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quazartranslates · 3 years

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Welcome to the Nightmare Game II - CH52

**This is an edited machine translation. For more information, please [click here]**

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Chapter 52: Purgatory Reunion (IV)

[Player Qi Leren has arrived in Purgatory and started the task: Sacrifice of the Devil King]

[Task background: Three years ago, the Devil of Slaughter provoked the Devil of Power, and was suppressed by the Devil of Power and the Devil of Fraud in Purgatory’s lake of fire. However, he did not die nor give up, but silently waited for an opportunity. Three years later, the seal was accidentally loosened, and the Devil of Slaughter’s consciousness broke free from the seal and began to look for a way to resurrect...]

[Task requirements: Destroy the Devil of Slaughter and gain one third of the authority of the Devil of Destruction.]

[Data synchronization countdown, ten, nine, eight, seven, six, five, four, three, two, one, synchronization completed.]

　　&&&

"Oh? So, this martial law is the order of the Devil of Power herself?" a person in leather boots whispered in a sexy, soft voice. If they didn't pay attention, the voice would be covered by the wind passing through the underground passage.

But who dared to not listen carefully? The lower demon secretly glanced at the succubus, facing his smiling yet cold eyes. He looked at him as if he was a maggot crawling on the ground, which scared him, and said in a trembling voice: "I don't know... I just heard..."

"Heard?" The succubus repeated the word, his tone full of deep dissatisfaction.

"No no no, sir, the rumors are likely to be true! There was an abnormality in Purgatory’s lake of fire before, that is, the lake of fire that suppressed the Devil of Slaughter... I think that there may be a problem with the seal on the Devil of Slaughter! That’s it!" the lower demon quickly explained, fearing that the succubus would kill him in annoyance.

"Hehe." The succubus chuckled inexplicably and stopped.

Ahead was a huge underground space, which was too high for the top of the cave to be seen. The fluorescent plants and fluorescent moths covered this pure darkness from their perches on the rock walls, which made it seem as though the cave walls of this bottomless underground nest were dotted with starry light.

They were standing in an underground valley at this time, opposite to another underground valley, and between the two cliffs was a moat-like abyss, with churning red magma flowing under their feet, like a rushing river rushing toward the deeper lake of fire.

"Sir, do you want to pass? The patrol is very strict on the other side, I'm afraid that if you’re found..." The lower demon carefully raised his head and observed the succubus.

The mysterious succubus was studying a crystal in his hand, and the lower demon recognized that it was a life crystal. The original clear crystal has overflowed with black smoke, and there were fine cracks on the crystal’s surface.

It seemed that the owner of this crystal was in a bad situation, no wonder he was in such a hurry…

However, whose life crystal was this? What did it have to do with this succubus?

The succubus was aware of the other’s snooping gaze, and tilted his head to glance at the lower demon behind him. The ruby-like eyes flowed with the innate charm of succubuses, but they were as cold as ice: "Is there a more hidden path?"

The lower demon did not dare to look at him again. He bowed his head to suppress his rapid heartbeat, but he still saw the succubus’ long legs that were wrapped in leather pants so tight he may as well have been naked. After mentally rehearsing ten times, he said cautiously: "There is indeed one."

Magma ran rapidly through the canyon, and the succubus’ smile as he stood on the cliff deepened, murmuring in a dreamy way: "That's great."

It seemed that he had saved his small life, and the lower demon breathed a sigh of relief. Since he had been caught by this mysterious succubus an hour ago and forced him to "sell" a slew of intelligence, he was always in awe. As a well-known information broker near Purgatory, he was cautious in his daily life, rarely came forward himself, and lived a very low profile. So when he woke up this time and found a succubus sitting on the bay window opposite the bed, smiling as he twirled a dagger in his hand, he was really scared.

Comfortable days had passed for so long that he’d almost forgotten the terror of being on the edge of life and death.

Now, he coaxed the shadowy boss in a desperation to keep him pleased, and helped him hurry to the lake of fire. Anyway, he wasn’t curious... Well, there was still a little curiosity. Who was this succubus working for? What was his purpose for coming to Purgatory at this delicate moment? He definitely wasn’t with the Devil of Power or the Devil of Fraud, otherwise he wouldn’t need to be so careful.

Was he an old follower of the Devil of Slaughter? Or..... was he simply a follower of the fallen Lord of Destruction...

The lower demon did not dare to think about it any more. He lost 10% of his caution. He took the succubus around the patrol line, crossed the magma river in the underground valley, and finally came to the strictest area.

"This is it. Go from here and pass through the warning zone to reach the lake of fire. However, the area around the lake of fire has been completely blocked. I heard that a large-scale conflict broke out last night. Right now, entrance and exit from the lake has been barred. I can only take you this far. Next..." The lower demon rubbed his hands and smiled in a professional manner, fearing that the succubus would turn on him at any moment.

The succubus stood outside the warning zone, and the channels extended in all directions in front of him seemed like an ant's nest. He was afraid that the demons patrolling in the cave would cause a chain reaction.

Qi Leren sighed in his heart. He’d never thought that he would encounter so many difficulties after entering the Underground Ant City.

If it wasn't for the fact that the Court had given him a lot of resources and help, even if he spent ten days or half a month alone, he couldn't so much as touch the right way, let alone find the den of an underground information broker, and even coax and scare him into leading the way.

But even under such efficiency, there was not much time left for him.

There was only less than an hour's journey left to reach the lake, but this journey required vigilance. Qi Leren, who hadn't slept a wink for more than a day, had passed the point of exhaustion, but now was both energetic and filled with anxiety.

He was too afraid that it was too late.

"The conflict last night, tell me in detail," the succubus said lightly.

"This... is suspected to be caused by the old Devil of Destruction’s people. Specifically... I didn't go to work because I was with you so early this morning. The detailed information can be presented to you immediately when I go back and sort it out!"

The succubus hissed, and his red eyes showed deep contempt and murderous intent: "Do you still need to tidy up?"

"No no no no, I mean... I only have hearsay, I haven't tried to verify it, I'm afraid it’s not reliable."

"Let's hear it."

"Okay, sir. About a month ago, the lake of fire began to behave strangely, and died down after an underground volcanic eruption, but two days ago, several big demons from the underworld appeared near Purgatory. All of them were the old staff of the Lord of Destruction, and they seemed to explore something near the lake of fire. Since the fall of the Destroyer, they seldom come out, and this time they suspiciously appeared together. That is, in these two days, a low-level demon disappeared and was killed near the lake of fire. This kind of thing is very common, and we did not pay attention until last night..."

The lower devil's face showed a complex expression of fear and reverence. He lowered his voice and excitedly told the secret: "Last night, someone saw the body of a high-level demon in the canyon downstream of the lake of fire, soaked in lava, and flowing down along the magma... There were as many ants, which were crushed by the dark pressure. Then the whole of Purgatory went under martial law, and the lake of fire area became particularly strict. If you try to enter carelessly, you’ll be killed!"

"Who did it?" asked the succubus.

"We don't know that, but there is a clue. Last night, a demon heard a dragon roaring near the lake of fire. At that time, the whole canyon around the lake of fire was shaking, like an earthquake. The stones collapsed and fell everywhere. He ran quickly but saw nothing else."

"A dragon roaring..." the succubus whispered thoughtfully.

Getting the map of this area, he let the hapless demon information broker go. Qi Leren took off the "costume" he had used while undercover with the Slaughter Secret Society, changed into clothes more convenient for movement, and threw the fancy leather boots covered with sequins and silver chains on his feet back into the item bar, then hurriedly walked into the cave.

The dragon roaring last night was probably Ning Zhou awakening to the power of Destruction and transforming into a magic dragon. Was the big fight last night related to Ning Zhou's final death? Qi Leren couldn't be sure. Right now, he couldn't wait to fly to him when he thought of how close Ning Zhou was.

He had to catch up, and he would catch up. Qi Leren shook his fist, equipped the necessary skill cards, and touched the Prophet's Heart item hanging on his chest. He wanted to pass this area of the martial law’s warning zone. In addition to relying on maps and hidden technology, he had to rely on Secretly Observing. If it was really impossible...

Even with the Prophet’s Heart, he would have to forcibly cross the warning zone into the lake of fire.

He couldn't wait any longer.

Prepared psychologically, Qi Leren took a deep breath and strode forward.

……

The last guard post was already ahead, and [Secretly Observing] has also entered cooldown. Qi Leren’s body was tightly pressed to the rock wall, listening to the footsteps getting closer and closer. The patrolling demons held torches, which lit up the dark environment.

It seemed to be just a few ordinary demons, otherwise they wouldn't need torches to see.

Below this cliff was a huge "lake", with smoke rising above the brightly burning lava, making this cold underground like a burning hell. This was the lake of fire. Ning Zhou was here.

Qi Leren closed his eyes and calculated the most likely way to break through.

The patrolling demons were in groups of two. It would be very difficult for him to kill two demons silently at the same time. Once he failed, the demons on the guard post nearby would set off a chain reaction... If there’s a storm ahead, take a detour...

There was a loud bang, and the demons on patrol stopped and whispered, "What happened? Is it going crazy again? "

"Who knows. Be careful, don't be too lazy. Many people died yesterday."

The ground suddenly shook, as if an earthquake had broken out!

Loose rocks on the rock wall fell down in pieces, causing a lot of turmoil. Qi Leren, who was waiting for an opportunity, took this opportunity to rush out. When the two patrolling demons panicked, he took care of them sharply and neatly. Rather than dealing with the bodies, he went through the last sentry post as the rocks continued falling and rushed to the cliff ahead without looking back.

It was as if a window had been opened in the huge rock wall. Qi Leren stood at this window and looked down.

As far as he could see, the world was a vast red, bigger and more cruel than the scene in his dream. The air was so hot that he couldn't breathe, his mouth only seeming to suck the hot flames into his lungs and ignite his body.

The terrible height and heat made Qi Leren dizzy. It was difficult to imagine a glacier here, because the glacier would quickly melt in his mind.

This hot land made up of hot magma was like being placed in a high-pressure boiler, extremely hot. Even if there was a distance of more than 100 meters from the magma beneath his feet, the heat was like a red soldering iron pressed against his skin.

It wasn’t just hot, it was a painful torment. Just standing here was like a desperate slug on an asphalt road, dried by the hot August sun.

Qi Leren gawked at the sight beneath his feet. This scarlet lake of fire was burning, and a few black rocky islands were baked in it... No, it wasn't all rocks.

One of the black, half-submerged shadows in lava was...

This scene overlapped with his dying dream—the black dragon slowly sank into the lake of fire, never to exist again.

Was it too late? Was he already too late?

Qi Leren's legs went soft and he knelt on the ground, his mind going blank.

