/n) with the FBI, we’re looking for Daniel Godfrey and we were told he might be here.”

“He’s out back in the barn,” she said, pointing down a gravel path.

“Thanks so much,” Spencer said as you stepped off the porch. You reached the barn and pushed open the large door, revealing a man inside. He was carrying a bucket of water that he poured into a trough for a horse before acknowledging you.

“What can I do ya for?”

“Are you Daniel Godfrey?” you asked.

“Depend’s who’s asking,” he chuffed, wiping his hands on his dirty coveralls. You held up your credentials.

“I’m Agent (y/l/n) and this is Doctor Reid. We’re with the FBI investigating the murder of your cousin, Mia-Rose Horn. We were hoping you’d come in to the station so we could get some more information about her.”

“What kinda information? Mia’s been dead a long time now.”

You had to play this carefully, one wrong word and he wouldn’t voluntarily interview with you, “your father told us you were out with friends the night she disappeared. We were hoping you could tell us what town was like that night and if you saw anything unusual.”

“You talked to my father? I can tell ya right now, it was quiet. Just like any other night in this town.”

“Great, that’s exactly the kind of information we’re looking for. Would you be able to come with us to the station so we can get that statement through the official channels? While we’re there I’d like to ask you a few more questions, if that’s ok.”

“Are ya saying I’m being arrested?”

“No, not at all. This is completely voluntary.”

Daniel fell silent, considering your offer. When he finally spoke again it was gruff and hostile, “will my old man still be there?”

You exchanged a glance with Spencer, hoping he had a better read on what answer would be your best choice. Spencer’s tongue flickered over his lips, then he cautioned a response, “he’s there right now, will that be a problem?”

Daniel looked dejected, scuffing his feet in the hay below his boots, “not unless he makes it a problem.”

“We’ll make sure that doesn’t happen. Our car is out front, is there anything you need to do before we go?”

Daniel shook his head and quietly followed you and Spencer back to the SUV. He didn’t say much while you were driving back to the police station, and neither did you. You escorted Daniel inside the station, walking quickly past where his father was sitting, still talking to the officer Reeves had assigned to your case. Dylan stood up when he noticed his son, but Daniel just kept his head down and quickened his pace. You brought him to an interrogation room, a small space with just a table and a couple of chairs.

“You can wait here, we just have to go collect some materials and then we’ll be back, alright?”

“Whatever,” Daniel said, taking the seat closest to the door. You stepped out, shutting the door behind you.

“Did you see the way Dylan reacted when he saw Daniel?” you asked Spencer quietly. He nodded.

“Did you see the way Daniel reacted when he saw Dylan?”

“Do you think it’s relevant to this case? I don’t want to waste time asking about it if it’s just some squabble they had once. Hotch said I could only work this case until we got an active one back at Quantico, and you and I both know serial killers don’t take extended vacations.”

Spencer considered the situation, you could almost see the gears turning in his mind, “it might be a way we can get him comfortable talking to us, irrelevant or not. This is the best lead we have. Just like you said earlier, you have to get him talking.”

You trusted Spencer’s opinion, not just because he was your best friend, but because he had led his fair share of interrogations during his time in the FBI. He was really good at it, his accelerated mind picking up patterns of words and behaviors that you could only be envious of.

“What do you mean ‘I’ have to get him talking? I thought this was a team effort.”

“It is, but you have to lead this interrogation.”

You weren’t surprised at his statement, but you resented the fact that he was right. Your favorite part of your job was the quick thinking, the on-the-fly deductions you had to make in the field that helped you put all of the clues together. You liked helping people and actively putting bad guys away for the greater good of the country you served. You were good at your job, too, having spent so much time developing your skills with arguably some of the best agents in the Bureau. You couldn’t not be good at your job surrounded by minds like the ones at the BAU.

Like everyone though, there were some aspects of your career that you were better at than others. You usually excelled in the takedown and arrests of suspects and left the mind games to your colleagues that were much better equipped to handle them. Sure, you could talk a suspect into putting their weapon down instead of pointing it at you or a victim, but that was a heat of the moment interaction. Cool, collected interrogation rooms just weren’t your strong suit, and nothing during your time at the BAU so far had changed it.

“You really think I can do this?”

“Absolutely. You have the skills, knowledge, and rapport to conduct this interview,” Spencer showed no hesitation in his answer.

“Promise to let me know if I’m going down the wrong rabbit hole?”

Spencer smiled, “of course. Let’s go solve this case.” He handed you a sheet of paper, a form for Daniel to sign with his Miranda rights on it.

Once you were seated across from Daniel, you handed him the paper and read him his rights.

“If you don’t mind me asking, Daniel, what happened between you and your father?”

Daniel’s eyebrows furrowed as he looked back and forth between you and Spencer, “what kind of FBI agents are you?”

“We’re with the Behavioral Analysis Unit in Quantico, Virginia. We use psychology to solve crimes. I hope my question wasn’t intrusive, Doctor Reid and I both just noticed the way your behavior changed when you saw your father. He’s been helpful in our investigation and I don’t want any family conflicts to interfere if you’re going to help us too.”

“We had a disagreement.”

“Just a disagreement?” you pressed carefully.

“Just a disagreement.”

“Alright,” you said, deciding to leave it at that and move on. He was giving you too much resistance for the direction you had wanted to take the conversation, so you changed the subject. If his disagreement with his father was relevant to the case, you’d have to get that information out of him another way.

You started off by asking about Mia-Rose and gathering any information Daniel had about her. At first he was reluctant, just explaining that they saw each other during family gatherings and when his father would drive them both home from band practice.

“You went to the same high school then, if you were in band together?”

“Uh huh. It’s a small town, everyone goes to the same school.”

“Can you tell us about who Mia-Rose spent time with? Who were her friends?”

“Everyone was her friend. She was the friendliest kid in school.”

“Who were your friends?” Spencer asked, tilting his head. It wasn’t a question you had thought to ask, but as soon as he did you saw where he was going.

“Does it matter?”

“It does to me,” Spencer answered.

“Alec Krause, Markus Sparrow, Nicolas Rush,” Daniel listed.

“Where are they now?” you asked while Spencer pulled out his phone, presumably to text Garcia for a background check, “are you still in contact with them?”

“They all moved out of town for college. Haven’t seen or talked to ‘em since,” Daniel shifted uncomfortably in his chair.

“You were supposed to go to college, in Chicago, right?” you prompted. Daniel’s eyes flickered between you and Spencer, probably wondering how much about him you knew.

“Yeah.”

“Why didn’t you go?”

“Got a job at the farm,” he shrugged.

“Daniel, I’m going to be real with you,” you squared up, “I’ve seen plenty of small towns in this job. I’ve talked to many people from small towns just like this one, and almost all of them in your position would have taken the out. They would have moved to the city as soon as they got the chance, so why didn’t you? Why did you choose to stay in this town?”

“I didn’t have a choice,” Daniel was quick to correct you.

“You didn’t?” Now you were on to something.

“The disagreement I had with my father was about me leaving. He wouldn’t let me leave, so he got me the job at the farm.”

“Alright, let’s take a break,” you said, standing up and stepping out of the room. Spencer exchanged a few words with Daniel, then followed you out.

“That was big,” you panted, trying to shake out the jump of adrenaline that you were feeling.

“You’re doing great,” Spencer confirmed.

“When Dylan was talking about his son earlier, during his interview, it seemed like he didn’t have control over Daniel. What was it he said, ‘you know how kids are’? Something must have changed to make Daniel listen to his father telling him to stay, something that changed after Mia-Rose was murdered.”

Right before you were going to go back into the interrogation room, your phone rang. Hotch’s name lit up the screen.

“Hold on, Spence. (y/l/n),” you answered, praying that Hotch wasn’t going to tell you to abandon the case and get back to Quantico right when you were making strides.

“I’m just checking in to see how things are going.”

“We’re talking to a person of interest right now, it’s just very slow going. We think he had been working with a partner when the murder took place, but he’s not giving up names,” you explained, “please don’t tell me we have a case that we have to come back for, we just got a break that might open this case up for us.”

Hotch chuckled on the other end of the line, “no, we don’t have a case. Garcia told me you had a lead and I was curious.”

“Honestly, I don’t know how you were a prosecutor before joining the BAU. This is exhausting, and every time I say something I feel like he’s going to invoke.”

“You’re doing fine,” Spencer whispered reassuringly.

“Spencer says I’m doing fine,” you relayed to Hotch.

“I’m sure you are. Sometimes unsubs like this take time to crack,” he reminded you.

“It’s already been thirty years, I’d like to close it now,” you decided, squaring your shoulders. “I’m going to go back in there and wrap this up. I’ll call you back when we’re done.” You hung up with Hotch, then turned to Spencer. “Let’s do this.”

Daniel seemed to tense up when you walked back in, sitting down across the table from him once again.

“Thanks for being patient, Daniel. I’d like to know why your father wouldn’t let you leave town. From what he told us, he gave you a lot of freedom in high school. What happened?”

“We had a disagreement, like I said.”

“Right, we’ve covered that. It must have been hard going from being able to do whatever you wanted to working a farm job under your father’s thumb. I was hoping you could tell us exactly what kind of disagreement. Was it because Mia-Rose was murdered?” Daniel nodded, “ok, that’s a start. Was there a specific reason beyond Mia-Rose’s murder?”

Your tactic was deliberate, validating his feelings before pressing harder in hopes that he would give something up.

“He didn’t want me getting into more trouble.”

“More trouble? As in, you got into trouble here first?”

“Correct.”

“We don’t have any police records for you, Mr. Godfrey. Usually that’s the kind of ‘trouble’ that stops kids from going to college,” Spencer chimed in.

“The police don’t know I was there.”

“Where?” Your question was burning hot, and you watched Daniel squirm as he realized he had dug himself into a hole.

“I was in the car.”

“Which car?” you hoped he meant the car you thought he did, but you needed a true confession.

“My father’s car…” you chose not to say anything and instead let him sit in uncomfortable silence, “the night Mia was killed.”

“With her? Was Mia in the car with you?”

“Yes, she was.”

You had to maintain your composure, even though your insides were doing cartwheels out of excitement. This was exactly the kind of lead you were looking for, you couldn’t blow it now.

“Your father said you were out with friends, were any of the people you mentioned earlier with you? Alec, Markus, and Nicholas?”

“No, it wasn’t with them.”

“Who else was in the car then, Daniel? It wasn’t just you and Mia-Rose.”

“I don’t remember,” he started backpedaling, a clear sign that you were closing in.

“We’re going to step out and give you some time to think about it, see if you can try to remember,” Spencer interrupted before you could say anything, nodding towards the door when you made eye contact with him. You followed him out, turning to him abruptly once the door was shut behind you.

“I was getting somewhere with him.” You were fired up, to say the least. Now that you were in the comfortable privacy of Spencer’s company, you could let your emotions come forward.

“I know, I know,” Spencer smirked, “Garcia got a hit with Daniel’s friends, we should call and see what she has so we have more leverage when we go back in there.”

You took a deep breath, pulling out your phone and calling Garcia.

“Boy Wonder got my text!” she answered after the first ring.

“What did you find, Garcia? We’re really making strides here and anything you’ve got could really close this for us.”

“I ran the names of Daniel’s friends, like you asked. Almost all of them checked out, normal guys with normal lives.”

“Almost all of them?” you caught the specificity of her words.

“Right. One of them, Markus, he checks out too… but his brother, oh my his brother has done some stuff.”

“What kind of stuff?” Spencer asked, brows furrowed in thought.

“Kyle Sparrow. When he was 11 he attempted to rob a bank, and not just as a joke. When he was 14 he was suspended from school after locking students in storage closets. He’s been in and out of jail his whole adult life. He got out a year ago and hasn’t been back since.”

“That fits our profile. How old was he when Mia-Rose was killed?” Spencer followed up.

“That’s where things get weird, I was hoping you guys would have a good explanation because this really doesn’t make sense.”

“Garcia,” you called, refocusing her.

“Right. Kyle Sparrow was 10 years old when Mia-Rose was murdered.”

“What?” you whipped around to look at Spencer incredulously, hoping he would have some kind of information about child serial killers that would clarify the situation. Instead, he just frowned and shook his head. You had to decide if it was worth bringing up to Daniel and risk wasting precious time. You considered for a moment, then spoke. “Send us his address, we’re going to ask Daniel about him. If he seems like a viable lead then we’ll head out there. Thanks Garcia.”

“Done and done. You’ve got this, crimefighters!”

“Are you ready to go back in there?” Spencer asked when you reached for the interrogation room door handle.

“Do I have a choice? This case just took a turn that I wasn’t expecting.”

“It’s been four hours and thirty six minutes. We can take another minute to get coffee if you need a longer break,” he suggested.

“I’m too close to cracking this. I can feel it,” you confessed. Spencer nodded, acknowledging that your gut feelings were usually right. You opened the door, sitting back down across from Daniel. Spencer stood in the corner behind you, hands in his pockets.

“Did you remember who was in the car with you the night Mia-Rose was murdered?” Daniel shook his head. “Ok, that’s fine. I have some names that we’ve collected as people of interest for this case. I’m going to read them off and you tell me if one sounds familiar, ok?” Daniel nodded, so you opened your file and pulled out a blank piece of paper, holding it so Daniel couldn’t see the lack of information on your side.

“Emily Prentiss.”

He shook his head.

“Derek Morgan.”

Again, nothing.

“Penelope Garcia.”

Your list was intentional, listing people you were certain Daniel wouldn’t know so you could get a baseline for his behavior. It paid off when you listed the next name, “Kyle Sparrow.”

You could practically see Daniel tense up. Though he shook his head, his leg started bouncing nervously and his eyes were flickering frantically around the room, looking anywhere but at you and Spencer.

“Daniel,” you started, keeping your voice low, “remember when I told you Doctor Reid and I use psychology and behavior to solve crimes? You may not have noticed it, but your behavior shifted when you heard Kyle’s name. You know something about him, don’t you? Was he in the car with you that night?”

Daniel finally looked up at you, eyes watering, “I’m not a criminal.”

“I didn’t say you were. Was Kyle in the car with you the night Mia-Rose was murdered?”

“He was just a kid, my best friend’s little brother. We were out in my dad’s car, I had just gotten my license so I skipped class and took Markus and Alec for a spin around town. When I dropped them off back home Kyle said he was lookin’ to go across town to the library so I offered him a ride. I even made him sit in the back because he was still just a small kid. Then we saw Mia walking home. It always took her longer because she stopped to say hi to everyone she passed. Kyle suggested we offer her a ride too, so I did.

“It all happened so fast, first she was getting into the car and then Kyle had a knife at her throat. He told me he’d kill her if I didn’t do what he wanted. He made me drive out of town to the woods and watch as he tied her up and did horrible, horrible things to her. I didn’t even know a kid was capable of doing those things. When he was done with her he made me help put her back in the car and drive to the bridge. She wasn’t dead when he made me push her over the edge, that’s why I didn’t throw her in the river. I thought she’d survive it without Kyle knowing because he was too busy getting rid of her stuff in the trunk. He still made me drop him off at the library after, even though it was closed on account of it being real late at night, and swear that I’d never tell anyone what we did or he’d kill me too.”

“How did your father find out?” you asked.

“He found blood in the car the next morning. I told him it was from Markus, that he had gotten scratched up while we were messing around in the afternoon. He made me clean it out with bleach, told me I’d have to learn responsibility if I wanted to move out. When my auntie called him later and told him about Mia being missing, he connected the dots. He told me he didn’t want to know what I had been doing the night before, but if I tried to move away it would make me a suspect. He got me the job at the farm and I’ve been there ever since.”

“Thank you for your honesty, Daniel. We’ll tell the court how cooperative you’ve been, they might ease your sentence because of it.”

“The court? What?” Pure fear crossed Daniel’s face. It didn’t sit right with you that he had to be arrested, knowing he had been coerced into helping murder his cousin, but he had still committed a felony. You had to let the court decide his fate.

“Daniel Godfrey, you’re under arrest for accessory to the murder of Mia-Rose Horn,” Spencer moved behind Daniel, taking his hands to cuff them. As soon as he was done Daniel was passed off to an officer and you and Spencer took off, SUV keys in hand.

You sped towards the home address Garcia had sent you for Kyle Sparrow, wishing the rest of the team was there so you could split up in case he was at work. This part of your job was where you felt the most comfortable, the tactical side of an arrest that was more physical than the mind games you had just played in the interrogation room. It was just starting to rain, a light drizzle that darkened the skies as you drove to what you hoped was your final location for this case.

“Is there Kevlar in the back?” you asked, realizing you hadn’t gotten vests from the police station before you had left. Spencer turned around in his seat, checking around the vehicle.

“Nope.”

“Great,” you sighed, “let’s try not to get shot at then, alright?”

“Sounds good to me,” Spencer agreed.

You pulled up to Kyle’s house, which was more of a rundown shack on the outskirts of town. You drew your weapon as soon as your boots were on the ground, approaching the door cautiously.

“Where’s Morgan when you need him,” you mumbled, hoping you wouldn’t have to kick the door down, “Kyle Sparrow, FBI,” you announced, knocking on the door. A gunshot flew through the window next to you, shattering the glass. That was all the invitation you needed to bust open the door, but Kyle wasn’t in the room inside. You moved quickly through the maze of rooms, taking one side while Spencer took the other.

“Clear,” you called every time you ensured a room was empty. You heard Spencer clear a couple of spaces, then fall silent. You worked your way to the kitchen, finding him in a standoff with Kyle.

“I’m not going to jail again. You can’t make me,” Kyle seemed unreasonably calm, grinning slightly to himself while he pointed a pistol at Spencer.

“You’re wanted for the murder of Mia-Rose, Kyle. There’s no way to get out of this one,” you had to keep things simple for him and talk him down as quickly as possible before he shot at you again, “let’s just talk about it.”

“I don’t want to talk about it. I’m not going to jail for a person I killed thirty years ago.”

“There’s no other option. We know it was you, this ends here.”

“If I have to go back, it has to be for something better. You’re right, this ends here, but not because I killed Mia-Rose Horn.”

“How does it end, Kyle?” Spencer asked. You noticed the glint in Kyle’s eye, giving you a split second to push Spencer out of the way and get hit with a searing pain in your side. You heard Spencer’s revolver fire as you hit the floor.

“Get him first,” you grunted, putting a hand on your side to try to stem the bleeding. Spencer crouched next to you, worried eyes looking you over before he pulled your handcuffs out of your pocket. Your ears were ringing, but you could just make out the sounds of Spencer talking before you blacked out.

You woke up in the hospital, an all too familiar experience. Spencer was beside you, nose in a book. You weren’t sure how much he was paying attention to it though, considering the way his brows were furrowed and his fingers were tapping against the cover. He was lost in thought somewhere, you just didn’t know where.

“Spence,” you managed to croak through your dry throat. His eyes shot up from the page, lips turning up in a small smile when his gaze met yours.

“Hi,” he practically whispered.

“Is Kyle dead?”

Spencer hesitated, no doubt weighing the value of telling you the outcome now or waiting until you were better rested. He chose the former, shaking his head.

“I did what you would have done and shot him in the hip. He’s not dead, and once he’s healed he’ll go to trial. You did it, (y/n). You solved the case.”

“We solved the case. I couldn’t have done this without you.”

“You also wouldn’t have gotten shot.”

“So?” you shrugged, “I lived. Where’s Garcia? Usually she’s the first one at the hospital.”

Spencer’s smile returned, “she wanted to but a case came in right right after you went into surgery. She sends her love and said she’d make up for not being here when we get back to Quantico.”

“A case? We should get back to help,” though you were exhausted, you brain immediately went into profiling mode.

“No, you’re going to stay here and rest. You should be staying for longer than you’re going to, but I was able to convince your doctor that I was more than capable of making sure you got home safely.”

“I didn’t realize you were a rule-breaker,” you teased, feeling your eyelids droop.

“I’m not, I just thought you would want to go home as soon as possible. You’re not the kind of person who likes being away from their family, and we’ve already been gone three days. Staying here doing nothing, although it would be good for you, would just torment you more.”

“Thanks, Spence,” you murmured, falling back to sleep. You dozed on and off for the better part of the day, Spencer staying by your side the whole time. Towards the end of the afternoon, you woke up to his seat vacant. The immediate panic you felt was squashed by calculated thoughts, he’s probably getting food or in the bathroom. You fought to stay awake while you waited for him to come back. He surprised you by returning with someone behind him.

“Mrs. Horn wanted to talk to you, if you’re feeling up for it,” he said, resuming his position in the chair next to you. You nodded, watching the older woman enter the room from where she had been standing in the doorway.

“I wanted to thank you for finding my daughter’s killer, even though it put you in the line of danger.”

“I’d do it again in a heartbeat,” you reassured her, sitting up a little against your pillows.

“I wish her father could have been here to see it solved. He always told me not to lose faith, that a blessing would come our way. You were our blessing,” she dabbed at her eyes with a handkerchief.

“I was just doing my job, I’m sorry it took so long for someone to figure this out.”

Mrs. Horn tutted, telling you she was just glad that her daughter could rest in peace now. Before she left, she made sure to tell you that if you were ever in Illinois you and Spencer were welcome to come over for dinner, and that she hoped you got better quickly so you could go help other victims.

Once she was gone, your doctor came in to follow up with you. You had been shot in the side, the bullet passing through and exiting out of your back without hitting any major organs. Spencer did most of the talking for you, asking questions you couldn’t make sense of and checking over your chart for what was probably the hundredth time that day.

“You seem to be healing well and have a… knowledgable… support system, so I’m going to clear you for discharge. If anything changes you’ll need to go into the nearest hospital, ok?”

“Yes ma’am,” you answered. A nurse came in later with your discharge papers, which you signed before Spencer helped you in a wheelchair and out to where the SUV was parked.

“Are you sure you want to drive in this rain? I can-“ you winced in pain, hand flying to your side, “I can do it if you don’t feel comfortable.” Spencer stifled a laugh, reaching his hands out to give you something to brace yourself against as you moved from the wheelchair the SUV.

“I don’t mind driving,” he said simply.

“Yes you do,” you quipped quickly, exhaling as you settled into the passenger seat.

“Ok, yes. Under normal circumstances, I do mind driving, but I think I can make an exception when my favorite driver has been shot.”

“Don’t let Morgan hear you say that,” you smirked, still struggling to breathe in a way that would make your side hurt less.

“Are you warm enough?” Spencer fiddled with the heating knobs once he was settled behind the wheel. You nodded, but the shiver that ran down your body betrayed you.

“You’re the one driving. I want you to be comfortable,” you mumbled.

“You’re the one who just got shot. Here,” he reached behind him into the back where both of your go bags were stored. He unzipped his own and pulled out a cardigan, then leaned over the console to drape it across you. “The wool will help you retain heat.”

“Thanks,” you sighed, relishing in the comfort of his gesture.

“You didn’t have to take that bullet for me.”

“I did. I pulled you into this mess, I wasn’t going to let you get hurt because of it.”

“Hotch sent me with you so that you wouldn’t get yourself hurt,” he rebutted.

You brushed him off, “I’ve been shot before, I’m going to be fine.”

“I’ve also been shot before, you didn’t have to push me out of the way.”

You were quick to counter, “you didn’t have to push Blake out of the way either.”

It was an unnecessary squabble, a fact you both caught onto quickly once you realized the direction the conversation was going. Instead, Spencer changed the subject to explain the history of the small towns you were passing through on your way to the interstate.

Miraculously, once the car was comfortably cruising on the highway, Spencer fell silent. You suspected it had to do with his intense concentration on driving in the elements as the rain got harder, though he also could have been giving you the space to sleep if you needed to.

It wasn’t until you were over an hour into your journey that he spoke again, after a quick glance at you revealed fresh tear tracks down your cheeks under the passing street lights.

“(Y/n), are you crying?” His question was so soft you almost missed it, “is it the pain? You’re not due to take your meds for another three hours but I know you have ibuprofen in your bag that would be ok to take now. I can pull over-“ his hand was about to move back to the steering wheel from where it had come to rest on the console, but you reached out to grab it instead.

You and Spencer didn’t really ‘do’ physical contact. You both had reasons not to, instead finding comfort just in proximity. As long as he was around, you were happy. This time, though, it was different. Maybe it was because you were touch starved, or because you had just been poked and prodded at all angles while in the hospital. Whatever the reason, the light grip you had on Spencer’s hand to stop him from pulling over was enough to make you feel the tiniest bit better. He was there with you, he was real.

“It’s not the pain,” you managed to hold your composure, knowing that letting any kind of sob escape the confines of your soul would only physically hurt you more.

“Are you tired? I drank enough coffee to get us home by morning but if you really need to sleep we can find a hotel somewhere. There are three off the next exit.”

“Spencer,” you ran your thumb over the prominent vein in his hand, “it isn’t something you can fix.”

“What do you mean?” He was puzzled, and by the way his hands were twitching you could tell he was deciding whether or not to stop the car anyways.

“There are hundreds of thousands of cold cases. Hundreds of thousands of families that don’t have closure. Hundreds of thousands of victims that haven’t gotten justice.”

“There’s one less because of you. You made a difference to Mia-Rose’s family, you got her the justice she deserves.”

“She deserved justice thirty years ago. I feel like the system failed her, the very system I work for. She was just a kid, and the answer was right there the whole time. Why did I have to be the one to figure it out, thirty years too late?”

Spencer’s response was soft and gentle, “because you’re exceptional, (y/n).”

“I didn’t have to be exceptional to solve this case, though. That’s what I’ve learned from all of the cold case documentaries I’ve watched. The ones that get solved are because someone knew what happened and didn’t come forward about it until years later. There was a psychopathic kid on the streets for thirty years because the police didn’t think to talk to Daniel Godfrey.”

“We can’t change what happened in the past, but we can make a difference in our futures.”

“I’m just so tired, Spence. I chose this job, I love this job, but it’s exhausting.”

“Then rest, (y/n). It’s ok if the only person you save some days is yourself.”

He was right, of course. You wanted to keep saving others, but you couldn’t do that if you didn't make time to save yourself too. You finally closed your eyes and pulled his cardigan up to your chin. Though you were still conscious, limiting your sensory input helped calm you down enough that you found yourself flitting in and out of dissociation. Even when Spencer’s hand gently moved out from under yours to answer his phone, you kept your eyes closed.

“Hey JJ,” his voice was quiet, barely audible over the rain pounding against the windshield, “they’re doing ok.” He paused while he listened to JJ’s response. “No, they keep reminding me that it’s not the first time they’ve been shot. I’m worried about them though.” He trailed off.

“They’ve been shouldering this burden of over 185,000 cold cases since we started working on this one, and now that it’s solved they’re finally feeling the weight of it. I don’t want them to drive themselves crazy trying to solve all of them on their own. We deal with enough active cases as it is.”

Though you were barely in a state of mind to process his words, he had hit the nail right on the head.

“How is the case you’re working on?” You presumed JJ was filling him in on what they knew, “have Garcia look into large purchases of triacetone triperoxide… Call me if anything changes. We should be back by morning.”

“Yes,” his change in tone indicated that JJ had asked him a question, “that would be great, JJ. Thank you so much.”

He must have hung up with JJ because his hand found yours again, fingers just barely touching. It was a simple action, loaded with a lot of meaning. Spencer was your best friend, and would always be your best friend. Bullets, cold cases, marriages, there was nothing that could break the bond you had with him.

You didn’t understand why people called their significant others their “better half”. It insinuated that you weren’t a whole person to begin with, a fractured existence that only found completion by the means of someone else. The idea that your life couldn’t be fulfilling until someone else made it whole was a concept that was set up for failure and self-loathing.

Instead, you believed that you were a whole person who could live a fulfilling life without the necessity of another. Instead, you surrounded yourself with people who lifted you up and helped you achieve your goals without being the direct cause of your success. Instead, you followed your dreams and somehow found Spencer Reid along the way.

Spencer was your best friend, your confidant, the one person who you knew you couldn’t live without, but he was not your other half. He was his own whole person, a mirror image of your own being. You found solace in his companionship, safety in the complexities of his brain. When the stress of your job got to be too much, you could reliably turn to each other and exist in the little slice of the world you called yours for a moment.

No, he was not your other half. He wasn’t even yours, for that matter, but he was there. He was there in a capacity that nobody else could achieve.

This is part of my GALAXY universe! If you liked this relationship, check out the MASTERLIST for more content!

Galaxy Taglist: @kermitsaysgayrights @niallthedancingharry @shadyladyperfection @thatsonezesty13 @lexshead @ceeellewrites @howdycharlie @girlycakepops @fantastic-fans @canimarrypizzaornah @daisyflower138 @dyingrexx @taylormobley @bazzleslynn @tj-drinks-tea @willa-wonky @eddiesbifocals @tee-mbrown @reniescarlett @bone-hurty-bitch @messyacademia

#spencer reid x reader #spencer reid #spencer reid fanfiction #Criminal Minds #Criminal Minds Fanfiction #platonic imagine #platonic soulmates

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silkling · 3 years

Text

This fic is another ask box prompt from @star-tartlet. They put two prompts in one ask and I like the, both so much that I wrote them both. For organization’s sake, I wrote them as separate posts. This was the prompt:

“What if Sigma 17 were woken up earlier, like halfway through the war when their pod is discovered by an Autobot ship.. mby Blades' brothers are still aware and he can feel them, but otherwise they're just dumped straight into war. Poor bbys.”

(I decided to make it so the Autobot army isn’t quite so scattered and most of them are concentrated on the Ark, but Cybertronians on Earth isn’t really a thing yet.)

———————————————————————————————————

A large starship floated through the vast expanse of space. On board the bridge, a tall blue and red mech stood, a smaller white and red bot at his side. Optimus Prime stood at the massive front viewport of the Ark, the bridge crew working around him, keeping the ship going ever forward. His chief medical officer and one of his oldest friends stood his his side.

Suddenly, an alarm sounded from a terminal to his right. He snapped his attention to the mech manning it.

“Inferno, report.”

“Proximity alarm. Starboard sensors picked up the form of a ship, Sir. A very small one. It’s systems are down but it was detected because Teletraan analyzed it and it pinged back as being Cybertronian. No life signs, but the ship is undamaged and intact.” the mech answered promptly.

“Pull up the visuals.”

Inferno tapped in a few commands, easily doing so, and a screen flickered over the viewport of the bridge, displaying the ship. Optimus frowned as his processor distantly recognized the model, but he couldn’t pinpoint from where. At his side, Ratchet made a choked noise. He shot his friend a concerned look.

“A Sigma….” the medic rasped, optics wide and focused on the image of the ship.

A Sigma? That sounded familiar, but he still couldn’t quite remember from where. It was obviously significant, to have his old friend reacting with such wild shock.

“A Sigma?” That was Inferno. “I’m not familiar with that.”

“Sigma, Tau, Upsilon, and Phi.” Ratchet answered, voice hoarse. “Do those designations jog any memories?”

There was a sharp inhale from the mech beside Inferno. “Wait, you mean-“ Trailbreaker was cut off by Ratchet, the medic’s words making the entire bridge go silent.

“That’s a Rescue Bot ship.”

——————————

Blades came to with a rough gasp as his optics onlined, his systems already whirling with a gentle hum. He stared at the ceiling, trying to figure out what was wrong with the image he was seeing. Then he remembered. The distress call, the energon eater, going into stasis. He shot upright, the wheels of his altmode spinning rapidly with his distress as he flailed….and ended up tumbling right off a berth. That wasn’t right. If he was coming out of stasis, he should he upright, stepping out of the pod on his own power. If he wasn’t….that meant someone had found them, kept them in a medical stasis, and removed them from the pods.

Sure enough, a hand was held out in front of his face a moment later, and Blades looked up to see an older bot with the medics’s symbol on his shoulders. “Are you alright there, youngling?”

Blades blinked, taking his hand and letting himself be pulled up. “I’m fine.” he said. “Where am I? The last thing I remember is being attacked and going into stasis…” he trailed off, remembering how his brothers had felt his fear across their bond, but he’d been too far from them for them to communicate with words so they’d only sent worry and reassurance his way. His spark ached, as if the bond he shared with his brothers was strained for some reason.

Which…that worried him. The only reason a spark bond would become so strained was distance or time, and as far as Blades knew he hadn’t been so far for it to become this muted, which left…time. That wouldn’t make sense, though. The Rescue Force HQ would have sent out a Priority Prime message to bring the Sigma home once they missed their check in, which should have only been a couple orns after they entered stasis. That wouldn’t be enough time for the bond to become so strained. Not unless…not unless they’d been in stasis for longer than a few orns.

Cold fear seized his spark, and he flinched back from the hand that lifted to brush against his face. Oh, right. The medic.

“Youngling?” the medic asked, voice going softer. “Are you hurt?”