There was another loud noise, and the magma spewing out of the lake set off a surging wave in the lake of fire, lapping against the black dragon's body. The dragon that had been lying quietly in the lake of fire moved, and Qi Leren also moved at the sight of it.

The black dragon raised its head and looked at the thick domed ceiling. Its claws extended from under the lave, slapped hard on the lake of fire’s surface, and then roared. In a flash, the whole underground lake shook crazily, and the whole world seemed to be turned upside down. The magma gathered into a tsunami and washed in all directions. The surrounding rock walls dropped stones that crashed into the lava, and the rock wall above them...

The dome of the underground cave, the top of which couldn’t be seen, seemed to be torn apart by the terrible power. Suddenly huge stones were falling, pouring down in a heavy rain that made the surface of this flaming lake more and more turbulent. It turned into a horrible hell where fire fell like rain!

The black dragon stood in the lake of fire, and the overwhelming burning stones lit up the dark underground world. It was angry, sad, and desperate, and countless negative emotions gathered in it, making it roar at the invisible sky—

The dome cracked, and the top of the underground cave was torn open by the violent force, so that a beam of light pierced the earth and fell into Purgatory.

It was light, not the burning flames of sulfur and magma.

Just after the light fell, a familiar call crossed the distance between life and death and came to its ears:

"Ning Zhou—!!!”

Maybe it was because of the light, or maybe it was because of this voice, but the furious black dragon suddenly quieted down. It stood quietly in the lake of fire, looking at the distant hole in the rock wall, which was brighter than the sun.

Amidst the bright holy light, a silvery white light like fine gauze slowly stretched out, just like a huge lotus flower in full bloom. In that light, there is a mirage of paradise at dusk, and countless hymns were played there, washing away one’s inner pain.

In this light, a holy angel with white wings fell from the cliff and fell from Heaven toward Purgatory’s lake of fire without hesitation.

The holy and elegant white wings fluttered gently. The warm and quiet power extinguished the raging flames burning on the lake of fire along the way, and the terrible suffocating heat dissipated with them, turning into a paradise in the light. The reflection of Heaven appeared on the lake of fire wherever he passed.

The holy angel landed on a black rock in the lake of fire, just in front of the dragon.

And the light falling from the broken dome just happened to fall on him.

The earth shaking world had subsided, the downpour of fiery rain had subsided, and the scarred black dragon had also subsided.

They stared at each other as if they were staring at their own souls. One was full of cracks that were on the verge of breaking, and the other was about to be pulled by despair into the abyss of Destruction.

It was at this moment that they were all redeemed by gentleness.

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The author has something to say:

PS: They finally meet again! This scene is ranked as the no.2 scene that I wanted to write in the second part. It should be more beautiful in my brain... I accidentally burst the word count OTZ, First explain the cause and effect clearly, and then start a sweet love ^_^

By the way, everyone should have guessed how Ning Zhou died before, right?

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Editor’s Notes: Double update today because I think this and the next chapter are best read side by side. Please continue on~

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skylarmoon71 · 3 years

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Boss Harry x Reader: Chapter 4 - Final

"Have a great night, don't forget to say hi to your sister for me."

She smiles with a thumbs up, jumping into her car. You live pretty close by, and although she'd offer to drive you home, you preferred to walk.

The cool air was refreshing, therapeutic even. Your gaze drifts to the sky, enjoying the stars littered across your view. Nights like these were just perfect for a walk. Walks also presented a settled atmosphere for you to evaluate all that transpired that week. Your little moment a few nights ago with Harrison was pretty high on the list. The more you tried to forget about it the harder it was.

Problem was you liked being around him. Since your meeting he'd be at the office late sometimes. You knew he didn't have to but he'd swing by just to say hello, and one time he'd even brought you a burger from your favorite joint, which just so happened to be his as well.

There wasn't a whole lot you had in common, him being a scientist and you specializing in nursing and therapy. But you still managed to fill the time with conversations. He talked about his daughter, and you could easily tell he was proud of her. Regretfully he even informed you about his late wife. You were sympathetic, but also grateful that he felt so comfortable around you to talk about his life.

"Then why am I trying to pull away from him?"

Maybe it was a defense to protect yourself. Harrison could frankly get just about any woman he wanted. Wealth, intelligence and looks. He was a killer deal. That's what scared you. Right now you were just friends, but what would you do when you decided you wanted more. Did he even see you as a friend? Was that even allowed? At the end of the day he was still your boss.

"There goes my calm relaxing night."

You were trying so hard not to overwhelm yourself with the issue. As you round the corner, a figure standing at the bottom of your staircase catches your eyes. You tilt your head. The closer you got, the better you could make out just who it was. That baseball cap was a dead give away. Blue eyes brighten, and it makes your heart skip to have them directed at you.

"Hello (Y/N)."

What a wonderful turn of events.

~~~~

Inside your apartment nearly makes you feel cornered. There's no excuse you can create to leave, and it would be rude to just outright deny him entry. So now you're both standing in your kitchen.

"I wanted to have a word with you."

Shuffling nervously you grab a glass of water, sipping. He could feel your nerves from all the way across the room. Sighing, he took off his hat, attention now solely on you.

"I wanted to apologize for the other night. It wasn't my intention to make you uncomfortable. "

The last thing he wanted was for you to think he intended to use his authority to take advantage of you. What happened, looking back on it, to him, it fell under the lines of harassment.

"I wasn't uncomfortable, I'd never be that way. Not around you Harry." His eyes open a fraction and you trip over your words. Placing down the drink you ramble on.

"O-Oh my gosh I'm sorry! I have this stupid habit of giving people nicknames. I-It won't happen again I swear."

He's taken notice that it's fairly easy to get you flustered. Which is so cute to him.

"I'm glad, I really do enjoy your company." His statement warms your heart.

"So do I."

But you want more.

"You do.."

Wait what?

"I do what? " You ask hesitantly.

His eyes flicker to your lips, and you swallow. He moves closer, and with each step, your heart beats in rhythm. Now standing before you, everything stills.

"H-Harr-"

His palm rests on your cheek, and you close your eyes.

"What was I about to say.."

You forgot.

"I know this is unprofessional, but I do want more (Y/N)."

Why does he say your name like that?

"Curse your sexy voice Harrison Wells!!"

"I get the feeling that my interest isn't simply one-sided, am I right?" He strokes your cheek.

"So I'd like to give this a chance. Only if that's what you desire as well. " Your eyes flutter open, and you have to take a moment to gather your bearings.

"I-I do want more. B-But your my boss and I.." His thumb lands on your lower lip.

"Shh..let's not worry about that right now."

In a slow motion, his lips press to yours with such tenderness. You melt into him, and his free arm locks around your waist, pulling you closer.

There were definitely rules against fraternizing with your employer.

“Worry about it later."

You repeat. There is so much you feel right now. It's no secret that you've been dying to kiss him for quite a while.

You aren't the only one either. He parts for a brief moment, and then rejoins. This time around his tongue takes charge and you push at his dark jacket, trying to pry it off his body. Harrison gets the message. Freeing his hands to shimmy it down his arms. Once it's gone, your hands settle on his chest. Just as you thought, the guy's built. There a lot that suit hides. Your fingers venture to his back, and you slip them under the material. You can feel the shiver that runs through his body, and it makes you moan. This time when his lips disconnect, they immediately shift to your neck. You gasp as he moves along your skin.

"You smell heavenly.."

He sighs between kisses. Another moan leaves your lips when he grips at your hips. He nips at your skin, and you can feel the smirk that rises. You groan, because he's no longer giving you what you want. "Harry.." you whine.

"I'd very much like to continue this, but I believe dinner is in order. "

"W-We can always skip dinner."

Harrison can hardly hide his smile.

"We'll have a lot of opportunities to continue, there's no rush." He whispers into your ear. He knows exactly what he's doing.

"Meanie." you grumble. Your childish responses never fail to amuse him.

"I take full responsibility. " He says, pecking your lips.

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deliciousdetectivestranger · 3 years

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Posting 2nd chapter of my story, do tell me what you guys think.

You are the Mirror of My Soul

“Kit, can you hear me?”

Someone was calling out to him. Kit’s body ached all over while his head kept screaming at him to lie low and safe then act. He should heal himself but he was exhausted.

“Wake up please, Kit.”

This person was persistent and very much inconsiderate to not care about his situation. Kit reached out to grab a pillow whether to bury his head under it or to smother this annoying alarm clock he didn’t know but his hand found grass instead. He went taut as he tried to figure out where he was and suddenly cold wind slapped him in the face as he heard leaves rustle and wings flap.

“Christopher Jonathan Herondale!”

The person shook him and Kit fell into their arms. They were some kind of warrior given on their impressive physique, which made him even more alert until he noted their scent. Wild forest and open sky, a little bit of magic, and a hint of steel made Kit go lax with relief.

“Ash. Ash is that you?”

A shuddering relief went through the person’s body when Kit opened his eyes and stared into familiar green eyes.

“Thank goodness! I was so worried that you might be in a coma.”

“What happened?” Kit asked as he moved to stand up.

“What happened? What happened?” Ash let out a ‘can you believe this guy’ laugh.

“Repeating yourself is not going to answer my question and you will look like someone who has lost his marbles.”

Ash glared at him. “What happened is at the parley you and I fought for the crown of Seelie Court.”

“Yep. I do remember kicking your ass.”

“And then I blasted you with hellfire.” Ash continued as if hadn’t heard Kit. He had quite practice.

“A true fae. Cheating when it wasn’t suspected.”

“We are part-fae and part-shadowhunter. We have to fight with both of our heritages and use them to our utmost advantage. Plus, it’s not like you didn’t use your powers. We arrived here because you teleported us.”

“I was just following your lead.” Kit said with a sweet smile. At Ash’s glare he added, “Okay, you didn’t cheat. You looked for a loophole and used it.”

Ash opened his mouth to say something but a shadow passed over his young face and he sat against a tree with a loud thump.

Kit eyed him and this time asked him in a gentle tone, “What happened after I teleported us?”

“You teleported us nearly 630 feet in the sky. I flew us out with my wings and summoned vines to cushion our landing. I don’t know what happened at the parley but chaos, doubts, suspicion, threats will be high.”

Kit didn’t care about what happened at the parley. He could dwell on it later; Ash was more important.

“Then why are you in such a mood?” When Ash didn’t answer, Kit purposefully began to egg him, “Are you worried what the Seelie court will think? They will think you’ve been kidnapped by me. And the Alliance will think I’ve been kidnapped by you. It’s going to be an amusing blame game and I thoroughly plan on enjoying it.”

“Shut up! I don’t understand how you are finding this funny.”

Kit sat before Ash and took off the golden band, twirling it in his fingers. “I am not hurt Ash.” Ash flinched. “I would tell you if I were and if you had hurt me I would totally make you bow and scrape to my smallest wishes while I recuperate from my wounds." Seeing Ash ignore everything he said Kit continued in a sharp tone, "You listen to me and you listen well.”

“I understood that reference.” Ash instinctively muttered receiving a smile from Kit.

“We were fighting in the parley not as Kit and Ash but as The First Heir and The Seelie Prince. Every bit of it was real from the fight to your hellfire attack and my teleportation. But I know you weren’t ever going to hurt me. You won’t. Ever. And I know this just as you know you won’t ever be in danger from me.”

“You don’t get it. You lay there unmoving and I thought I had gone overboard with my act. I had killed you. I had truly become a Morgenstern, ruining lives of those who love us.”

And that was the crux of the matter. Arawn’s experiments and Annabelle Blackthorn’s maddening devotion had etched into Ash that no one will ever love him for who he was. His mother avoided him, too busy in her plans of uprising and weary of this unfamiliar son. Janus loved him for himself but Ash had realised that Janus' love for Clary was actually obsession which if not stopped would become fatal for everyone, and his love towards Ash was morphing into what Annabelle had showered him for those long years in Thule. He had hated her and he had begun to hate Janus as well but was there anyone in his life who truly loved him?

He had once escaped from the cottage at the Borderlands when Janus had gone to visit the Seelie Queen. He had found himself in the mortal world but it was strange to a boy raised in Faerie and a dystopian AU. Janus had started his shadowhunter training but there had never been lessons on mundanes. Panicked and weary of unknown attacks Ash had quite literally run into the one person on whom his Perfect Love didn’t work. Kit. Ash had been drawn towards this wondrous boy but had soon left for the Borderlands. One thing was clear whatever Kit would ever feel for Ash it would be true but did Ash dare to risk being like Janus and be obsessed with him?

The resolution hadn’t lasted for long with curiosity leading him to Kit again. Kit had been suspicious of him but then he was curious too. They had become acquaintances you didn’t want to meet, reluctant companions because there was something familiar in each other, accomplices against demons and finally friends who laughed, fought, shared secrets such as their problematic heritage (also Ty Blackthorn and Dru Blackthorn. They both had agreed they were in a hopeless situation.) and most of all understood each other better than anyone else.

“Except you didn’t and I didn’t create a shield because I knew you wouldn’t.” Ash turned his head away. “Look at me when I am talking to you Ashton.” Ash glared at him. Kit loved to more syllables to Ash’s name because according to him Shadowhunter names were long so they could be turned into nicknames and they were recognised by those nicknames. So, Kit had to find out Ash’s real name and if Ash found it bothersome, he could just tell Kit his name. It annoyed Ash endlessly but not as much as Kit’s other habit.

“I won’t even ask you to stop as you never listen.”

“Hey! I listen to you just fine.”

“And while we are on the topic, did you have to bring up my age at the parley?”

Kit smiled innocently and those who didn’t know him wouldn’t have doubted him at all. When Emma and Julian had returned from Thule, they had confessed all to the Blackthorns, and Kit, Cristina, Kieran, Alec, Magnus, Jace, and Clary. Their regrouping with Mark, Cristina, Kieran, Clary, and Jace was also discussed in detail. So, Kit had known a lot about Ash when they had first met and one of those things had been that Ash was near to the age of Mina, Max, Rafael, and Tavvy. Bossing Ash around was one of Kit’s favourite things to do, of course when the mood struck Kit also made Ash take the responsibility “because you’ve grown up so much in such short time”. Kit liked to say it was their thing, Ash heartily disagreed.

“Moving on, I know you ever won’t hurt me voluntarily or consciously. Ash, what about me? I have more powers than you. You think I don’t worry.” Ash glanced at him from the corner of his eye. “And if we are going to talk about living up to our last name then remember Herondales go crazy in love just as much as Morgensterns in the thrall of power. Both are dangerous.”

Kit took a deep breath and continued, “You were kept hidden because of your heritage just like I was. Janus may love you now but at first, it was because of Clary. How different is that from me? Tessa and Jem originally took me in because of Will.” Ash made a noise of protest. “Yes, they love me for me now but it doesn’t change that at first, they wanted to protect the Lost Herondale.”

“And if you are plagued by the fact that Perfect Love makes it impossible for them to love you on their terms then remember me. I am here for you. I always will be. Just like you will be for me. I have my fair share of insecurities too, no one had ever loved me until Tessa and Jem.”

“We make such a troubled pair, don’t we? A boy who believes no one can love him genuinely and a boy who believes he can’t be loved.”

“You are a mirror of my soul. Forged by our experiences, expectations of our powers, embodiments of our ancestry but never forget that we chose each other.”

Ash smiled as if the weight of the world had lifted from his shoulder at Kit’s words. Kit placed Ash’s golden band on his own head.

“Gold on gold looks gaudy. You need another metal for your band.”

Kit looked concerned at the idea of not being refined. He looked at the sky and realised dusk had tip-toed on them. He thought back to the mayhem running rampant in Shadow World and sighing wiped the back of his left hand to dispel a simple but quite unbreakable spell. Ash mimicked the action on the right side of his temple. Hidden beneath spells were twin runes.

“Well, then shall we raise hell, my Parabatai?”

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ollieofthebeholder · 3 years

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leaves too high to touch (roots too strong to fall): a TMA fanfic

[1] [2] [3] [4] [5] [6] [7] [8] [9] [10] Also on AO3

Chapter 11: Sasha

They all jump at the sound of the recorder clicking off. Tim sits up straighter and rubs his hands together.

“Well!” he says in what Sasha can tell is a falsely cheerful voice. “I think that’s enough earth-shattering revelations for one night. Who wants that whiskey now?”

“I refuse to get drunk around you again,” Sasha says. It’s a pathetic attempt at their usual banter, but it does get a genuine smirk out of Tim, complete with that unfairly attractive dimple.