Blades blinked, staring up at the bot for a moment, and then he squeaked and nodded hurriedly. “Yes! I mean no! I’m not hurt. I’m just, I’m confused.” he said a little helplessly. His spark ached. He wanted his brothers. Where was he? Where were they?

The medic nodded, offering his hand out again. “I’m Ratchet. We found your ship floating in deep space. Your team is already up and your leader told us about what he did with the Priority Prime. It was a good idea, though I’m sorry it wasn’t activated before.” he said grimly.

Blades frowned, taking Ratchet’s hand and clapping it in the typical greeting. “I’m Blades. How long were we in stasis?”

Ratchet didn’t answer, just giving him a look Blades didn’t really want to interpret, and then shook his helm and gestured. “Follow me. We’ll explain it when your team is all there.”

Blades followed the older mech to a connected room, smiling nervously at his team and moving to sit next to Boulder. He noticed the large blue and red mech as as Rachet went to stand beside him, leaning up to whisper somehing to him that Blades couldn’t hear. The mech nodded, then turned to gaze at the Rescue Team. Blades rubbed at his chestplate, his spark aching to strengthen and reaffirm his bond with his brothers. He thought he could feel them, faintly. Could they feel him, now that he was out of stasis?

“Rescue Team Sigma-17.” The red and blue bot spoke. “I am Optimus Prime. I apologize that you were not found sooner, but I fear I have grave news.” he rumbled. “I am sure you were aware of the social revolution that was brewing before your mission took you off Cybertron. I regret to say that in the time since you went is to stasis, the revolution broke into War, and as a consequence of that War Cybertron is no more.”

Blade’s spark went cold, and he felt like the ground dropped out from under him.

No.

——————————

Blades followed Ratchet through the halls of what he had learned was a ship. One called the Ark, apparently. His processor was still reeling with everything they’d been told. The Rescue Force was gone. A couple orns after they’d gone into stasis, the revolution leader, Megatron, had launched an attack. He’d razed the headquarters to the ground, and then his army–because he’d grown himself an army of the angry and the beaten–had hunted and slaughtered every team who who escaped or who hadn’t been at the HQ during the attack. Sigma-17 was the last Rescue Team.

What’s more, the destruction of the Rescue Force had only been Megatron’s debut. The attack had earned him and his followers the name “Decepticons”, and he’d followed that act by launching all-out war. It had gone on for many mega-cycles, until eventually Cybertron had been depleted of all resources and utterly destroyed. That was when the two factions, the Autobots who were led by Optimus Prime, and Megatron’s Decepticons, had built massive starships and taken the War off planet. It had been a few vorns since they’d left Cybertron, as they’d been told, and the Autobots were on the hunt for planets where they could mine energon. That was when they’d found the Sigma.

Blades felt sick to his tanks. He remembered Megatron. He’d gone with Groove to one of the rallies. How could he not? Groove was a flyer. He was a helicopter, not a Seeker, so he didn’t have it as bad as he could, but…Blades knew his brother had still faced cruelty and hatred and had been ostracized because he was a flight-frame. Sure, not everyone had done it but it had been enough that Groove had been pretty badly affected by it. His brother had been excited by Megatron, Blades remembered. He hadn’t liked the talks of violence and the way it had all been said, because Groove had always been so peaceful and pacifistic, but the words and message had resonated with him in a way that had made Blades’s spark ache. He’d hated seeing him so beaten down by the way he was treated, and he knew the others had felt the same. They felt the echoes of how the treatment affected Groove through the bond, after all. They’d never faced the hatred themselves, but because of the fact that they all shared a gestalt bond, Blades and the others had very keenly felt Groove’s pain and grief and resignation right alongside him.

So he remembered Megatron. The large gunmetal mech had made him nervous, even from where he was at the back of the rally crowd, but he hadn’t wanted Groove to go alone and the others had been busy with their own training. As much as he didn’t want to admit it, it was easy to see why so many had flocked to him. He spoke promises of equality, of justice, of being able to live freely without being forced into something you didn’t want and without being hated for something you couldn’t control. The thing was, it had sounded nice. But Blades hadn’t liked how Megatron seemed to insist that the only way to attain that was through violence, and Groove had agreed. They hadn’t gone to another rally, after that. But looking back on that one they had attended…well, Blades wasn’t entirely surprised the revolution had grown to War. There had just been too much resentment amongst the flight-frames and the lower castes, which greatly outnumbered the content upper castes, for the situation not to erupt to something more extreme.

Blades shook himself from his introspection, refocusing on the present. His spark still ached, and he pawed at his chestplates again, frowning in displeasure. If he focused, he could feel the tendrils of the bonds he shared with his brothers, but they were weak and muted. So much so that they probably wouldn’t feel that he’d come out of stasis. He glanced up to notice Ratchet cast him a concerned look, and he quickly dropped his hand.

“Are you alright, Blades?” he asked.

The small motorcycle nodded. “I’m fine!” he assured. “Just, uh…remembering.” he said lamely.

Ratchet looked unimpressed, but he nodded anyway and stopped in front of a door. “This is the Rec Room.” he explained.

Which, yeah. That would work nicely. After Optimus had finished explaining things and Sigma-17 had calmed down, the team had decided to split up. Heatwave, as the leader, would stay with the Prime to work out what the team would need to do to adjust and move forward and what their options for the future were. Chase had been sent off with the Prime’s second in command, a mech called Prowl, to go over the regulations and protocols for the Ark and for the Autobots at large. Boulder would work with the Autobot’s engineers and scientists to repair and upgrade the Sigma, since the ship was still intact and just needed to be better outfitted for potential combat. That left Blades, who Heatwave had tasked with getting in among the rest of the Autobots to begin establishing connections and testing the waters. The fire truck wanted his most sociable teammate to take care of figuring out what the Autobots were like and maybe figuring out how Sigma-17 could possibly begin integrating, in the social sense.

“Right.” Blades straightened, feeling nervous. “Then I guess we should do it?”

Ratchet snorted. “That’s the spirit.” he muttered, and then the door opened and he slipped inside. Blades followed close behind, his slimmer frame mostly hidden behind the medic’s bulkier one.

“Listen up, you collection of glitches!” Ratchet barked. Instantly, all conversation stopped and the room full of mechs and femmes snapped their attention to the medic. “I’m sure you all heard about the shuttle the Ark picked up by now. I know how fast gossip travels on the blasted ship!” he continued. “Well, there were mechs inside. They were in stasis, and we got them out and debriefed. Most of them are working with other officers to get their affairs sorted. One of them came to play nice with you sorry scrapheaps, so try not to scare the brat off.” he finished, the look in his optics promising pain for anyone who didn’t do as he’d asked. Then he stepped aside, and Blades was revealed to the rest of the room.

The motorcycle found his optics sliding around the room, his hands tucked and curled in close to his chest. Primus, the attention was making him nervous. But then, there was the sound of a chair scraping harshly across metal, and Blades’s optics snapped to the source. When he found it, his vents froze and his spark started pulsing rapidly.

His brothers sat together around one table, and First Aid was standing with his palms pressed flat to its surface. They were all staring at him, and all but the small medic had a hand pressed over their chestplates, where Blades was sure their sparks were pulsing as erratically as his was.

“B-Blades?” First Aid’s voice was weak and disbelieving, but also thick and with unbearable grief. “Is that r-really you?”

It took Blades a moment to realize why his brothers were reacting like that to him. Then it clicked. The last time they had sensed him over the bond, they had felt his fear and panic and nothing more, and then he’d gone into stasis. And he knew stasis dampened spark bonds to the point they felt dead. His brothers’ last memory of his presence was his own terror, and then the bond would have gone silent, and only a short handful of orns later the Rescue Force was destroyed and all remaining Rescue Teams hunted and massacred. Which meant…which meant that, for the past several mega-cycles since Blades had entered stasis, his brothers could only have believed that he’d been offlined with the with the rest of the Rescue Bots. For the entirety of the time he’d been in stasis, Blades’s brothers had thought he was dead.

Blades felt his spark roar in agony as the realization struck. Oh Primus, his brothers had spent countless stellar cycles thinking their bond was broken, their gestalt incomplete. The knowledge hurt, even more than learning about Cybertron and the Rescue Force’s demise had hurt. It hurt so much it was almost physically painful, and Blades let out a weak whimper with it.

But First Aid’s sharp, agonized keening drowned him out, snapping him back to reality, and in the face of his younger brother’s pain, Blades did the only thing he could. He uncurled his hands from his chest and took a small step forward, his arms extending just a little.

“Yeah, ‘Aid.” he whispered, but in the dead silence of the Rec Room it carried to every audial present. “It’s me. I’m here.”

That was all it took, because First Aid let out a sharp, piercing wail and then lunged across the room. He almost bowled over a small white and pale blue minibot in his mad dash towards the motorcycle, but Blades didn’t have time to find humor in it. In the next sparkbeat, First Aid crashed into him and Blades stumbled back, but managed to stay upright. Arms wrapped tightly around his frame and First Aid buried his face in his neck, clutching him tightly as if Blades was going to disappear the moment he let go. The Rescue Bot didn’t protest the hold, and instead wrapped one arm equally as tightly around his youngest brother. The other, he held out towards his three older ones.

“Hot Spot, Streetwise, Groove?” he asked, his voice holding a desperate plea he knew only they would understand. “I’m home.” And he was. The Ark wasn’t Cybertron, but as long as he had his brothers he’d always be home.

That seemed to be the key to breaking them from their stupor, however, because in the next moment the last three of his gestalt barreling across the room towards him. He didn’t even have time to brace for impact before three heavy metals forms slammed into him hard enough to send all five brothers crashing to the floor. The five forms were silent for only a beat before they erupted into sound: hoarse, desperate, near manic laughter and heavy, relieved, gasping sobs, broken only by unintelligible mumbles and whispers.

The other bots in the room had startled and started staring when First Aid had stood so suddenly, but now everyone was staring at the scene. There was confusion and concern filling the air from every side, but no mech or femme dared to interrupt the scene they were inadvertently intruding on. No one knew exactly what was going on or who they all were to each other, but they could tell that, whatever this was, it was important.

Blades and his brothers, for their parts, didn’t even notice that they had an audience. They’d forgotten that there even were any other bots around them, too wrapped up in the sheer joy and relief of their reunion. Their bond was already strengthening; the weakened, frayed bonds that had been so silent starting to weave themselves back together as the younglings held each other close. As their spark bond began to reestablish itself, their sparks all glowed just a little more brightly, enough that a very, very faint glow could be seen from under their chestplates.

Ratchet, for his part, was both infuriated and confused. He’d gotten concerned when First Aid had stood so suddenly, about to call out to his apprentice when Blades had cut him off before he’s even spoken. Then the younger medic had launched himself at the Rescue Bot, and Blades had called to the three younglings that usually hung out around his apprentice, and then they were all clutching each other and sobbing. Ratchet could see a very faint glow from their spark chambers under their chestplates, and concern curled in his tanks. He pulled a portable scanner from his subspace, turning it on the messy pile of younglings on the floor, and did a quick scan on them. The scanner beeped back results, and Ratchet found his vents hitching.

The five sparks in front of him resonated with each other. They resonated far, far too closely to be a coincidence. The pieces fell into place. Blades’s rubbing his chest since he’d come out of stasis, First Aid’s reaction to seeing the orange and white motorcycle, the other three’s reaction to Blades calling their names, even First Aid’s insistence on always hanging around three mechs Ratchet had thought he had no connection or relation to before today. All the pieces clicked into place to form a startlingly clear image. Pit, Ratchet was going to strangle his idiot apprentice for not telling him he shared a spark bond with Hot Spot, Streetwise, and Groove, even if they had thought that their fifth member was offline.

“Primus bless.” he whispered reverently, his processor not focused on any of his irritation in the immediate discovery. His quiet exclamation made the nearest bots helm’s snap to him. “They’re gestalt.”

There was dead silence, other than the reunion of brothers on the floor, as that news was passed along the comm. lines of everyone in the room. Then, pandemonium.

Blades, First Aid, Hot Spot, Streetwise, and Groove didn’t even notice, blind as they were to everything but each other. Blades was back, and the five brothers were finally whole. That was all that mattered.

——————————

The Protectobots, as Hot Spot had told Prime that their gestalt was called, had been given a large room to share. It was common procedure among the Autobots for spark bonded mechs to share a room, if they so chose to. Obviously, Blades and his brothers agreed eagerly. The other four moved out of their old rooms, and they were given a very large hangar-like room close to the medbay. It had taken them the rest of the orn after getting things settled with Optimus and his command team before they had finished setting it up. Blades had been touched, but also deeply saddened, to see that his brothers had kept a box of his possessions from their shared home back on Cybertron. It wasn’t much, really. His favorite data pads, some decorative crystals, his music instrument, and some of the handheld puzzles he’d always enjoyed messing with whenever his nerves got the best of him. Still, the fact that they kept it all spoke volumes of how his apparent loss had affected them.

After the mess in the Rec Room, and when Blades and his brothers had finally calmed down, they’d been taken straight to Prime to explain themselves, and then dragged to Ratchet for a thorough medical examination. And then, finally, blessedly, they’d been offered the room and sent off to get settled into it when they’d agreed. Blades had been mortified. The entire experience had been so very nerve-wracking, especially considering that the Autobots were very much military and he very much was not.

But now, the Ark had cycled into the recharge cycle, during which all the lights dimmed and the Autobots not on the night shift bedded down to recharge. Blades and his brothers had managed to shove the five berths together into one, piling it high with all the mesh blankets and pillows in the room. Now they were all sleeping together, tangled and piled atop each other. Blades was almost certain that it was Hot Spot’s pede digging into his hip, and that his own arm was pinned between Streetwise and First Aid. He was also quite sure that it was Groove who was face down on his stomach, but with the dark it was hard to say. He knew to most bots this would look highly uncomfortable, but to Blades it was absolutely perfect. Well, except for the knee digging into his spinal strut, but he couldn’t have everything, he supposed.

As he lay awake, his processor worked sleepily. He knew that his team might want to leave, to try and avoid the War. He understood why. They were Rescue Bots. They saved lives, and staying to fight meant they’d have to learn how to take lives. But Blades…he refused to leave his brothers. Even if he had to leave Sigma-17, he’d stay here. Besides, if his brothers could do this, so could he. They were supposed to have been an Advanced Rescue Team, after all.

Blades and his brothers had come out of the Well with frames already suited for rescue work. And they’d genuinely wanted to do rescue work, so they hadn’t minded. First Aid was a medical responder, Hot Spot was disaster relief, Streetwise was enforcement, Groove was search and rescue, and Blades’s frame had been unique in its adaptability, meaning that he had been able to do a little of all those jobs. His role had been to partner with and adapt to whatever job needed doing on any given rescue.

His brothers hadn’t entered the Rescue Force at first, choosing to do advanced training for their specialization outside of the Rescue Bot Academy. That was probably what had saved them from what they’d called the Purge. Blades himself had joined the Rescue Force from the get go, taking classes in all the specializations so he’d be best able to play his role on his gestalt.

The plan had been that Blades would gain field experience while his brothers finished their training, and then they’d all join the Rescue Force as a gestalt, as the Protectobots. Pit, it had been the Rescue Force itself that had given their gestalt its name. They’d have been an advanced team, taking on missions that were further from home, or in dangerous territory, or with higher risks. Missions that a standard Rescue Team might struggle with. The mission he’d been on before all this, the one with the energon eater, was supposed to have been his last one before he transferred to become a team with his brothers. But that hadn’t happened, and now he was here. His brothers, who had spent centuries fighting in a War. So Blades was certain that he could learn to fight, too. For his brothers.

——————————

It was the next orn when Blades got a harsh taste of what the War was like. They had woken to Ratchet slamming into the room, barking at First Aid that there had been an attack on a team who weren’t on the Ark, and who had returned in need of medical care. The Wreckers, apparently, and they were severely wounded. Blades’s processor kicked into gear as First Aid bolted after his mentor, and he followed his little brother. The other three stayed, knowing they’d be no use where to two youngest of their gestalt were going.

As they headed down to the medbay, Blades spoke over the bond.

:Who are the Wreckers?:

:A highly skilled and elite team of very destructive berserker and melee class warriors. Their missions are highly dangerous. Oftentimes they’re more of a suicide squad because of how deadly their battles can be.:

Blades hummed his acknowledgment, and they both spilled into the medbay. Ratchet whirled, his optics locking and narrowing on Blades. “Unless you’re injured, out! I’ve no time for you!”

Blades cast a quick glance around, and if his processor wasn’t running on rescue protocols then the sight that greeted him would have made him have a nervous breakdown. All the medical tables were filled, and not a single mech on them had a minor injury. There were body parts and energon everywhere. He turned a hard look to Ratchet, shoulders lifting.

“You need me.” he said, voice level. “I’m a First Tier Triage Medic, fully licensed. I can’t completely repair the most severe of the wounds, but I can fix the more minor ones and patch up the severe ones well enough to keep these mechs alive until you or ‘Aid can get to them.”

First Tier Triage medics were licensed to deal with field injuries of any severity, but as Blades said his skills weren’t to repair those wounds fully, just to keep the mechs under his care alive until proper care could be administered. He’d taken his training seriously. He’d even gotten the minor upgrade that let him transform his digits into triage-grade medical tools. He wouldn’t have the same innate skill with them as a sparked medic like First Aid or Ratchet, but he was good enough to save lives.

It seemed that was enough to convince Ratchet, because the mech only stared for a sparkbeat, narrowed his eyes, then nodded stiffly. “In that case, you’ll probably see this place a lot more in the future. Get to work. First Aid, you know what to do.” he said shortly, and then he whirled back to the mech he was working on.

The two brothers split up, and Blades found himself at the berthside of a large green mech. Half his side was torn off, a leg was missing, though thankfully it was laid on a table by the berth, and his helm looked like something had smashed into it. Hard. Blades frowned, expression grim, and his fingers transformed to begin sealing up leaking energon lines and binding the ends of sparking wires. He got to work.

——————————

Over a cycle passed before Blades and First Aid stumbled out of the medbay. They were exhausted, but there was a sense of accomplishment sweeping back and forth across both their sparks. It had been difficult, but not a single mech had died that orn. Every single one of the Wreckers would live and would fully recover. At the end of the whole ordeal, Blades had been about to collapse when Ratchet clapped him on the shoulder and gruffly told him to return to the medbay to further his training. He’d said that it was up to Blades himself if he wanted to become a fully licensed medic like First Aid was training to be, but even if not Ratchet intended to expand on his skills in some regard because medics were precious few in the War and Blades having those skills could prove invaluable. The motorcycle had agreed, though he wasn’t very sold on becoming a fully licensed medic. Still, he did intend to return and learn as much as he could.

Outside the medbay, Blades came to a stop when he saw his team gathered. He blinked, and it only took a klik for him to understand what was going on. He turned to his brother, nudging him with his shoulder. “Head back to our room, ‘Aid. You need rest. I’ll be right there.”

First Aid turned his too-bright visor on him, and Blades knew his optics were wide underneath it. “But-“

“I’m coming back. I promise. I won’t leave you again.” he cut in gently. “I’ll keep the bond open. You’ll be able to feel me, don’t worry.”

There was a pause, then First Aid hugged him tightly. “Alright. Just come back soon. You need rest too.”

Blades wrapped his arms around his little brother. “Love you too.” he mumbled, and then First Aid was pulling away and trudging down the hall.

Blades turned to his team, and they walked to the hangar bay where the Sigma was being kept. They arranged themselves on some crates, before Heatwave spoke up.

“Here’s the deal. I talked to Optimus Prime about our options. One: We stay here and join the Autobots. If we do this, we’d have to go through training and be prepared to fight in a battlefield in the future. I told him we have some combat training, since the Rescue Force knew some missions might be dangerous and require Teams to fight to pull off the rescue. He said we’d be evaluated to determine where we’re at and then have our abilities expanded on from there.”

Blades was silent for a moment, considering. That seemed fair. It was the option he’d already intended to choose, but hearing it all laid out still helped. Chase was speculative, he could tell. Boulder was the most reluctant.

“But we’re Rescue Bots. We save lives, not destroy them.” he pointed out softly.

Heatwave nodded. “I did say that to Optimus. He said we have another option. We can take the Sigma once it’s upgraded and he’ll point us in the direction of a more hidden Neutral settlement. We’ll be able to stay out of the War so long as we don’t catch Decepticon attention, and we could even operate as a Rescue Team on a limited scale on the settlement.” he explained. “The third option was we can take the Sigma and take our chances on our own, though Optimus said he’d give us basic supplies and information to help.”

Chase hummed. “I must admit, I find myself leaning towards the first option. Our duty is to serve and protect, that much is true, but we can still save lives if we remain here. Perhaps, depending on where and how we contribute, we might do even more good here than anywhere else.”

Heatwave nodded. “That’s what I said. I think I’d like to stay, though if you all prefer to go then I’m with you. As far as I’m concerned, we’re all in this together.”

Boulder frowned. “I don’t really want to fight anyone. I don’t know if I even could offline another bot.”

“You may be able to avoid that.” Chase offered. “I was told by Prowl that there are some members of the Autobots who rarely face combat. The medics for example, often remain behind at base, but even in the event they are on the battlefield it is always very far back and out of the fight. The scientists and engineers, too, do not often see the battlefield, and spend most of their time away from it. Even more so than the medics, from what I was told.” he hummed. “Of course, all those bots are required to be able to fight at the same level as a standard combatant, simply so they would be able to defend themselves if they are attacked, but they are not encouraged to join the fight themselves. They contribute more by not being active combatants.” he reported.

Boulder blinked, looking contemplative. “I guess that would be okay, and you do have a point. We have useful skills, we can probably help more by staying than by leaving.”

Heatwave and Chase both made noises of agreement, and Blades sighed in relief. “Good, because I’m staying, even if you do go.”

Three helms snapped to him. “Blades?” Chase asked.

“I’m not leaving my brothers. Not again. They already spent mega-cycles thinking I was dead, I can’t do it to them again.” he said softly.

Heatwave was silent for a klik. “So you really are gestalt? Prime told us about you and your brothers.” he said.

Blades nodded. “Yeah.” he said softly. “I love you all, too. You’re also like brothers to me, and I don’t want to lose you. But my spark needs my gestalt. So I’m staying.” he said quietly.

“Won’t you be scared?” Boulder asked.

The motorcycle shot him a sardonic grin. “Of course. And Boulder, a joor ago I had to use a temporary medical patch to seal up a hole in a mech’s spark chamber. I already have at least a small idea of how bad this could all get. But…it’s the right thing to do. That’s what I think.”

They all looked at each other for a long moment, before gazes hardened with determination. Heatwave stood, and the others followed suit. “So we stay?” he confirmed.

“Affirmative.”

“Yeah, we do.”

“We stay.” Blades echoed firmly. He stepped forward, meeting the gazes of his team. “And we fight.”

Looks were exchanged, and then the other three nodded sharply. “We fight.” they said at the same time.

Blades felt resolve settle in his spark, and he straightened his spinal strut. This wasn’t how he would ever have wanted his life to go, but he couldn’t change anything. All he could do was adapt, learn, and rise above the challenge. As long as he had his team and his brothers, he wouldn’t back down.

It was time to fight.

———————————————————————————————————

And there you have it! Sigma-17 has joined the War. Blades has reunited with his brothers, so there is some good, but he’s also been given a taste of horrors of war. The Rescue Bots may have survived the massacre, but in a way Megatron still killed all the Rescue Teams. Only this time, it was because his war forced the last living one to hang up their badges.

This was fun to write! I enjoyed it. Blades had a little more confidence here because his brothers are at his back, so he’s not as nervous because he knows he has their support.

Still, I wonder how this would change the events of Prime, if it would at all? Maybe it wouldn’t, unless one of the Bots ended up on Team Prime in the future. *shrugs*

See you in the next one, folks!

112 notes · View notes

aressss1 · 3 years

Text

Through Fire and Ice Chapter 12

(Technoblade x Reader)

Chapter 12

< Prev Chapter | Next Chapter (Soon)

A/N: Warning: Mentions of depression, suicide, and gore. Stay safe guys!

~~~~~~

You were in your home, legs propped up on the arm of the couch, nose buried deep in a book. You had put your small library to use for the last couple days. Techno still came over to see you, but you hadn’t seen Dream in a while. You wondered what he was up to. You found yourself skimming and ultimately forgetting what you had just read in your book by a few paragraphs. You sigh, today was just not your day for focusing on the things you wanted to focus on.

You groaned, deciding on taking a walk through the burrow, to take your mind off of things. Depression was starting to set in. You couldn’t keep your mind off how long you had been down here. You hadn’t seen the sun in what felt like a very long time. Others were feeling the same way as you, hopeless… What was the point of… just surviving?

You took a nice long walk, trying to keep your head clear. Keeping your eyes down, because you kept getting weird looks from some of the people you had passed. You wished you could find Techno, but he was off mining Phil’s mine, you had no idea where to even find him, he could be off exploring another mineshaft, and you didn’t want to risk getting lost in one of those. You stopped at the edge of the beacon. Iron blocks underneath held it up, it seemed like such a waste of resources to you… Not that you knew anything about beacons.

“You look confused.” You looked over to see Phil just feet away from you. “Anything that I can help with?” He walked over to you, a smile gracing his lips at the sight of you.

“Why do we need this beacon?” You ask, your foot kicking at one of the iron blocks. Phil chuckled, his fingers tapping on the iron.

“It increases productivity in mining.” Phil explained. “When we go to expand this cavern, we will be able to clear out more in a small amount of time, than normal. It’s what we used in the beginning.” Phil recalled the events from a little over a month ago. “It’s helping the new arena right now.”

“Arena?” You questioned your eyebrows shot up in surprise. “Why do we need an arena?” Phil sighed at your question.

“Something for people to do…” Phil had a distant look in his eyes. “People aren’t able to cope, we’ve lost a few people…” You bit your lip, not questioning it further. “Anyway…” He cleared his throat, changing the subject. “We have a meeting tonight; will you be there?”

“Yeah, seeing as I wasn’t able to come to the last one.” You nodded giving him a smile. Your heart sinking for those who weren’t here anymore.

“Good, I can’t wait to see you there. Techno will probably be back by then too.” You perked up at the mention of Techno. Phil’s eyes lit up and a warm smile spread across his face. “Techno’s almost done with the mine in general, and he mentioned that you like books…” He faced toward the beacon, the light highlighting his face.

“Yeah?” You stood shoulder to shoulder with him, leaning your head back to look toward the ceiling where the beacon met the stone above.

“Has he told you what exactly he’s digging for?” He pauses waiting for your answer. When you shake your head, he continues. “One of the biggest libraries I’ve ever seen. I have plans for when he breaks through. You can take your pick of the books you want, just as long as I don’t need them first.” He gave you a wink. Feeling your face light up, you gave him the biggest smile. He chuckled, putting a hand on your shoulder. You hated that you still flinched at his touch, but you were still working on it. “Hopefully that library will hold the key to getting the world back to normal.” He huffed, his fingers pinched the bridge of his nose, as he went into deep thought. You cocked your head at him.

“You think that library is going to tell us how to fix all of this?” You motioned at everything in general, sounding a little skeptical. Biting the inside of your cheek, your eyes search his face. He seemed unsure… Maybe this was why he didn’t tell everyone in the Burrow? Maybe he didn’t want to give them false hope. Maybe…

“I’ve got to try…” He had a faraway look in his eyes as he sighed. “I’m the reason we’re all down here in the first place.” He sounded extremely guilty. You were about to ask him what he meant when a voice called your name behind you, you didn’t have to look to know it was Dream.

“What are you doing?” He sounded happy to see you. When he trotted up by your side your eyes land on him. He didn’t have his mask on… Nor a shirt, and he was drench in sweat. You had to stop yourself from looking over his sculpted body.

“Hey Dream! I’m just taking a walk to clear my head. What are you doing?” You gave him a smile, as he ran his hand through his hair. His green eyes softened when he searched your face. He subconsciously stepped closer to you, which annoyed Phil to no end.

Phil watched the interaction between the two of you, he didn’t dare say anything to ruin the moment. He wanted to know your thoughts about Dream, how you reacted to Dream himself. He was an observer, and that wouldn’t change. He couldn’t meddle in whatever this was between you, Dream and Techno.

“Foolish has got me building for him on the arena.” Dream jerked his thumb behind him. He stepped forward, a worried look on his face, as he towered over you. “You needed to clear your head?” You could hear the concern in his voice. “Can I do anything to help?” He offered and you shook your head.

“I just miss the sun, that’s all.” You waved your hand at him trying to signify that you were okay. He frowned down at you. He obviously didn’t like your answer. His hand rubbed at the back of his neck, as he looked toward the ceiling in thought.

“I know something that will cheer you up. Let me get my stuff.” You tried denying him, as you didn’t want to bother him with your problems, but he sprinted off before you could get one word out. You let out a sigh as your eyes trail after him, he disappeared into a crevice in the wall. Was that where the arena was? It made sense, as the hospital was right next door, the participants could be cared for in an instant.

“Dream’s a good friend, isn’t he?” Phil asked his eyes trained on the crevice Dream disappeared into. He kept his tone light and friendly, but he just… couldn’t put his finger on it. He had a bad feeling, and he always knew to trust his gut.

“Yeah,” you let a breath out you didn’t know you had been holding. “He’s the one who built my house for me. He’s shown me a lot of kindness.” You chuckle keeping a light conversation with Phil. By the time Dream had come back he had more clothes on this time, his mask over his face once more.

“Ready princess?” He held out his hand, to you which you gingerly took, a smile spread across your face. Phil had to stop himself from physically cringing at his nickname for you. You said your goodbyes to Phil, who gave you a half wave, he never took his eyes off Dream. The look on Phil’s face was enough of a warning to Dream. Dream stood tall, not wavering under Phil’s gaze. “See ya later Phil.”

Dream led you back to your own house, people watching you as the both of you walked by them. They still gave you weird looks and it was starting to get to the point of where you started glaring back at them. You were sick of the looks people gave you.

“What’s with them?” Dream nudged your shoulder. You shook your head deciding not to make a big deal out of it. “You know you could just ask me to kick their ass for you.” He chuckled, smiling down at you.

“They’re not worth it, I promise you.” A laugh escaped your lips, your body slightly leaning into his arm.

“Well…” Dream hesitated, “they might not be worth it… But you are.” Your eyes met and you swore your heart skipped a beat. His voice was rough, causing a blush to rise to your cheeks. He wrapped his arm around you pulling you to him. When the two of you were standing in front of your house, you could see him glance down at you. “So… Sapnap and I found something when we were building the house…”

You looked up at him in curiosity. Your eyes scanning over what you could see of his face. He stepped forward kneeling at your porch, grabbing at a board. The board was loose, and he easily pulled it off, leaving a small hole that could fit the two of you inside.

“I kept forgetting about this, but I wanted to show you as soon as I could.” His mask turned back toward you and you squatted down trying to get a good look of what was in the hole. Nothing but darkness, but you felt a cold breeze hit your face. So… that’s why your house was cold. “Come on.” He sat down on the stone as he slid himself into the small crawlspace. You followed suit, as Dream lit a torch, lighting the way down the tunnel.

If you looked up, you could see through the cracks of the floorboards and into the house. That made you uncomfortable. Dream offered his hand to you, following your gaze.

“I wanted to show you this to see if you wanted to convert this into a basement, but Schlatt hired me on the building crew for the arena, that’s why I’ve been busy.” Your eyes trace over his silhouette, the light illuminating his face as he turned to look at you.

“I was wondering why my house was really cold.” You stood closer to him as the two of you went deeper. Eventually he ended up handing you, his coat. Your house was close to a natural cave. It was lit up by torches. Your voices bounced off the walls as the two of you talked. Your hands skimming over the cold stone on the walls. You found yourself getting tired, because there were a lot of uphill slopes and there were times you needed to catch your breath, Dream waited patiently for you.

“We’re almost there, princess.” He reassured you as he patted your shoulder. “It’ll be worth it, I promise.” He pulled his mask off completely hanging it off his belt. It took a little while and before you knew it, the path widened into a bigger cave. You marveled at the sight before you. Dream spread his arms wide as he turned back to you, his smile causing flutters in your chest. “Well?”

In front of you, was a frozen waterfall leading down into a shallow looking pool of water. Snow flurried in from the ceiling, where there was a massive hole to the surface. White light shone down over everything. Rough snow covered stone led to the top of the tall waterfall. You looked on in awe, as Dream took your hand pulling you to him.

“I wanted this to be our special place.” His voice took on an almost sultry tone. “You can see the sun sometimes when you stand on that waterfall.” He pointed to the top of the waterfall as he crouched down as if to get your point of view, his cheek grazing against yours. His arm snaked around your waist pulling you even closer to him. Your face was red, you didn’t have to look in a mirror to know that, but you leaned into his touch, your stomach doing flip flops. “I hope it’s not too cloudy.”

“Wow…” Was all you could muster, any and all other words got stuck in your throat. Feeling Dream’s laugh rumble in his chest made you look into his sparkling green eyes. Seeing the excitement in his eyes, allowed for a smile to spread on your cheeks.

“I know it’s cold here, but when we want to be alone…” He trailed off, his eyes flicking down to your lips, as if they were mesmerizing. “We could come here and… Talk.” He cleared his throat, turning his face away to hide the blush dusting his cheeks.

“I think I’d really like that…” You giggled, subconsciously stepping closer to him. The two of you made your way to the scene before you, he held your hand as the two of you climbed up the rocks to the top of the waterfall. The water was frozen over and slick, and he held on tighter to you to keep you from falling. The two of you fought the icy wind that whipped around you.

“Look.” Dream directed your attention to the hole in the ceiling once the two of you were in the right position. Sure enough, you could see the sun peeking out through the clouds. You let out a breath of air you hadn’t known you had been holding. “I know this isn’t what you meant… But I knew I could at least give you something.”

“I love it, thank you Dream.” You bowed your head to him. “This has been amazing!” You peered down the frozen waterfall, the height of it, making you dizzy. The two of you stayed there at the top of that waterfall, until the two of you couldn’t bear the cold anymore. He was first to move toward the steep rocks that you both had come up from. You chose to take a look around before you made your way over to him. At your movement, even though you didn’t pick up on the sounds like Dream did… He heard a clacking sound emerge from a particularly dark corner. It was a ways away from the two of you.

It all happened in a second, the yellowing rotting bones of a stray pushing itself up from a sitting position, tattered clothing, and other bits of dry rot dangling from those same bones, the sockets of the skeleton devoid of anything. The bones clacked together, being held together by magic. Phalanges pull back the string of the bow, the sound almost deafening to Dream. An arrow whizzes through the air, toward you grazing your shoulder, only because Dream pulled you out of the way. The action caused you to lose your footing. It was as if the scene played in slow motion.

You fell backward on the ice, but… You didn’t hit the ground… You had gone over the waterfall. Your hands reached out for Dream, the look on his face was one of horror, he lunged forward grabbing your wrist, the action making you slam against the crag rocks and ice of the waterfall as you dangled. He was on his stomach trying to pull you up, and it would have been easier if the monster above him wasn’t shooting arrows into his back. He tried telling you, it was going to be okay, but with each arrow his grip on you lessened. His hand went slack, and you watched his eyes flutter closed, and you fell. Your eyes stayed on his face as you fell.

The rocks below you did a number on your body, tiny scratches and cuts littered your body, you mostly slid down the rocks as you fell, you searched for anything to grab on to, but nothing could stop your descent onto the ice below. Your leg felt broken, and you were scared to move your body in fear of what else could be broken. The haze of what happened clouded your mind, and you let out a groan. Which… You really shouldn’t have done that. Because the monster that was still up there made its way down to you. It jumped from the top of the waterfall, without a care for its own health. Bones cracking in places as it impacted, It was just out for blood. It approached your form that lay in the middle of the ice. Its phalanges pulling back the string of the bow once more.

The arrow whizzed by landing nearby in the ice. You reached in your inventory. Summoning forth your golden apple, you take a bite into it. It didn’t heal everything right away, but you felt… Powerful you rolled to the side just as another arrow landed where you previously were. The pain you felt still was immeasurable, but the apple allowed for your leg to heal, at least just enough.

You scanned the area; you knew from stories Techno had told you that the effects of the apple wouldn’t last too long so you pushed yourself up. Your muscles sore, you grabbed a nearby rock, throwing it at its skull. It hit, the forehead split open as it recoiled from the rock and you took this as your chance to limp forward grabbing the bow out of its hands. Your body screaming at you to stop. One bite of that apple was enough to heal you to a certain extent. This was your only chance and you had to take it.

You brought the bow down on its skull, and right before your eyes it cracked, it was done. It crumbled along with the magic that held it together, only a few of the bones survived.

You fell to your knees, in front of the bones. Tears flowing forward, you felt faint, you needed rest even though your mind pushed for you to stay conscious get out of there, your body disagreed. It wouldn’t be until much later when you woke up again.

Techno had no idea where you were. You were probably off hanging out with Niki. He hadn’t seen you all day. His tune quickly changed when he made his way to Niki’s place and he didn’t find you with her. When you weren’t around to do your route, panic started settling in his chest. Niki bit her lip, trying to not be worried herself. If Techno was worried, then she should be worried. That’s how she looked at it.

“She’ll be okay,” She sounded like she was trying more to convince herself rather than Techno as she stirred the contents of the pot she was working on. Techno went ahead and did your route for you hoping he would see you in the process. He came back empty handed and Niki, gave him a worried look. “Should we wait to see if she’ll be at the meeting tonight?”

“No,” Techno grunted, “I’m going to see if she’s at her house.” He pulled his cloak tighter around him.

“I’ll come with you.” Niki couldn’t just sit there; the dirty dishes would still be there when she got back. The two of them set out to find you.

“Ugh…” Your eyes cracked open. You were freezing, feeling the pain of frostbite settle into your skin, your clothes stuck to the ice as you sat up. Your bones cracked and you looked up to the place where you had fallen. Dream was still up there. The golden apple you bit into laid a few feet away from you. You leg still hurt immensely, but you needed to get up there to Dream. You pulled yourself up to your feet, trying not to put too much weight on your leg.

You pulled yourself up using the bow like a crutch to Dream, who lay there still. The arrows still lodged in his back. The blood caked over him. You had no idea what to do in this situation. Your cries of help were left unheard, as they echo through out the cave. Letting your fingers trace over his pulse, you feel the tears well up, he was still alive, riddled in arrows. Having no prior knowledge about how to dress a wound you felt helpless. People told you to keep arrows in, to lessen bleeding… But with everything that had happened you couldn’t remember if that were common knowledge or just something you had read in a story. Your mind was too hazy. You opted to break the arrows, so they were shorter.

You bit your lip grabbing at his arms, draping him against your back. Carrying him down, your weight still on the bow, you have no idea how you managed to get him to the entrance of the cave. Survival at the forefront of your mind, but… He was heavy, nothing but deadweight against you. You listened to his shallow breaths in your ear. You thought about force feeding the apple to him… But you were scared he would choke… You decided you would be better to feed it to him should he regain consciousness. You were truly clueless in all of this… You never needed to know any of this in your old life. Adrenaline alone seemed to be the only thing that kept you going forward.

Adrenaline… Could only get you so far though… Your body ached, and before too long it had given up on you, and the two of you went tumbling down a particularly steep slope of the cave. Yeah… You weren’t going to get back up from this… Your eyes cracked open, and you were met with darkness… Pure and utter darkness… Being scared of the dark was one thing… Being scared of what lurked beyond it was another. You couldn’t afford another attack…

You held your bow close to your chest, if anything came at you, at least you didn’t go out without trying to survive. You let out a shaky breath… Taking another breath you let out the loudest scream you could muster.

“Someone! Anyone!” You were met with silence once more, and that’s when the tears started flowing forth. You were going to die down here… Well… At least you got to see the sun one last time.

“What’s this?” Niki crouched down in front of the hole under your house.

“The reason her house has been cold.” It clicked in his mind, as he started sliding himself into the hole. You had to be in there. Where else could you be if not the ominous hole. Good thing he always kept torches. He led Niki down the tunnel, she walked by his side when the tunnel opened up into a wider path.

It didn’t take long to find you… Both he and Niki dropped to their knees at your side. While he checked your condition, Niki checked on Dream. You grabbed at his shirt the tears flowing from your eyes still. The sight killed him.

“It’s okay Darlin’. I’m here.” He cooed in your ear. “Can you move?” The words stuck in your throat, leaving only sobs to be heard, but you nodded. He cradled you in his arms as he waited for Niki to determine what to do next.

“Techno…” Niki sounded alarmed at the loss of blood Dream had gone through. “We need to get them out of here.” Her eyes skimmed over your leg… It definitely hadn’t healed in the right position. “You’re going to have to carry him.” Niki winced knowing exactly what she was asking of Techno. Let’s just say Techno was less than thrilled. Niki knew she couldn’t lift Dream,

“Do you need help with her?” Niki shook her head. This was going to be a painful walk for you, but at least you had Niki to lean on. He grabbed ahold of Dream throwing him over his shoulder, almost haphazardly. The scent of Dreams blood filling his senses. This was going to be a long walk back.

The voices swam through his mind as if they were sharks roaming the ocean, sniffing out the blood. Wanting more of it to be shed. He had barely gotten Dream in the front door, setting him on the couch, only to go back to help you into the house. You were in better shape than Dream, so Niki started working on Dream first. He sat on your bed looking down at your purple leg.

“You used the golden apple, didn’t you?” He had done this himself, and the process to fix it was not a fun one. Memories of Phil having to rebreak his arm to heal it in the right position filled his mind. You nodded, your tears running dry. You were still unable to speak. “That’s the one downside to health items, bones don’t heal right if they’re not in the right position…” He wondered exactly what you had gone through in that tunnel. The voices itched at him to go see what lied at the end of the tunnel. “Darlin’, I’ll be right back. You need to rest as much as you can okay.” Your hand sought his out and he gave your hand a slight squeeze.

“O-kay.” The word tumbled from your lips, and he let his eyes linger on yours for just a second before he stood.

“I promise I will be back okay.” He waited for your nod, letting himself back down into the tunnel. What was Dream trying to pull here? He stopped at the spot he found the two of you. His eyes spying a bow. He remembered you had clutched to it before he found you… Maybe he should teach you how to use it. He should have taught you how to fight… Maybe you wouldn’t be in this situation? He didn’t even know half the situation, but hell he was pissed, and that anger was directed at Dream for being careless.

He put the bow in his inventory, and he trudged on. When he got to the end of the tunnel, he knew why Dream had brought you here. He stood at the entrance, his eyes scanning the cave, as he shook his head. Coldness from the outside world seeped in. It didn’t take long to smell your blood as he approached the ice. His nose wrinkled, and the voices called for destruction.

‘Blow it up.’

‘Keep her safe.’

‘Burn it all.’

His eyes flooded black, at least he could agree with the voices on one thing… He had just the TNT to blow the place sky high in his ender chest.

“The grand opening of the new arena is coming up!” Phil announced, spreading his arms wide. “With the opening of the arena, I’m also continuing the use of emeralds as currency,” Phil’s voice carried through the cavern. The meeting was underway, and he still hadn’t seen you or Techno, he figured the two of you just didn’t want to come, he was okay with that.

“I’m also opening up a general store.” Schlatt’s voice cut in as he stood and he made his way to Phil, ultimately standing next to him. “A store that you can use your emeralds AND your Schlatt coins in.” Schlatt nailed his customer service voice, Phil could see people perk at the thought of a general store. Phil let him continue his explanation of the Schlatt coin, his eyes scanning over the people. What he was about to say next after Schlatt was done might not make them all happy, but it needed to happen.

“Now that we have the announcement of the arena out of the way…” Phil started when Schlatt took his seat. Phil cleared his throat, averting his gaze from the ever-judging gaze of Schlatt. “I need to implement some mandates.” His hands locked behind his back. “We are still in need of food… So… I am asking that everyone have their own gardens. Niki can’t keep cooking for the majority anymore. So, everyone needs to pitch in on this food situation.” Grumbles of annoyance could be heard from the crowd.

“Did you feel that earthquake just a few minutes ago?” An impatient woman asks bypassing the conversation. “What if we’re all crushed? Food is the last thing on my mind right now.” Phil bit his lip, he didn’t have all the answers and he never pretended he did, but now everyone was looking at him expectantly, as if he could fix an earthquake. He couldn’t lie to himself… He thought the same thing when he felt the rumble beneath his feet. But he felt nothing else since then.

“I’ll be working on that with my top redstone engineer Sam. We will figure everything out.” Phil tried everything to sound professional, but people kept asking him questions. Questions that he couldn’t give them answers for, at least not yet. Out of the corner of his eye, he saw a familiar pink head of long hair.

“Phil.” A man stood from his seat, his eyes leveling with Phil. “When are you going to deal with the hybrid issue?” All eyes landed on the man, and then they switched to Phil, to gauge his reaction.

“Hy…brid issue?” Phil looked around, while most of the villagers here were human, there were a small handful who were hybrids, Techno and Ranboo included.

“Don’t act like you don’t know.” The man snarled. “Hybrids are a problem. They’re taking our women,” his eyes landed on Techno, “we don’t need a pig fucker in our midst. She should be banished too.” His eyes slid over to Ranboo, who had the dragon egg sitting in his lap. “Now they’re laying eggs, as if we need more mouths to feed, and more hybrids running around.” Ranboo let out an offended ‘HEY!’ and Phil couldn’t stop the chaos that ensued. The hybrids against the humans… Phil couldn’t hear himself think with all the shouting. He pinched the bridge of his nose.

“You’re all dismissed. Hybrid’s are staying, and you aren’t changing that, if you don’t like it, make your own colony.” Phil shouted into the crowd when it started calming down a bit. His eyes burned into the crowd. “I can’t deal with you people.” Shaking his head, he grabbed Techno by the shoulder heading back to their house.

“Phil…” Techno got his oldest friends’ attention. The voices roared in his mind, calling for blood… For a massacre. After everything else that had gone on today… Techno tried keeping his urges at bay, using his friend as a distraction.

“What is it Techno?” Phil couldn’t keep the irritation out of his voice. He wasn’t mad at Techno, but at being thrust into this position. Had he not been the one to cause this storm, he would have taken Kristen and his boys and left.

“…That earthquake…” Techno sighed, “It was me.” Phil gave him a puzzled look. “I found her…” Phil knew he was talking about you. “She was with Dream in this tunnel that led from under her house… He almost died. The smell of his blood… I hauled him into her house. But I almost lost control again…” He sucked in a breath, “I needed to get my rage out… So… When I made sure it was okay to go down that tunnel to see what was there, I… Blew it up. It’s nothing but rubble and ash now.”

“So… That earthquake, was you blowing up whatever was on the other side of the tunnel.” Phil had to stop, seeing Techno nod. He couldn’t blame Techno, but… This was going to be hard to explain to a group of humans who don’t like hybrids. Phil sighed, rubbing at his eyes.

“She has a broken leg that didn’t heal right… Niki has to rebreak her leg… So, we’re just lucky there’s enough health potion’s this time…” Techno could hide his emotions through his mask, but Philza knew him too well to know that even through his calm demeanor… Techno was devastated. “I blocked off that tunnel.”

“Good,” Phil swallowed the lump in his throat down. Techno wished it was more of a walk to get to your house, the rage in his blood, had just barely simmered down. But it threatened to bubble back up at the sight of Dream. Dream was resting on the couch, his injuries healed up. Niki had just gone through the process of rebreaking your leg, and now you were force feeding yourself the rest of your golden apple, to help heal your leg in the right position.

Techno hated every bit of this, but at least you were safe now, and that’s all that mattered. He awkwardly stood to the side, watching Niki poke and prod at your injuries. You were going to be sore for a bit, but at least you would be okay in a few more hours. He crossed his arms over his chest, remembering the man’s words against you… Calling you a pig fucker… He bit his lip and he kneeled by your side when you had fallen asleep. His eyes studying your features. He was here for you now, and he would be here for you always.

His hand found your cheek, you were out like a light. Even now when you lay still, you were beautiful, making his heart flutter. He leaned down pressing his lips to your forehead, thanking the blood god that you were okay. He was going to have to have a talk with Dream, and it was not going to be a good one.

#mcyt x reader #technoblade x reader #c!techno x reader #technoblade/reader #dreamwastaken x reader #dream x reader #through fire and ice #angst #dream mcyt

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sfb123 · 3 years

Text

The Final Goodbye - Chapter 2

Book: The Royal Romance, Book 2

Pairing: Liam x Riley

All characters belong to Pixelberry.

Description: In a slight canon divergence from book 2, Riley reaches her breaking point with the engagement tour and decides to restart her life when the court gets to NYC. Can the rest of the group clear her name, and convince her to come back before it’s too late?

Catch Up Here

Rating: PG (I think there are a few swear words in there, very angsty, but otherwise pretty mild)

Word Count: 1,299

A/N: I am so incredibly humbled by the response I got from chapter 1 last week. I don’t think it’s been much of a secret that I’ve been kind of down on my writing and myself in general the last couple of weeks, but the overwhelming love that you all have sent to me via your reblogs, comments, and messages this week has truly warmed my heart and meant the world to me. Thank you so, so much for your support.

Again, I have to mention my fandom soulmate (yea, I’m just going to start calling you that always now, because you are) @jessiembruno. Your support and encouragement has been monumental in getting me out of my funk, and I will forever be grateful and in your debt for all you have done for me. Even if it’s just keeping me company via zoom while I do my nails for 2 hours!

Shout out to @emkay512. This doll face reached out on Friday and is an absolute sweetheart. We got to talking, and she mentioned that today is her birthday, so I would like to dedicate today’s chapter to her! Happy birthday beautiful, and I apologize in advance for further breaking your heart on your special day.

Tags: Listed below. If you’d like to be added or removed, just let me know!

When Riley finished her song, the entire bar erupted into uproarious applause as she hurried off the stage, the entire bar minus one table. Riley’s group of friends were completely silent. Maxwell, Drake, and Hana shot each other concerned looks before turning to Liam. He was staring at a now empty stage, they could all see that he was trying to keep his expression neutral, but that proved to be difficult with a single tear rolling down his cheek.

Drake placed a hand on his shoulder, snapping him out of his daze. “Li, are you alright buddy?”

Liam cleared his throat and shook his head, looking over at his friend. “Yes...yea, sorry. She has an amazing voice, doesn’t she?”

“The best. She’s our very own diva!” Maxwell said in an upbeat tone, trying to remind everyone that they were supposed to be having fun. “Where did our little Mariah run off to?” He started looking around the bar to find her.

“She probably just went to the bathroom. I’ll go check on her.” Hana got up from the table and headed toward the ladies room at the back of the bar.

Liam rested his elbows on the table and cradled his head in his hands. All he could think about was the hurt in her eyes as she looked at him from the stage, pouring her heart out to him. He couldn’t help but feel like that song was more than just a way to vent her frustrations at their current situation. He didn’t need to say a word for his friends to know exactly what he was thinking.

Drake was the first one to speak up. “Listen Liam, it was a really bad day for her. She had to pick up Madeleine’s wedding ring, it was kind of a mind fuck for her.”

His head snapped up at the information he had received. “She what?!”

“Yea, Madeleine sent her. She said she needed to do it as a thank you for letting Riley come on the tour and be in your life.” Maxwell added.

Liam’s expression immediately hardened as his hands clenched into fists. “I can’t believe Madeleine would…”

“Um...guys, she wasn’t there.” Hana interrupted. All three of them turned to look at her with wide eyes.

Liam felt his chest tighten as he jumped out of his seat. “What do you mean she wasn't there? Where did she go? We have to find her!”

As Liam turned to head for the door, Maxwell grabbed his arm and pulled him back. “Liam, hold on. She probably just went back to the hotel. Letting that much emotion out in front of all of these people, in front of you, it had to have been exhausting.”

“Well I need to go talk to her then.”

“Liam, don’t. If she ran out of here like that, she wants to be alone. I know Brooks well enough to know that if she wants to talk, she’ll come to you. Showing up at her door isn’t going to fix anything right now.” Drake patted the seat next to him, encouraging Liam to sit back down.

“Fine, but I’m going to need another drink.” Liam slumped into the seat next to Drake and ran a hand through his hair.

The next morning, Drake was heading in the direction of Riley’s room when he heard Liam calling out to him. He turned to see his friend lightly jogging to catch up to him. “Hey Liam, how’d you sleep?”

“I didn’t. I spent all night convincing myself not to rush to Riley’s room to talk to her.”

They walked together as another voice filled the hallway. “Liam, darling.” They both cringed and turned around to see Madeleine at the other end of the hall with her hands on her hips. “We are needed for the final preparations.”

“Madeleine, I’m in the middle of something. I will meet you there.” He stood tall, and took a deep breath. He still hadn’t confronted her about the errand she had sent Riley on, but that conversation would be happening very soon.

Madeleine arched an eyebrow and walked quickly and confidently in their direction, stopping in front of Liam with her arms folded across her chest. “Sweetheart, you are needed to prepare for our wedding shower. What am I supposed to tell everyone when I arrive on my own? Do what you will with her in your free time. This is our time, I cannot have you missing important meetings for her. That’s not how this works.”

“She is more important than any meeting that will ever come across my calendar, especially any meeting involving you.” He sneered at her before turning to Drake. “Tell her I came by. And let me know if there is anything I can do.”

“Of course, man.” Drake clapped Liam on the shoulder and watched as Madeleine linked her arm through Liam’s and walked away.

As Liam and Madeleine headed to the elevator, they passed Maxwell, the friends exchanging sad looks.

“Hey Drake, how’s our girl holding up?”

“Don’t know, that interrupted us before we could get to her.”

“Well, let’s go cheer her up. I’ve got some great news!” He bounded toward Riley’s room.

“What do you mean? What kind of news?”

Maxwell turned to him as he began to knock on the door. “We found Tariq!” Drake’s jaw dropped and he stared at Maxwell in shock, as he continued to knock on the door, not getting a response from Riley. “Little Blossom, rise and shine. We’ve got a big day ahead of us!” He turned his attention back to Drake. “This is weird, she’s usually at least yelling at me to go away by now.”

That comment gave Drake an uneasy feeling in his stomach, he pushed Maxwell aside and began banging on the door. “Come on Brooks, let us in.” A couple of neighboring doors opened as angry heads popped out of them, glaring at the early morning intrusion.

“What is the meaning of this commotion? This is a nice hotel, not a frat house!” Maxwell stiffened at the sound of his brother’s voice. Drake continued his assault on the door.

“Bertrand! Um...hi. Riley’s not answering the door. She had a late night, she’s probably still asleep.” Maxwell stumbled through his words.

Bertrand closed his eyes and pinched the bridge of his nose. “Maxwell, do you have the spare key to her room?”

“Oh, right! I forgot about that.” He reached into his back pocket, pulling out a key card for the room and handing it to Drake. “Here, use this.”

Drake shook his head and snatched the card out of his hands. “Brooks, we’re coming in. You’ve been warned. I don’t want to see anything I’m not supposed to.”

They opened the door and entered her room, walking through the sitting area, the bedroom, and then the bathroom. Riley was nowhere to be found. Her bed looked untouched, and it was too early for housekeeping to have come through.

The three men discussed how best to move forward from here. They were in New York, so Riley was already home, they knew she wouldn’t try to fly out anywhere. But they also knew that they needed to get to LA to track down Tariq and get him to make a statement before he found out they were on his trail and disappeared again. Drake and Maxwell hesitantly agreed to meet up with Hana and take Liam’s jet to LA to get Tariq, while Bertrand went in search of Riley, to talk her into returning. All three agreed it was best not to tell Liam that Riley was missing. He was already dealing with enough, and Riley’s performance the night before had taken quite a toll on him.

Permatag:

@anjanettexcordonia @athena-penrose @chemist-ana @choiceskatie @cordonia-gothqueen @cordoniaqueensworld @emkay512 @gabesmommie1130 @gkittylove99 @hopelessromanticmonie @iaminlovewithtrr @jessiembruno @kat-tia801 @khoicesbyk @kingliam2019 @lucy-268 @marshmallowsaremyfavorite @mile9213 @mom2000aggie @pixie88 @queenrileyrose @secretaryunpaid @sweatyrysconnoisseur @theroyalheirshadowhunter @twinkleallnight @txemrn

The Final Goodbye:

@ao719 @burnsoslow @busywoman @ladyangel70 @mainstreetreader @tessa-liam

Liam x Riley:

@jared2612

@choicesficwriterscreations

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dontjudgemeimawriter · 3 years

Text

Excerpt-- Martel Bridge

Wanted to share another excerpt. I’ve shared lines from this before, but it’s a sweet scene so I thought I’d share the rest of it. I think at some point I shared an excerpt where Raymond & Terran were playing two truths & a lie? This takes place directly after that if I did.

“Want to go up the bridge?” Raymond asked, interrupting my thoughts. He gestured ahead of us, where the Martel Bridge had come into view.

Martel Bridge was a huge bridge that crossed the Sarala [River]. I’d been so occupied looking around that I hadn’t noticed it, and for a moment I paused. I’d never seen it from this angle before. Usually if I came close to it, I’d walked through Violet, where the slight incline was hardly no--ticeable. But the path we were on stayed close to the shoreline, and far ahead I could see that we’d end up passing under it.

“Go up it?”