Jon exhales heavily. He pulls off his glasses with one hand and rubs at his eyes with the other. “I should…probably get going.”

“The hell you will,” Tim says immediately. “Look at you. If I let you out the door, you’ll fall asleep at the wheel and die before you get to the end of the block. You’re staying the night.”

“Tim, while I appreciate the offer—”

“Nope, not interested in the rest of that sentence. The only thing keeping you upright is the arm of the sofa and the starch in your underpants.”

“And the stick jammed up my ass, no doubt?” Jon raises an eyebrow.

Tim grins. “See? You’re so tired you’re actually joking around with me. Stay the night, and tomorrow we can get answers out of them first thing.” He stands up without waiting for an answer. “One of you can take the sofa, the other one can have the love seat. Unless you want to build a blanket fort on the floor, but it wouldn’t be fair to leave Martin out. We’ll let the old folks fight over the bed.”

“Old folks?” Jon Prime repeats indignantly. He shoots an obviously exaggerated glare at Martin Prime, who isn’t even bothering to hide his snickers. “We don’t look that bad.”

Tim laughs. He’s the only one that doesn’t seem that tired, really. “Come on, you two. I’ll show you where the bedroom is.”

Jon Prime gets to his feet, then hesitates and glances at Martin Prime. Sasha wonders how blind Martin Prime actually is, because he seems to respond to that look; he hesitantly reaches out in Jon Prime’s direction. Jon Prime takes his arm without further comment, and Sasha watches Martin Prime’s shoulders slump in evident relief before the two of them quietly wish the rest of them goodnight and follow Tim down the hall.

Sasha watches them for a moment, then glances at Jon and Martin, who are both avoiding looking at one another. She decides to give them a little space and go gather up the spare blankets and pillows. They probably both need a minute or two to process what they just heard.

Truthfully, Sasha’s not sure what she thinks of it either. She’s impressed that Martin Prime isn’t passively rolling over and taking whatever Jon Prime dishes out, and she’s a little bit in awe of his strength. Could she have survived two weeks alone and blind, let alone in the Archives? That feeling of being watched is creepy enough when she can look over her shoulder and confirm nobody’s actually there; she can’t imagine what it would be like if she didn’t have that option. It must be terrifying, but Martin Prime hasn’t shown it.

She’s also—there’s no denying it—curious as all get-out. She kind of wants to interrogate Martin Prime, find out how he lost his eyesight, if it’s total vision loss or partial, if he thinks it’s temporary or permanent. What it’s like being blind in general, what it’s like trying to maneuver around the Archives blind. How he plans to deal with it if it is permanent.

As she passes the door of Tim’s bedroom, which is ajar, she hears Martin Prime say, evidently mid-sentence, “—put you to any trouble.”

Sasha slows her steps and hovers outside the door, eavesdropping shamelessly. It’s always been one of her fatal flaws, that urge to snoop and spy and pluck secrets out of thin air. It’s part of what drew her to the Magnus Institute over any of the other research or archival jobs she could have taken, the other part being that most of the others would have required her to go too far from London. She hasn’t said anything about that to any of the others, about why she’s so keen to stay in the city. For all she loves ferreting out things about those around her, she’s always been close-mouthed about her own secrets.

“It’s no trouble at all,” Tim says. “Like I said, we were planning to spend the night in the Archives anyway, and I don’t think we’d all have fit on that cot in the back room. My floor’s a lot more comfortable.”

“Yes, but we don’t want to turn you out of your room.” Jon Prime sounds uncertain and exhausted.

“I offered. Look. Martin’s probably going to be asleep before I get back out to the living room, he looks exhausted. And I don’t think the rest of us want to leave him alone right now.” Tim sighs. “Where did we all sleep when we did this before?”

“Hmm?” Sasha isn’t sure which one of the Primes makes that noise.

“You said this happened a lot earlier than it did for you guys, right? If we want to keep an eye on each other like this now, I bet it was even worse two months down the line. Did somebody else put us all up or what?”

There’s a short pause before Martin Prime says, “No, we—we all sort of went our separate ways.”

“Wait, seriously?” Tim sounds genuinely shocked. “No, that’s—if you were hurt—”

“I wasn’t, though. I was the only one who came out of it unhurt.”

“Physically, anyway,” Jon Prime says. “We were all a bit…it was rough for a while there.”

“All the more reason we should have stayed together, then,” Tim says. “Whose idea was it not to?”

“I think we were all just…tired,” Martin Prime says slowly. “You—our Tim, I mean—he was in quarantine for a while, so he just wanted to go home, and Sasha…she wasn’t herself.”

Somebody makes a noise that might be a laugh, but Sasha isn’t getting the joke. Tim has an audible frown in his voice when he speaks again. “And you? What did you do? Go back to the place you’d last seen when you were being toyed with by six thousand worms wrapped in a trench coat and pretend that the idea of sleeping there alone didn’t bother you, then spend the night lying in bed staring up at the ceiling and jumping at every single sound?”

Martin Prime doesn’t answer for a moment. Finally, he says, so quietly Sasha has to move closer to hear properly, “You know, nobody ever actually asked me about that?”

“You know, that doesn’t really answer the question.”

“Martin?” Jon Prime’s voice is soft and laden with concern.

Martin Prime sighs heavily. “No. I went back to the place I’d last seen when I was being toyed with by six thousand worms wrapped in a trench coat and found out that I’d missed the deadline to renew my lease, then spent the night in a waiting room at St. Pancras pretending I had an early-morning train and reading through rental notices.”

Sasha presses a hand to her mouth to keep from swearing out loud. Tim does enough of that for both of them. “When was the lease up?”

“Mid-April sometime? Mrs. Mattson is…I’d been living there for years, but she’s not a sentimentalist. Once that deadline passed, she found a new tenant and arranged to have the place cleared out.”

“Why didn’t you ever tell me?” Jon Prime’s voice sounds ragged.

“It never really came up,” Martin Prime says, sounding a bit tired himself. “By the time I saw you again, I’d found a new place anyway, and I just…nobody ever asked me why I moved and it seemed easier not to say anything. There was kind of a lot going on.”

“All right, I—I suppose that’s fair, but…” Jon Prime trails off.

Sasha hears Tim take a deep breath. “Right, well, we’ll do better than that for our Martin, don’t worry. Maybe you can help us convince him he deserves it. Anyway, you two look like you’re about ready to drop, so I’ll let you get some sleep and finish grilling you tomorrow. Bathroom’s right across the hall if you need it.”

“Thank you, Tim,” Jon Prime says softly. “I mean it.”

“Hey, what are friends for?”

Sasha hurriedly steps away from the door and moves to the linen closet at the end of the hallway. A moment or two later, Tim joins her. “Need a hand?”

“I just thought I’d get the spare blankets and pillows,” Sasha says. “You know, so it feels a little more like we’re really sleeping. How were you planning to handle that in the Archives, by the way?”

Tim has the grace to look sheepish. “Okay, so it was an impulse. Sue me. We’d have probably ended up in a pile on the floor or something.”

“I suppose there are worse ways to sleep than in a cuddle pile with my two best friends.” Sasha nudges Tim, who laughs. “Like…alone, on a cot in the Archives.”

“I still can’t believe we let him do that for so long. We are horrible friends.” Tim glances over his shoulder, his expression suddenly pinched. Sasha wonders if she should admit that she heard his whole conversation with the Primes, but decides, on the balance, nah. “I mean, Jon I understand, he was still pretending he hated us.”

Sasha snorts and pulls out an armful of soft things. “Not very well.”

It at least brings a smile back to Tim’s face. “Well, I mean, you and I already knew it was an act. It’s just Martin who probably didn’t know.”

“Martin would have quit if he really thought Jon didn’t like him,” Sasha says, although she’s not altogether sure that’s true. Between the fact that he falsified most of his credentials to get the job at the Institute to begin with and the fact that he’s the sole support for a chronically ill mother, he probably would have put up with a lot worse than a boss that hated him. “Or at least asked to be transferred back to the library.”

“What, and leave us to the mercies of the Archives?” Tim grins. “C’mon, grab the spare pillows and let’s go make everybody comfortable.”

True to Tim’s prediction, Martin has fallen asleep by the time they get back into the living room, although in a way that doesn’t make it seem like he’s under very deep, or at least that he’s not comfortable enough to stay asleep easily. Jon is kneeling on the floor in front of him, carefully working his shoes off his feet. He looks up when they come in, obviously flustered and embarrassed. “I didn’t notice he’d dropped off until a minute ago,” he says, his voice barely above a whisper.

Sasha isn’t surprised, considering he was avoiding making eye contact, but she doesn’t say that out loud. “I mean, it’s been a long day, and he’s probably in a lot of pain.”

Tim dumps his load on the coffee table. “Here, you get the lever and I’ll ease the back down so he doesn’t fall too hard. Don’t want to wake him, but sitting upright all night isn’t going to help him.”

Sasha wonders, as she sets down her own burden, how much of this is Tim trying to atone for what their counterparts did to Martin Prime and how much of it is him genuinely worrying about their Martin, but she’s not going to ask because that would mean revealing she was eavesdropping. Instead, she selects a pillow and blanket and starts setting them up on the love seat while she watches Tim and Jon try to ease the footrest out and the back to a reclining position without jostling Martin awake. He must be really tired, though, because although his face screws up briefly and he makes a soft sound, he doesn’t otherwise react. Once he’s lying down, Jon leans over and carefully slides Martin’s glasses off of his face, then folds them and sets them on the end table between the recliner and the sofa.

He turns around, presumably to get a blanket, and starts when he sees Sasha making up a bed. “Here, you don’t have to—you’re taller than I am, you should—”

“Only by a bit,” Sasha interrupts. “Two or three inches isn’t going to make that much of a difference, and I sleep curled up anyway.” She also sleeps like the dead, and judging by the way Tim and Jon are fussing over Martin without making it obvious, she guesses they’re more concerned about Martin than she is. Which isn’t to say that she isn’t worried about him, only that she’s a bit more detached from the situation, for whatever reason. If anything happens to Martin in the middle of the night, she won’t wake up and hear it, and they’re more likely to jump up to do something about it anyway, so there’s no reason for her to stay near him. She doesn’t say that out loud, though.

“I…” Jon hesitates, then glances back at Martin, and his face softens in a way Sasha pretends not to notice so she won’t be tempted to pick at it. “All right. T-Tim, are you sure—”

“Yep. The floor and I are good friends. I’ve done a lot of camping and backpacking and the like, so I’m used to it.” Tim grins. “Pick a pillow and a blanket.”

Jon looks over the offerings on the table, then selects a faded patchwork quilt and unfolds it carefully. Somehow, Sasha isn’t surprised when he drapes it over Martin and tucks him in gently, almost tenderly, before turning back and taking another blanket along with a pillow. The blanket, to Sasha’s eye, looks as if it’s made of fiberglass and horsehair, but Jon runs his fingers over the pattern almost reverently. “Where did you find this?”

“California, I think,” Tim answers. “Maybe Mexico. My grandparents left me a bit of a legacy when they died, with the stipulation that I use it for a gap year in ‘the mountains’. It was that vague. I think my folks expected me to pick the Alps or the Pyrenees, maybe the Sierra Morena if I felt like being different. Something close to home, anyway. But I thought, hey, when am I ever going to get a chance like this again? Spent my whole last year of school planning and budgeting, and two days after graduation I was off to America. The start of the Pacific Crest Trail is right on the border with Mexico, and there was a market there, people selling handcrafts and the like. I figured it wouldn’t hurt to have an extra blanket. I was right, too.”

“Does it mean something to you, Jon?” Sasha asks, curious. “The pattern, I mean?” She’s seen people trace the lines of relics and books like that when touching something that looks familiar but isn’t, and there’s an oddly thoughtful look on Jon’s face.

“Sort of?” Jon looks up. He truly does look tired, which is odd, considering he wasn’t the one running from worms. “I—my mother’s sister married an American. Well, he was Mexican-American. My cousin had a blanket like this on his guest bed, he said his grandmother made it for him.”