“Yeah, there’s a passenger walkway and you can climb up the tower,” he gestured along the bridge, though I couldn’t tell exactly what he was pointing at.

He went ahead, starting to jog while still looking back at me, flashing me a daring smile and I forgot about looking around for spies but just focused on catching up to him. I broke into a run, and it’d been a long time since running was thrilling. When he saw me catching up he ran faster, and I sped up, catching up to him but still a bit behind him when he slowed to a stop as the shadow of the bridge came over us.

“Why are you running?” I asked when I’d caught up close for him to hear, but rather than answering, he laughed and went over to the door that was partially propped open, with a label that informatively read “Martel.” The door bounced off of him, close enough for me to catch, and he’d slowed down but was still ahead of me, leading me into the dimly lit metal stairway that led up a flight before opening onto another door.

This time when it opened there was a howl of engines, and I paused for a second to look at where we were— a walkway set slightly lower than the road, with metal floors and a grate on one side to keep us from falling to to beach below. A railing and half wall kept us from being directly next to the cars racing by, but for a second when one raced by and I felt the air hit me, I tensed up for a moment.

“Come on!” Raymond called, and he kept moving, still itching to run, and his footsteps made the metal floor clang, and I took a step and placed a hand on the grate that kept me from falling, looking through the spaces in the metal to see the river. “Terran!” He’d stopped moving, still a good ten feet ahead of me. This time, he waited for me to catch up, saying something I didn’t catch as another car raced past us.

“What?” I said when I’d caught up to him.

“Scared of the bridge, assassin?”

I shook my head, and it was too hard to really reply, but it wasn’t the bridge that slowed me down. It wasn’t even really the cars a few feet away on one side or the fall the grate protected me from. I’d climbed rooftops, after all.

“Where are we going?” I asked, and he turned around and pointed at the first tower that rose above us, with a part that reached out and connected to the second tower. I knew that the road part that we were approaching could be raised if tall boats needed to pass through. I’d never thought much about the top of the towers.

“The pedestrian bridge,” he called, and then kept moving, not running but not waiting for me, and then there was another door where the tower connected and inside it it was dark and quiet again and more mental stairs led up, and I could tilt my head back and see that they circled the edges for five rounds up.

“This is more stairs than I expected to climb today,” I said, and Raymond was already halfway around, and he paused to let me catch up.

“How many stairs did you expect to climb today?” he asked with a grin.

“I wasn't even going to leave the room this morning,” I responded.

“Still think it’s too dangerous?” he was grinning, his hand resting on the railing one foot on a higher step than the other, but now that I was within a few feet of him again and he wasn't running away, I could hear how fast he was breathing.

That made me smile a bit, because yes I’d slowed down a bit, but despite him staying ahead of me and my comment about the stairs, it’d hardly winded me. “Well, I guess no one’s going to catch us together here,” I said, looking at the walls surrounding us, thinking about how loud of a clang the steps made that would tell us quickly if anyone was coming.

I felt his hand touch my arm and turned back to him, and for a second he looked like he wanted to say something. He was a step taller than me, and I didn't usually have to look up towards him but I was, and I saw when he decided against whatever he’d wanted to say and withdrew his hand from my arm, and he shifted his weight to the foot on the higher step and he was farther away from me.

“What?” I asked, and couldn't help but feel like I had once again ruined his happy moment, somehow.

He smiled. “I like you better. Unfocused. That’s all.”

And now I had to pay attention to it again, to how I was acting and if I might be missing something, and what about my comment made him say that because honestly it sounded to me like the same type of paranoid comment he hated. “Why?”

He grinned, his eyes crinkling up in almost-laughter. “Because of this, because it’s more fun, because we aren’t fighting or even worrying about everything.”

He was still happy but the comment seemed to twist something, to pull at my own having-fun. “Focusing isn’t why I worry about things,” and I was obviously still worried about things, anyway, so what did he mean? “Do you just not like me telling you what to do?”

It had come out before I could stop myself, and I could feel it, the snapping, the arguing, the fighting back, and then Raymond reached a hand toward me again— my face, my shoulder, I wasn’t sure— but I jerked away from it on instinct. His face flashed in hurt, and I’d messed up again. He’d reached toward me for comfort, of course he had.

“Sorry,” I took a deep breath.

He nodded. “Thanks.” he didn’t meet my eye for a moment, then asked, “Should I not try to touch you?”

My wincing had been my fault, not his. “It’s fine.”

“Is it actually?” he asked, concern in his voice.

I paused. I owed it to him to answer it honestly, and why had I winced? “I don’t know why I reacted like that,” I said after a moment. “But you can.”

He nodded and gave me a smile, but it was less genuine than it had been a minute ago. “I don’t like when you tell me what to do,” he said thoughtfully. “But even if you are, I prefer it to come from this Terran. The one that isn’t just thinking about survival, but… I think… might want to be happy.”

How was I supposed to respond to that? When had wanting to be happy come into the equation?

I tried to figure out something to say for a minute, but Raymond broke the silence. “Let’s keep going,” he said, and started climbing, not running this time. I kept pace with him, climbing the winding stairs until we came to a doorway that led out onto the open bridge.

It was empty and the wind was louder here, rushing around us and chilly. A wide stone walkway with brick half-walls that Raymond walk over to and leaned on, and I joined him, leaning on it next to him. Looking out was the river, far below us now, stretching out back along the way we’d walked until it curved in the distance,

I looked down for the bridge below us, but could hardly see the edge of it— the angle we were looking was too steep, the bridge we stood on blocking the view down and the tower we’d climbed blocking the view back, cutting off our view of any connection to the land.

The city was visible though, and I was so used to being in it that for a moment it looked foreign. The stone beaches and boardwalk, the docks with various boats. Inland the buildings began to pile up, getting taller and becoming more box-like. From here I could see an expanse of roofs I’m sure I’d traversed at some point.

“Nice, huh?” Raymond said as I took it in.

“It actually looks pretty,” I said, not sure why I was surprised until Raymond voiced my exact feelings:

“Can’t see the corruption from here, huh?”

I nodded, looking around again, once again trying to get an angle where I could see the part of the bridge that would bring us back to the land. “It’s like we’re cut off from it.”

Raymond took a deep breath, one that I knew how it felt just by how deep it was, and he closed his eyes for a moment in relaxation. I took a moment to breathe in myself, taking in the faintly water-scented air and letting it settle deep within me.

And for a moment I let myself imagine it. Leaving Calson. Leaving the syndicate, leaving Zachary. As if the syndicate really was confined to that city. As if I were really on an island floating over the ocean, that there wasn’t actually a bridge between us anyone could cross.

I looked over at Raymond. If only we could leave.

His eyes were still closed, but his relaxation hadn’t seemed to stick. His breathing was shallower now, and his hands gripped the edge of the brick wall tightly.

Was something wrong, or was he just tense? Might just be everything that had been going on— maybe he was still hurt I’d snapped at him, maybe he was still unsure about trusting me, maybe it was because he hadn’t slept, maybe it was because Jodi was still missing.

I reached to him, placed an arm on his shoulders the way he might, moving closer to him in a sideways half-hug. His arms relaxed as I gave him a squeeze, and he leaned into me, leaving his head on my shoulder, and I’d successfully offered comfort.

I couldn’t think of what to say, though— I still wasn’t good at this— so instead I went with something that I hoped would distract him a bit. “I don’t like the taste of walnuts, strawberries, or cilantro. Which is the lie?”

He took a breath before answering, a slight laugh. “I guess it is your turn. Do you have the it-tastes-like-soap thing?”

I didn’t answer, but he didn’t expect me to. While he thought, making a low “hmmm” sound, I gently patted my hand against his shoulder. Had he ever been this close to me, this much physical contact? I’d initiated it this time, and he’d leaned into it, and I thought about his question earlier about touch and how much I’d used to see him and Mika hugging and wondered if it was different because it was his sister or different because it was me.

“Strawberries,” he said, leaning his head to look at me.

I smiled, feeling like I’d won. “Nope. I like walnuts. Only if they’re roasted, though.”

“And you don’t like strawberries?” He grinned. I shook my head and he accepted it. “Should’ve known you like walnuts. You love coffee.”

“Why is that related?” I asked, moving my hand up from his shoulder to the side of his head, cautiously, ready to stop if he didn’t want me to, but he seemed to accept it and I touched his hair, the side of his face— soft, warm, comfortable.

“I don’t know,” he said. “Aren’t nuts and coffee related? Are nuts put in coffee?”

I thought it over, remembering the labels in Zachary’s cupboard. I didn’t usually pay much attention to which one it was, Zachary usually made enough for me to have in the morning. “I don’t think so, just flavors.”

He grinned and took a deep breath, gazing out at the cityscape. I lifted my arm to check my watch— 4:52. Only about an hour left of the 24 hour agreement, and I wanted it to last another day, another week. To stay here, where it at least felt like no one could find us.

“Terran?” his voice was quiet, hardly audible over the sound of the wind, and I may not have heard it if his head wasn’t still so close to me.

“What?”

He’d tensed up again, I could feel it. He took a deep breath before speaking, and when he did I could hear that he was afraid. “I think they know I’m alive.”

Taglist: @puzzleddragon02 @sleepy-night-child @drippingmoon @thegreatobsesso @thelaughingstag

#syndicate #excerpt #terran #raymond #bridge #rayran

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bruh-haikyuu · 4 years

Text

@arcangel-wings REQUESTED: Heya! I’m new to your blog and I really like your writing! Can I request Tenma Udai with an s/o who’s a baker while he’s in hs? So like he’s a delinquent and she’s a sweetheart who’s always giving people the stuff she bakes? Everyone thinks it’s weird but they fit together kinda thing 🥺?

A/N: Thanks for requesting!! This is über cute. Fem!Reader as alluded in the request^^

kilig. | udai tenma

word count: 2155

warnings: manga spoilers!!

(n.) the rush or the inexplicable joy one feels after seeing or experiencing something romantic

“Chocolate is the ingredient for love~!” you say after pouring what seems to be an entire bucketful of chocolate chips into your bowl.

Your friend Saeko has seen just about enough of your nonsensical chatter about baking, your boyfriend and your abundant love for both. Already exhausted from a recent scolding by the vice-principal, she decides that it’s better off to smile and nod rather than try to come up with a snarky remark for your innocent mania.

“T-That’s a lot of chocolate,” she blurts out. When she picks up her spatula from the bowl, the girl grumbles at the sight of a liquidy trail drizzling down the utensil. “Ahh geez, it’s not supposed to be like this, isn’t it? Katagiri-sensei’s going to fail me again...”

You smile and hand her a bowl of flour. “Don’t worry, Saeko-chan. Just add a bit more flour and you’re good to go! You can never go wrong with cookies.”

The halo above your head is nearly visible. Saeko swears she can even hear angels singing to her in the background as you mix away on your fragrant bowl of dough. You don’t even seem real—from your angelic grin down to your overwhelmingly flowery aura. It’s tough enough to imagine that you’d ever talk to her of all people, but to imagine you’d go for a guy who’s just as much of a thug...

Unthinkable! Saeko shakes her head. She’d thought you’d pulled a joke on her the first time you announced that you were dating... him. Udai Tenma, star of the Boys’ Volleyball Club, a red-hot beacon of undomesticated temper.

She’d always known you liked him—though which part of him you liked is somewhat still a mystery to her—and as much as Saeko wanted to protect you from those ruffians, that absolutely infatuated look in your eyes was too much to bear. And eventually, she succumbed to your incessant ambitions of high school romance.

“You’re a saint, dude,” she sighs longingly. “I don’t get how you’re still dating that guy. I’m not really one to say anything about this, but don’t you think Udai’s kind of a jerk with the way he treats you?”

You chuckle, like a sweet grandmother about to tell a nostalgic tale to her grandchildren.

“I suppose you can say that Tenma-kun is a bit shy. He likes to act tough and mighty when he’s around people, but he’s actually just a normal boyfriend with a very sweet tooth and a penchant for manga.”

Saeko scowls. “Normal’s normal, but you have to at least let him know that you have your limits too. I really can’t stand leaving the two of you alone, w-what if Udai breaks your heart, or worse—”

“Tanaka-san. If you have time for chatter back there, then surely, you’re finished with your cookies?” at the sound of the grouchy Home Economics teacher at the front of the class, Saeko quickly returns to her bowl in a sorry attempt to look busy.

Deciding to humor her interest, you lean towards her and whisper lowly. “I’ll be fine, Saeko-chan. He may not look like it, but Tenma-kun’s actually very cute.”

In her mind, it’s much easier to simply handcuff herself to you so that you’re under her watch at all times possible. But your gaze is nothing short of genuine—you really love this guy, and the fact that you’re still with him, assures Saeko even just a tiny bit that he might not be so bad after all... with you at least.

You’re already storming away in your little world of baking. It amuses your best friend whenever you’re off making your personal masterpieces (“‘Masterpiece’ is absolutely right!” she’d say while stuffing her mouth full of your mini tarts). Each and every one of your creations are whipped up with the utmost amount of love and care, and for just the right reasons, everyone’s been pestering you to set up a bakery after high school. Your regular patrons just happen to be the Karasuno Boys’ Volleyball Club—with the addition of the lively Coach Ukai who is rather fond of how much filling you put into your red bean buns.

As regular as regular can be, you’ve found yourself visiting the Volleyball Club clubroom after school every Wednesday to hand out your treats to not only your aloof boyfriend, but also to his friends, his coach and the prostrated manager who direfully needs a pick-me-up. And suddenly, you’re ‘Karasuno’s Cookie Goddess’.

“Ah, you’re making another batch, Y/N?” Saeko perks up when you split your dough in half.

“Yep!” you giggle, essentially a high school student drowning in love. “I want to make something special for Tenma-kun today.”

“... What’s the occasion? Is it his birthday or something?”

You shrug, face absolutely alight. “Nope, I just want to give him a surprise~”

══════ ⋆★⋆ ══════

Tenma isn’t exactly unapproachable. It’s just that people tend to avoid him at all costs. Perhaps you were just bold... or remarkably stupid, but if you hadn’t addressed him that day, life would’ve probably been drabber.

Your parents and your friends (with emphasis towards your overprotective Saeko-chan) had shown their unfiltered concern when the news of your relationship circulated like wildfire. What was the analogy they used, again?

“You’re like a rabid bridge troll and a rabbit! It doesn’t work!” You could only laugh at their valiant efforts of a correlation... if they were really trying to make one. But after a few more reassuring pushes and awkward family dinners, they’ve come to be more lenient about your little ‘liaison’.

But you never feel like you have to worry when Tenma is around. In fact, when Tenma is around, you feel calm—even when he’s spouting off curses to a taller rival.

There’s a warmth unlike any other when he holds or kisses you. And though you’d have to drive him through hell and waters to say it out loud, you already know that every action he does for you is out of love. Words are material, it’s the action that counts, right?

“Sorry for the intrusion~!” you call out into the open doors of the Boys’ Volleyball Club’s space.

A flash of obnoxious yellow hair flashes before your eyes and suddenly, an imposingly tall figure appears in front of you out of nowhere. “Cookie Goddess!”

“Good afternoon, Yukimura-kun,” you smile. “Is there only you right now?”

“I’m here too, Y/N-chan,” the lax-faced captain Tokito emerges from the room in the midst of zipping up his jacket. His eyes flicker towards the packages in your hands and a smile cracks on his face. “Ooh, chocolate chip cookies today~”

You quickly raise the fragrant bags of treats into their view, bringing in the remaining swamp of boys from the clubroom. Suddenly, the common hallway is blocked by an influx of starving teenagers who are rampaging on about your existence.

“So good...” Yukimura murmurs dreamily, mouth full of chocolate. “Man, anyone would be lucky to have you as their wife if you were to cook them these everyday.”

A brazen first-year with frosted tips elbow him and sighs. “Too bad you’re taken, huh, Y/N-chan-senpai? If it were me instead of him, I’d always make it a point that ‘Heeey... guess what my girlfriend made for me today~ Isn’t she the best—”

“Oi, brat. Whose girlfriend do you think you’re talking about?”

The gangle of boys freeze up simultaneously at the grouchy voice behind you (aside from Tokito, who’s yawning at the whole ordeal). Whipping around to the dark aura boring holes into your back, you immediately light up at Tenma’s presence.

“Tenma-kun~!” you launch at him with your arms wide open. You’re ready for some sort of swerve from him, so you make sure you protect his bag of cookies with your arm... You’ve learned this counter-attack the hard way, of course.

But what you don’t expect is that your boyfriend makes no move to avoid you at all.

“H-hey! Don’t just lunge at me like that, you idiot! What if you fell down and knocked your head open?” Ah, at least the embarrassed comment is there.

You can only smile at him kindly. From the edge of your eyes, you swear that you can see a light blush dusting his face as your boyfriend gains newfound interest in your shoes.

“Come with me for a while,” he finally grumbles, effectively breaking the silence between the both of you. Grabbing your hand, Tenma leads you down the little aluminium staircase, eliciting small grates from the steps below you and a mass of curious whispers from the group you’d just left behind.

“Hey, Udai-kun~” Tokito calls out, a lilt of roguery in his tone, “Make sure to get back in time for practice, okay? And keep Y/N-chan in one piece, won’t you? We can’t get another Cookie Goddess if you don’t.”

When he turns into a secluded corner away from the prying eyes of his teammates, you can hear him audibly huff and mutter something under his breath. As silence lingers between you, you nearly forget about the reason why you came to visit.

“I made some cookies for you, Tenma-kun,” you say to him, urging the neatly wrapped bundle into his hands. “I hope you like it.”

You can clearly see the hesitation in his eyes when he takes it in his hands. You can probably guess why.

(“Y/N, your skills with a knife are scary, dude,” Saeko grimaced as she watched you trail over the dough with the gleaming blade of your paring knife.

“Aaand... done!” you proudly wiped the sweat off your forehead. It would’ve been more helpful with a cookie cutter around, but you figured that it would’ve been more heartfelt otherwise.

‘Heartfelt’, you pondered on the word for a moment. Would this be too heartfelt for such a rag-tag person like Tenma? It would probably be better to go for something simpler, just like the other days...

Nah. You shook your head as you chucked the tray of heart-shaped cookies into the oven.)

You’re hoping for a shocked response from him, but Tenma only grumbles meekly. You brace yourself for another scolding for acting too chummy with him, or being too affectionate, or—

“You shouldn’t get too close with other guys.”

Wait.

Tenma crosses his arms, the curls of his hair falling gently over his forehead. His pink cheeks darken into a soft maroon. “If they found out you’re giving me this sort of special treatment, they’ll be all over you the next day, asking for it too... I don’t like it.”

The laugh that rises in your throat threatens to burst. What is this, you think. Your stomach hurt from the mere image of this innocent “delinquent” professing his jealousy for you. If he was like this all the time, wouldn’t that be an interesting change... Aah, your boyfriend really is cute, isn’t he?

A giggle escapes you and you watch him jolt in chagrin. “Tenma-kun, you’re so red.”

“I’m not!” he yells rather briskly, then shoots back at you. “You can’t say I’m red when you were all burning up as you were giving me these heart-shaped cookies.”

Touché. “I’m glad you like them, Tenma-kun.”

His gaze visibly softens up as you give him an angelic smile. “Uh, yeah. Thanks.”

At times like this, you really do see the boy who’d shyly confessed to you under the shade of the summer ginko tree. It wasn’t anything of a distant memory, it was just that Tenma’s usual demeanour and your unrelenting tolerance hindered the both of you from being completely outward with one another. Maybe something like this isn’t so bad after all.

“I-I have to go back to practice. You can go home by yourself, right?” your boyfriend clears his throat, urging you to leave.

Though you wished the moment would last a little longer, you know there are other countless shared opportunities with him. “Mm-hm! You do your best in practice, okay?”

He ruffles your hair and chuckles endearingly.

“Atta girl. Now go home before Tokito catches me getting all touchy-feely with you.”

Bidding him goodbye, you sullenly trudge away from your boyfriend (and his friends waving back at you from the balcony). Then the idea strikes you.

Special cookies ought to have a special flair to them, no?

Cupping your hands around your mouth like a megaphone, you shout, loud enough for his teammates to hear. “I love you, Tenma-kun~!”

And the crowd goes wild.

══════ ⋆★⋆ ══════

From: Tenma-kun ♡

Subject: Untitled

(15:58) Now Tokito’s all over me thanks to you, making me do extra diving drills. You better make more of those cookies as compensation, idiot. Be prepared for it.

(15:58) Btw, don’t forget to look both ways when you cross the street on the way home. If you get into an accident, you won’t be able to apologize to me properly.

(15:58) ... Hey.

(16:00) I love you too.

#bruh haikyuu writing #haikyuu!!#haikyuu #haikyuu x reader #haikyuu imagines #haikyuu scenarios #haikyu #udai tenma #udai tenma x reader #haikyuu fluff #udai tenma imagine #udai tenma scenario #karasuno x reader #udai x reader #little giant x reader #sfw

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stanknotstark · 3 years

Text

Astral Pt. 10 (Loki x Reader)

So im out eating right now so ill add the link to the last part in an hour and stuff also I did not beta read this part and apologize if I need to change something later on but I want to try and keep up with posting at 5:30 so im releasing it 🤗

Alright we finally have some actions and many open ended questions that I’ve got to close up BUT we also experience one of our main villains warriors. If you read the comics you’ll immediately know who the main villain is (Or Google it but I suggest not doing that if you want to be surprised :p)

You knew having peace and hanging out with your team and Loki would only last for so long, but you were still saddened when it came time to finally work.

You’re all on the top most floor of the Avenger’s tower, the War Room as Tony called it (sounds a bit over dramatic but it was Tony so...). Fury is there in hologram mode, sitting in the middle of a large custom made table that had the Avengers logo engraved into the middle of the dark oak.

“What kind of readings are we talking about?” Stark asks Fury.

Fury’s hand comes up and swipes at something invisible on his end and it translates to Stark’s theater size screens on the wall. It’s a bunch of graphs, statistics, and other jargon you can’t understand. You raise a brow when Tony and Bruce gasp and start talking in hushed tones to each other.

“Tony, make this english so everyone can understand what’s going on, please?” Steve asks.

Tony clears his throat and points to one of the graphs, “According to Fury’s collected data, Thor give Jane a big hug when you next see her, they’ve picked up on some form of energy spikes in the middle of Death Valley, Nevada. Like we’re talking colossal size spikes. ”

You look at Loki who sits up in his chair next to you and squints at the screens.

“I know what these ‘energy’,” Loki says energy like it’s disgusting, “readings are. It’s magic from another realm. Specifically, it’s time travel but...” Loki frowns and you watch as his eyes become almost fearful.

“Spit it out, Reindeer Games.” Tony says, sounding concerned at Loki’s fear.

“It’s time travel across an alternate timeline.”

Tony blinks. Bruce frowns and pushes his glasses up to the bridge of his nose. The entire room is silent.

“You wouldn’t happen to know who caused these readings would you?” Tony finally asks.

Loki, who has a neutral face now and the fear is gone from his eyes, shakes his head. “I can’t know for sure unless I can inspect the magic in person.”

Finally Fury speaks, you had almost forgot the director was even here. “Prepare a quin jet Stark, get Loki and whoever else you deem reliable to escort. We need to figure out who came for a visit and if they’re ally or enemy as soon as possible.”

Fury disappears from the table and Tony gets into worker mode immediately. He points to you, claiming you’re the close combat person, to Clint, who is your ranged fighter, and to Natasha who would be pilot and your extraction.

Things become a blur after that. You remember going to your room and jumping into your Shield issued attire (Stark had yet to make you your own suit), and meeting Loki at the roof where a quin jet readied for take off. Before you walked into the quin jet Loki stopped you, his hands holding your shoulders making you face him.

“I promise that I will let nothing harm you, you’re my first priority and if things get violent I will teleport us away to safety.”

You nod but give him a small smile, “I can handle myself but it’s good to know I’ve got someone watching my back.” You then push onto your toes and give Loki a peck and make your way to the quin jet.

The ride there is tense and quiet. Loki says he’s putting a spell on you that acts as a shield but doesn’t specify how it works.

Looking back you wish you would have asked how it worked.

Landing around 100 meters from the destination Clint, Loki and you leave the ship and begin your trek to the site.

“Holy fuck! If I could strip out of my skin I would.” You say to Loki and Clint. Death Valley’s temperature was a recorded 130 degrees today.

At your displeasure Loki slows till he’s next to you and puts an arm around your shoulders. You look at him questionably but gasp as his arm generates a coolness that at least stops your sweating. You make sure not to say anything so Clint, in front of you, doesn’t become jealous.

The trip to the site is very uneventful. Even reaching the site is uneventful. About 30 meters from the site you see nothing. Literally, it’s just desert, surrounded by high cliffs, for miles.

So you snoop, you walk around the site as Clint and Loki argue about whether the coordinates are correct.

“I swear, this is what Stark gave me so, if they’re wrong, blame him!” Clint says, exasperated.

“It can’t be wrong I can feel something pulling at my magic but-”

That’s when you run into an invisible wall and yelp as you fall backwards onto your butt.

“Found it!” You cheer as a space ship slowly appears, the colors changing and shifting from the point you hit till the whole thing is uncovered. At first glance the ship looks futuristic but once you overlook the whole thing with Clint keeping his distance, and Loki exploring with you, you realize it’s shaped as a sphinx.

Very fitting for the desert surrounding the ship.

“Work you magic.” You tell Loki and he does. You both congregate at the head of the ship/sphinx and he waves his hands over it, his green magic trailing out here and there to touch the ship. Loki himself mutters under his breath.

You keep your eyes on him but also keep vigilant about the area. You finally get an idea and close your eyes for a second, your magic leaving your body and passing through the ship. No life forms. When you open your eyes again Loki lifts a brow at you, still muttering.

“No life I can detect.” You tell him and he nods and focuses back on the ship.

You put a hand to your ear piece and tell Clint, “I don’t sense any life forms but I’d keep a close eye anyways.”

Clint gives you an acknowledgment.

Loki finally stops his magic and drops his hands to his sides, just as he looks at you and you hear Clint yell into your ear, you’re hit by a concussive blast. When you look up in shock you see one lone humanoid figure walking towards Loki, who although wasn’t in the way of the blast also got blasted back, curious you think. Loki had immediately gotten into a defensive stance after getting up from the blast, one hand on his back holds three daggers, the other hand put up in a manner meant to calm the figure.

You quickly get on your feet and stand next to Loki, your magic congregating at your balled fists.

“Listen, buddy, I don’t know who you think you are-” Loki hisses at you, trying to get you to stop antagonizing the being that is close enough to identify. He is tall, around 7 feet tall and is dressed in a skin tight tank and leggings that are a dark purple color, it looks like metal but it’s too flexible to actually be metal. His head is encased in a tight helmet that frames his face and covers his head from his forehead, up, in a way that makes you think he is bald underneath. You shiver as you look into his eyes, they glow white.

“Identify yourself.” The being says. Standing casually as if he didn’t attack you.

“I am Loki, Prince of Asgard, and you are?”

The being stands there silently. You huff. “I’m y/n, of Earth.”

The being stands still for a few seconds then gets into a fighting position.

“I am here to take y/n, anyone who stands in my way shall perish.”

Loki immediately grabs you and teleports you to Clint, you yell out angrily as he teleports back to the being and they start fighting. Loki throwing magic and daggers at the being. You gasp, the first ball of magic Loki throws at it makes a purple light encase the being, in a rippling effect, who then grows a bit. Hawkeye lets loose some arrows that explode on impact. It does nothing but make the man grow even more.

Loki also realizes what’s going on because he stops attacking the being. The being takes his chance and lunges at Loki. Loki isn’t fast enough and takes a blow to the head. You scream and begin running towards him as he lays in the dirt discombobulated. Clint tries to grab your arm but misses you just so.

In your ear you hear Clint tell Natasha to ready the jet. Before the being can get to Loki you throw yourself over his body. When he’s a few feet away you look at him with furious eyes.

“Stop!”

To your surprise the being stops mid step, considers your words, then stands in place. You frown but look at Loki who is watching with fascinated eyes, recovered from the hard hit he took. You watch as blood trails down the side of his face and out of his ear. He probably can’t hear out of his left ear.

Looking back up at the being you ask it, “Who sent you? What are you?”

The being stares at the two of you but answers, “I am Subject 52103 Growing Man, and my master sent me.”

You feel Loki tense under you and assume he knows who his master is.

“Tell your master to leave Earth alone, that if you or him show your faces here again, the Avengers will take you out without hesitation.”

The Growing Man nods and leaves in a flash of purple and black.

Letting out a tense breath you stand and help Loki up. Making your way back to the quin jet, you pick up Clint.

“Why does he want you?” Clint asks, looking at you.

You walk, holding Loki at your side, the hit from the Growing Man doing enough to leave him a bit disoriented and sluggish.

“I don’t know and I’m not quite sure I want to know.” You say. Loki stays conveniently quiet the entire walk to the quin jet. Clint doesn’t ask anything else either.

Pt. 9.1/Pt. 10/?

Tag list: @justfangirlthingies @emelieh99 @high-functioning-lokipath @loveableasshole

#astral pt.10 #astral #loki x reader #loki #loki odinson #loki laufeyson #reader insert #my writing #GUYS we're starting to get into the mystery here #why does the being want you #why can you command it #what the ever loving hecko is going on?!#:)#poor loki i had to hurt him a bit but it's ok you'll take care of him :p #he's a god he'll recover

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mouse-fantoms · 3 years

Text

Based off this lovely art by the lovely @pintobeanart

Sparkles

Julie adjusted the way the jacket laid on her when she looked in the mirror.

“See! Told you it would look good.” Alex felt victorious that his outfit suggestion looked just as good as he thought.

Julie was in her room, getting ready for their newest gig while the boys were on her bed. Luke sat criss-cross on her bed, Alex sat on the edge and Reggie opted to sit on the floor with his back leaned against her bed. In the short amount time, the ‘Stay out of my room!’ rule seemed to dissipate.

She had, at most, 20 minutes before having to leave to go the newest gig they booked. A collaboration gig with Dirty Candi. In the past, Julie would have never guessed the collaboration would be the case. However, Carrie was becoming the old her that Julie knew and had grown up slowing but surely. She made her remember why they were ever friends in the first place.

“Is it too much?” She pulled her curls over her shoulders, testing hair that could go with the look.

“For Dirty Candi? Never enough sparkles.” She nodded in agreement with Alex’s statement.

“I like the jacket.” Reggie smiled, having his input on the cropped sparkly leather jacket Julie had on, her Stand Tall jacket. She had to match the sparkles that were Dirty Candi.

“Hmm I wonder why?” Luke asked, sarcasm seeping out.

“They are quite comfortable.” She adjusted the fit of the sleeves while defending Reggie’s outfit choice.

She started to run her fingers through her hair, a skeptical look crossing her face as she thought of what do it with it.

“Maybe a ponytail.” Luke put in.

“Ooo, yeah and a high one too.” Reggie shared his idea.

It was always helpful having the input of the boys for her looks for their gigs. They didn’t have much of a wardrobe choice, with their 90’s clothes and clothing out of bags to cycle through. However, Julie’s closet had much more options. It was fun trying to match the boy’s 90’s appearance with what she currently had.

When she put up her hair in the high ponytail, she saw the nods of approval from the boys in the mirror. However, when she looked at herself, she didn’t know what but something was missing. She noticed the clear cylinder containers on her vanity, along with the tube of lash glue on its side. A sign.

“Aren’t you done?” Luke seemed impatient.

“Adding the finishing touch.” They saw her dab something clear under her eyes, across the bridge of her nose. She started to fan both sides of her face.

“What-? Are you going to cry?” Alex seemed concerned.

“No, no, no!” She immediately calmed the boys. “I’m waiting for it to become tacky.”

They apparently needed more of an explanation than that.

“Waiting to apply.” She held up the round container of glitter.

All their pupils seemed to grow in size in combination with their mouths becoming circles when seeing the sparkles. Alex turned behind him to see his friends had the same exact expression he had. They started to exchange a look with each other.

Julie immediately knew what they all were thinking when she saw their faces. “You know... if only one us has the sparkles... that’d look very out of place.”

“Do you have red?” Reggie raised his hand before being called on.

“I have a lot of colors.” She gestured to the containers that were lined up. “Why don’t you three decide who’s going first while I put mine on?”

She heard mummers and she applied the purple glitter to the glue under her eyes. She turned around when she heard the mummers stop when she finished putting on her glitter. She saw that Alex was sat at the ottoman at the end of her bed, he must be going first.

She grabbed the tube of glue. “Do you want it under your eyes or-”

“Same as yours.”

She nodded as she carefully applied the glue in the same spot she did hers.

“We need to wait till that becomes tacky.” She informed. “While we’re waiting what color do you want? Rainbow? Pink? ...Some other color?” She felt like she already knew what he wanted.

He looked at the bracelet on his right wrist that matched one of the options. “I can do rainbow?” It has come out a whisper question than anything else.

“Or I have light pink, dark pink,-”

“...I’ll-” he cut himself off to adjust his volume to his normal one, “I’ll do the rainbow.” He said clearly with a smile. He didn’t even need to look behind him to know that his friend’s had the same smile as he did.

“Great!” She seemed excited at his answer. She grabbed the capsule of red glitter. But then looked at Alex, the glitter then at Reggie. “Actually Reggie, come over here.” He scooted next to the ottoman Alex was on. She bent down and started to apply glue under his eyes. “It’ll just be easier to do all the red I need now. Then I’m not risking making a mess.” She explained once done with Reggie’s glue application.

After, she went back to Alex and carefully applied the red glitter to the right side of his face. She was more careful with his since there were more colors and it would look neater with no over lap of colors. Once she was done with the red on him, she moved over to Reggie.

He couldn’t help but jump up to admire the new addition to his face in the mirror. “Luke! Look how sparkly!” He dived on the bed and moved his head around to show the sparkles to his friend. Luke couldn’t help but smile at the excitement from Reggie.

Julie continued to put the small glitters across Alex’s under eyes, hoping she estimated right with how much to put on of each color so it wouldn’t look wonky in the end.

“Are you doing it diagonal across?” He could have opened his eyes and have seen some in the mirror. Though, it was relaxing closing his eyes as she worked her magic.

“Not straight.” She said without really thinking until she got a chuckled reaction from all of them. “Yes diagonal.” She agreed while also having a smile from what she had said.

She had put the red, orange, yellow, and green on his face, reapplying the glue that had become dry on him. It was when she reached for the next color that she was reminded of who else had to go.

“I can go after you’re done with him.” Luke already knew what she remembered when she paused before applying the blue glitter.

She nodded as she added the blue then indigo then purple to finish the look off. “You’re all set. ” She stepped aside so he could see himself in the mirror.

As soon as he moved his head around, all the sparkles shined. “Definitely eye catching. Can see why Dirty Candi sparkles so much.”

Julie looked at Luke, the odd one out who didn’t have glitter on his face yet. “Do you want blue or-”

“He might want purple.” Reggie input.

“Or maybe purple and blue.” Alex added.

They knew exactly what they were doing with the colors they suggested and the implications of them.

“I can do blue.” He tried to tune out his friends who were being embarrassing. “I mean not that I don’t want purple, it’s a great color, it’s just that you know you’re already wearing the color and I wouldn’t wanna take that away from you. Plus, do purple and blue even look good together? I mean I hope they would, it would be a shame if they didn’t. Because purple is such a-”

“Got it. Blue for you.” As much as she wanted to hear Luke explain why he liked the color purple, Alex and Reggie were enjoying it too much as he fumbled over his words.

She grabbed the blue glitter container and the glue and sat on the bed across from Luke, matching his way on sitting cross cross on the bed. She unscrewed the glue.

“Why don’t you two make sure everything is ready before we have to go?”

“Really?” Alex sighed. “I mean we’ll just poof in and it’ll all be there and it’ll-” the look from Julie said otherwise, “Alright, let’s go Reg.”

“Oh, that wasn’t hard.” Luke said when the two had poofed away. Sometimes it easier than others to make the two leave.

“Now that they’re gone you can explain to me why you like the color purple.”

...Well he wasn’t completely in the clear even without the addition of Reggie and Alex.

“Oh well,” he looked up when she started to apply the glue, knowing perfectly well he didn’t need to, “it’s a great color... it looks great with anything-”

“Even blue?”

“I mean, if you think it looks good with blue then... yeah sure. I mean I’d hope it looks good with that color because- oh that stinks so bad.” He got a whiff of the glue.

“Oh don’t complaint,” she smiled, “Alex and Reggie said nothing of the smell.”

“How close are you getting to my eyes with that? It feels like you might go right into my eye.”

“I’m putting as much on you as I did their’s.” She capped the glue when she applied an even layer on.

“This is gonna suck to take off later, isn’t it?” He now looked at her since the glue part was done.

“...We can figure that out later.” She fanned the sides of his face to make the glue become tacky quicker.

“That was really great that you gave the option of rainbow for Alex.”

“Yeah.” She smiled trying to imagine how much it meant to him. “I figured he’d probably go with pink but considering I had all the colors for a rainbow... he could go with that.”

“We definitely couldn’t have done something like that back in the day.”

“Well,” she unscrewed the blue glitter, “happy to tell you that times have changed.”

She started dabbing the blue on him. This time, he didn’t look up. He continued to look at her.

“Do you want this blue all throughout? I have other shades. I could do a gradient from dark to light or-”

“Do you like blue?” He asked in more of a whisper than intended.

She hesitated, still applying the glitter. “...It’s a complicated... color. Not that it itself is complicated just- considering the other factors of that... color.”

Subtly was absolutely not their game.

“...Even with purple it looks... good?”

“...I mean what do you think?”

“Hey! You can’t turn this back around on me. I’m asking the questions this time.”

“Fine,” she rolled her eyes, “blue is-”

“Oww, oww, oww! That’s like right in my eyeball.” He cut her off feeling a rouge glitter irritate his eye.

“I was distracted by your questions.” She tried to fix it while he leaned away to try to fix it himself. “Come back here you’re gonna make it worse. Luke come-”

“Oww!” He let out trying to fix it himself, even though he couldn’t see anything at all with what he was doing.

“Well now blue’s being complicated.”

“Well purple is- OWW! OWW! Okay, okay, help please.” He leaned back to her while scooting closer so she could get out the loose glitter as soon as possible.

Like a game of Operation, she meticulously removed the single glitter.

“That was almost a catastrophe.” She showed that she was successful by flicking away the straggler. “Sorry I called blue complicated.” She added the last blue glitters to his face.

“Sorry I almost said purple was taking too long with her answers.”

“Blue did the same with his.” She pointed out.

“I know blue did, makes more sense purple would take more time with hers.”

They might have been beating around the bush, but the two smiled at each other knowing what the other was meaning when they said the color names.

“There.” She signaled she was done by putting the lid back on the container.

He looked passed her shoulder in the mirror. “Wow!” He seemed happy with the job she did. “You should do this more often.”

“Just not the getting glitter in the eye part?”

He laughed. “Yeah not that.”

His eyes couldn’t help but look at the glitter on her as her eyes did the same with his. Conscious of the distance between them.

“Maybe purple would look good with the blue.”

“Now you tell me that.” She laughed.

“Unless, making a dark purple would be another option.”

Theoretically, given that the colors were stuck to their face and couldn’t mix to make a new color, making dark purple would be a challenge.

“I think,” Julie gave her input, “purple and blue would look rad together.”

It wasn’t until later at the performance, when the light hit the glitters on the Julie and the Phantoms band, why there seemed to be extra mic shares than normal, even with the inclusion of Dirty Candi on the stage. When the light hit, was when the drummer and bassist noticed the little mixture of purple and blue glitters across their friends’ faces. A sprinkle of blue on Julie’s and a bit of purple on Luke’s. At least it was true that purple and blue looked good together.

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missinghan · 4 years

Text

countless skies upon me ⤖ lee minho

❖ genre : fantasy; action; fluff; angst

❖ word count : 16,5k.

❖ warnings : explicit language, mentions of blood + violence

❖ summary : when you stumble upon the notoriously skilled swordsman of Kalmburg, your heart finds itself wanting to get closer to his.

❖ a/n : this is the full extension of this blurb that I wrote impulsively after rewatching an old anime, please give swordsman minho a whole lot of love 🖤

prologue.

Minho’s wooden sword gets knocked out of his grasp, landing onto the floor with a loud series of clattering noises. The little boy widens his eyes when the tip of another wooden sword hovers over his stomach and he looks up to be met with the stoic gaze of his mentor.

“What did I tell you yesterday, Minho?”

“That I need to make more progress on improving my reaction time,” he answers grimly and rubs his forearm, head hanging low in shame. “I need to know the timing of the enemy like the back of my hand and use my own timing in which they don’t expect.”

His mentor retreats his sword swiftly, humming, “You got distracted, you weren’t observing my stance before I lunged at you. By narrating the enemy’s preparation, you can partially map out their movements, when and where they’re aiming for. That’s why you were taken aback and this allowed me to disarm you with little effort.”

“But master!” Minho pries stubbornly. “It’s not very fair if an opponent can’t fight with their sword, is it? A sword is supposed to be the coil of a swordsman’s strength. It’s all we’ll ever have.”

A fatherly smile dances on his mentor’s lips this time. “Strength is simply an illusion, there are far more important things,” he places a warm hand on Minho’s shoulder, speaking softly.

“And it doesn’t matter if you still have your sword or not, fighting isn’t an obligation, it’s a choice. A choice whether you’re going to fight until the very end or not.”

one.

Market stalls crowd the route, selling sacks of nuts and dried fruit, grilled meat hanging on lines after lines of roasting skewers. Powdered spices lay in rust red and dusty yellow and bright green piles spill from sacks as large as feed bags. Mixed and familiar scents cut through thin air, people bumping into each other, toes trodden on. Lovers stroll hand in hand, casually browsing whilst housewives hustle and bustle, hollering over background noises for the best price.

Minho ends up walking through the entire market before getting to work that day with an apple in his stomach, silently like a phantom, blending into the sea of people effortlessly.

To him, work is just like another day in the market for stallholders, another pile of weapons needed to be honed and repaired for blacksmiths and another batch of bread to bake early in the morning for bakers.

Except his job is somewhat… questionable and considerably dangerous for a guy who looks nothing like a warrior. At least that’s what he’s been told. Rather pretty-looking eyes being hidden under his long fringe, a high and slim nose bridge, sharp philtrum. He’s not that tall either and doesn’t necessarily have as many muscles as he initially wanted. But the swordsman doesn’t listen to his muscles to fight, he listens to his mind and becomes one with his blade.

There’s no need for a shield or armor, for he thinks they’re doing nothing but getting in his way and slowing him down during combats. Minho draws his sword with no more qualms than a middle-aged lady gossiping about her irritating neighbors and slashes his enemies while thinking about what he’ll be making himself for dinner that day. There’s no joy for him in violence, but he takes extreme pride in a good clean kill. He has a reputation to maintain and that reputation keeps him safe in this world.

A man approaches Minho from behind, leaning himself flat against the wooden bench that the swordsman has situated himself on for the past hour. The guy never makes the first move, that’s what he’s been told.

“Twenty thousand units,” the masked client speaks up, his voice mellow and slightly muffled. “If you can bring back the head of a shadow wolf that’s been lurking around the Dunst forest these days, I’ll double the price. Silver-white fur, brown eyes. Make it quick too, and you can have sixty in total. He’s been eating up one too many of our sheeps already.”

His lips twitch subtly and he crosses his legs, keeping his tone low but clear, “Shadow wolves can’t handle the cold that well, why would one roam around a place with such tremendous decrease in temperature at night?” The sound of coins crashing against each other in the leather pouch suddenly irritates him.

“C’mon, Black Swordsman, how would I know these things? I’m just merely a guy who’s trying to get by in life,” the man chuckles lightheartedly but Minho isn’t finding anything funny. No one ever gets the upper hands in a deal with him. “Look, I heard you’re good at your job and you sure look like you know what you’re doing so why don’t you just take the mon—“

Minho stuffs his hands into his pocket and sighs, “Don’t think so lowly of me, I don’t accept deposits. I’ll only get my money once I’m done with the job. Meet me here tomorrow at noon, sharp. And if I don’t show up, consider locking your sheeps inside.” And with a grin through his flat lips under the mask, the cryptic client leaves Minho alone by the bench, fully satisfied with his attitude and reactions.

The brunet gazes at the space ahead for a good ten seconds, thinking rather deeply about this before waving his hand absentmindedly, calling out to the errand boy who’s been hiding behind the ugly tree. “You can come out now, Jeongin. Did you catch any of that?” he asks without turning around.

“Every single word,” Jeongin cancels the spell that’s been his cover during their entire conversation before stepping out, pursing his lips together. “A guy who’s trying to get by in life but still has twenty thousand to pay you beforehand? Sounds absurd to me.”

“Enough with the brainless chatters, you know what to do,” Minho pushes himself off the bench when his muscles start growing sore on the hardened surface. “If you do a good job, I’ll treat you out for dinner. Now run along, Chaeryeong is probably looking for you, don’t be late to class.”

Jeongin holds him back by the sheath of his sword, “You’re still going to accept the job? I don’t think it’s worth the risk. He’s obviously setting you up.”

“If anything, I might bring his head back instead of the wolf’s,” Minho replies monotonously, and Jeongin lets his hand fall to his side. The swordsman turns on his heels to see concern laced in the younger boy’s eyes, this prompts his voice to soften. “Don’t worry, a single wolf can’t hurt me,” he ruffles his hair before slipping into the crowd again, making his way towards the mountains to enter the Dunst forest.

He wouldn’t mind dying alone, actually. It’s not like he has any regrets.

two.

The city of Kalmburg has it that no one has ever surpassed Lee Minho when it comes to the art of swordsmanship.

“If you’re going to take on a guy who can parry a crossbow bolt with his sword as he’s contending against five other men, it’s time to re-evaluate the direction of your life—preferably while running away as fast as you can.”

The man walks up to the center of the town square every single day at the crack of dawn, his figure fully covered in a big black cloak, the hood thrown lazily over his head. All you can see is the strides he takes with his black combat boots. He almost belongs, but not quite. Kalmburg is known for its dashingly ornamental architecture — a white granite surface with serene spires can be seen from the castle at the top of the hill, soothing atmosphere and generically nice residents. Some say no beauty can be compared to its sunrise due to the dashing sight of a lake situated before the town square’s gate.

Whereas, Lee Minho gives people a stark contrast with his dark aura and the black sword hung firmly on his back. He easily takes in everyone’s attention with a single sweep, his midnight orbs setting on nothing before he leaves as expressionless as he’s entered. His purposes and motives always remain hidden; hence the allure. Though it’s not hard to see how he’s making a good living on a daily basis.

For one, he slays monsters; and for another, he deals with people. Outsiders might be surprised at how many units the Nobles are more than willing to pay him as long as he comes back alive, with the beast’s head limp in his hands. There were times when he’d come back covered in a sea monster’s gastric juice, other times he could barely walk back to the town because his spleens got severely damaged. But most of the time, he’d return as though he just got back from a stroll, outstretching his palm to collect the payment.

Dealing with people is far more troublesome than those deadly creatures, Minho constantly tells himself so. It’s true, after all. Because when careless juveniles aren’t able to snatch their parents’ spare change on the dining table, they decide it’s a brilliant idea to challenge him for a duel. If they win, he’ll have to follow their request without receiving a single penny. But if things go the other way around, they will most likely come home crying for their mother. Such a nuisance.

Today is no different.

Moving into the morning dew is a shadow wolf. His paws kiss the earth not gracefully, but rather with evident difficulties and there’s a ray of exhaustion in that pair of bronzed eyes. The wolf has seen better days. His silver-white fur is thin and it clings to his frame like an old cloak in a gale. Even from several yards away, Minho can count each rib as they’re sticking out, he sees dejection in his movements as if he’s gonna let himself tumble to the ground any moment.

Minho carefully inhales, pulling out a silver dart from the back of his belt. He raises his hand and aims precisely for the pine tree, just a strand of hair away from the wolf’s ear. When he exhales, the weapon comes flying past the creature before embedding itself to the wooden surface.

The wolf whips his head towards the swordsman, locking eyes as he lets out a mere cry of pain, crimson dripping down on the side of his head. As Minho pulls his hood off of his face, slightly dubious that the creature of darkness will turn into a wisp of black smoke to take flight deeper into the forest, the wolf shakes his head before lying down on the soil, unable to coordinate his limbs. Then with his great grey head on his bloodied paws, he closes his eyes. He’s giving up on his life.

“Something’s wrong. Shadow wolves’ blood isn’t supposed to be red,” Minho holds his breath in utter disbelief, taking a step backward. He’s got the wrong target. No, that client scammed him.

A branch snaps.

Minho reaches for his sword when the sound of thin air being ripped apart rings inside his eardrums, two blades coming in contact with each other and he has to squint slightly when tiny sparks of flame come to life between the weapons. Instead of looking at the raider, he quickly deflects their slash again. Hypothetically speaking, there are two possibilities: the first is that both swords are too weak to withstand the pressure of the blow, so they’ll simply break - in the exact same fashion. The second is in which case both blades are durable enough to field the contact, they will bounce right back. But his unwanted guest seems to detest him so much to the point they keep their sword grinding against his until their weapons slip against each other, creating a wave of grating shriek resonating through the woods, dust being thrown in the air.

He stumbles backward, the sole of his shoes tearing the leaves below into bits. His vision shakes a little from the sudden attack before trying to focus on the figure before him. The first thing that he sees is the white wolf on the button of your silver-accent cloak. That’s the royal guards’ emblem.

“You,” the female voice catches him by surprise. “Lay another finger on that wolf now, I dare you.” You know all too well who this man is, and like hell you’re going to let him do what he wants just because of some cheap units.

Minho’s fully aware that his beating heart is thundering inside his chest, but he’s not sure if it’s because of the adrenaline flowing in his veins or those round eyes glaring at him from under the sunlight. He sees the grip on the hilt of your rapier being tightened and that’s when he regains his composure, taking in a deep breath. If he gave up now because of a pretty face with a deadly blade, he’d damn his reputation as a swordsman.

“Oh that wolf is all yours,” he smiles at you fakely, wiping the beads of sweat on his cheekbones away. “But you’re going to have to do better than snooping around on people.”

Minho steadies his grip on his sword, trying to keep himself together in the deafening silence, “So, who’s making the first move now?” The tonal mockery in his voice irks you and he seems to notice that too by the slight smirk tugging at his lips when the muscles on your face twitch.

One. Breathe in.

You’re getting into your stance sideways, your blade eye level. This man doesn’t know what he’s getting himself into.

Two. Breathe out.

Minho isn’t letting his guard down this time despite being slightly impressed with your skills. Usually, there aren’t many girls who take up sword fighting, at least not in his hometown so he thought you’d be sort of a novice. But your dexterity is beyond incredible, he can hardly see the tip of your sword.

Three. “I am.”

You charge first by swinging your rapier at him from above, Minho receiving the clash with the flat of his blade. He circles away from you, keeping his sword in motion while constantly changing his stances and attacks. Rapiers aren’t very suitable for slashing or slicing since the blade is so long and thin, it can only allow its owner more speed, more precise stabs and thrusts but greatly lowers their defense. So if he can just catch you off guard…

When the tip of your sword grazes just above his clothed ribs, Minho’s reflexes kick in and his blade knocks yours away almost immediately. With the bewildered look on your face as a signal, he dodges as you attempt another stab at his left ear. This causes you to trip on your heels, your balance quivering the moment his sword slashes at the button of your cloak rather than your neck. To prevent yourself from falling, you jump and do a backflip safely, breath’s fraying as the piece of clothing is completely ditched by a tree.

“You are strong, just like the rumors,” you breathe out a stoic comment, chest heaving up and down rapidly.

“You aren’t too bad yourself either,” Minho grins; he hasn’t felt this much eagerness to fight someone other than monsters before. In other words, he’s never faced someone who knows what they’re doing with a sword as skilled as you are.

You cock a brow at him, confused, “Why are you smiling?”

“I don’t know, actually,” he shakes his head and hearty waves of laughter bubble up inside his stomach. The brunet sheaths his sword with a loud ‘clunk’, walking towards you to place a warm hand on your shoulder. “But good fight, you really know how to hold a sword.”

“Wait… aren’t we going to finish this?”

Minho picks up your cloak from the ground, outstretching his palm, “You seem like a person who knows what it takes so I don’t think that’d be necessary anymore. But I’d be glad to take you on again?”

This man is baffling you, and not in a good way either. Nonetheless, you still slide your sword back into its sheath and accept his handshake. “So you’re gonna leave that wolf alone right?”

“Only if you tell me what happened to it,” Minho replies firmly, receiving a nod of approval from you. He actually seems like a solid person. Perhaps you can trust him.

“That’s my brother, Chan.”

three.

The forest hums with life all around you. You lift your head ever so slightly when the sunlight slips through the green leaves and branches, lighting up the dirt path ahead decorated with outgrown roots and wildflowers. You gaze up at the fluffs of clouds, searching for the birds that are singing sweetly. Minho trudges on before you a couple of steps, finding the natural fragrance of the current surroundings rather soothing. It’s making his eyes droopy.

“What happened to him again?”

He stretches his limbs tiredly and yawns like there’s no tomorrow, making you scrunch your nose in disapproval. He’s not even paying attention to you. It’s been at least an hour since you’ve mounted an unconscious Chan on your horse — Noir and accepted this cryptic stranger as your guide for now. You’ve never been to this forest more than once so it’s best if you follow him—an experienced individual in order to get your brother back safely.

You frown at him, giving the back of his neck a firm slap while your other hand is holding onto the rein. “Ow, what was that for?!” he yelps.

“You weren’t listening, were you?”

“Remotely,” he hums out a reply, “I didn’t sleep that well last night.” And that’s when you notice the dark spots under his eyes, the occasional tears whenever he squints his eyes under the sunlight. The job’s more draining and demanding than you thought.

To be fair, slaying monsters and getting your hands bloodied might not be the best thing to do to a degree of morality but you really can’t judge him when you’ve only known him for a few hours. Minho’s far younger than you’d expected too. You’ve had your strolls downtown from time to time with your fellow royal guards and it’s not hard for rumors to fly. People were gasping and bouncing on the balls of their feet talking about this mysterious swordsman who’s dressed completely in black, a single one-handed sword, no shield, and no armor. They really had you thinking he was an old man in his forties who has no regrets, just trying to get by in life no matter what it takes.

And you’d be lying if you said you didn’t find him charming the moment you saw that handsome face under the big cloak.

“He was recovering from a business trip so our mage decided to treat him with a special potion,” you nibble on your bottom lip, looking over at your worn out brother sideway in concern. You’ve wrapped his injuries up with some of the cloth that you’d packed before leaving this morning, he should be fine. “I guess something went wrong; hence, he’s magically turned into a wolf, panicked and bolted out of the castle. And you know how cruel people can be sometimes…”

“Oh, sorry about that,” Minho feels a big lump in his throat when you secretly toss a glare at his direction. “I should have known something was off the moment he started bleeding red.” He shakes his head, highly disappointed in himself for mistaking Chan as a shadow wolf. His professional etiquette forbids him ever repeat the same mistake.

You stop dead in your track, cocking your head at him in confusion, “What do you mean?”

Wait, no, something’s wrong. Something’s terribly wrong. It can’t be that simple. “You’re still going to accept the job? I don’t think it’s worth the risk. He’s obviously setting you up.” His steps come to a halt, only a few feet away from you and before you can even tap him out of it, Minho snaps his head back, grabbing you by the shoulders. “Tell me, when you first entered the forest, did you encounter any wolves? Even just one?”

“N-No, I don’t think so,” you stutter, slightly flustered at the sudden decrease in proximity. But you soon shake the heat on your cheekbones away when he lets go of you, pacing back and forth to think hard about something. “Uhh- what are you-”

“Shh shh..”

“Did you just shush me-” The wind whistles in your ears and you stumble backward when Minho draws his sword, the blade coming in contact with something hard and deflecting it successfully. Your jaw is locked at the sight of an arrow sticking to a tree not very far off. That could have been your head instead...He just saved your life.

“Someone’s coming, take cover.”

Minho carefully tugs your horse over to a nearby slope when you hop off the main pathway, waving him over to a big tree. You both get down on one knee as the sound of armors crashing against each other grows louder, dreadful footsteps becoming more detectable. Swiftly, Minho notices the color of your bright blue cloak can easily be detected right through the bush and clicks his tongue in annoyance. He unbuttons his black coat, silently draping it over your smaller figure. For a second there, you widen your eyes at him but soon ensconcing yourself obediently under the leather fabric.

Stepping into your vision are two familiar faces, Minho’s breath almost hitches in his throat when he realizes they’re clothed in the same blue and white uniform as yours. Both equally emitting the same hostility and mettle—as expected from the astute royal guards.

“Hyun-”

You stagger backward when Minho clasps a firm hand over your mouth, shaking his head while you’re giving him a ‘what are you doing?’ look. The moment you manage to peel yourself away from his grip, your fellow colleagues are nowhere to be seen. They must be looking for you since you left the castle this morning without a proper announcement. “What was that about?! They’re my friends, now if you’d excuse me-”

“They aren’t the most trust-worthy people right now,” he lets out a sigh. “Think about it. They’re parts of the few people who could possibly see Chan the day before he turned into a wolf. And I’m sure the royal mage wouldn’t have such a reason to spike the commander of the guards. I don’t see how it’d benefit her if Chan was to take a break from his position. On the other hand…”

Is he accusing one of your friends of harming your brother? And for what too? A higher rank in the team? Preposterous! “Why would I trust you then, Black Swordsman?”

Minho cringes inwardly at the nickname because good gracious, it’s so unoriginal. He’s heard about plenty of Black Swordsmen before during his wandering all over the Continent. They’re basically cryptic-looking swordsmen dressed in black...people really need to come up with more colorful monikers.

“Because I just saved your life from those people whom you called ‘friends’,” he blinks at you bluntly and the hand resting on the hilt of your sword tenses up.

You take in a deep breath, slowly considering his deductions. It’s not like he doesn’t have a point but you don’t understand as to why Hyunjin or Changbin would want to overtake your brother, they’ve only become a part of the royal guards four years ago. You might not grow up together but after going on plenty of adventures and living in the palace, you’re practically family.

Still, humans are made of greed after all.

“I can’t believe I’m doing this,” you exhale. “You’re going to help me figure this out for throwing a dart at Chan’s ear. But if you even think about hurting him or make a single move that prompts me to think you’re doing something behind our back, I’m going to tear out your spine with my bare hands.”

Minho chuckles at your threatening tone, slightly scared for his life, “There’s no need to worry, miss…” You raise a brow at him when he trails off rather flusteredly. “Ma’am? No- uh, vice commander? What about lady…”

“The name’s Y/N,” you can’t help but break into a fit of giggles, amused at his sudden discomposure. Seems like this man has been chit-chatting with monsters more than having civil conversations with other human beings for his whole life. “And would you get your hands off me now? We don’t have to hide anymore.”

His chest swells a bit at that if he’s being honest.

four.

“Aren’t we supposed to be at the castle?” Minho looks at the log house before his eyes questioningly. Not that he’s complaining, he doesn’t think it’s the best idea for him to show up in front of royalties either.

You pull off your hood and say, “No, the royal mage doesn’t live there.” After a few knocks with your knuckles on the wooden door, hurried footsteps are audible from inside the house—whoever’s in there must be dying to see you, Minho thinks.

“Yeji, how are y—“ The door flies open and a figure thrashes against you faster than a lightning bolt, their arms wrapped around your torso, rubbing your back tenderly. You’re slightly taken aback but smile nonetheless knowing that your friend was worried sick like she’s always been. “Hello to you too, stupid.”

This prompts Minho to avert his gaze away awkwardly, the grip on Noir’s reign tightening evidently and your horse lets out a small neigh, nudging her nose against his side like she’s attempting to appease him. He murmurs a small ‘thank you’, hand reaching upward to brush through her shiny black coat. Shaking his head, he snickers at himself for talking to a horse.

Yeji mumbles against your neck in relief, like someone’s just lifted a weight off her shoulders, “Good gracious, Y/N! Are you okay? You just left without saying anything. Changbin and Hyunjin said they couldn’t find you in the woods and Chan’s gone missing for a few days now and I got so worried I-”

“Slow down, Yeji,” you give her a firm squeeze in reassurance, chuckling. “It’s barely been a day. I did manage to find Chan, surprisingly, thanks to Minho, well, partly.”

“Who’s Minho?” she pulls away to get a good look at the man standing next to your horse, eyes widening in surprise. Dressed in black, one-handed sword, no shield, and armor. “Is that the Black Swordsman? Like the Lee Minho? He’s the real thing?”

You grit through a stiff smile, “As real as it can get.”

“Huh, and I thought he’d be some old, balding man in his forties,” Yeji comments while eyeing the swordsman up and down, making him somewhat uncomfortable. “He knows how to use a sword, is young and quite the looker too. Ohh I see what’s going on here..”

You warn her with a clap on her forearm, “You’re embarrassing me in front of that jerk.”

However, she ignores you and pushes the door open, motioning for Minho to carry Chan inside. “Move quickly now, Black Swordsman, I suppose Chan’s condition must be critical, his heartbeat and the blood flow in his veins is increasing at an alarming speed.”

Minho looks around in awe when he steps into the log house—there’s not much for him to say about the house. Furniture is self-explanatory enough: a single bed, a comfortable chair made with what seems to be one of the finest materials, a wooden shelf above the fireplace with an array of potions with different shades and colors, windows completely covered with curtains. It’s not much, but it does feel homey. He would be able to find a place like this with ease if he hadn’t wasted all of his money into information dealing and weapons trading.

“It’s nice, isn’t it? The house, I mean.”

Yeji’s question snaps him out of it. And he looks over at the table where Chan’s lying, immobile and his bronzed eyes droopy and his breaths mingling. There’s a strange, bright light pulsing from the mage’s fingertips when she hovers her palm over Chan’s bloodied ear. Minho watches as the light flickers from a shade of white to blue, enveloping the open wound and heals it completely. He meets Yeji’s eyes before she pulls her hand back, her eyes glowing gold before turning back into a deep brown. The art of magic is truly fascinating.

Minho manages to blurt, slightly flustered, “What?”

“You said the house’s nice, I simply agreed with that statement for it is true,” she briskly reaches for a flask, inside holds a soft green-colored liquid with golden specks floating around.

“I didn’t say anything,” he frowns at her when she brings the rim of the flask to Chan’s mouth, pouring the odd-looking liquid down his throat.

You speak up from behind her, arms crossed in front of your chest, “Yeji, stop reading people’s mind that’s creepy.”

“Okay I’ve got everything I need for the potion that’ll manage to turn Chan back into his human form,” Yeji tells you while rummaging through her wooden cabinets filled with bottles after bottles, grabbing some along the way as she comes back to the table. “But I’m missing some crystals. And I’m not talking about those fake ones that you see at the stores, the ones I need are way towards the north, in Drachens Hohle, on the Restless Cliffs.”

Minho hums, brows knitted together, thinking rather thoroughly about this. “Drachens Hohle is pretty far off, it might take us an entire day to get there, and then another day climbing those cliffs...we might need to pass by a store of a friend of mine to pack some stuff since I suppose you won’t be returning to the castle anytime soon. We’ll get moving as soon as possible,” he mumbles and nods to himself, satisfied with the plan.

“Let me just make one thing clear here, Black Swordsman…”

He screws his eyes shut when air suddenly gets ripped apart, only opening them slowly after and almost flinches at the tip of a dagger pointed directly at his nose; one wrong move and his eye will be gone. Minho doesn’t know what should startle him more—the blade gleaming with a bright shade of yellow or the dark look in Yeji’s eyes when he meets them. He’s seen Chaeryeong do it many times before—incorporating magic with weapons, to better the damage output while maintaining the defensive factors.

“If you lay just one single finger on my friend, I'm going to turn you into a mere, pathetic, little sparrow and lock you in a cage along with other pieces in my collection.”

Minho panics, feeling nauseous at the thought, “What collection?”

The mage withdraws her knife and laughs it off, “I was messing around with you, there’s no collection. Look after her for me, she can be quite clumsy sometimes.”

“The clumsy one here is you,” you mumble bitterly in the corner, extremely embarrassed for the sake of your friend. You might as well dig a hole and bury yourself in it.

Unexpectedly, the wooden door is once again pushed open, two men barging into the log house abruptly. You and Yeji remain still in your current positions while Minho touches the hilt of his sword, ready to draw it. “Don’t bother, they’re friends,” you wave at him absentmindedly before pushing yourself off the chair, walking over to the front door.

“Y/N, where have you been?!”

“Hello to you too, Bin.”

Changbin pushes past Hyunjin and jabs his index finger at you, eyes filled with both rage and concern. “What were you thinking? If you’re going to find Chan, we’re going with you. We’re a team and he’s our brother too! Don’t you remember? That was an irresponsible and childish action to do, you’d better have a good explanation for this. If you’re going to do something, at least act your role in the team more properly.”

Hyunjin pulls him back by the arm, shaking his head, “Changbin, stop. There’s no point in arguing. What’s most important is she’s gotten back safely.”

You eye both of your teammates back and forth, skepticism and uncertainty rising from the pit of your stomach. If what Minho said was true, then the culprit must be one of them. Or was he lying to you, trying to mess with your mind in order to achieve a personal goal of some sort? After all, you’ve only met him today yet you’ve known Changbin and Hyunjin for years now, why would you even hesitate to choose your friends over a total stranger?

“I wasn’t alone.” Changbin pauses at your words. “He was with me, this is-”

“Lee Minho.” You gape at your friend in disbelief.

Minho’s hand pulls away from his sword, a strange glint flashes in his eyes for a moment there. “It’s good to see you’re doing well, Changbin,” he says with difficulties, clearly not knowing how to act.

“Why were you with her?” Hostility washes over the atmosphere when Changbin croaks out, fists clenching in anger. “Y/N, what were you doing with a scumbag like him? Haven’t you heard enough rumors about this guy? People like him only care about themselves, they’ll just end up hurting you in the end. There’s no good in letting him stick around.”

When you squint your eyes at him, Changbin takes long strides towards you, grabbing your wrist and attempting to pull you away. “Yeji, please take care of Chan for the time meaning and we’ll be heading back to the castle. Y/N can’t just leave when we need her the most.“

Minho tugs you back towards him and voices firmly, “I’m sorry, but your vice commander belongs to me now. I’ll be responsible completely for her security and escort her with all my respects. You’ll simply have to make do without her for some days.”

Changbin lunges for Minho’s collar, anguish seething inside his chest. “Insolent bastard! On what basis do you think you have the right to protect her? You might not be a threat, but you’d better stop pretending to be a hero.”

“A hero? Like you?” He shouldn’t have said that.

Hyunjin looks rather concerned, rubbing his friend’s shoulders, “Changbin, we should go.”

“Seo Changbin, Hwang Hyunjin,” you step in between them in disquiet, shoving Changbin away. “As vice commander of the royal guards, I will be coming with Lee Minho in the next few days on an important trip and I stand by my own decision. If my absence causes the team any trouble, I’ll be more than happy to receive the punishment from our superiors. You two are to return to the castle until further notice, continuing on with your service for the king and queen.”

“As we should,” Hyunjin smiles at you sweetly before walking over to Chan, giving the wolf a small pat on the head. In return, Chan lets out a displeased growl but it’s too small to notice. Minho watches the guard from afar, suspecting the strange glint in his eyes. He decides to say nothing about it.