Tim begins making up a bed on the floor with the remaining blankets. He does so with a practiced ease that tells Sasha he truly has done this plenty of times before. “You’ve been to America, then? Or does your cousin live over here?”

“No, he’s in New Mexico. Or he was the last time we spoke. It’s been a few years.” Jon bends over and begins untying his shoes. “I didn’t—exactly take a gap year, but I did take some time off and go to visit him. He and his parents, or at least my aunt, used to come over and visit for a week or two every summer, so I thought I’d repay him by returning the visit. Ended up staying through to the end of the year.”

“Didn’t make it to New Mexico when I was there.” Tim turns to Sasha. “How ‘bout you, Sash? Ever been to America?”

Sasha shakes her head. “Closest I’ve come was getting to go onto one of their military bases in Ansbach. My family was on holiday in Germany and a boy asked me if I’d be his date to a holiday party. Evidently I was the only girl his age who spoke English he ran into who wasn’t already going with someone else.”

“We’ll all have to go sometime,” Tim says. “Close the Archives down for a couple weeks, the four of us can fly over and do the tourist thing.”

“I doubt Elias would go for that,” Jon says dryly, straightening up. “I barely was able to convince him to let us have a day or two off while the cleaning crews come in and get rid of the worm carcasses. Unless we manage to somehow convince him we’re doing research and that I need all of you with me, he’d likely insist at least one of us stay back.”

“Then we’ll sneak off,” Tim declares. “Leave the Institute on a Friday night, promise to see him Monday. Slip away under the cover of darkness, take a taxi to the airport, buy tickets under assumed names and catch a midnight flight. By the time he realizes we’re not coming in on Monday, we’ll be well dug in somewhere in America. He’ll never think to look for us there.”

“And then we’ll get fired the minute we set foot back in the Institute,” Sasha says.

“Nah, not us. Who’d take our place? Especially now? He’d have to hire from the outside and lie about the conditions. Worst we’ll have to endure is a lecture. ‘I am sorely disappointed in all of you, leaving the Archives in such a state and going on holiday. We won’t discuss this further, but I will have to refuse any further time off requests you make for the remainder of the year.’”

Sasha presses a hand to her mouth to stifle her giggles. “Shh, you’ll wake Martin.”

“What do you say, Boss?” Tim asks, undeterred. “Team Archives in America? Debunking ghosts and solving mysteries? Rent a technicolor cargo van and adopt a Great Dane?”

The corners of Jon’s mouth twitch upwards in a smile. “Actually, the idea of going on a trip with the three of you is, strangely enough, not an altogether unwelcome one. God knows I haven’t taken a holiday in ages.”

“Your enthusiasm is boundless,” Tim says dryly. He kicks off his shoes and sits down on the blanket nest he’s built. “Hey, maybe the Primes will cover for us. They can pretend to be you and Martin and just Sasha and I can take the time off.”

“I think it’s a bit obvious they’re not us. Especially now.” Jon looks over at Martin. “I—I am sorry. I should have been there. I should have…it should have been me. Not any of you.”

Tim sighs, the smirk melting off his face. “Well, according to your counterparts, Martin was the only one who didn’t get…wormed the first time, so maybe you not being there means fewer people got hurt.”

“While I’m not ungrateful that you and Sasha weren’t hurt, Tim, it doesn’t make me feel any better for not…being there to help. Not even knowing.”

“Yeah, well…it was spur of the moment, sort of. And I deliberately didn’t tell you. Figured you wouldn’t…I don’t know, want to stay? Encourage us to stay? I mean, like you told Martin, it is still technically where we work, even if he was living there for a while.”

Jon looks pained. “I…in truth, I probably wouldn’t have wanted you all to stay, but not…Elias thought I was overreacting anyway, having Martin living there. I’d have probably come up with some ridiculous reason why you shouldn’t stay, but really it would have boiled down to the fear that if Elias found out we were all staying, he might order Martin out, and I—I thought that would put him in danger.”

“Well, if you believe what Martin Prime apparently told him, he wasn’t really what she was after,” Sasha points out. The last couple of words are swallowed by a yawn.

“I don’t know what I believe, Sasha.” Jon sighs heavily and takes off his glasses. “Let’s…table this discussion for the morning, shall we?”

“Sounds good. Tomorrow, then.” Tim yawns and burrows into his blankets.

Sasha curls up on the love seat. She figures she’ll lie there until she’s sure the others are asleep, then get up and do some investigating on her laptop, but to her mild surprise, she drifts off almost as soon as her eyes close.

#ollie writes fanfic #the magnus archives #tma #leaves too high to touch (roots too strong to fall)#in which a whole lot of nothing appears to happen #enjoy the mental image of Team Archives as the Scooby Gang #Jon is Shaggy #Tim is Fred #Sasha is Daphne #Martin is Velma #I will fight you on this

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sukirichi · 3 years

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read the new chapters and aAAACKKKKK BESTIE???

y/n - ‘I was born to make everyone’s life a living hell’ maam this LINE?! JAW DROPPED, TIME STOPPED being insecure all her life and wanting to live up to the expectations to her dad just to have that sliver of attention from him, that sentence gives us a glimpse on how little she felt despite being accomplished, rather successful actually because she always cleans her boss’ mess have a lot of baggage to unpack. and when the secret was confirmed, her anger rejects all of the entity that ties with her past because both her parents deprived her for the things she was supposed to have– becoming greedy to fulfill those. then eventually, somehow, going back to her roots aka being humble after having the talk with her dad. As most of her insecurity started because of him and how she had to be the bigger person for his other family, clearing out the misunderstanding between them brought a sense of peace while she’s settling in the restless turn of events.

and with our main man gojo, this guy, it is not wise to- 😤😤 how can you say you’re engaged after doing the body tango huh? esp when you said you want y/n to be your wife? oh gee and the revelation of his past relationship with mia and how he sees her in y/n is so fucked up. can’t help but think that satoru wanting to marry and be this lovey-dovey with y/n is just him reliving the moments that mia never gave him in the past. and y/n accepting that their current relationship is based on how they’re filling up the cracks in their needs and settling for the sake of familiarity. imagine how deep in love our girl is to keep satoru in her life 💔 im still in it for the second lead agenda

needless to say, everyone here needs a therapy so they can get their shit straight together 🤧🤧 (ノ•̀ o •́ )ノ ~ ┻━┻

BUT i know you mentioned this many times but laywer! naoya all poised and in his best behavior while helping y/n in her new situation has my heart go💕💕 winning lots of cases and is known in his field, he proved that he is both beauty and brains. and the pen spin??? man be pulling those fast spins either to distract or impress the person he is talking to flashing those perfect white pearls wtf now i can’t get that out of my head naoya brain rot 🥵🥵 also celebrity chef! sukuna in charge of all those delicious, exquisite cuisines? imma make myself broke just to taste his masterpiece🥲 ooh but how about him being a michelin star chef and owning a michelin-starred resto?! no doubt, left and right you see this man appearing on some high food magazine on the cover 😊😊 oh oh i also saw that supermodel! choso?? also his face is plastered on magazines AND luxurious advertisements ex. shibuya crossing! where most people be drenched in his glorious presence yea weird shibuya arc ref pls kill me and everyone talks how handsome and intimidating he is while he just have a rbf and only the closest people in his life get to see him drop that front 😌😌

with that in mind, imagine supermodel! choso being a godfather to the baby of y/n?? he would go soft immediately at the sight of the child and would probably love giving lots of branded clothes it will be good enough for more than a year ☺️🥲😭

oh and there is this one scene in chp7 that reminded me of the recent korean movie i watched i dont wanna say it in case you wanna check it out its called sweet and sour and oh god idk why but watching it, mind keeps on prompting your fics 😬😬 maybe bcos i some of your fic always had med related topics and the main actress role there is a nurse. i remember that you’re on your clinic training so maybe thats why 😳oohh pls don’t forget to take breaks and be safe heart and oh ur a psych major too? oh wow hi ig in relation to one actress in the sweet and sour fic, she was also in a kdrama the heirs- which was popular at the time with it being packed with some solid household actors and actresses. sky castle tho, ig it relates to the theme of reckless more because its mostly how parents from the upper class will mindlessly destroy someone’s life to attain their materialistic desires 🤧🙂

this fic, easily in my top 3 ‘heart belongs to who it dictates’ so many twists, so much drama and ANGST! YES BESTIE GIMME THOSE ANGST 🥲😌

i hope you’re doing well nowadays :’)) we need to find gege the best chiropractor to take care of his back, so good that it’ll make naoya respawn to life 🙂 suki i don’t think i’ll get tired of saying how much i love your work that it feels illegal im reading it for free 💔. i don’t really have much to offer, but im wishing you good health and success in your life :’)) aah i’ve mentioned this already but take care always 💕💖😊🥰

- 🍳

read the new chapters and aAAACKKKKK BESTIE???

needless to say, everyone here needs a therapy so they can get their shit straight together 🤧🤧 (ノ•̀ o •́ )ノ ~ ┻━┻

this fic, easily in my top 3 ‘heart belongs to who it dictates’ so many twists, so much drama and ANGST! YES BESTIE GIMME THOSE ANGST 🥲😌

- 🍳

y/n becomes a real baddie when she’s pissed off 😫

hmm y/n wasn’t really working hard for her dad’s attention, it was more like she felt so left out and unwanted (she feels unwanted wherever she goes) that she just decided to pack up and support them from afar bcos to her, she’s so alienated in her dad’s family that she felt like she had to work hard to earn a spot in their table. she knows she’s the outsider but she wants to feel like she can be part of them, that she is also a child deserving of love and care, but becos her stepmom focused more on her actual kids and her own dad was too busy with his new family now, it made y/n feel that she had to do something to be worthy of that.

that’s why most of the money she made working in tokyo was still wired to her family; she put her brothers in school and supported them, all because she hoped it would make them accept her more. now, things are different because she finally found her biological family, but even if valeria and co. still don’t want her, y/n is now more focusing on building something that’s truly hers that no one can take away. yes yes, she did become greedy, but more for power than of acceptance. she got to a point she doesn’t care as much vying for her parents’ approval and now thinks her luxury gives her comfort; only because at least she has that much. like she said in the latest chapter, happiness was not what she needed, it was stability and money - all things she lacked before.

and yea she did go back to her roots! all of her issues started with her dad anyway but that part is slowly patching up 🩹💔 oooh actually your theory is right bestie 🧐 gojo found y/n interesting bcos she reminded him of mia, so the more she pushed him away, the more he’s like wait, i’ve been here before, let’s not repeat past mistakes but i can do better now. on the part where gojo talked to mia while she was asleep, notice how he said he’s given a second chance to do better now, all because he couldn’t do them with mia but he could with y/n.

ohhh actually y/n was the one who established that ‘fulfilling mutual need and settling for familiarity instead of being lonely’ type of relationship. gojo avoided her for weeks and he’s pretty settled in keeping his distance, but she was the one who sought him out. deep down, y/n is afraid if she doesn’t at least use him as an anchor to her more humble roots, then she might spiral out of control and end up like valeria, thus using him as a ‘distraction’ but in reality, she needs his comfort to be grounded.

SECOND LEAD AGENDA OMG LETS GOOO 🏃🏻‍♀️🏃🏻‍♀️🏃🏻‍♀️ geto the fine fine option.

NO BESTIE MOMENT U MENTIONED LAWYER NAOYA I JUST KNEW I WAS GONNA SCREAM. okay but lawyer! naoya is so fine, i love his character so much bcos he’s a pure bean. originally, i was gonna make him an antagonist but i found he had more potential as a good, supportive character. HIS PEN SPIN HELPPP WHY COULDN’T HE JUST BEEN OUR BABY DADDY 😫 he pulls them fast spins bcos he’s nervous btw HAHAHAHA y/n can be quite intimidating and lawyer! naoya is sometimes too precious.

celebrity chef! sukuna is MEAN! he was pictured after gordon ramsay so lmao. omgggg sukuna being famous not only for his food but also his handsomeness 😳 he gets so cocky over how no one can get in his level while popping a battle of champagne, listening to ‘careless whisper’ while dancing to his reflection in the mirror 😤

also yoo supermodel! choso is THE hot shit 🥵 he’s so famous his schedule is packed for an entire year and a half and those are just for very selected brands and designers! ugh imagine going to work on the subway when you see supermodel! choso with rbf posing sexily and you swoon because he’s so sexy. plot twist that choso doesn’t know how to drive bcos as a kamo family member, they grew up with drivers taking them to and fro, so when his driver got sick and everyone else was busy, supermodel choso takes the subway himself and hides behind a face mask and cap while still wearing extravagant clothes that makes him stand out more. he does not have ‘subtle’ on his book at all.

and yeah people say he’s intimidating but its more his height and build + rbf! in reality, he’s just as soft and sweet as naoya, but both of them go into protective mode when someone they care about is being crapped on. and boy when they DO get into “what did you just say?” mode, better run away 🏃🏻‍♀️ supermodel! choso is also an heir to the kamo empire though not after the business, but he still has enough power to take you down in a second.

meanwhile, lawyer! naoya didn’t become this successful without being so savage yet composed he makes you question your entire existence before he drags you to court. lawyer! naoya is so scarily convincing that he can make you plead guilty even tho you did nothing wrong 💀

aaaah omg supermodel! choso LOVES babies actually! as the eldest child who looked after his brothers bcos the kamo parents are always away for work, being a father figure is so natural to him. i can picture him being the one who cries harder than gojo if the baby is born bcos he’s so excited, then reads poems to the baby before sighing that childbirth is such a beautiful thing 🥺

omg i know sweet n sour, the actresses are one of my faves tho i haven’t watched it yet! oooh they’re a nurse? i didn’t know that 🧐 i actually finish my short training in a week so i’ll be heading on to heavy majoring in psychology! wait bestie are YOU also a psych major 😳💕 oh and i see i see, sky castle *jots that down for future references* reckless actually has lots of significance in terms of the parents’ roles so i’m excited to see that! and aww thank you so much, can’t believe i made it in someone’s top three 🥺💕

HELP AHSKWKW i’m gonna call the best chiropractor in the world and send them gege’s way, i’ll cry a river if that’s what it takes to bring my boo back to life 😭 and noo baby the support already means a lot to me, i’m just happy to indulge in my hobbies and share it wih you all so thank you very much for everything 🥺 please take care of yourself too n have a nice day!! kith MWAH 💕

#asks with naoya's trophy wife #series: reckless #jjk: manga spoilers #anon:🍳

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mayquita · 4 years

Text

Damn You For Making Me Love You (7/15) - Don’t Stop Me Now Part 2

Thank you so so much, for your likes, reblogs, kudos and comments. It means the world to me.

Beta-Reader: Thank you so much, @ultraluckycatnd I couldn’t have asked for a better beta. Thank you for all your effort, your suggestions, your advice and for always being there when I needed you.

Special mention to @saraswans and @onceuponaprincessworld, thank you so much for your perpetual support and for believing in me and in the story. Thank you again to the moderators of the event, @captainswanbigbang for giving us this opportunity and making this possible. You all are the best :)

Summary: Emma Swan and Killian Jones are close friends and co-workers. And both are in love with each other. The problem? They keep their feelings secret not only to the other but also to the rest of their friends. When Elsa, Emma’s best friend and Liam, Killian’s brother and Emma’s boss find out, they decide to form an alliance and work as a team with a clear goal, to get Emma and Killian to take the next step in their relationship and confess their love for each other.

Rating: M

Word count: ~ 3700 (98k total in 15 chapters)

Ao3 / FFnet

About this chapter: We'll know the consequences of Emma's accident and we'll also have the opportunity to learn a little more about both Liam and Elsa's backstory.

Chapter 6: Don’t Stop Me Now Part 2

Kilian - December 2019

Elsa and Emma were taking too long. Liam and Killian had been waiting for what seemed like hours in the waiting room of the hospital. Killian was so lost in his own thoughts that he didn’t even realize he was wiggling his leg up and down until Liam laid his hand on his knee.

"Calm down, Killian. They will come out at any moment."

He tried, he really did, but as time passed without news of Emma, he was getting more and more nervous. The fury that seemed to have dissipated before was now coming back with more force. He was angry not only with the asshole who had hurt Emma, but also with himself. I shouldn't have let go of her hand . That thought kept repeating itself over and over in his head, making him feel more and more guilty about what had happened. And if that weren’t enough, another even more frustrating thought threatened to drain the little composure he still had. It should be me who was accompanying her inside.

But Elsa was Emma’s emergency contact and also her roommate, so everyone expected Elsa to be the one beside her at the moment. After all, he was just a friend, he repeated to himself bitterly.

Bloody hell… He stood up, unable to remain still any longer, and began pacing up and down. He felt like a caged animal, unable to do anything to help Emma while a wave of helplessness crawled over him.

To make matters worse, his demons from the past, those which were buried in the most hidden corner of his memories, threatened to emerge, bringing back a reminder of two of his most heartbreaking experiences. He had lost Milah forever in one of these places after her car accident, and his mother had also passed away in a hospital room after not being able to overcome her illness.

Just as he began to notice the beginnings of a panic attack crawling up his throat, Liam's voice brought him back to reality.

"It's going to be okay, Killian. It was just a hard hit." Killian had been so focused on his own miseries that he hadn’t realized that his brother had also risen, getting in his way.

Liam searched Killian’s gaze as he laid his hand on his shoulder, giving him an affectionate squeeze. "I know what you're thinking, brother," Liam addressed him in a slow voice, as he always did when he tried to calm him down. "Emma will be fine."

That was all Killian needed. His brother had always acted as a lifeline to which he could cling to in hard times. This time it wasn't going to be less. The confidence that denoted both his words and his eyes were enough to make him calm down. Killian felt his muscles relax instantly at the touch of his brother as he nodded, his lips drawing up in the ghost of a smile.

"I know it's frustrating; you feel helpless and you want to be in there with her. But Emma is in good hands, Killian."

"I know... but she's always so strong, and yet after the fall, she seemed so fragile..." he trailed off, hating the vulnerability his voice displayed, but he couldn’t help feeling a strong instinct of protection towards Emma.

Liam was about to reply when something caught their attention on the other side of the hall. They both turned in the direction of the sound and finally, Killian let out the breath he had been holding as the two lasses appeared.

Elsa was holding on to a weak Emma. Her face was pale, a large dressing covering the wound over her eyebrow and her left arm was in a sling. Killian clenched his jaw, the previous rage threatening to appear again at the thought of the guy who had brought them to this situation.

The moment Emma noticed him, though, she seemed to gather all her strength, since she threw herself into his arms suddenly, clinging to his body as she buried her face against his chest. After his initial shock at the unexpectedness of her movement, he held her in his arms, holding her tightly as his hand gently caressed her back up and down.

Killian searched for Elsa's gaze, encouraging her to explain with a nod.

"She's got a little concussion. Nothing serious, apparently, but the doctor has recommended that someone take care of her for the next twenty-four hours. I'll have to wake her up every two or three hours to make sure everything's okay."

“And what about her shoulder?” Liam asked.

"She got a bad bruise, but fortunately there is no fracture or dislocation, so she will only have to wear the sling a couple of days. The doctor has given her some painkillers."

"I'm fine," Emma mumbled against his shirt. She turned her head a little looking for Liam. "But I'm afraid today you'll have to work without me at the bar." Emma was dragging her words, a sign that the medicine was working.

Killian couldn’t help it and held her even more tightly in his arms, careful not to damage her shoulder any further. She didn’t seem to mind. On the contrary, as she curled up against him. Killian was aware that Elsa would be in charge of taking care of Emma during the night. After all, they lived together and he had other obligations. Still, that didn’t stop him from feeling powerless and frustrated because he couldn’t do anything else for her. Perhaps for that reason, their embrace persisted a little longer, both reluctant to abandon each other's arms.

"Well, I don’t know about you, but I'm already tired of this hospital. Shall we go so that this lass can rest?" As he spoke, Liam gave Killian an apologetic look.

They walked silently down the hospital corridors, Killian holding Emma by her waist. When they reached the area where their cars were parked it was also time to say goodbye.

Emma seemed reluctant to leave the shelter of his arms. After a few seconds of hesitation, though, she pulled away a little as she gave him a shy smile.

"I'll call you in a little while, okay? Take this time to rest, Swan." She nodded. Though her smile still lingered, she looked exhausted. Both the hit and the drugs were taking their toll, no doubt. In a rush of tenderness, he cupped her face with both hands and pressed a soft kiss on her forehead, before gently pushing her and helping her into Elsa's vehicle as Liam kept the door open.

Killian helped her to fasten her seatbelt and when he looked at her again, her eyes were closed. With a sigh of resignation, he closed the door gently and turned to Elsa.

"If you notice that she gets worse or needs anything, just call me and I'll be there." Killian paused for a moment. Maybe he was exposing himself too much. After all, Elsa didn’t know his true feelings towards Emma, but after the day’s events, it was difficult to control his emotions. "And thanks for taking care of her, truly."

"Sure, it's the least I can do. And don’t worry, she'll be fine." Her quiet voice and reassuring words had their effect on Killian. He let out a heavy breath and then offered a smile of gratitude. Everything will be fine , he told himself while making a mental note to restructure his schedule and go to Emma's apartment as soon as possible.

"Although it is still early you should also take the opportunity to rest now, Elsa." Liam's seemingly innocent comment had two immediate effects. On the one hand, Killian tilted his head slightly as she studied his brother intently. The affection for Elsa was evident both in his expression and in his voice. The curiosity to know what was happening between these two grew at times, especially when Killian noticed the effects of Liam's words on Elsa. A soft blush colored her cheeks as the corners of her lips move up, drawing a timid smile, which widened with his brother's next words. "I don't even want to imagine the arduous task that awaits you to try to wake Emma in the middle of the night.”

"I'm aware, but at least if she yells, growls, or lets out curses, I'll know she's on the right track in her recovery," Elsa joked, getting a little giggle out of them and thus releasing some of the tension that reigned over them after Emma's accident.

Killian also didn't miss the fact that Elsa kept her eyes on Liam almost the entire time, barely acknowledging his presence there too. He didn't really mind, not when that might imply that whatever was going on between these two at least seemed reciprocal.

After the brief relaxed moment, Killian continued. "I'll replace you tomorrow morning, so you can continue with your routine activities."

Before stepping into the car, Elsa glanced at Liam with a strange expression on her face, perhaps apologetic? Killian couldn’t identify it. His brother, in response, nodded almost imperceptibly, but that didn’t go unnoticed by Killian. He couldn't wait to tell Emma his little discoveries while his mind began to work on the best way to act as a matchmaker with these two. He would have time to think of it later, during the endless hours at The Kraken without Emma's company.

Killian took one last look at Emma. His stomach tightened into knots with the vulnerable image she offered, remaining in the same position, with the bandage covering almost half of her face and her eyes closed. A few seconds later, the vehicle drove away until it was out of sight, leaving Killian alone with a tight heart filled with helplessness and a still lingering worry. He sighed heavily as he ran his hand over his face. It was going to be a very long night without Emma by his side.

Liam - December 2019

Liam brought the cup of coffee to his lips, lost in thought as he waited for Elsa. He supposed she wouldn't take much longer since Killian had left home early after having slept, or at least tried to sleep, just a couple of hours after returning from the bar. His brother would replace Elsa in the task of taking care of Emma, so they had decided to meet for breakfast in a cafe and take the opportunity to talk about their failed plan. Once again.