“I’ve already warned you about him, don’t come crying for me when things go wrong.” With that, both of the royal guards excuse themselves out of the log house—Changbin shutting the door angrily after Hyunjin bidding you goodbye with a hug. This makes your heart heavy for not being able to trust them. You still don’t understand as to why, but you have a sudden faith in Minho, your intuitions are telling you that you should trust him.

Softly, you ask, “You know Changbin?”

“He’s an old friend, we haven’t talked in a while,” Minho shifts uncomfortably in his chair, finding the topic rather awkward to talk about. “We didn’t get along that well back then either. Glad to see nothing has changed.”

You shouldn’t have asked him in the first place.

five.

A wide variety of shops lined the streets of downtown Kalmburg: antique and art stalls, jewelry, and accessory shops, luxury boutiques, souvenir kiosks and stores selling leather goods, all showcasing an array of the finest wares in the area. Tourists flock to them like fireflies to a lamp, enthusiasm accentuating their features. The silvery melody of the drawl of sightseers and the strong, distinct accents of the locals drift through your ears as they amble by.

You follow Minho to the very end of the streets with your cloak draped over Chan’s limp body. No one needs to know why there’s an unconscious wolf on the back of your horse. Alas, you both arrive in front of an old wooden door, the mahogany color fading as a result of time. He told you that he needed to pass by a friend’s place but doesn’t this place look a bit fishy-

“Five hundred units for ten bags of Philenor powder, and you’re good to go!”

A blond-haired boy peeks out from a client behind the counter. “Well if it isn’t my least favorite customer,” he voices cheerfully.

“That’s because I’m smart enough to not buy any of your shit, Jisung,” Minho walks in with a grin, pitifully eyeing the dreadful-looking man who’s taking heavy strides out of the shop. He’ll learn someday. “Still running your greedy business as usual I see.”

The dealer named Jisung returns the sarcastic remark with a gummy smile, bumping his fist against Minho’s in a brotherly way. “Don’t speak so ill of me, will you? This greedy business is housing you,” he retorts, “I suppose you’re going to hog my place tonight as you always do, Black Swordsman?” So turns out he spends his night slumbers in this old crusty shop, no wonder people think he sleeps in the woods since they’ve never run into him outside of the town square before.

“Actually, I won’t be in town for tonight,” Minho’s answer catches Jisung off guard. “I’m heading north, to the Restless Cliffs.”

“Another life-risking business trip huh. You’re going to need warm clothes, some supplement, and probably some medicine too,” Jisung hums to himself. “Hey, Felix! Get your butt over here and sharpen a sword!”

You detach your rapier from your belt and take a few steps forward before placing it onto the counter. “Uhh, can you perhaps do the same thing for my sword? I’m coming with him,” you try to appear as friendly, not wanting to startle him.

But to your dismay, “Y-You’re one of the th-the royal guards!”

The younger boy looks over at you, utterly bewildered when he sees the emblem on your uniform. His eyes look like they’re about to pop out of their socket any second now. As if to fuel the fire, Minho jerks his head towards the direction of Noir, speaking casually, “Also, ask Chaeryeong to take care of the wolf and the horse for me. Tell her to be gentle too, the wolf is hurt and confused. Don’t let him drink potions that aren’t tested beforehand.”

“You brought injured animals to my shop?!”

“One more thing, I need to see Jeong-”

Jisung has to manually shut him up by swinging an arm over his neck, forcing his friend to tumble over the wooden counter, their cheeks pressed against each other. He’s practically spitting into Minho’s face at this point. “What in the world is an outcast, stubborn-headed of a loner like you doing out here with a royal guard?! Didn’t you say that having other people coming along would only get in the way? I thought you worked alone! What’s the deal man?”

“Ahaha, it’s a long story. You see-”

“Excuse my discourtesy for I haven’t introduced myself properly yet,” Jisung stops and averts his gaze over to you, soon letting go of Minho when you flash him a crooked smile. “My name is Y/N, second in command of the royal guards and I’ll be stuck with this dimwit for a while, it’s a pleasure to meet you.”

Jisung reciprocates your bow, the look in his eyes softening a bit, “And I’m Han Jisung, freelance dealer, single, I’m looking for a—“ Minho finds it irksome how his friend is already out and about, starting a proper conversation without almost getting killed by you so his fist moves on its own, jabbing against the blond’s stomach, forcing air out of his mouth with a low grunt.

“Don’t mind him,” he turns sideways to reassure you, holding back the twitching muscles on his face. “He’s a decent person, despite how creepy he can be sometimes.” Jisung then elbows him harshly as a payback, making a scene when they start wrestling with each other like a bunch of toddlers. This makes you snort involuntarily, the Black Swordsman isn’t as fully-fledged as what’s been told around the public.

“Kids, that’s enough,” you tell them after making a grab for one of your pouches on Noir’s back. “Minho, why don’t you go meet up with the blacksmith? And Jisung, do you perhaps have a kitchen that I can borrow?”

While Minho’s mumbling something under his breath, hugging both of his and your sword to his chest to make his way behind the counter, Jisung nods at you, lifting a curtain next to a shelf full of weapons, gems, crystals, and potions that leads you down a dark, narrow hallway. “It’s not much,” he says and lights a candle so none of you would trip over each other. “But I hope it helps.”

“Don’t even, doing all of this for a stranger like me is incredibly generous of you,” you say humbly, not wanting to take anything for granted. “I’ll definitely return the favor when I come back.”

Jisung stops walking all of a sudden, causing you to almost bump into his back. “Is that so? Then, uhh…” he scratches the nape of his neck sheepishly. “How do I say this..? I know Minho can be irrational sometimes, loves pretending like he doesn’t care, and always runs into fire. So please..” His throat starts growing dry as he lowers his head a bit, attempting to bow at you.

“Take care of him for me, will you?”

You smile at the blond-haired boy, warmth flaring through your rib cage like butterflies, “I assure you he’s in good hands.”

six.

That night, you and Minho spend the whole night, the next morning, and the afternoon walking barefooted from Kalmburg to a small village at the base of the Restless Cliffs called Drachens Hohle. And it’s anything but Kalmburg. Rustic cabins dot the grassy hills as trees stand up like spikes, zigzagging the border of brick roads and unpolished homes. Rivers stream through deep valleys. The town is as complex as the heart, the streets are the veins, paved with red stones and the people are the heart. They look like they don’t own much, but are willing to share everything and anything. It’s the smiles on their faces, the way they greet each other, the sound of weapons and breastplates being pounded into shape that shows you just how alive this small community can be.

The motel Minho chooses looks like one of those places where men with beer guts would be snooping around with their neighbor’s wife, paying by the hour; a place where random hookers and drug-dealers would thrive. There are external wooden stairs that lead to a second floor, the second row of doors, that looks like the building inspector was either bribed to pass it or drunk on the job. You insist on finding a better place than this rat-hole but Minho said you don’t have to waste a couple of extra pennies just so the beds can be softer.

After dinner, you both receive your own keys before going upstairs to your respective rooms. A dingy place like this isn’t able to provide much when it comes to furniture anyway so there’s only a plain bed with pillows and a blanket, a nightstand with a pitch of water, and a small candle beside it. You sigh while casting your eyes around the room one last time. It’s just for one night.

“Y/N,” Minho gives your door a few knocks. “Are you asleep yet? I have something to tell you.”

You’re still halfway done with unpacking your stuff so you try to yell back without turning on your heels, “Not yet, just come in. I didn’t lock the door.”

He hums as a response before pushing against the wooden surface, closing it with a small ‘click’ after. “I just ran into the mayor downstairs,” Minho starts speaking and that’s when you finish putting your sword away, turning to look at him. And your cheeks inevitably grow hot since the first thing you have to lay your poor eyes on is his collarbones. This bastard really has the audacity to keep his buttons anywhere but a degree of appropriation.

“Hey, focus,” he snaps his fingers as an attempt to knock you out of your trance, not noticing how he’s obviously the distraction. “It took an hour for him after rambling about his childhood and his love for the village to finally spill something about the kind of crystal that we need. At least pretend like you’re paying attention, will you?”

“I was paying attention,” you mumble loud enough for yourself to hear it. What a white lie.

Minho quirks a brow and leans himself against the wall, looking amused, “Hmm, sure you did. Now, where were we? Ah! The mayor said those things aren't very hard to find, the only problem is that the field where they grow is right in front of a dragon’s den. No one has ever made it back in one piece. Chances are there might be other random monsters on the way…”

Suddenly he stops talking, confusing you. “What’s wrong-“

The stiff look on his face seals your lips almost immediately. Faster than a lightning bolt, Minho turns the doorknob and rushes outside. “Who’s there?!” he snaps at the hooded figure running towards the end of the dark hallway, reaching for the sword on his back only to realize it’s not there. “Shit, this isn’t good.”

“Someone was eavesdropping. We’ve got ourselves a spy.” You close the door again after Minho walks inside, facepalming himself onto your bed dreadfully.

He supports himself upward on his forearms and runs a hand through his hair, “Look, I’m not saying this because I’m doubting your abilities, I just want to guarantee your safety as much as I can. Their motives and patterns are getting pretty much unpredictable.” When he looks straight into your eyes with his warm, brown ones, your heart dips ever so gently. “Would you mind if I were to spend the night in your room?”

Your lips grow agape, your jaw almost drops to the floor. No one has ever asked to spend the night in the same room as you, not even Ryujin—your closest friend out of all the royal guards. Heck, you’ve barely known this man for a good three days yet why is it that your heart didn’t even hesitate? Are you scared? Most definitely not. Then what is it? What’s this weird, fuzzy feeling that’s been stirring inside your stomach for who knows how long?

“.....fine, but don’t try anything.”

Your heart is being weak again.

“Just what do you think you’re doing?”

You place your hands on either side of your hip when Minho comes back from his room with his pillows and blanket scattered all over the floor, organizing them neatly with his sword leaning against your nightstand. He flickers his eyes upward to look at your judgmental ones, slightly shaking from the cold and nervousness. “I’m getting comfortable?” he tells you, blinking innocently.

Shaking your head at Minho, you snatch the pillow from his hands and situate it on your bed, right beside your own. “Hurry up now before I change my mind,” you decide after some time of consideration. The floor doesn’t look necessarily clean, and it’s not like Jisung would pack any extra clothes for him to change into. You’re just being nice like any normal, civil human being would. You’re sharing a bed with a stranger, nothing out of the ordinary.

“Oh, I’m good,” Minho scratches his head with a sheepish smile. “The floor is fine for me.” Although the cheap material of the mattress does look more convincing than the hard, cement surface.

You squint your eyes at him skeptically, “Are you sure?” He then puts his hands up in defeat as though you’re pointing a knife at his throat and motions for you to scoot over with a wave of his hand. You both shuffle around after he slips into the blanket with you, shifting until you’re facing the wall while Minho’s staring awkwardly at the front door. Well, this is kinda nice, he thinks to himself when your back brushes over his every now and then.

“Uhh, sleep tight, I guess?” Minho says before leaning over the nightstand to blow out the candle.

“Goodnight to you too,” you spew out your last words of the day, deciding to keep your lips close before you embarrass yourself any further. Okay...maybe one last thing before you completely pass out. “Uhm, Minho?”

He replies softly, “Yeah?” Seems like he can’t fall asleep either.

Minho tosses himself over the moment you move your body and this causes your faces to be inches apart, his warm breath fanning your cheeks. Although you can’t see him clearly due to the limited source of light, those round eyes are definitely piercing right through you, leaving your heart pounding faster than usual.

“Can you tell me…” you nibble on your bottom lip hesitantly. “What happened between you and Changbin? You guys weren’t being very civil for old friends.”

When he shifts slightly again to face the ceiling, his arm brushes against yours but he does nothing about it. He likes the lingering warmth from the tips of your fingers.

You watch in awe as Minho stares up at nothing, broken bits of sadness floating softly inside his irises like an unwanted scar from his past; it’s tragically beautiful. “It was years ago when this whole monster hunting thing started,” he starts calmly, finding it hard to not look at you. “I wasn’t alone, Changbin was there with me too.”

Then, he continues, not knowing that you’re widening your eyes at him, “We were in an assault team, traveling all over the Continent and making a living out of slaying those creatures. We didn’t have much back then, but we had each other. Unfortunately, everyone has their own secrets despite our promise of not hiding anything from each other. Changbin was planning on leaving the group to go on a different path, and I...I would secretly sneak out alone every night, throwing myself into danger, thinking that I wasn’t good enough…Truth is, I was just being selfish.” His voice trails off, trembling as if each word pains him, like a thousand arrow wounds straight into his heart.

Bitter. Unforgiving. Pain.

“I knew that I was lying to them, that I should just leave without saying anything,” Minho swallows hard like someone’s stepping on him, forcing air out of his lungs mercilessly.

“But I never belonged anywhere, they were all that I had—my only family. I longed for that warmth, that feeling of being at ease so I just, I couldn’t leave. One day, we were hired to clear out a dungeon through an anonymous letter. It raised some skepticisms in my head since I’ve gone there before, there was nothing, no monsters, no nothing. Even so, I was held back by my own cowardice, I was afraid they might question me. I didn’t stop them when they accepted the job, it was good money.”

Your voice fails you when you open your mouth to say something, so you wordlessly slips your hand into his, hoping that you’ll be able to convey some of your heat to his cold fingers. As if feeling encouraged by your action, he doesn’t push you away and regains his composure.

“Turns out, my intuitions were right, we got scammed,” Minho says. “A group full of criminals attacked, wanting to keep all of our money for their own. We cooperated and gave them everything, yet that wasn’t enough. They needed to seal our lips for good….Only Changbin and I made it out alive, three mobsters from the gang died under my blade that day. I confessed to Changbin later on, he didn’t forgive me. I couldn’t forgive myself either, the only family I’d ever have was gone, my arrogance and pride killed them.”

Silently, you pull him towards you, caressing the back of his head like he’s gonna fall apart the moment you let him go. Minho’s breath hitches in his throat as he sees you wear a smile on your face, your starry eyes twinkling when moonlight slips through the crack of the wood-lined window, pieces of glass chipping off on the edges. You’re breathtaking, unearthly.

“I’m not going to die, I know that you’ll protect me just fine.” There’s a wide-eyed expression on his face, his lips falling open but his words die in his throat. A tear unknowingly rolls down on his cheek, consequently blurring his vision with waves of sadness that only the broken would encounter. You let him nuzzle his head into the crook of your neck, his fists grabbing at your shirt until his knuckles turn white.

Minho cries into your chest unceasingly, “I don’t have any real strength. Without my sword, without the anonymity that has been casting terror and curiosity on people, I’m just Lee Minho, the coward who only ever knows how to run away and hide behind the shadow of the Black Swordsman. Changbin was right, I don’t have any right to even think about protecting you.”

“My father used to tell me,” you stroke his hair gently as choked sobs punch through him, pulling him back from the opening arms of his grief. “Strength is simply an illusion, there are far more important things.”

He stops for a moment, nostalgia hurling him back to the memories of two decades ago when he was still just a boy, training hard with his wooden sword while someone watched him from afar, a pleased look lingering on their lips. Tears pool in his eyes again when that person’s face flashes inside his mind but the hollow space inside his heart isn’t the same, there’s a ray of joy that’s managed to make its way through a crack of his walls.

“And I don’t care if you’re the Black Swordsman or not, I only know the cryptic-looking guy who crossed swords with me and wasn’t willing to back down that day. I knew, I just knew that even without a sword, you could have beaten me. Because fighting isn’t an obligation, it’s a choice. A choice whether you’re going to fight until the very end or not.”

His tears can’t extinguish what has happened, yet only carry him forward until a time comes when that searing pain is distant enough to forget rather than remembering. And maybe one day, it might erase itself from his conscience for good. So perhaps it’s not much of an oddity to thank the salty liquid streaming down on his cheekbones. They’re a living proof for his morality, a barrier to save him from becoming a monster—indifferent to suffering and sorrow.

Minho sees the fatherly smile on his mentor’s face, just like the old days. And then he sees you through his blurred vision, momentarily breathless at how close you are.

“After all, I have a promise to keep,” you tell him but it comes out more like a reminder for yourself. “I won’t let you die even when I’m no longer capable of picking up my sword and I mean it. As vice commander of the royal guards, you have my words, Lee Minho.”

An ignited desire wells up at the bottom of his heart, and it baffles him. Lee Minho, a coward who’s willing to turn his back on everyone just so he alone can exist. A bastard who betrayed his only friends, who didn’t even try to plead for forgiveness, who coldly walked away from those painful memories. Such a self-absorbed being like him doesn’t deserve a simple ally, let alone something much more intimate than that.

Then he starts to remember why he’s here, with you. Your smile. Your voice. Memories are flooding back into his head about this girl who made her way into his life abruptly yet so easily. And before he knows it, she’s all that’s on his mind.

So instead of giving in to his nightmares like he would every other night, Minho stops reminiscing his bloodied past, surrendering under the sense of familiarity radiating off your touch.

seven.

You both stand in awe as the great mountains loom before your eyes, cold grey crevices holding the blood of the fallen. While the lower passes wear a cloak of greenery, the peaks are crowned with a headdress of ice. As though the earth has a pulse, it rises through the mountains, creating their bold silhouette. From carved rocky outcrops, waterfalls drifting like skeins of white lawn, and in the fields, you can see the amber glint of the rivers and the occasional mirror-like flash of the lake.

The mountains soar upward like they wish to plant a soft kiss on heaven, wanting to have a taste of the horizon all around. The path ahead winds as effortlessly as a blanket laid on a bed, yet each step feels heavier than the previous one, draining your energy. It only gets steeper and narrower as you make your way closer to the top, but giving up is not an option. You’re willing to go to the other side of the world barefooted, searching for every corner, every edge of this planet if it means bringing your brother back.

A gust of wind howls in the distance, piling up snow in drifts, blinding your eyesight with ice-white dust. You try walking, bending over against the cold, protecting your eyes with your clothed forearms. Everything looms into your vision before vanishing completely, swallowed in white. “Minho?” you call out to him after a few minutes of not looking forward, waving one of your hands around until it can feel something.

Another hand reaches for yours, and you snap out of your daze when the coldness on the tips of his fingers is clasped against your palm. “You’re as slow as a baby turtle,” he comments lamely while staring ahead, not letting you see the coral shade scattered across his cheeks. “Let’s just hurry up and get back, I’m hungry.”

Breath pale against the numbing air, you blink thoughtfully while gazing down at the sight of his fingers being intertwined with yours as the frost patiently kisses your face. He’s still wearing the same old pair of fingerless gloves, no wonder his hands are freezing. But you suppose it’s because he doesn’t want the grip on his sword to slip.

“Oh, I actually have something for us to eat,” you retract your hand to fish it inside your bag, already missing his warmth. “I guess we should have lunch, either way, we’ve been walking before the sun even rose.”

Minho makes a noise of confusion before bringing his steps to a halt, turning his head to see you pull out something being wrapped neatly in paper, giving it a slight jerk towards his direction when he continues to stare at you blankly. Wordlessly, he takes it and sighs, eyes widening when the smell of grilled meat invaded his nostrils. Inside the wrapper is a sandwich made from thinly sliced bread, generously stuffed with meat and vegetables. The peppery aroma inevitably makes his stomach rumble and without another word, Minho chomps on his lunch portion like a hungry child; the sandwich is long gone before he realizes it.

“It’s...good,” he licks his lips to clean up the remaining sauce in the corners of his mouth. It doesn’t look any different from the ones he’s seen inside restaurants but the taste is what reminds him of something he ate as a kid, he almost teared up while inhaling it. “Where did you buy this? I’ll make sure to pass by the place when we get back.”

“I didn’t buy it,” you stride ahead of him to hide the giddiness in your stomach. “I made it yesterday at Jisung’s place. That’s why the bread got a little soggy if you couldn’t tell already.”

Minho fixes his collar and his hearty laughs echoes through your eardrums, stirring up feelings inside your stomach unabating. “You would make a fortune out of these,” he tells you while trying to catch up, following your steps in a hassle. “But now that I‘m thinking about it again, you shouldn’t do that, I’d hate to see people getting to enjoy the same food as me with some cheap units.”

You blush (out of anger) at his statement and attempt to cover it up by stepping onto his toes. This causes him to yelp while stumbling backward, almost falling onto his bottom. “Why did you feel the need to do that?!”

“I can just make you more if you like it that much, you jerk,” you murmur mostly to yourself but he hears it nonetheless.

A smile makes its way to his lips, and a fuzzy feeling bubbles up inside his stomach. He’s not sure what it is, but he’s not complaining, really. It’d be nice if he could have the same delicious meals when he’d retired, dozing off while watching the sunset with his significant other and his own kids in his arms. It’d be nice if he could have a place to come back to when he needs a break, a shoulder to lean on and someone to tuck him into bed. It’d be nice if… He looks at you again after those shameless thoughts and immediately, embarrassment dusts his cheeks pink. His face feels hot despite the puffs of cold air escaping his lips.

“Hey,” Minho pulls you to a stop by the hand, suddenly giving it a squeeze. “I just wanted to say thank you…” A glint of anticipation gleams in your gaze when you both lock eyes, prompting him to look away. “Thank you, for...the meal, it was nice. I might as well bother you a little longer to eat more good food.” Lee Minho you coward.

“Do you only think about your stomach?“ you almost gawk at him, raising your hand to give him a slap in the face but Minho grabs your hand before you can do so. The next thing you know, his other hand is on the top of your head, ruffling your hair in a playful manner.

He tells you and trudges on, grinning to himself, “Let’s get moving, we’re wasting time.”

“....Minho?”

“Hmm?” he turns around with a lovesick smile on his face but that’s not what you’re paying attention to.

“You might want to look out for that…”

“For what-“

Minho swallows heavily when he sees an enormous figure overhanging his shadow on the white snow. Slowly, his gaze follows the sound of faint yet sturdy footsteps and he holds his breath, eyes twice as white as before.

“Just to be clear…” he asks breathlessly. “Dragons are nocturnal, right?”

“Correct,” you subconsciously take a step back. “And we might have woken it up.”

Minho takes notice in the thick stripe of black streaking down on one of its claws, and his face morphs into a frown when his surroundings reek off the smell of fresh blood. “No, someone else did.”

The dragon’s scales gleam dashingly in the sunlight, they are its pride and delight, violet streaks blending into a deep blue at the end. Its teeth so cold and sharp like icicles, they can easily rip any armors into mere ribbons of skin and bones. In its chest holds a hearth of ever flickering flame although the remorseless heart remains rime. Eyes with a shade of crimson as deep as the liquid that’s coursing through your veins, nourishing you; those eyes are seemingly endless pools of wisdom and intelligence.

But once those red pupils dilate and focus on the two mundane mortals before themselves, a glint of gold is suddenly evident, almost alarmed. The dragon takes off into the air with its wings stretched leathery like a bat, sending a small snowstorm flying towards the both of you. Minho squints his eyes hard while you’re shielding your vision with your forearms, coats fluttering as wind whistles into your ears.

Minho calmly takes a step forward, flashing you a smile sideways. What is he doing?

Then, he spares you one last glance before drawing his sword. As though triggered by the sound of metal scraping against the leather sheath, the dragon flaps its majestic wings and inhales, heaps of glowing embers come swirling in midair, twirling towards Minho with a fiery dance. He’s just simply there, feet planted firmly on the ground as though challenging the creature’s deadly breath.

“Minho, what are you doing?!” you yell at him, trying to keep your balance as the ground begins to tremble. “Get out of there!!”

Pretending not to listen to your warnings, Minho gets into his stance, blade angling low with his knees. What happens next downright baffles you. The blade of his sword glimmers with a shade of purple, his feet taking off towards the plume of fire that soon engulfs his figure completely in your vision.

You squeeze your eyes shut not just because of the heat but also because you can’t bring yourself to see it. Once the air around you cools off, your eyes flutter open again to see Minho angling his head over his shoulder, throwing you a wink in the process. Did he just counter a dragon’s breath with his sword?

“Chaeryeong taught me that. Neat trick, isn’t it?” he says with a grin while you’re blinking at him in utter shock; he looks almost proud of successfully deflecting that breath attack. “I use magic more often than you’d think. Nothing major, only the basic things. Enough to keep me alive.”

“I still think we need to run first.”

Minho looks at you dejectedly, “Don’t you have a better plan?”

With a howl as loud as any sky-born thunder, the dragon flaps its wings more vigorously this time, flinging the layer of snow under your feet into a blizzard—a swirling storm of screaming silver, a primal force than conquers until its core explodes. Everything around you is almost white-out as you bat your hands around helplessly in the middle of this snowstorm. After a while, you can no longer feel your legs, it’s like the storm just sweeps you off your feet. You’re not sure if it’s because of the cold or-

What the…?

You widen your eyes in a panic; you’re falling. Your perception of time distorts, your surroundings slow down until there’s nothing, only you, the sky above, and a hole that’s only a few hundred feet away from where you were standing previously. Your hand reaches out to the canvas above, grasping the endless crevasse of blue.

Everything’s a blur, a blur that swirls out of existence. Suspended in the air for a few seconds, you close your eyes and take a deep breath, letting your tense muscles relax. You won’t die from the fall since there’s a likelihood that snow’s already covered the pit. But you can’t just let yourself fall freely, that would cause minor, unnecessary injuries. So you reach for your sword, planning to jab it against the rocky surface as an attempt to go against gravity.

Once the metal comes in contact with the side of the pit, tiny flares of fire flutter in the air as if the sword is being sharpened by a blacksmith, an ear-piercing sound hisses against your eardrums. The stab is strong enough to slow gravity down from pulling you downward any faster but it’s not enough to make you stop completely.

Chan, you think while screwing your eyes shut, every cell inside your body is shaking, every muscle is aching. You can’t give up now, not when you’re still in one piece, and Chan’s hanging on the edge of not getting his old life back. You can’t give up not knowing who’s the culprit, not just yet.

And you’d rather be cursed than making out of this place alive and leaving Minho behind. Your conscience won’t ever forgive you.

When that thought crosses your mind, you grit your teeth and suddenly the sword stops sliding down, leaving you dangling midair on one arm. The rapier is too slender, it won’t hold on for long, and it’s not like you can climb all the way up to the top.

A mighty, fearsome roar blares through your brain like wildfire so you flutter your eyes upward to see the dragon with its wings folded on both sides, diving at an immaculate speed into the hole, in your direction.

There’s my ride.

eight.

Once the blizzard settles down, the setting sun comes with a sky of fire, the orange of every wintry hearth. The color stretches far and wide along the horizon like a reflection of the dawn that comes after the velvety night.

That’s when Minho sees them.

The crystals have grown as something alive may do, thriving over the ages, through many generations. As such they become a rainbow sea made of perfect rocks, the shoreline ever-present and still with colors that shine in the brilliant light of a richness that only nature can bring. Minho might feel bad when he snaps off a piece, it’s like cutting a single, healthy rose in the middle of the thorny garden. But if it’s for Chan, he’s certain that you’d do anything at any cost.

Minho sheaths his sword and sighs, turning around, “Y/N are you okay?” All that he’s met with is a muffled silence, the cold wind whistling into his ears, the hollow space before his eyes white-out and empty.

“Y/N?” Nothing.

“Y/N!!” No one answers. “Y/N!!!”

No, he lets out a choked whimper. No, no, no.

His legs tremble inside his boots, his lips quivering, his fists clenched, his fingers turning cold. And the thing that terrifies him most? His heart feels like someone is grasping on it so tightly as though they’re going to crush it with their bare hands.

A seed of fear suddenly grows inside his rib cage, thriving at an abrupt pace, branching out, gripping onto every cell, every muscle inside his body. He can’t breathe. This can’t be it, he tells himself, tumbling backward a bit. He promised not to let this happen. He swore. Yet his biggest nightmare is only one step away from becoming a reality.

Minho wants to cry your name aloud over and over again until his vocal cords are torn apart, he wants to be vulnerable for once and let himself fall. How is he going to face Chan? And Changbin? And his own conscience? He might as well run his own sword through his heart because what would be the point in living if you’re no longer here?

All of this was a grave mistake. If only he didn’t throw the dart. If only you didn’t come with him. None of this would have happened. None of this would have happened if he didn’t accept that damned offer. He could have easily flipped you off the second that duel was finished and gone on this trip by himself. And face the scythe of Death alone, by himself, like he always does. He should have died alone, he deserves to die alone.

But this time, he didn’t make the right decision and the consequences are horrendous. He gave in because of your stubbornness, your determination, your bossy nature. He let you in and his walls came down tumbling one by one, his stern and trained facade shredded into pieces. His head is a mess whenever he sees your smile, his heart can permit you to tread on his boring life. And because of those merely unguarded moments, he’s killed another person that he truly cares about other than himself.

Wait, something clicks inside his head. He almost forgets the most important thing of all. The culprit.

Minho regains his composure and snaps his head back towards the crystals. The sun might be going down but its limited source of light is more than adequate to cast a shadow onto the snowy white surface. The shadow of a person, a person that’s not you. The shadow that sets a silent inferno inside his chest, the flame spreading by the ticking second.

“I have been waiting for you,” he turns on his heels, reaching for the hilt of his sword. “Hwang Hyunjin.”

The shadow visibly flinches before stepping out, a hand outstretching from the black cloak to pull down the hood. When Hyunjin’s face comes into view, Minho’s muscles tense up, anguish making his head a little dizzy. But he maintains his cold front, not letting his opponent see how much this is affecting him.

“I’ve got a feeling that you’d already figured it out the moment I visited the cabin,” Hyunjin says slyly, his facial expression rather relaxed. “And I was so close to silencing you little errand boy for good too, but I’ll admit, the little brat is well trained, he ran off before I could catch him. So tell me, Black Swordsman, where did I slip?”

“Your eyes,” Minho grits. “They weren’t staring at Chan with what’s supposed to be concern or relief. You were looking at him like a predator watching its prey from afar. If I weren’t keeping an eye on you, who knows what you would have done to him. He didn’t sound pleased when you touched him either.”

Hyunjin drops his cloak to the ground, laughing under his breath, “You are sharper than I’d expected.” He takes a few steps closer forward, craning his neck tiredly before drawing his sword, causing Minho to do the same. “Now, now, vice commander, an innocent man is about to be killed because of you.”

Minho can only snicker at the statement, “I’m not planning on going down easily.”

“So am I,” Hyunjin gets ready in his stance, glaring at his opponent. “I wasn’t really planning on dealing with you. I would rather end her and let you take the blame. Actually, that sounds like a better plan! Don’t you agree? No one would put their trust in you—a low, damned being who lives off the upper classes’ bloodied pennies.”

With his blood boiling hot, Minho inhales and exhales deeply to keep his voice calm. “End her?” he repeats after the guard. End her. Hyunjin hasn’t made a single move yet he feels like someone just stabbed him in the gut. How could he?! You trusted Hyunjin, you went through so much with him, you trained him. And now he’s just going to turn around and bite the hand that fed him? Traitor. “Over my dead body.”

Hyunjin lunges forward, his feet sprinting quickly and he brings his blade up from a lower angle while Minho attempts to clash him from the head down. Both of their swords get knocked away on different sides from the harsh contact. Before Hyunjin can raise his weapon again, Minho sword slices at him sideways but he luckily deflects it in time—the reflexes and muscle memories from his training are kicking in.

“Why are you doing this? Aren’t you her friend?”

Minho’s sword aims for his head once again; however, Hyunjin steps to the side and makes a grab for his hand, holding his weapon down. This makes Minho lose his balance for a few seconds while Hyunjin tries to cleave his neck. He stumbles on his heels at the last second, only getting away with a small cut on his cheekbone. The pain isn’t even there, he’s been beaten up ten times worse before, this is nothing. He’s practically numb by now.

“Friend?” Hyunjin drags his sword against the ground before bringing it up to stop a slash at his chest, throwing snow into Minho’s eyes. He groans agonizingly when the white matters’ coldness burns his skin, blurring his vision. “She and Chan only care about themselves! They are the ones who get all the praises and recognition after a mission. Little rumps like me and Changbin?”

He angrily tightens the grip on his weapon, dragging a long slice downward, “We didn’t have any title, we’re merely just two faces amongst a hundred of the other guards. We get treated like we don’t even exist!”

“Did Y/N ever treat you that way? And Chan too?” Minho heaves after dodging the blow by rolling on the ground. He’s circling around the guard, trying to keep his mind clear. “From what I’ve seen, she seems to care about you and Changbin as much as she does about her brother.

Hyunjin swings his sword at him, and Minho receives the hit with the edge of his blade. The sound of metal scraping against each other is pricking at his eardrums but he can care less, he won’t be dying today. “So you can break my soul,” Minho pants before both of them stagger backward, switching their initial position. “Take everything away from me.”

“Beat me up.” Another blocked blow.

“Tear me into pieces.” Anger almost tears through his mind again. Anger towards Hyunjin for betraying Chan, you, and his entire team. Anger for falling into his trap. Anger for not being able to keep you safe. He wishes he could just unleash all of his hatred and rage on the guard. But what can he do? He’s one to blame too, after all.

“Or kill me, even.”

Hyunjin catches up to Minho when he starts sprinting away to regain his vision, the two of them running side by side, in between the lined up crystals. Thrusting his sword at Minho in various directions, Hyunjin’s stabs are getting messy because of the limited amount of space.

“But I will tell you something, you’d better listen to me and listen to me for good.” Minho’s sword strikes at him but he blocks it in time, their faces inches apart and their weapons threatening to snap each other into half.