A few minutes later, the cafe door opened and Elsa appeared. She looked around until she met his gaze, a delicate smile adorning her lips. There was no doubt that the night had been hard for her as she had to watch over Emma's sleep. Her tired expression and swollen eyes were proof enough. Yet, the lack of sleep and surviving Emma's moodiness hadn’t succeeded in diminishing the serenity her features always conveyed.

Liam welcomed her with a soft kiss on her cheek, a habitual act lately as their relationship became closer by having to work as allies with a common cause. She dropped into the seat in front of him, making a signal to the waitress. Elsa's love of coffee was something she shared with her roommate. Emma couldn’t function properly if she didn’t get her adequate dose of caffeine, and neither did Elsa.

"You look exhausted. It's been a long night, I take it?"

"Yeah," she sighed. "Emma can sometimes be too stubborn. She hasn’t taken it well that she has to wake up in the middle of the night on several occasions."

Liam gave her a knowing smile. Of course he knew Emma's stubborn side and her badass attitude, in contrast to the soft side she'd only occasionally revealed, especially when Killian was involved.

"Well, that's a good sign, isn’t it?" The image of a fragile Emma in his brother’s arms was something that had affected them all. "That means she's back to herself.”

"Indeed," Elsa giggled. "You should have seen the way she received your brother this morning. She was sulking and saying stuff like — I don't need a nanny —." Elsa mimicked Emma's sullen voice.

"That's my girl," Liam answered, unable to avoid a hint of pride in his voice. Both the strength and bravery that characterized Emma were admirable. "Let me guess, my brother made sure to return some comment at her level, right?"

"Oh, of course. He put on that characteristic gesture of his, you know, his eyebrow naughty arched and that wide smirk while he answered something like — well, love, technically I'm not your nanny, but your nurse —.” This time Elsa imitated both Killian's voice and his expression, causing Liam to break into laughter at such a good performance. "Emma didn’t take it well, of course, and she threw one of those glares at him. Fortunately, it didn't go beyond that and when I went back to the living room to say goodbye before leaving, I found them like this."

Elsa grabbed her phone, searching for something, then showed it to him. It was a picture of Killian and Emma, the two of them deeply asleep on the couch curled up in each other's arms.

His lips curled into a wide smile of satisfaction. "It looks like our plan wasn’t so much of a failure, after all, was it?"

"Yeah, did you see how they clung to each other in the hospital? It was as if they had forgotten to hide their feelings. It's a shame they are both so terrified that they don’t dare to take the next step.”

They spent the next few minutes talking about Emma and Killian, and about how it became increasingly difficult for them to hide their feelings.

They talked about the Saturday concert in which the chemistry between them was explosive, or the good time they had on Sunday while they skated until the accident happened.

While talking about skating, an image jumped into Liam's mind, Elsa's showing all her skill on skates. He had been greatly impressed not only by her skill and the elegance of her movements but also by her great patience as she taught them and her tenacity to avoid letting him fall.

"You were magnificent yesterday, by the way. You're very talented, Elsa." They had already dedicated a lot of time to the pair of lovebirds, so it wasn’t a bad time for a real conversation between them. And a compliment was the first thing he found to change directions in the conversation. "You looked like a professional on the ice rink."

Elsa's cheeks colored with a soft pink hue as she turned her gaze to the mug in front of her. "Well, in fact, I was a professional skater for a while."

Liam's eyes widened in surprise. He had no knowledge of that information and suddenly he found himself wanting to know more about Elsa's past. "It's not that I have anything against teaching children to skate, but is there any reason why you stopped competing?"

Elsa didn’t answer at once. Her thoughtful expression seemed to suggest that she was remembering old memories. When she spoke, her eyes had a special glow.

"Our aunt Ingrid died when Anna was too young to fend for herself. She was sixteen and I was twenty, so leaving her alone for long periods of time while I was competing didn’t seem plausible to me at the time. We had lost too much in our lives; I couldn’t leave her alone."

A wave of tenderness came over him as he listened to her confession. He felt like he totally identified with her story since he himself had experienced something similar with his brother.

"That's commendable of you, Elsa."

"Well, you did something like that for your brother, so I guess you’d know how it feels."

Yes, of course, he did. He knew what it meant to take care of his brother when he himself was still too young. He knew what it meant to give up his dream of starting a military career at the naval school. But there was something he was sure about. He would do the same thing over and over again if that meant he would get the almost full life that both Killian and himself were enjoying now. A business of his own, good friends, a stable life, and his loyal brother always by his side, having overcome all obstacles that life had put before them.

His admiration for Elsa grew at times when he remembered that she hadn’t only taken care of Anna but, from the moment she met Emma, she had also decided to take care of her somehow. Although Emma and Anna had gone to the same college, the two blondes had connected much more, creating a very strong bond between them.

They talked for a few more minutes sharing experiences from their hardest years. The level of understanding between them was high having dealt with similar situations. Liam found himself feeling very comfortable talking to Elsa. It was as if he had discovered someone with whom he could share all his fears and all his worries. He knew in advance that she wasn’t going to judge him because she herself would also be reflected in him.

Time passed without realizing it, they were so caught up in the conversation. Their respective coffees remained untouched on the table, long after they had turned into a cold, brown undrinkable liquid.

Suddenly, Elsa's phone, which was placed on the table, began to vibrate, thus breaking their conversation. "Oh, God, I'm late!" An expression of disappointment crossed her face while her gaze slid across the screen of the device. "I still have to go and run some errands before my lessons start." Elsa seemed to hesitate for a moment but then continued. "Are we moving forward with our plan?"

"Sure, but no risky sports this time, thank you very much," he joked, getting from her an adorable smile. "We're not going to give up. I have the feeling that Killian is almost there. He nearly lost his temper with everything that happened yesterday. I'm sure he just needs a little more push."

"Emma, however, is more closed to the idea, but I know she finds it increasingly difficult to hide her feelings."

An idea had begun to form in his mind and he had a suspicion that things would be better this time. What could fail? "How about a quiet movie evening in my apartment? You could invite Anna and Kristoff to cover our actual plan up.”

Elsa seemed to like the idea since, after assessing it for a few seconds, she arched a brow playfully. "Uhm, a movie night, that sounds good. And since Killian likes a challenge, how about we organize some kind of competition?"

"Something like guessing movies?"

"Yes, I know, it's a silly game and we're supposed to be responsible adults, but it would be fun, and of course, they would be on the same team."

"You're brilliant, Elsa, did you know that?"

She smiled sheepishly, staring at him through her eyelashes in a gesture that Liam was beginning to find perhaps too attractive for her own good. She held out her hand. "So we have a new plan?"

Liam took her hand, feeling her touch warm and firm. He also felt a spark of electricity running through his body with something he didn’t dare identify.

Several minutes after Elsa had left the cafe, Liam was still sitting there, her warm touch lingering on his skin. He shook his head as he let out a sigh and tried to gather his feelings. Even if he tried, it was impossible to ignore the fact that he had begun to feel something he hadn’t experienced for a long, long time. He didn’t know whether to feel hopeful or terrified. Maybe a mix of both feelings was the best choice right now. But he had one thing clear. He was more than willing to continue sharing these precious moments with Elsa.

In case you were wondering, your brother is still here. - Elsa

I figured so. He has the perfect excuse since it's Monday and The Kraken is closed. How is Emma doing? - LJ

She is still in pain, but that doesn't stop her from messing with Killian. Right now we're watching a movie. Well, I'm watching it because they won’t stop with the bickering. Sometimes they're a bit insufferable, just like children. - Elsa

I know the feeling, love. I work with them. - LJ

Sometimes I have to restrain myself so as not to shout at them to stop fighting and kiss already. - Elsa

Well, I'm not sure about that, imagine when these two get finally together. What would you rather witness, their bickering, or their make-out sessions in your living room? - LJ

Oh god! You're making me rethink if we should continue this HE operation. - Elsa

By the way, I laughed so hard that Emma just shot me a suspicious look and asked me who I was chatting with. Now Killian is also looking at me with a curious expression. At least they stopped fighting... - Elsa

And how did you respond? About the chatting? - LJ

I told them I was chatting with Anna. They don't seem to be buying it. I just hope Emma doesn't ask my sister. I'm going to hell. - Elsa

I'll be right there with you then. - LJ

What about you? Something interesting on your day off? - Elsa

I actually was about to head towards The Kraken. - LJ

What? But isn't the bar closed today? - Elsa

Aye, but there's always something to do there, lass. - LJ

Something you can wait for tomorrow, no doubt. I have a better plan for you. What do you think if you stop by my apartment? We would kill two birds with one stone. I get company and then you will drag your brother's ass out of here. - Elsa

So you just want me there to keep you entertained? - LJ

We are allies, remember. - Elsa

I will be there in a little while. - LJ

Oh, and Liam? Bring pizza for dinner, please ;p - Elsa

As you wish ;) - LJ

Thanks for reading. Let me know what you think :)

What to expect in the next chapter? New flashback, new performance and Emma being Emma...

#cs ff #csrt #captain swan #cs au #damn you for making me love you #cs au ff #captain swan rewrite a thon #mayquita writes #my cs writings

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turbulentt · 4 years

Text

her heart tastes bitter. chapter one.

warnings: mentions of parental figure's death.

author’s note: if you wish to be tagged on the following chapters to keep up with the fanfic please let me know. i haven’t decided how regularly i will post. hope you guys enjoy :)

"oh, looks who's here." yunho happily runs to congratulate you "i heard it was a tough job. are you okay?"

"yeah, i'm fine." you answer and quickly move to your desk "i have to write the report to hand to the boss."

"oh, good luck with that. also, wooyoung was talking shit about you earlier, nothing new, when are you going to deal with that?" yunho sits on your desk and you shrug your shoulders unbothered. you're more than used having jung wooyoung as your personal hater, him and a couple of his mates who, unfortunately, you are obliged to call coworkers. "i can't do anything if he's an idiot. it's been what? two or three years? he's just throwing a tantrum at this point."

"i know, but he has tried to sabotage you more than once. why don't you tell the boss?" yunho is always this worried about you, apart from your boss he is one of the few people who respect you at work. "i don't want to bother mister kim with these childish matters. besides, wooyoung is his right arm. who do you think he will trust?"

"you're partially right. but bear in mind that he chose to trust you when no one else did. not even me. he has your back, you know that."

"i know." you smile "don't you have a job soon?"

"i do. i need to get going. wish me luck!" yunho pops up happily and walks away as he waves back at you. "don't get eaten!" you say jokingly and he gives you the middle finger.

as you keep writing the report your mind keeps drifting away to yunho's words. it's true what he said, you couldn't deny that it was mister kim who supported you when no one else believed in your dream. kim hoongjoong was and is your savior, and for that, you own him your life. and it's funny, now it feels like you both have a father-daughter like relationship, and that's one of the reasons most for your coworkers to not be very fond of you, but you have proven your worth more than once.

your phone rings unexpectedly startling you.

"what do you want, yeosang? i'm at work." you pout and lean back on your chair.

"ok sorry, rude. i just needed to tell you that you're supposed to have dinner at my place tonight," he explains, leaving you confused.

"why am i having dinner at your place?"

"my mom is in town, she wants to see you. please, i already told her you'd come." yeosang pleas cutely.