“Touch Y/N.” A low grunt escapes Hyunjin’s lips when Minho jabs his fist against his stomach, forcing air out from his lungs. “And I am going to give you a taste of hell. I have been there before, and you know what? You would be begging me for a painless death by then.”

When the guard falls onto his knees, his weapon dropping by his side with a loud clangor, Minho directs the tip of his sword on top of Hyunjin’s head. “Think about it again, do you think that all of this is really worth it?”

A sinister laugh echoed through his ears and Minho’s eyes grow alarmed when the blood trickled down on his cheek starts to harden a little. No, something’s wrong. “You spoke too soon,” Hyunjin tells him with a devilish tone, the corners of his lips being tugged up into a smirk.

What is this? On the tip of his fingers reveals a dark shade of blue, it almost reminds him of the royal guards’ uniform. Suddenly his body collapses, he can’t feel his muscles, he can do nothing. His sword is so far away from his grip, he can’t even move his fingers. Paralytic poison. “You bastard!”

Hyunjin pushes himself off the ground, holding his sword by the hilt when the tip is faced downward. “I suppose this is the end. Our encounter is rather short but it was a pleasure to cross swords with the infamous Black Swordsman,” he raises it, chuckling. “Goodbye, Lee Minho.”

Minho locks his jaw, his muscles tense but he can’t move, his eyes are shut while he braces himself for the contact. But it never comes. A growl as loud and frightening as a clap of thunder rumbles through the sky and that’s when Minho opens his eyes to see the shadow of a dragon flying not too high above. Next thing he knows, a figure jumps off, falling rapidly like a lightning bolt.

Your foot slams onto Hyunjin’s shoulder, causing him to fall back while you land on the ground safely. Before he can register the situation, your rapier is drawn to yank his long sword away. “Hyunjin?” you grit with tears brimming in your eyes. “Why?”

Hyunjin doesn’t respond, instead, he takes a few strides towards you wordlessly. You don’t raise your weapon nor retreat it, simply keeping it limp by your side. But he lifts the blade of your sword with his hands and swiftly runs it through his stomach, blood splattering everywhere. His arms are weak, yet he still tries to put one of them around your back, pulling you closer and leaning his head on your shoulder. “Congratulations, vice commander,” he taunts into your ear.

“You’re a murderer.”

nine.

Chan finds himself waking up on a plain bed, a white blanket draped over him, and a cold towel on his head. All the mayhem from the past week comes crashing down on him like a tsunami, banging against his temple. He tries to push himself up but his limbs are too wobbly—it feels foreign, it’s like he’s inside someone else’s body and not his own. With every move, his head pulses in agony, and his muscles ache.

The pain stops when he sees you sleeping soundly against his bed, your head rested on your forearms. Another figure is present too, on the couch staring blankly at the flickering fireplace. Opening his mouth to speak, Chan scrunches his nose in pain as he accidentally strains his vocal cords but no words come out, only incoherent sounds.

“...Chan?” you rub the sleep away from your eyes, yawning tiredly.

“Ah..ah..ah,” Chan can only lift his arms, calling out to you in desperation. His eyes grow stingy at the sound of your voice and before he knows it, tears are already rolling down in his cheeks relentlessly.

“Chan, it’s alright,” you hush him softly, slipping your arms around him and holding him tight. “Everything’s fine now, you’re safe. You’ve done enough.” You bury your face into the crook of his neck, that way he won’t be able to see your glassy eyes. This isn’t the time to cry in front of him.

The door closes with a sharp thud.

Chan only convinces himself that he’s still alive, and back to his human form, not being buried six feet under the ground somewhere when your fingers graze the dull lines that his tears leave behind. A sense of relief washes over him the moment he sees your smile, though insomnia has been carved into your features over time. You’re safe, he closes his eyes. You’re not hurt.

That’s all that matters.

“Wait for me here, I’ll call Yeji in,” you give his hands one last squeeze. Chan pulls you back for a second there, a faint frown adorns his face. “Just leave the rest to me, we’re going to be alright.”

With Chan’s weak smile as an approval, you dash outside, finding Minho standing like a soulless being at the front door of the cabin. He can’t bring himself to face you after what he did. His body is tired, his mind is a mess, and his heart is filled with sorrow. Even his sword seems too heavy for his existence, it’s weighing him down, making him not be able to move.

“This was all my fault, wasn’t it?”

You don’t answer him and instead outstretch your hand, letting your fingers tug at the sheath of his sword. “Minho, it’s no one’s fault,” you mumble with your head hung low. “I dragged you into this. If anything, I’m the one to blame.”

“No!” His sudden outburst makes you flinch; hence you pull your hand back with a wide-eyed expression on your face. “If I hadn’t thrown that dart, we wouldn’t have met. If you hadn’t followed me on the trip, nothing would have happened! None of this would have happened! You almost died back there, Y/N. Do you know how much it scared me?”

“So you’re just going to leave me like this?” you raise your voice, trying not to snap at him. “After everything, you’re still going to turn away from me? Just like how you did to everyone else?”

“I-“

“Lee Minho, if you claimed to care about me so much-”

“I should stay away from you, I will only cause you more trouble. Even worse, I will get you in danger. I won’t forgive myself if anything happens to you.” His heart clenches at his own words as his shoulders shake, arms tense on his sides.

You reach for his hand, and huff in determination, “Stick to your words and protect me then.”

ten.

It’s been a week since the incident happened. Hyunjin has managed to live after the fight, yet he wants to keep his lips sealed for a while as to why he intended to harm the commander of his team in the first place. For now, he’s being kept in the dungeon while the king and queen permit you to do whatever. After all, he didn’t cause the kingdom any trouble. And if you were being honest, you would forgive Hyunjin without a second thought just so things can be normal again. It’s not as easy as you’d hoped.

Minho, on the other hand, has been praised tremendously by everyone in court for what he did. His name has been cleansed and every flighty rumor or gossip about him has been cleared out. He doesn’t like this at all, journalists are starting to snoop around Jisung’s place, leaving him no choice but to stay at Yeji’s log house for some time. His reputation was what used to keep him safe, now everything’s being flipped upside down.

He stares at his own reflection in the mirror from across the room. Minho can’t tell if it’s because he’s only worn the color black for the longest time or he’s being irrational, but he thinks the white loose shirt and matching pants that the mage brought back last night from the castle just don’t look right. Is his own moniker messing with his head? Probably.

Glancing sideways to catch a glimpse of his sword on his bed, he exhales dejectedly. I look like a joke, Minho thinks to himself.

“I never knew the Black Swordsman would look this dashing in white,” Chan enters his room with a dimpled smile on his face, Changbin following him suit. He’s recovering from the past week of living his life as a wolf, it’s still quite hard for Chan to walk so Yeji forced him to use a wheelchair for the time being.

“Don’t you guys have any clothes that aren’t so flashy?” Minho cracks a crooked smile, feeling unfamiliar being dressed in such a bright color. “I look ridiculous.”

Chan chuckles wholeheartedly and shakes his head, “Actually, that’s one of our less flashy ones. Don’t worry, you look great.”

“Why are you here, anyway?” Minho’s question isn’t necessarily directed towards Chan, but rather the person standing behind him. “If you want to curse me for the things I’ve done, then fine, I accept it. I will leave Kalmburg and move to the other side of the Continent. You’ll never have to see me again.”

Changbin steps forward, and with a deep breath, he says, “Thank you, Minho.”

Minho can’t believe his ears, did he just—

“Thank you,” Changbin says again; this time more firmly, and the look in his eyes softening. In those brown orbs, Minho can once again see the look he used to be met with five years ago, no hatred or anger, just warmth. He missed this. A ‘thank you’ has never sounded so nerve-calming before. It’s genuine, it’s real. Heartwarming, almost.

“When you told me that you would protect her,” Changbin continues, gaze cast downward. “I almost believed you, I knew you weren’t lying. It felt like that day after we both got out of the dungeon all over again. My anger always got the best of me and I just burst. I never gave you the chance to explain yourself, I never got to know your reasons. I am sorry because I didn’t care about you enough, as a friend.”

“I am sorry too,” Minho rises from his seat on the bed, suppressing the happiness inside his ribcage. “I’m sorry I bailed on you that day, I think about it all the time.”

He pauses for a moment and sees Changbin outstretching his hand, the familiar broad smile dancing on his lips. Minho accepts his friend’s warm handshake and reciprocates his grin. “You’d better stay alive first before apologizing.”

Minho widens his eyes, “Of course I am alive!”

“No, I mean,” Changbin waves his hand dismissively. “I was going to ask you to join us since there’s a good chance that His Majesty won’t turn you down, but then I’d figure, you’re too reckless for us to handle either way. So if you’re planning on going out here and throwing yourself at monsters, you’d better stay safe or I wouldn’t forgive you again. And Y/N would never forgive herself.”

Chan eyes the small box sitting neatly on Minho’s nightstand, and teases, “Speaking of Y/N, when will you tell her?”

Minho scratches the nape of his neck with glowing cheeks, he can physically feel the pink tint darkening by the second. “I don’t know, but soon. I still need to have his permission first,” he leans over to take the box in his palm, opening it carefully.

The sight of the silver band resting nicely inside makes his chest swell, his beating heart doing its best to not implode from joy. It might be too early, but he’s scared that if he doesn’t do this now, fate is going to be one step ahead and take you away from him forever.

“Minho!” Yeji calls out to him from behind the door. “Y/N’s here!”

“I wish the best of luck for you then,” Chan tosses a wink in his direction.

eleven.

“No one asked you to come, Han.” Is the first thing Minho spats out when he closes the front door with his bag slung over his shoulder. Jisung’s welcoming grin falls flat on his face at his friend’s cold remark. He really should have got used to these things by now.

“I did,” you tell him with crossed arms, releasing your grip on Noir’s reign. “Yeji said she’s running low on some herbs so I introduced her to Jisung’s place.”

Minho rolls his eyes to the moon. “Aren’t there more trust-worthy stores for the royal mage? Why would you refer her to that dingy dumpster?” And this statement prompts Jisung to give his knee a harsh kick followed by a mere glare from the younger boy.

“I actually like his place, it’s cute,” you scoff. He’s just acting out since Jisung always shows up unannounced.

“Why? It’s a rip-off.”

“Minho, you were living there for free!”

“I’m going to leave you two love birds alone now,” Jisung pushes past you to shoot Minho a mischievous smirk, patting his friend on the shoulder. “Don’t do anything weird to her or Chan is going to cut your arms off.” Actually, you’re fully capable of cutting his arms off yourself if he dared think about doing something damned. The swordsmanship runs in the family after all.

Your face morphs into a frown when Jisung finally enters the cabin, your head tilted to the side in confusion. “What is he talking about?” you ask but brush it off nonetheless; it’s Jisung, you can’t expect anything less from him. “Forget it, are you ready to go?”

“Yeah,” Minho answers while petting Noir, your horse nudges her nose against his face in return—she’s always been keen on seeing him since day one. “How is your father these days? Last time I’d asked, you told me that he’d retired.”

You nod, resting your palm on the hilt of your sword, “He’s good. He said he’s already too old to train soldiers and he’d rather stay at home. Though he’s getting bored these days since there’s not much to do anymore. He’ll find a new hobby soon enough, he will need to take a break from everything eventually. Father has never let himself rest after our mother passed away, constant work distracts him.”

Minho hears you let out a small sigh and takes another step, his hands finding their way towards yours, collecting your fingers between his, giving them a firm squeeze.

You give in after a few moments to face him completely, concern is flashing in his eyes while a small smile blooms on his lips. He looks a little tired, probably didn’t get any sleep for the past few days while you’re resolving all the problems in court. Minho never fails to stun you nonetheless, from the curve of his lips to the fullness of his eyelashes and the adoration in his warm eyes for you and only you; they make you feel at ease.

“Like father, like daughter,” he brushes a strand of hair away from your face and jokes. “You’d better be eating well and getting enough sleep, vice commander.”

You snicker, “Speak for yourself, Black Swordsman, you look terrible.” That’s a lie, he looks absolutely wondrous it’s unfair.

“I like this color on you,” you giggle after noticing his appearance today. They really don’t have any dark-colored pieces of clothing in the castle. “Look, we’re matching. You’re just not matching with your sword anymore.”

“Y/N.” The merry tone in his voice suddenly drops and Minho looks away, his muscles loosening. “Can I ask you something? But I don’t want you to get mad at me.”

You’re suddenly worried. “What’s wrong?”

“On the day that the incident happened….,” he trails off nervously. “Why didn’t you run away? You could have just left me there and got home safely. There will always be another way to help Chan. The chances of surviving that fight were too slim, there’s no telling what would happen. Why would you—”

“Lee Minho, are you even hearing yourself right now?” you cup his cheeks so that he’ll look at you. “Are you assuming I’m some sort of lowly being who will run away while their partner is in danger? I’d rather die with someone than let that person die in front of my eyes. Especially when it’s you! I would never forgive myself if I ever did that to you. So why are you saying such things?”

Minho reaches for your hand and melts into your touch, exhaling heavily.

“I don’t know...I’m sorry I think I’m losing my mind. After everything, I’m scared that I might lose you. All I want to do is run away with you, from all of this, from everything. We can live together in someplace far away, where no one can find us,” he clenches his eyes shut.

“I just- I don’t want you to be in love with someone who always has hell hanging by his doorstep, who gets his hands bloodied for a living, who—“

You place your index finger on his lips and shake your head. “Do you even know who I am in love with? Hm?” you question.

“I’m in love with the most caring, kindhearted man that the world could ever ask for. Whose heart is so warm and fragile, he’s afraid to let anyone in because of his tough past. Whose will is so unwavering he didn’t even think twice about fighting off a dragon alone. But what makes me fall so stupidly for him, is the fact that despite his wounds and scars, he’d always prioritize other people’s needs before his own. Because he’d rather believe and regret than doubt and regret.”

“Y-You’re in love with me?” he studies your delicate feature in the daylight, his heart going on a rampage.

You chuckle to yourself, “Yes, more than I should be because you’re a pain in the-“

Minho presses his lips against yours and inhales every word, sealing the nagging in until you respond to the kiss. Your hands find their way up to his soft hair, weaving themselves into the dark locks and dropping to caress his face after. He latches his arms around your waist, pulling your body flush against his so he can have more control of your movements. You’re drowning in his existence as he tugs and nibs at your bottom lip, trailing small kisses down your jawline before pulling away completely.

“I guess this means you’re in love with me too?” you ask to distract yourself from the heat that’s flaring through your nostrils, setting your heart on fire.

Your question has him stop for less than a moment, realizing that maybe he is in love with you as much as you are with him. And maybe you want him just as much as he wants you too.

He nods curtly, breath shaking, “Yes, yes I am.”

For the longest time, Minho used to forbid himself to cry, smile, and laugh like any sane human being would, as he thinks expressing his emotions is being strong, is protecting himself. But in reality, he’s just running away from his own problems instead of finding ways to solve them.

Now, he will let himself fall, he will let himself cripple, he will let his tears run freely for strength is simply an illusion, there are far more important things. He will fight for what he believes in, protect what he cares about and run on his bare feet through the entire galaxy if it means he gets to see you at the end of it, if it means you can dive into his arms, safe and sound.

Then, Minho thinks of what’s inside the little box, making the thing thundering inside his chest skip a beat. “Will you stay by my side forever?” he blinks.

“Is that even a question?” you convey between labored pants. “Even if fate pulls you to the other side of the universe, I will find you, do you hear me? I will find you and fall in love with you all over again.”

“Very well then,” he holds you by the shoulders; the eagerness in his eyes lights up a curiosity inside you. “Y/N, let’s..” But it’s gone before you can even register. “Let’s get going, we’re going to be late.” It’s not quite the right time yet. He still needs to meet someone before tying you up with him for eternity.

Because Minho too, will always find you and fall in love with you all over again. If fate has a problem with that, then he won’t be giving a damn.

#stayshub #skzwritersclub #inkidz #stray kids fluff #stray kids lee know #stray kids scenarios #lee know imagines #stray kids imagines #lee know scenarios #stray kids fantasy au #stray kids fanfic #stray kids angst #lino fic #lee minho #minho fantasy au #lee know fantasy au

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anonniemousefics · 4 years

Text

The Nine Terrifying Moons | Chapter Three

Fandom: The Folk of the Air | Jude + Cardan

Synopsis: Based on the response to this post. :) Jude’s not sure what she expected motherhood to be like, but it isn’t this.

(SO MUCH FLUFF HERE. Really. Just. The fluffiest. I can’t help myself.)

Chapter Three: The Third

I think maybe I am meant to be a cautionary tale, not a happy ending.

I think that someone who has manipulated and lied and schemed as much as I have is destined only for tragedy.

And now it’s finally come for me.

I think this over and over again, like a spell I’m chanting to grant myself some measure of grim acceptance, while Cardan and I ride a ragwort horse all the way to the mortal realm. It’s the best course of action we can come up with in the moment of panic.

The moment I knew we were facing a potentially devastating complication, I wanted – no, needed – a human doctor.

Pregnancy is rare among the Folk, and I now find I’m not interested in trusting faerie midwives with a decidedly human condition. If there is something wrong with me, or with our baby, I want to know what it is, everything about it. I don’t trust anyone who might want to strike a deal for my child’s wellbeing or concoct some potion that, while saving the pregnancy, also gives our baby a third eye or snaggle-teeth or an appetite for blood. I’m also having flashbacks of a conversation long ago with Oriana, when she divulged details of Oak’s horrific birth. How there’d been complications that had cost Liriope her life. How Oriana herself had carved the baby out of her friend’s stomach.

I shudder hard at the recollection and press my cheek hard against Cardan’s back as we ride, my face between his shoulder blades. Hard pass. On every bit of that. Just – one massive hard pass. We are finding a real doctor.

Cardan didn’t even argue. Though he insisted it was time to tell The Court of Shadows, if only for safety reasons while we made an unannounced, unplanned emergency run to the mortal realm.

Nothing goes like either of us had hoped. There are no tears of joy. There are only tight, grim expressions and tense words while plans are made. How we will prevent our enemies from learning of the child and our absence. How we will remain protected while among mortals.

I have hardly a word of help to offer, and that alone is horrifying. I have always schemed and survived – it’s what I am. But there, instead, I can only sit with a hand at my flat stomach, my sole focus on willing this little rebel in me to hear her mother’s first command.

Don’t go. Please. I love you.

Please stay.

Please.

I’ve resented this for weeks, and now I’m begging for the nausea, the aches, the exhaustion to stay – all of it. Any reassurance that I’m not losing this newfound love before I’ve even really gotten to know it.

But I also wonder if I should just accept fate. I have always felt from the beginning that I did not deserve this. That I am stealing a happiness that I have not earned.

“How are you faring?” Cardan asks me over his shoulder, the whine of the wind in my ears. We’re somewhere over the sea, jostled by the roll of the ragwort horse’s gallop beneath us.

“The same,” I answer. Sick. Dizzy. Terrified of what comes next. Unconsciously, I grip his body to mine harder. He’s tense, every muscle on edge. This is unlike any journey we’ve made yet. There’s nothing to fight, and still everything to lose.

“Nearly there,” says Cardan, but it sounds like he’s saying it more for his own benefit. He hates the journey over the sea, the precariousness of ragwort horse travel. I’m not in any state to offer reassurances, or even tease him to lighten the mood.

Sure enough, the clouds part, and the city lights along the coast of Maine wink up at us. It’s evening, and dark beneath a heavy rain cloud, and as soon as we’re low enough, we’re being pelted with sheets of rain. By the time the ragwort horse alights its oaken-hooves on the pavement, Cardan and I are both soaked to the skin.

We dismount, invisible beneath a glamour, at the far end of a hospital parking lot. The sign at the entrance glows with a red cross and the name, Down East Community Hospital. It was the best I could think of to do at a moment’s notice: instruct the ragwort horse to find us an emergency room.

I wrap my arms around myself as Cardan holds out a hand to gather up the horse. The leaves of its mane and the bark-like coat of its body begin to curl in on itself, like a plant rolling in on itself for the night. A moment later, it’s only a few leafy twigs that Cardan can hide in his pocket.

We both look absurd, and I’m just now realizing it. We look like we’ve just run out of a community theatre dress rehearsal for a low-budget melodrama. Cardan’s tried to dress down, but he’s still Cardan, and he’s wearing tight black trousers and tall boots over his calves. He’s thrown one of the zip-up hoodies I keep in my wardrobe for trips to the mortal realm over a loose white shirt. He also must have been feeling particularly festive this morning after last night’s romp, and he’d gone and added a bit of kohl to his eyes before I’d woken up and shit hit the fan. And he’s still wearing gold rings all over his fingers and in his pointed ears. Combined with his soaked, inky hair, he looks a bit like a member of an 80’s rock cover band who’s recovering from being pushed into a pool.

It’s kind of nice. He rarely looks a mess. It makes me feel like we’re in this together, at least.

For my part, I didn’t let Tatterfell braid my auburn hair today, and now it’s just long and windblown, so I’ve tried to pull it all to one side to keep it managed. I’m wearing a simple pair of brown trousers with little silken flats that were my least flashy pair of shoes. I’ve got a shirt and olive-colored vest on beneath a hoodie similar to Cardan’s that was supposed to keep me warm, but now it’s sopping wet.

We both pulls the hoods on our sweatshirts up over our heads as we make a mad dash for the automatic sliding doors of the ER, racing against the onslaught of rain. Once we’re inside the vestibule between sliding doors, I stop a moment to grab Cardan’s arm and gather myself. He puts a bejeweled hand over mine, his expression tightened in concern.

“I’ve never done this before,” I confess, breathless. Hospitals, emergency rooms, doctors. It’s all foreign to me.

“I’ve done it even less.” Cardan’s looking more pale by the minute. The rising terror in both of us is palpable.

“I should call Vivi,” I spout, and Cardan’s nodding furiously in agreement, for once graciously not pointing out how he’s been saying this very thing for weeks.

But when I look around, there’s not a phone in sight. There’s only a poorly lit waiting room on the other side of the glass vestibule, and bored-looking nurses waiting at intake windows. Shit. Shit. How do mortals do this? How to they get treatments for mortal ailments and weaknesses and not fall to pieces fretting over their inherent, inevitable vulnerability in the process?

Suddenly, the surety of immortality is looking rather cowardly by comparison.

“Maybe one of the nurses will let me commandeer a phone,” I mutter, and I let my fingers slide from Cardan’s arm to his hand. My palm is starting to sweat when he laces our fingers together, but he doesn’t seem to mind.

The glass door to the waiting room slides with a hissing whisper, and inside there are people crowded in the cheap chairs lining the walls. Somewhere, a toddler is wailing out of sheer boredom while the evening news anchors jabber on a TV mounted in the far corner above a potted plant. Cardan’s already drawing stares with his ominous, messy appearance. He found a beanie in the pocket of the sweatshirt to cover the pointed tips of his ears, but there’s still kohl streaking his prominent cheekbones. I’m gonna need to clean him up at some point.

Right now, all I’m focused on is slipping into the first open intake seat and figuring out how in the hell I’m going to see a doctor for the first time in my mortal life. I am going to be brave. I have trained for nothing less.

“Hi, how can we help you today?” says a warm-looking middle-aged nurse behind the desk. She has short grey hair and floral scrubs, and a pair of readers perched on the bridge of her nose. Her badge says her name is Josie.

“Um.” My mouth feels dry, but I push on anyway. “I am—I am pregnant, and, um, I’m having some…” I draw in a shaking breath. Why is this so hard? “Some bleeding. I think I need to see a doctor right away.”

“Of course, honey,” Josie says, and peers over her readers. “Have you spoken with your OB?”

“I don’t have one,” I shake my head, my face starting to flush as Josie’s concern increases. I’ve never felt like I belonged in the mortal realm, and it’s never felt more apparent that I’m an outsider.

“Okaaay,” Josie says, slowly, adjusting her readers as she turns to her computer. “Let’s get you registered. Name?”

I hesitate again. I’ve never given my name in any sort of official capacity here among mortals. Especially not since I’d gotten married. What do I want to be called?

“Jude Duarte-Greenbriar,” I hear myself answer. From the chair beside me, Cardan titters a little amused laugh to himself and then bites it back when I shoot him a look. He likes the sound of it, too.

“Okaaay,” Josie says again, pecking at her keyboard. “I’m gonna need you to spell that for me, honey.”

I appall Josie further as the registration process yields the fact that I have neither a driver’s license nor an insurance card. With each of Josie’s judgmental sighs, I can sense Cardan stiffening with repressed irritation next to me, and it’s only stressing me out more. I should have had a talk with him first about promising not to curse anyone. I’m half-expecting Josie to sprout cat ears at any minute.

“While we can’t legally decline services based on insurance,” Josie says, doing little to suppress her concern, “I will need you to sign this agreement that says you understand that, since you are not presenting insurance today, you will be personally responsible for the entire cost of today’s visit.” And she shifts a clipboard toward me.

“Oh, look, love,” Cardan suddenly chimes in. He slides a wet leaf from his pocket across the registration desk as his voice takes on the heady, dangerous quality of magic. He’s conjuring a glamour. “I think you can see all of the insurance information you require here.”

“Oh, good, you found your card!” Josie exclaims, delighted, as she takes the leaf and begins happily clacking away at her keyboard.

“Do not get carried away,” I hiss at Cardan while Josie’s distracted. “That should be a one time thing.”

But Cardan just slits his kohl-lined eyes at me, looking like the smug bastard he’s always been, and leans an elbow on the registration desk, throwing Josie a coy smile. The glamour in his voice when he speaks again is just as sinfully seductive.

“And Josie, my sweet,” he says, “you’ll let my wife borrow your phone to speak with her sister, won’t you, dearest?”

“Of course, Mr. Greenbriar,” Josie replies, with the charmed-sweet smile of the glamoured. She shifts her desk phone to me, handing me the handset. “Just press nine for outgoing calls, honey,” she tells me.

I’m frowning at Cardan’s wicked smirk as I accept the phone.

“I don’t think that was entirely necessary,” I whisper to him while Josie types away. He grins at me. I don’t really want to admit that he’s just been pretty useful, and he knows it.

Regardless of how ill-gotten this privilege is, I do need Vivi. I dial her cell phone, one of two numbers I know, and wait while it rings.

And rings.

“She might be screening her calls,” I say to Josie, sheepishly. “Her father is…” Oh, how to describe what Madoc is like these days. “…over-bearing and tricky.” And I hang up and try again. Josie gives a tight, uncomfortable smile, peering over her readers.

“You are not concerned about how unusual this is,” Cardan tells her, the glamour dripping off his voice, and I smack his arm to get him to stop. Josie settles again as the phone keeps ringing.

I have to hang up and dial two more times before Vivi finally picks up. She sounds irritated when she answers.

“Vivi, this is Jude,” I say, slumping in relief that she’s finally answered.

“Jude? Seriously? What?” The annoyance in her voice vanishes as she’s scrambling to understand. “You’re calling me? Where are you? Are you ok?”

“I’m at the Down East Community Hospital emergency room,” I say. “Can you come?”

“Oh, my God.” It sounds like Vivi’s suddenly frantically looking for her keys. “Yes, I’m coming. I’ll be there. Why are you there? What’s going on?”

“It’s a lot to explain over the phone,” I say, slowly, white-knuckling the handset. “I’m ok, and Cardan’s here, but I just really need you.” I hate it more than anything, but I can’t keep the frightened younger sister out of my voice now that I’m actually talking to Vivi about this. The first rush of relief hits me when Vivi replies without hesitation:

“Ok. It’s gonna be ok. I’m on my way.”

I let out a long breath as I hand the phone back to Josie.

“The nurse will call you back when they’re ready for you,” says Josie, and gestures to the crowded waiting room. “Have a seat.”

“Or--” Cardan starts, leaning forward, and I know he’s about to throw out another glamour to speed things along. In the blink of an eye, I clap a hand over his mouth before he can say another word.

“Thank you,” I tell Josie, through a gritted smile, and urge Cardan to move along.

“Your moral stance on glamours ought to have a loophole where our child is concerned,” Cardan gripes as we shuffle to the nearest available two chairs.

“You Folk are like addicts with glamours,” I snap back as we take a seat. “You don’t know when to stop.”

“I believe I’ve proven myself capable of great restraint,” Cardan says, looking miffed for a moment until a People magazine on a nearby table catches his eye and his curiosity of mortals gets the better of him.

He has the right idea, I think. Distraction would be the key to getting my mind off the blood and not falling apart right now. I’ve done everything I can at this point, and now we must wait.

I busy myself for a moment by wrapping the cuff of my sleeve over my fingers and wiping off the rain-splattered streaks of kohl off Cardan’s face, so that the father of my child looks less like the troubled D-list celebrities his People magazine is trashing. He’s not drawing any less attention, but there’s not much either of us can do about that. If you’re not accustomed to the allure of the Folk, it’s nigh impossible to not stare and stare and try to decipher what it is about them that’s so otherworldly. But at least now they’re staring for the right reasons and not at his ruined eyeliner.

With nothing more at arm’s length to distract me, I rest my head against the wallpaper behind me and let my vision go unfocused in the general direction of the TV in the corner. I don’t want to think about the whining toddler in the room, who’s mad at his mother for not bringing the right stuffed animal with them to the hospital. What would I do with a half-human child in Faerie who fell ill or wounded? What would we do? Would the land let Cardan heal him? Would we have to make this journey again? What if I forgot the right stuffed animal, too??

Amazing that I’m suddenly assuming this child is going to survive whatever’s happening now, I realize, and this worry spiral is helping no one.

Once upon a time, I’d been the girl determined to become a thing feared. What has happened inside me, that I’m now this terrified woman? I hate it. I hate it, and I don’t know how to stop it.

“You’re not afraid of that everything will change?” I remember asking Cardan, three moons ago. I had thrown out the last of my birth control that day. We’d snuck away from a revel to lie beneath the massive tree that grew out of the top of the palace of Elfhame, staring at the stars above and dreaming of what they could hold.

Cardan looked to me, his hands behind his head in the loam, his crown slightly askew. He smiled, and the moonlight made him almost too beautiful to bear.

“I cherish every change you’ve ever brought me, Jude,” he said, and he stretched out a hand to tuck a strand of hair behind my ear, his fingers softly lingering at its rounded edges. “I don’t see why this should be any different.”

“You’ve not always felt so gracious about the changes I’ve foisted upon you,” I pointed out. “And you don’t get to exile me now if my parenting pisses you off.”

I’m not sure what I thought he’d think of such a statement, but it was out in the night air anyway. His gold-rimmed eyes darkened as he pulled his hand back, folding it over his chest. I watched him as he stared up at the stars again, waiting for his response, and with each second, regret began to sink in.

“I consider myself fairly thick-skinned,” he said at last, “but that was uncalled for.”

“I was teasing--” I started, but he shot me a dark look.

“There was a measure of truth in your voice,” he countered. “You don’t lie as well as you think you do.”

“I don’t see what you’re so put out about,” I huffed, pulling back to glare at the night sky. “You weren’t the one living in exile.”

“Not this again,” Cardan groaned, scrubbing his hands over his face. “Five years, Jude. It’s been five years,” he sighed into his palms.

“And now we’re discussing children, and it’s a very large and potentially aggravating change,” I said. “Maybe I am a little wary.”

“Of me?” The moment I saw the unguarded devastation on Cardan’s face, it was like I’d slapped him, and not in the fun way. I wanted to be swallowed down by the loam, covered in a grassy grave. Everything about this was awful. I wanted children with this man. Why was I dredging up ancient history?

But Cardan had been right. There’d been a measure of truth to it. It’s been a deliriously wonderful five years, but we are not entirely new people. We have a terrible past. And I feared what demons a significant change like this could summon.

When I didn’t answer right away, Cardan sat up so his back was to me, burying his head in his hands.

“Cardan…” I shifted so that I was propped up on my hands.

“What else can I give you to make this right?” he fretted to the ground in front of him. “I have given you everything. Every part of me, everything you see before you. It was wrong for both of us to take our games as far as we did, but I would have thought by now--”

“It was an off-handed comment made in poor taste.” I wanted to put a stop to everything that was happening. Rewind the whole evening.

Instead, he looked over his shoulder at me, visibly aching.

“I will not be like my father. I refuse it,” he retorted, and when I cocked my head to the side, not understanding, he went on. “Eldred collected consorts and sired children the way some people curate shoes: to suit his vanity. And I have that in spades already; there’s no need to spawn more. What I would want for a child, more than anything, is to not know what it is to grow up as an accessory. To not fear that his mother will be discarded. Jude, if you cannot trust so little of me, then this is poorly timed. Perhaps we need another five years. Or ten. Or however long you require.”

I sat up and scooted next to him, tucking my chin against his shoulder.

“I trust you,” I assured him in a whisper, and, as if he couldn’t help it, his eyes closed as he leaned his head towards mine. He smelled like oakwood and leather, like everything I’ve ever wanted. “I would not still be with you if I did not trust you.”

I wanted to push back the thick curls from his forehead, and so I did. And held my palm against his jaw as I leaned my forehead to his while the stars twinkled overhead.

Five years later, and sometimes we’re still finding little bits of armor that need to come off. For me, becoming a fearsome thing is not an option for handling motherhood, just as Cardan refuses to mirror his father’s vanity. But when I take off this bit of armor, this need to be feared and respected, it feels as if there is nothing underneath yet. Only vulnerability. Only terror.

I think of it now, in the ER waiting room of the Down East Community Hospital, while I snake my arm through his, looking at him while he’s ogling People magazine. He looks a mess, and there is no one I trust more. I’m still not convinced we’re shining examples of excellent would-be parents. But I’m afraid and vulnerable in the worst ways, and there’s no one I’d rather see me through it.

“Eldred would never have done something like this for any of his consorts,” I point out to him in a whisper, and he looks back at me with a pleased smirk.

“You are my wife,” he indicates, and gives my cold knuckles a swift kiss before turning back to whatever filth is engrossing him in People.

“Jude Duarte-Greenbriar?” There’s a nurse at the emergency room door calling my name. I draw in a breath. Here we go.

The nurse in blue scrubs takes my vitals and makes us somewhat comfortable in a makeshift space where we’re surrounded by taupe-colored curtains on three sides while I wait on a hospital bed. There’s a squeaky grey plastic chair for Cardan to sit on, and no more TV or People magazine – just the assurance that a doctor will see me soon. And then we’re left with our dread to stare at the taupe curtains around us, listening to the squeak of hurried shoe soles against linoleum and the occasional beeping of hospital pagers. The air is acrid, like someone’s tried to scrub it clean, and it’s making my stomach lurch. It must show on my face as I swallow hard against the rising bile, because Cardan swiftly hands me a blue plastic barf bag that the nurse has left him in charge of. He’s wary of my empty threats to aim for his shoes.

“Jude, are you decent?” calls a voice from the other side of the curtain. “You have visitors.”

The curtains scrape against their tracks on the ceiling, and I can’t hold back a relief grin at the sight of Vivi and Heather.

“Oh, my God. Oh, my God.” It’s all Vivi can say as she sweeps in to wrap me in a hug.

“Hey,” Heather graciously greets Cardan while the two are awkward to the side. She’s looking effortlessly cool, with her shoulder-length pink hair in soft waves. She has holes in her jeans in all the right places, and she’s wearing a breezy, colorful boho top that shows off her brown shoulders. I try to give her a wave while Vivi is squeezing the life out of me.

“What are you doing here?” Vivi demands when she pulls away, holding me by the shoulders. She’s given her golden hair a short, edgey chop that almost hides the pointed tips of her half-fae ears when it falls the right way. She tends to favor t-shirts and jeans, but today she’s in tight black pants and a grey v-neck under a jacket, and I’m hoping I haven’t interrupted a date.

“Well.” I shift a glance between the two of them, simultaneously gladdened that they’re here and nervous with how I now I have break the news. “This isn’t how I wanted you to find out…” And then Vivi gasps.

“Are you pregnant?!” she squeaks.

“Oh, my God, V,” Heather rolls her eyes. “You can’t ask people if they’re pregnant.”

“She’s right, though,” I interject. “I am.”

“Jude!” Vivi exclaims, fondly, and takes my face in her hands, and, for a brief moment, I realize this is all I’ve been wanting for weeks. I grin, sheepishly. Then Vivi narrows her cat-like eyes at Cardan.

“You knocked up my sister?” she jabs.

“Bold of you to assume it’s mine,” he quips back, and Vivi feigns a disgusted gasp as throw the empty barf bag at him.

“Force of habit,” Cardan tells Heather with a shrug.

“Congratulations, Cardan,” Heather replies, giving him a pat on the shoulder.

“But why are you here?” Vivi turns to me again. “Does Taryn know? Does Madoc?”

“No on both counts,” I shake my head. “It’s early. And we’re here because--” Ugh, I hate this. I hate this. “I started bleeding.”

“Oh, no.” Heather’s face is etched with genuine concern. It’s been a roller coaster of a few minutes.

“But why are you here?” Vivi tries again, and I see what she’s getting at. Why not be seen to by the royal midwives?

“I’m mortal,” I say, quietly. “This is a mortal thing. I felt like I needed a mortal doctor.”

And Vivi takes my face in her hands.

“I completely, one-hundred-percent agree,” she says, whole-heartedly, and there’s relief there, too. She’s always wanted me to spend more time in the mortal realm.

We crowd around the hospital bed for a while to catch up. Heather makes a run to the vending machine to bring back some snacks, and soon the tightness in my chest is releasing and unwinding. This was the distraction I needed. For a few minutes there, I could almost forget what had brought us to this weird, curtained-off corner to begin with.

But then the curtain scrape on the track again. There’s an orderly waiting there in blue scrubs, pushing a wheelchair.

“They’re ready for you in ultrasound now, Jude,” he tells me, and indicates that I’m supposed to ride in the chair. I bristle at the gesture. I’m not sure of the last time I’ve been asked to do something so vulnerable and humiliating. I am not ill. I don’t need this.

Vivi notices and puts a hand at my arm.

“It’s just standard hospital procedure, Jude,” she says, in her tone of voice she uses to convince Oak to eat vegetables.

So I comply. Heather and Vivi tell us they’ll wait for us to get back, and then we’re off. Cardan follows the orderly, and every once and awhile, I hear him having to jog to catch up – he’s easily distracted by what all the mortals are up to in this place.

I’m wheeled into a dark room with an exam table. Next to it is a bunch of strange equipment I’ve never seen before – screens and wands and all sort of buttons. A technician waits for us there, a woman in pink scrubs with a badge that says her name is Brenna. Her dark, curly hair is pulled back tight against her scalp, and she has kind brown eyes that smile when she tells me to make myself comfortable on the exam table.

“And is this Dad?” Brenna wants to know, cheerfully waving Cardan in to have a seat on a grey plastic chair next to me.

“Not my dad,” I say, not understanding the question at first. Then it dawns on me. “I mean, he’s the father, yes. Of the baby.” Oh, my God. This is off to a great start. Cardan’s trying very hard to not laugh outright at me and failing miserably. His laugh comes out like one long snort.

“Happens all the time,” Brenna says, with another cheerful wave, which makes me wonder why she’s still asking it, then.

“First baby?” Brenna now wants to know, making small talk while she’s queuing up her equipment.

“First everything,” I reply, hoping that will explain my nerves. “First baby, first ultrasound, first try.”

“Oh.” Brenna sounds impressed and looks to Cardan as she wheels around in her swivel chair. “Nice shootin’, Tex,” she tells him, with a wink.

“Thank you, Brenna,” Cardan accepts graciously, puffing out his chest a little. I roll my eyes.

“This may be the only time I’m ever complimented on my marksmanship,” he tells me. “Let me have this moment.”

“All right!” Brenna interrupts. “Let’s see what you’re cookin’ in there, mama.”

She rolls up my shirt and tucks in some scratchy paper into my leggings. Then squirts some cold gel across my abdomen. I watch in fascination while she rolls her device over my stomach, and then she turns her screen to us.

“And here’s your little guy,” she says. “Or gal. Can’t tell yet, obviously.”

For a moment, time stops.

Next to me, Cardan draws in a breath.

Something squirmy and alive curls and stretches in the grainy black and white pixels of Brenna’s screen. It doesn’t look quite human. Or fae. It looks kind of alien, if I’m being honest. But I can see its tiny limbs and the outline of its perfectly round head, and it’s moving. Like a manic little seahorse, our little shrimp is bobbing all over the place, alive and well.

“Looking good,” Brenna says, and Cardan barks out a surprised laugh. I’m smiling so hard my face might break.

“Oh, I was sure I’d stabbed it,” Cardan sighs in relief, slumping in his seat, and it’s my turn to laugh.

“That’s not actually possible,” Brenna tells him, and maybe now he’ll believe it. “Let’s see if we can hear the heartbeat.”

She clicks and clacks at some buttons, then turns a knob. Pushes a little harder on my abdomen.

A fluttering, steady whooshing sound fills the speakers in the room. I don’t know when I grabbed Cardan’s hand, but I’m squeezing it hard now. I glance at him. He’s utterly transfixed on the screen, his dark eyes wide, his lips parted. He looks like how I feel when I’m in bearing witness to great and ancient magic.

This isn’t all vomit and exhaustion. This is happening. This is real.

We are making something new. Something entirely unique. Like magic.

“Ok, this might be your issue.” Brenna breaks the enchantment, zooming in on something dark on her screen. My heart, which moments before felt like it might burst, squeezes and contracts in panic now.

“This is a sub-chorionic hematoma,” she says, pointing to the screen and making some notes. “The doctor will explain all this to you.”

“What is it?” Cardan’s voice is tight, panic thinly-veiled. “Is it dangerous?”

“They’re pretty common,” says Brenna, not looking at us while she takes measurements and notes. Like she drops these kinds of bombs regularly. “It’s basically an accumulation of blood between the uterine wall and the fetal membrane. It can cause bleeding, especially as the baby gets bigger and jostles it around. They usually resolve without much issue.”

“Usually?” Cardan’s not assuaged.

“Well, again,” Brenna says, looking at him sidelong, “the doctor will read this and give his advice. But it can increase the risk of miscarriage in some cases. Not always, though. The doctor will tell you how he wants you to treat it, but it usually involves some bed rest or limited activity, nothing too strenuous or crazy. Don’t go horse-back riding!” And she laughs as if only a crazy person would get on a horse while pregnant.

I look to Cardan. He looks to me. It’s hit us at the same time.

The ragwort horse.

How the hell are we getting home?

“Huh.” I barely had time to digest my realization about the ragwort horse before Brenna was back with more. She swivels the device on my stomach around some more. Cocks her head to the side.

“Are either of you a twin?” she asks.

Cardan points at me like I’ve done something wrong he doesn’t want to be blamed for.

“Why?” I ask, slowly, cautiously.

“It does run in families,” Brenna says, and turns the screen to us again. “And I’m seeing two babies here.” She looks back at Cardan. “And on the first try, Tex,” she says, looking impressed again.

Now, nothing feels real. I think I might leave my body. There are two squirmy aliens in the black and white screen, the lazier of the two now floating into view. Brenna adjusts the knobs some more to bring the new heartbeat into focus, just as strong as the first.

“Jude.” I can’t decipher what Cardan’s feeling now. He looks unlike I’ve ever seen him before. Something between elation and sheer dread is warring between his wide eyes and furrowed brow. He grips at the beanie over his hair like he’s trying to keep his own head from flying off.

“Are you and your twin identical?” Brenna asks. I nod, stupidly.

“These, too,” she nods, and points at the screen. “See: they’re sharing a sac.” She draws in a deep breath. “This does elevate the risk more, with the hematoma. The doctor will go over all of this with you. But I’ll bet he’ll want you on some kind of bed rest. Weekly check-ups. That sort of thing.” And then she squints hard at the screen. “What is that?” she wonders aloud. “Is that a tail?”

“You don’t see a tail,” Cardan says, but he’s so flustered and shell-shocked, he’s forgotten to use the glamour.

“I think I might, though.” Brenna squints harder.

“You don’t see a tail,” Cardan says, louder and hurried, this time with the weight of magic heavy in his tone. “Everything you see looks normal to you.”

A glamoured smile flutters over Brenna’s pleasant features as she lifts the device from my belly and clicks off her equipment.

“Everything looks normal,” she hums, happily. “Congratulations, you two.”

“Everything but the hematoma, right?” I cock my head to the side as she rolls away her swivel chair. “The doctor will speak to us about that.”

“What hematoma?” Brenna’s still smiling as she stands with her clipboard. “Everything looks normal. I’m going to call an orderly, but pretty much you’re free to go. Congratulations!”

“Cardan,” I accuse under my breath as she leaves, leveling a glare at him.

“You are carrying twins.” He’s just agape at me, either unaware or unrattled by how the poor wording in his glamour just muddled everything.

“The doctor won’t know about the hematoma now!” I exclaim.

“We’ll scrounge up another one somewhere,” Cardan waves me off. “Jude. Twins.”

It’s not helping me feel any better, him saying it over and over again. I slump into my hands, weighted by disbelief and frustration. What am I going to do? This can’t possibly be real, can it?

“I am going to get so huge,” I moan into my palms in self-pity. I know it’s vain, but at the moment, it’s all I can think. In the land of willowy Folk, I already stick out like a sore thumb. Now I’m going to be a sore and massively swollen thumb.

Cardan’s shifted to stand in front of me on the exam table. And he runs his hands up and down my arms, almost reverent.

“You are magnificent,” he reassures me, softly, and presses a kiss against my head.

“Why are you not freaking out?” I ask, and pull him by the hoodie pockets so I can hug him again if I need it. I think I may need it. “This is two babies. We don’t even know Thing One about taking care of one baby, and now there will be two.”

“We may require a few more house cats,” Cardan jokes, and when I scowl, he asks, “That’s still not amusing? I shall persist. One of these days.”

“You know, I hear that’s a mortal fatherhood trait,” I point out. “Persisting over and over with the same unamusing joke to the embarrassment of everyone around you.” And I wrap my arms around his waist as I look up at him. He’s warm, and everything is a little more bearable when he’s close and smiling.

“I think you are implying that I’m excelling at fatherhood so far,” Cardan grins down at me, and I’m surprised to see it looks as if his gold-rimmed eyes are glistening.

“Are you all right?” I ask, softening at the sight. He blinks, furiously, as he buries his long fingers in the hair at the nape of my neck, holding me close as he looks over my face.

“I just--” His voice is hoarse when he starts, so he clears it and tries again. “This is more than I ever dared to consider,” he says. “I did not dream that this kind of life would ever be an option for me. Family that looked after each other, that loved each other – that always seemed to me to be a strictly mortal gift. As if the Folk had bargained for everlasting life long ago and forsook all hope of familial love in the process. I had accepted that it wasn’t mine to have. But you.”

He shifts his hands so that he holds my face, and I feel swallowed by the adoration in his admission. All I can do is close my eyes as he holds me. I can think of nothing else when his nose brushes my forehead.

“I am overcome by all you have given me,” he whispers, and I think I might cry. My hands twist in the fabric of the sweatshirt he wears.

“I love your words,” I whisper back, “but you give me too much credit.” I pull back to look at his mirthful, glistening eyes and say: “If it were left up to me, I would never have given you twins.”

He laughs outright, unguarded and thrilled.

“Lucky for me, then,” he says, and kisses me.

I have kissed him hundreds, maybe thousands of times. We have shared passionate, unbridled kisses and desperate, devouring kisses. We’ve kissed at quick partings, and we’ve kissed with soft, gentle comfort. I like everything about them all. But this is something entirely new, something that surprises me still. It’s filled with gratitude and promises and dreams of the future, and though it is intimate, I would not have felt ashamed if someone had walked in.

It’s the kiss of complete trust, and in that moment, I feel assured that, in Cardan, I have not made a mistake. There is much to figure out still. But this is right.

So, we will have twins. I will meet this challenge with resolve. For right now, anyway, the quantity of babies is the least of our concerns.

“How in the hell am I supposed to get home?” I ask, the moment we pull apart. Cardan rests his hands on my shoulders, screwing up his beautiful mouth in thought. The ragwort horse. The bed rest. The doctor we must scrounge up somewhere. There are a dozen new bullets swirling on a to-do list, and none of them lead us back to Faerie any time soon.

“I haven’t the foggiest,” he confesses. “Which further complicates matters, because there is absolutely no chance that I am leaving you here.”

“I was afraid you’d say that,” I say, and press back a smile. “And also glad,” I add.

Cardan meets my smile with a little wicked smirk of his own.

“Is it time we scheme together once again?” he asks.

We cannot get home until this is resolved, and we cannot leave Faerie ungoverned. I have no idea where to even start on this problem.

But that’s certainly never stopped us before.

There’s a knock at the door. The orderly has arrived with the wheelchair to take us back to Vivi and Heather. I give Cardan a secret, knowing smile.

“I suppose it is,” I agree.

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

Tag list! Let me know if you’d like to be added: @yellowavocadopit, @dagypsygirl, @ireallyshouldsleeprn, @booklover-sleeplover, @mwejh, @courtofjurdan, @faeriequeenofwest, @sugawsites, @loveyourselfsolid, @owl0y0s, @feelinglikecleopatra, @akaloto, @charrise, @persephxnecoven, @raging-bisexual-alert, @rteme, @nahthanks, @emmabookworm08, @elorcanislife, @snusbandxknifewife, @poeticbrownmermaid,

#the folk of the air #tfota #jude duarte #cardan greenbriar #jurdan #jurdan fanfic #vivienne duarte #the cruel prince #the wicked king #the queen of nothing #post-qon #babies!#baby fic #pregnancy fic #fluff #jurdan fluff

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raviotherabbit · 3 years

Text

royal pain in the ass - chapter 4

Chapter 4: Era of Twilight Queen Zelda heads out for the night.

[first] - [previous] - [next] read it on ao3!

△ ▲△

“Are you sure this is alright?” The young Hero of the Four Sword trailed Zelda through the halls of her castle, their shoes clicking on the smooth tile below them. “I mean, I wouldn’t want to bother you…”

“I could never be bothered by a hero,” Zelda clarified. “Besides, I believe you of all people should appreciate our collection.”

The pair stopped at a grand set of doors, towering over them with the crest of the royal family, depicted in gold, right in the middle. Before Four could voice any more concerns, Zelda pushed the doors open, dividing the crest in two.

Forgetting his manners, Four rushed past the queen and into the armory. Zelda couldn’t help but chuckle as he admired the vast array of weaponry, hands hovering with a fear to touch. She was struck by how dorky the heroes she grew up hearing legends of actually were, but perhaps she should have guessed they’d be much like her own…

Zelda’s heart dropped at that thought. Oh, Link…

“This battle-axe…” Four marvelled, mouth agape. “I could only dream of making something so well-crafted…”

Forgetting her troubles for a moment, Zelda caught up to Four. “This one is a bit old, actually. I’ve been considering having it hung up somewhere, for posterity.”

“You can never go wrong with an axe on a wall,” Four added.

“Come,” she beckoned him further into the armory. “Let me show you my personal collection.”

Delighted at the notion, he followed her. Eventually, the two came to a wall more tastefully decorated, with several bows and swords hanging.

“I’ve used all of these, at some point,” her hand traced the wooden edges of a bow. With a fond smile on her face, she pulled her rapier from its display. “But I’ve always been fond of my swords.”

Zelda held the rapier out to Four. He hesitated for a moment, looking up to her as if to ask for permission. When she nodded, he took the sword from her with a child-like glee, inspecting it thoroughly.

“I’ve been training with it since I was young,” Zelda explained. “It’s been my favorite.”

And yet, it hadn’t been enough. When the time came, to either fight or die, Zelda had instead chosen to surrender. Her burden went to Link, almost carelessly so, and now…

Noticing her distress, Four placed the rapier back in its display. “Twilight will be fine,” he insisted. “If he’s not back by tomorrow, I think Time is planning on going after him.”

Twilight. The name always throws her for a loop when she hears it. How could Link be so fine with it?

“I’d like to apologize to him, if I can,” she revealed cautiously. “I owe him that much.”

“I think he’s just a bit stressed out,” Four frowned, looking off. “All of us are. Legend got a bit snappy yesterday, and Twilight had to physically stop Wild from pouncing on him.” He sighed wearily.

“I wish he didn’t feel as though everything were his responsibility,” Zelda admitted. But, truthfully, who was she to talk? After all, she was the one who gave him such ideas.

Maybe she deserved what he said to her.

△ ▲△

“Stay safe, Zelda,” Gaepora instructs his daughter, doing his best to remain stoic as he holds her close. “The places you’ll travel will be unfamiliar, but I know that you’ll be able to find your way.”

“We’ll be home soon,” Sun promises, arms tight around her father. “Both Link and myself.”

Gaepora pulls away from Sun, glancing back at the portal. It appeared just after breakfast, right in front of the Sealed Temple. “Keep those granddaughters of mine safe.”

Sun laughs at that. “I will, father.”

Meanwhile, Artemis and Flora stand waiting by the portal. The glowing, golden light still has a draw on them, but they resist enough to allow Sun her goodbyes. It tugs at Flora’s heartstrings, digging that pit in her stomach a little bit deeper. Her only thought is, ‘Why?’

Karane, one of the knights of Skyloft, marches up to the two queens, dragging Pipit by his collar behind her. She releases him just as she reaches them, and Pipit struggles to right himself.

“Pipit,” Karane asks him. “Do you have anything you’d like to say to these two?”

“Er, yes,” Pipit clears his throat. “Your majesties-” he bows awkwardly. “I’m sorry I pointed my sword at you and called you demons.”

“Uh, well.” Flora shifts from one foot to the other, glancing up at Artemis.

Artemis places a hand on Flora’s shoulder, smiling sweetly down at the two knights. “Thank you for your apology, sir Pipit. It’s greatly appreciated.”

Pipit looks back at Karane, who nods in approval. The two bow for them before making their leave.

“That was very diplomatic,” Flora notes, watching as the knights bicker amongst themselves.

“He made a mistake, and he apologized for it,” Artemis explains coolly. “I don’t see a reason to keep being upset.”

The two are interrupted by Sun, who approaches as she waves back to her father. With one hand gripping her satchel’s straps, she asks, “Well, are you guys ready?”

“It’s been lovely staying here, but we need to get moving,” Artemis asserts.

“Then let’s go.” Flora offers a small wave before she steps backwards into the portal. With a bright flash of light, she disappears.

Artemis smirks. “Oh she’s getting sure of herself, isn’t she? Come one-” she waves Sun along to follow her. “We have to catch up before she gets herself lost.”

Side-by-side, Artemis and Sun walk through the portal. Travelling through time is always disorientating, even though both of them have done it before. Sun’s not very surprised to find that these portals aren’t much different than the Gates of Time, but still, she squeezes her eyes shut as they travel. The world warps around her, a chaotic mess until it stops very suddenly.

Sun peeks her eyes open, just as the portal sputters to a close. She finds herself in the middle of a field, Artemis recuperating for a moment with her hands on her knees. On the other hand, however, Sun feels alright, if a little tired. Flora stands a few feet away, using a hand to block the sun from her eyes as she looks off into the distance.

“That must be the castle, just ahead there,” Flora gestures out, and Sun can just see the silhouettes of a city against the daylight as she makes it to her side. “We can get there in no time.”

“Wow, a real, actual city!” Sun utters in awe. “I mean, Sky’s told me about the ones he’s been to, but seeing it now…”

Flora gasps. “I didn’t even realize-!” She eagerly takes Sun’s hand and guides her towards the city hurriedly. “You have so much to see! Come on, let’s-”

“Hold on.”

The pair barely make it a few steps before Artemis stops them, still hunched over nausea. Flora grits her teeth, breathing in sharply. “Artemis, are you okay?”

“Just…” Artemis plants herself on the ground, but it isn’t long before she lays back, staring up at the bright blue sky. “Just give me a second.”

△ ▲△

“Castle Town is… a lot,” Sun comments, subtly shifting to hold onto the cloth of Flora’s cloak. “I’ve never seen so many people before in my life.”

The trio are making their way through the streets, weaving their way through the city’s crowds and passing exuberant vendors. A Goron shouts into the masses, advertising fresh spring water, and Sun covers one of her ears.

“Don’t worry, the castle’s right up there,” Flora points up above the buildings, where the spires of walls are visible. “I’m sure when we explain the situation to the Zelda of this time, she’ll give us a nice, quiet place to spend the night.”

“Hm,” Sun hums in response, noticing Artemis frown slightly at Flora’s words.

“Now that you’ve said it…” Artemis mutters to herself, but she doesn’t finish the thought.

The crowd seems to thin as they approach the castle, which makes sense since the gate is guarded by two heavily armored individuals, both wielding some rather sharp spears. Flora, however, is unfazed, and marches right up to the guards. While Sun tries to follow her, Artemis places a hand on her shoulder, holding her back a few feet. Her hand slips from Flora’s cloak.

“Wait,” Artemis commands.

“Hello,” Flora greets the guards, ignoring their scrutinizing glares. Her hands are folded gently in front of her, the picture of politeness. “We would like to see the queen.”

The soldiers both look towards each other, before both burst out laughing.

“You want to see the queen?” the one on the right, gangly and tall, jabs at her.

“Who are you to demand an audience with her majesty?” the one on the left, shorter than his partner, continues.

Flora scoffs indignantly. “Well I never-!”

“Hold on.” Artemis raises a hand, silencing both guards. “Flora, remain dignified,” she reminds her descendant. “We have information about Link that her royal highness must hear immediately.”

“Uh…” the tall guard idly scratches his face. “What’s link?”

Artemis blinks, taken aback. “Th-the hero.” She composes herself. “Link.”

The guards exchange another glance with each other. “The hero’s name is Link?” the tall one asks, only to receive a shrug from the short one.

“Oh for Hylia’s sake,” Flora sighs, pinching the bridge of her nose.

“Yeah, listen ladies,” the short guard steps forward, flipping his spear so the blunt, wooden end is pointing out. “You’re not seeing the queen today, so scram.” He pokes Flora with the spear.

“Well I never-!” With rage in her eyes, Artemis grabs onto Flora’s arm, dragging both her and Sun away from the castle gates.

“Artemis, wait!” Sun protests. “I think this is still salvageable!”

Ignoring her, Artemis shouts back over her shoulder at the two guards. “Listen to this! You two are going to be in big trouble soon!”

△ ▲△

Flora, with a book in hand, disappeared into the depths of Castle Town. After her display on the battlefield, Artemis doubted she’d be in too much danger in the city. Besides, exploring their surroundings seemed to be a good alternative to meeting this time’s Zelda, and that was way easier when they split up.

Of course, Sun came with her. Artemis didn’t necessarily trust Sun to be on her own in this kind of setting, not yet at least. Judging by the fact that she was currently latched onto her arm like a sloth, she may have made the right choice.

“I have an idea of when we are,” Artemis explains to her.

Sun’s head snaps to Artemis as though she’d been broken out of a trance. “Oh, you do?”

Artemis nods. “I think there’s a business around here where we may find some help.”

“Time war stuff?”

“Time war stuff.”

Sun perks up and begins scanning the buildings up and down the street. “I can help. What does it look like?”

“Well,” Artemis paused. She’d never actually seen the place, had she? She just heard about it late at night when her troops made camp, and she was always about five seconds from punting Little Link into the forest by that time. Which is to say, her attention hadn’t always been there.

“It has to do with bugs,” she finally settles on.

Sun tilts her head. “Bugs?”

“Bugs,” Artemis affirms. “Agitha, the owner, and she loves them. I think it’s a zoo of some kind?”

“A bug zoo in Castle Town,” Sun remarks. “I think I understand cities even less now.”

Artemis shrugs. “I don’t understand it either, to be honest.”

Sun hums to herself, before suddenly pointing to a building across the road. “Agitha’s Castle?” she reads the sign aloud, “Is that it?”

“Right, that’s what it was called!”

When Artemis pushes open Agitha’s wooden door, they’re both immediately hit by a wave of warm air. The chirping and buzzing of several insects greet them, a butterfly going so far as to flutter over and land on Sun’s head.

“Artemis there’s a tree in here,” Sun states, eyeing the bugs climbing all over it with concern.

“Agitha!” Artemis cups her mouth with a hand as she shouts. “Are you here?”

“Is that who I think it is?” a voice rings out from the second floor. A young girl appears, leaning over the railing to peer down at her guests. “The other Princess Zelda!” She races to the stairs with heavy footfalls.

“Well, it’s Queen Zelda now,” Artemis informs Agitha as she bounds down the stairs. Her smile is warm and pleasant, like a fire on a chilly day.

Agitha takes the queen’s hands, holding them in her own, buzzing with energy as an excited smile graces her face. “Then you’re the other Queen Zelda! I can’t believe you’re here! I thought the War Across the Ages was finished?”

“It did,” Artemis nods. “My friend Sun and I are here on separate business.”

Hearing this, Agitha’s eyes snap to Sun, as if noticing her for the first time. “Oh, hello there! I’m Agitha.”

“Uh, hi,” Sun awkwardly responds. “I’m Sun, I suppose.”

Though Agitha squints at her words with suspicion, she’s quickly drawn away by Artemis. “We need to see this era’s Zelda, but the guards haven’t let us into the castle,” she explains. “Do you know of a way we can arrange a meeting?”

“Those guards are tricky.” Agitha slowly draws her hands away, bringing a finger to her chin as she thinks. “There may be something,” she reveals. “Why don’t you come have some tea? I’ll tell you everything I know.”

△ ▲△

While their visit to Agitha’s Castle was by no means short, the subsequent search for Flora ended up being way longer than anticipated. Eventually, they find her laying against one of the buildings bordering the castle wall,

“Breaking and entering is not an option, Flora,” Artemis reprimands, picking up her exhausted descendant off the city streets and slinging her over her shoulder.

“I… ran the whole… perimeter,” Flora pants out, book still clutched tightly in her hands. “We can climb it.”

Sun, standing behind Artemis, pats Flora’s head in consolation.

“We’re heading to dinner,” Artemis says. “Agitha recommended a nice little bar we could eat at.”

△ ▲△

The bar, thankfully, isn’t too far from where Flora collapsed. Sun breathes a sigh of relief when she sees it’s mostly deserted, save for a couple of patrons sitting at a table past the bar. One is a redhead, a drink by his side as he converses with the girl next to him. She’s black-haired, and curiously enough, her ears are rounded. Both perk up when they see the trio enter.

“Telma!” the black-haired lady calls out towards the back. “You’ve got some customers!”

“Er, is she alright?” the redheaded man points with his pen towards Flora, who’s still being carried by Artemis.

“She’s fine, just tired,” Artemis clarifies. She unceremoniously deposits Flora at the nearest table. “My sisters and I were wondering if we could get a meal here?”

“Well you certainly came to the right place, I’ll tell you that!” He offers her a thumbs up, only to be jabbed in the side by his companion.

Just then, a woman pushes through the back door, leaving it swinging behind her. “Well hello there, girls. Can I get you something?”

Artemis places a hand on Sun’s shoulder. “Wait here with Flora, I’ll order for us.”

Sun nods, sliding into the seat next to Flora, who’s currently laying face down on the table. Quietly, she slips Flora’s notebook away from her.

“So what is this?” Sun asks, thumbing through a few of the pages. There’s a lot of writing, but she also notices some drawings of diagrams. “Is it your diary?”

“Of sorts,” Flora murmurs. “It’s a research journal.”

“Oh!” she realizes. “I remember you seemed very interested in some of the monuments of my time. I could tell you more about them, if you’d like.”

“Sun,” Flora pops her head up, resting her chin on the wooden table. “I would love that more than anything. But I currently don’t have the stamina to write a single sentence.”

With a frown, Sun pats her shoulder. “Don’t worry, we’ll have lots of time later.”

Her sympathy brings a small smile to Flora’s face. “How was your time with Artemis, today?”

“We met one of her Time War friends,” Sun explains. “She mentioned her before, Agitha? She told us about this place.”

“And I bet you like it much more than the rest of the city.”

Sun’s neck grows hot, as she awkwardly tries to refute that. “Well- I-”

Flora reaches to place her hand over Sun’s. For a brief moment, her heart races at the thought that the glow might return. When nothing happens after a few seconds, she relaxes again. Never has she been so happy about a lack of anything before.

“Don’t worry,” Flora says, oblivious to Sun’s panic. “I know it can be a bit of a jump, from so little to so much. It was the opposite for me, but I felt similarly when I returned to my Hyrule.”

“Where did you go?” Sun asks, as if it were the most innocent question in the world.

“It was-” Flora tries to explain, but she just sighs. “I sealed a great evil away for a long time. When Wild eventually came to my side, so much time had already passed.” She looks away. “I didn’t recognize anything, anymore.”

“You didn’t- you didn’t have to say that,” Sun says. “I mean, I also sealed away an evil, the Demon King, but at least I went to the past to do it-” She takes a deep breath, composing herself. “What I’m trying to say is, I’m sorry. It must have hurt.”

“Well-”

The pair are interrupted by Artemis, returning to the table with the barkeep, Telma. She places her own bowl of soup in front of her while Telma serves Sun and Flora.

“Hope you girls enjoy,” she smiles, glancing over at Flora. “I made this special, I hear it’s supposed to help after a long day.”

“Thank you,” Flora responds automatically. She sits up slightly, eagerly yet carefully bringing a spoonful of soup to her mouth. There’s a buzz of excitement in her chest as she recognizes the blend of flavors; it can only be cream of vegetable soup. In fact, it’s almost like-

Wait.

Flora’s eyes go wide, and she almost drops her spoon. “Carrots and honey.”

“What?” Sun tilts her head at her.

“This is a carrot and honey cream of vegetable soup, I-” She remembers the night she first tried it. After one hundred years of fighting, she was so tired, and that night, Wild brought her to a stable. He showed her how to make it, explaining where he got every ingredient. And the way it warmed her stomach after so long, especially when he followed it up with a fruitcake dessert…

“This is Wild’s recipe,” she reveals, looking up at Telma. “Did he- how did you get it?”

Before Telma can respond, the door to the bar opens, and in steps a figure in a long, black cloak.

△ ▲△

Honestly, all Queen Zelda Elaine Hyrule wanted was to relax at Telma’s after a long day of courting nobles and other queenly business. She knew at least a few members of the Resistance would be there, and what better way to get her mind off things than to listen to Shad ramble on about the sky beings for hours?

What she didn’t expect, however, was a young girl looking like she was going to cry about her soup while grilling Telma about the recipe.

“Uh,” Artemis looks between Telma and the girl, befuddled.

Telma grimaces when she notices her. “Honey, why don’t you go sit with Shad and Ashei in the back? I’ll have this handled in a second.” The pair of them are standing just a few feet away, Ashei with a hand ready to draw her sword.

“How did you get Wild’s recipe?” the girl demands, standing as one of her companions tries to reach for her.

“I didn’t take it,” Telma counters. “He gave it to me-”

“Wild?” Zelda asks. “As in, Link’s friend, Wild?”

A silence passes over the girl, she and her friends staring at Zelda. One of the other patrons at the girl’s table, seemingly the oldest, speaks up. “You know Link.”

“He’s-” Zelda almost calls him her friend, but truthfully, she doesn’t know if he would call her such at the moment. “Yes. I know him. And how do you know Wild?” She raises a skeptical eyebrow.

“He’s my best friend,” the first girl says, crossing her arms.

“We’re friends of Link’s friends,” the older one says. “The ones he’s travelling with now.”

Very suddenly, it clicks in Zelda’s mind. These aren’t just any visitors, now are they?

“Ah, I see,” Zelda replies. “You all are quite far from home, are you not? Tell me, what is it that brings you to the Era of Twilight?” She slides up to their table, resting her hands on its wooden surface.

“Link and his friends may be in danger,” the last one, a girl with a feather on her belt, reveals. “We need to see this time period’s Zelda.”

“Well then, you’ve found her.” Zelda pulls down the hood of her cloak. She takes one of the empty seats at the table. With her hands folded in front of her, she narrows her gaze at her counterparts. “Telma, give us a moment. What’s wrong with Link?”

“Dusk, I presume?” the older one asks, receiving a nod in response. “I’m called Artemis, these are Sun and Flora.” She gestures to the other two. “We encountered a monster that could change shape, primarily taking the form of our heroes. He taunted us with their safety, and since we haven’t seen them in quite some time, we can only assume he’s done something to them.”

“That’s… concerning,” Dusk admits. “So why have you come to me, then?”

“We want your help,” Sun continues. “We’ve been going through the portals, and they’ve brought us… Zeldas? They’ve brought us all together.”

Flora plops back down in her chair. “The shadow creature is strong. We’ll need as many hands as we can get to defeat it.”

Dusk’s first instinct is to refuse them outright. Though she’s not sure about the rest of them, she has a kingdom to run! She can’t just leave on a journey across time on a whim, not when her people need her. She isn’t Link.

Oh.

But this is for Link, isn’t it? Link, who she let do everything while she was trapped in the twilight of Hyrule Castle. Link, who saved a land that wasn’t his without question. Link, who deserved more than she had given them.

“Ashei, Shad!” she calls out, beckoning the two Resistance members to her side. “Tomorrow, I’m going to make an announcement. As trusted advisors and saviors of Hyrule in your own right, I will leave you both, as well as Auru, in charge of all royal duties until further notice.” She turns her attention back to the other Zeldas. “I’m coming with you.”

“Thank you,” Sun smiles at her sweetly. “All of our Links mean a lot to us, I’m sure you understand.”

“Sorry you had to see me, er,” Flora gestures to her soup, which she stirs with her spoon. “It’s just… I haven’t had this soup in a while, you know?” She suddenly turns towards the bar, where Telma is cleaning some dishes. “And sorry for yelling at you, miss!”

“Don’t you worry, honey!” Telma calls back. “Tell Wild thanks for the recipe when you see him, alright? I think he could use the pick-me-up.”

“Pick-me-up?” Flora echoes quietly.

“Now.” Artemis slams her hands on the table lightly. “Dusk, I should tell you. We had the worst experience with a pair of guards outside the castle, earlier today.”

“Oh, did you?” Dusk leans in, resting her elbows on the table. “Well, we’ll have to handle that.”

#linked universe #lu dusk #lu flora #lu artemis #lu sun #fanfic #rpita #rav's writing

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