"okay, fine. but i'm doing this for your mom." you scoff.

"good! at my apartment, at eight o'clock, don't be late."

"i won't."

"oh also, try not to talk about your demon-slaying job to her." he mocks you.

"bye, yeosang." you chuckle and hang up the call.

yeosang is your best friend for as long as you can remember. he's been with you through a lot, and he was the one who held your hand when you received the news that your father had passed away. he's like your pillar, there's nothing he won't do for you, and vice-versa.

yet, with that comes that you can not possibly keep secrets from each other. not even if you try. the guilt will only consume you enough to make you confess.

the first time you told yeosang about your job he didn't believe you. obviously, like any other regular human would. yeosang does not believe in demons, or he didn't at least. as a demon slayer, you aren't supposed to reveal your identity to outsiders, only not to go through the danger of that outsider being a demon.

but at that time ou didn’t think it through, you just had to make yeosang believe.

...two years ago...

"so you mean that you've been working as a demon slayer for approximately one year now?" yeosang repeats almost perfectly what you had just explained to him. "exactly. but you don't believe just yet, am I right?" you look at him unamused. "how exactly do you expect me to believe shit like this, y/n? this sounds like a movie."

"i know it does, but would i lie to you?"

"well, no. bu-" you cut him off and drag him across the cafe and outside. "wait a damn minute. you're really a pain in the ass."

you get your phone to call someone and yeosang just stares at you expectantly.

"yes? yunho I need a favor."

after a few minutes of conversation, you convince yunho to give you the location of a low-class demon.

your plans weren't the best, you admit that. but you always had this irresponsible side, reckless and empty-headed self. you just wanted to show him you were telling the truth.

and so you did. you drove to the location along with yeosang and you could very clearly feel his uneasiness. by now he knew he should've taken you more seriously.

arriving there you just told him to stay inside the car and watch quietly as you slew the demon mercilessly with your sword. he watched as you penetrated its heart and trapped his soul back to the underworld.

as you get back on the car, clothes stained from demon blood and sweat dripping from your forehead, you look at him once again.

"do you believe me now?"

"you said your boss’s name is kim hoongjoong? tell me more."

instead of being scared, yeosang was actually very much excited, as he now believes in demons and demon slayers.

"kim hoongjoong, or mister kim as everyone refers to him, is the best of the best. he is the leader of the demon slayers and the most powerful too. he has been given the power to see demons and any kind of spirit at his birth and with that gift, he is the one who assigns each demon to a certain slayer. there are many layers of demon slayers, arranged by power, to keep the balance in the underworld." you start to explain as you drive away through the city. "just like the old hierarchy? with kings, queens, clergy, and such?"

"exactly. mister kim is who we call the higher entity which makes him the most powerful yet vulnerable slayer for the magnitude of power he holds. all demons see him as a threat, not enough to attack him, but we have to make sure he is protected nevertheless. for that are the knights, those who stay by the boss' side and protect him from possible attacks. they also assist other slayers on their jobs if there is requested any help." you keep on explaining and yeosang seems utterly absorbed by your words.

"are you a knight?" he asks curiously. "no, not yet at least. i’m who they call the warriors. we deal with middle or low-class demons and cleanse locations and souls."

"oh! that seems interesting. so, you basically prevent places from being haunted?" yeosang sounded like a curious child discovering a new hobby, is very amusing to you. "you could say that. but instead of haunted, we refer it as being possessed. either people, animals, plants, places, or inanimate objects." you point out.

yeosang suddenly goes quiet, you glance at him only to see him tremble in his seat.

"so does that mean that spiders can be possessed?" his hands shake and you laugh at him. "yeah, but they can't hurt you. demons usually only use animals as a form of transport until they find a fitted human to be their host. a few demons though, connected to animals, can indeed possess animals in order to create the chaos but they are rare so don't sweat it."

"yeah... yeah i won't." he chuckles nervously.

...present...

"the boss is calling for you."

sighing you stand from your desk and make your way up to your boss' office. as you walk through the place heavy unpleasant stares are held on you, as if you were some kind of demon to them. knocking at the metal door you hear a sweet voice giving you permission to enter.

"did you call for me, sir?" you close the door behind you, standing still where you are waiting for a response. "you can quit the act. it doesn't fit you." he laughs lowly and turns his chair to you with a smile "there's no one here, make yourself comfortable."

"good." you chant jokingly and sit on the chair in front of his desk "but why did you call?"

"i felt like talking." he smiles looking at you and you give him a stare of confusion "tea?"

"yes, please." you watch as he pours the tea for both of you and takes a sip "you can also quit the act, boss. you didn't just feel like talking out of nowhere."

he laughs again, this time a bit louder and sighs.

"perceptive as always. you're right." he stares at his tea blankly seeming to look for the right words "i was talking to your father just now."

"oh. how's he?" you take another sip, not minding the tension building around the room. "he's doing good. hasn't found his path yet. i'm sorry if this bothers you."

"you know it doesn't. my dad died a while ago, long enough for me to get over it." you smile weakly "i'm worried that he hasn't found the path to the beyond yet thought. does he know what's keeping him here?"

"no. i have no clue either. do you have any ideas of what it might be?"

"i don't know. my dad had a lot of unfinished businesses. maybe it is a relationship. there are numberless possibilities." you cross your arms and shrug, there is not much you can do, humans should not interfere on spirits journeys to the beyond. "i hope he finds his peace soon. meanwhile, i have something for you."

"a new job?" your eyes shine in expectation and your boss looks at you fondly. "yes. this one will determine whether or not you will ascend on the chain." he hands you a white envelope, holding all the information on the demon and its host.

excitedly your fiddle your fingers through the envelope to open it, it's such an important job, finally, one of the many to come where you will have to give your all to prove to mister kim that you are the suited one to follow his footsteps and inherit his powers.

as you pull the stack of papers out you feel a cold shiver run down your spine. something's not right. skipping the first page you get to what matters, the face and name of the demon you will be slaying next is all that you care about.

and then you see his face.

stamped on that paper are his name and his face.

your next target is him.

you look up at mister kim wordlessly. he stares back at you smiling, fully aware of all that is running through your head at that moment.

"c-choi san…?"

#hhtb masterlist;#kpop #kpop fanfic #ateez #ateez fanfic #ateez demon au #demon au #san demon au #ateez san #choi san #san #san x reader #choi san fanfic #kim hoongjoong #jeong yunho #kang yeosang #jung wooyoung

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orangeoctopi7 · 4 years

Text

Better to Say Too Much

“Say What You Mean to Say”

Chapter 1

The attic bedroom was filled with awkward silence after Stan forced them to go to bed early. They each lay in their beds, trying to look occupied with reading or knitting, but still glancing over at the other every few seconds. Finally, they both couldn't take the quiet any more.

"Dipper, I'm--"

"Mabel, are you--"

They both laughed awkwardly.

"You first." Dipper offered.

"I… I'm really worried about Bill coming back." Mabel admitted, "you got really hurt the last time, and you could've been hurt way worse if we hadn't been able to stop him at the puppet show. I don't want something like that to happen again. It's more important than ever that we look out for each other."

"It'll be ok, Mabel." Dipper assured her. "Bill can't get to us as long as we're inside the barrier."

A small smile spread across her lips, but she didn't look completely comforted. "What were you gonna say?"

Dipper fidgeted with his sheets. "I was gonna ask… are you still mad at me?"

Mabel glanced back down at her knitting. She was, a little bit. But she couldn’t say that after she’d just told her brother how important it was that they look out for each other. “Well… I haven’t changed my mind about how I feel about you taking Ford’s apprenticeship. But, I know you need more time to think about it, so… I’m just not gonna talk about it for now.”

“So that’s a yes?” Dipper read between the lines.

The colorful girl frowned. “Blargh! I don’t wanna be mad at you, especially not right now, but I just-- I don’t want things to change! I like the way my life is now!”

“Things can’t stay frozen like this forever Mabel, that’s just how life works. Things change.”

Mabel buried herself into her blankets. “I guess.” She mumbled sullenly. “Let’s just not talk about it right now, OK? I know you want time to think about it.”

“Ok, but we do need to talk about this at some point.”

“I already told you what I think about it.”

“Yeah, but we need to talk about it when we’re both calm and not super emotional. I’m not gonna make a decision without your input.”

Mabel poked her head back out of her blankets. “Really?”

“Yeah.” Dipper affirmed, “You were right, this affects you too.”

That certainly made Mabel feel a little better. But it also made her a little anxious. She was going to have to come up with a calm, rational, Dipper-friendly explanation for why she thought the apprenticeship with Ford was a bad idea beyond just ‘You are my brother and I don’t want you to leave me’.

* * *

Sunlight was just barely beginning to filter through the darkness when Stan was awoken by the sound of power tools the next morning. He groggily rose out of bed, wondering if Soos had come in early and started on some repairs around the shack. It wouldn’t be the first time. As the racket continued, Stan once again found himself wondering how the heck the kids could sleep through all this noise. Upon reaching the gift shop, Stan found not Soos, but Ford, in the middle of messing with the security cameras.

“...Did you even sleep last night?” Stan asked, still half-asleep.

“No, I spent most of the night attempting to crack open the containment unit.” Ford replied without turning around. Apparently he’d seen his brother coming on the security feed. “I only managed to expand the crack another millimeter or so, but it’s clear that Mabel was right. It’s curing more slowly within the dome.”

“Uh... “ Whatever his brother had just said went right over Stan’s still sleep-addled head. “What’re you doin’ up here?”

“You said I could use your security cameras to monitor the secret entrance to the lab." Ford reminded him. "You also said if I stayed in here, it would attract too much attention. So I'm rerouting the feed to the den."

"I said you could watch the video feed from my office.”

"It takes exactly forty-three seconds for me to run downstairs from your office to the secret entrance. In that time someone could input the code and be halfway down the elevator. I'm going to be set up right on the other side of that door." Ford pointed to the Employees Only sign that led into the den.

"Why don't you just change it over to a wireless feed, while you're at it." Stan rolled his eyes.

"That’s what I’m doing." Ford answered, not realizing his brother's question had been both rhetorical and sarcastic.

“Fine. Just don’t forget, you’re supposed to call Dipper ‘n Mabel’s parents today.” Stan reminded him.

Ford checked his watch. “I doubt they’re up at this hour.”

“Then why the heck are you up doin’ this!?”

“I need to finish before you open this place up to tours.”

Stan gave a roaring yawn. “Oh yeah, that reminds me.” He taped an Out of Order sign up on the vending machine. “So you don’t come charging in guns ablazing every time some schmuck wants a cheese log.”

“Good thinking.” Ford said simply.

“Welp, I’m already up. Might as well start makin’ breakfast.” Stan scratched his rear and turned to leave. He almost asked Ford if he wanted anything, but thought better of it. His brother at least came upstairs to have dinner with the family most days, but Stan never saw him eat any other meals. Dipper had mentioned something about nutrition pills at some point. Stan thought that was an affront against nature and taste buds, but hey, if it meant one less mouth to feed, he wasn’t going to complain.

* * *

Ford did finish his upgrade of the security cameras before the Mystery Shack opened, although it hardly mattered. The only people there that morning were Wendy and Soos.

“Aw man, the vending machine’s out of order again?” Wendy complained when she saw the sign taped up on its front.

“Eh, not exactly.” Stan shrugged. “My brother’s got some super-dangerous ball of glitter-glue down there, and this jerk called Bill wants to steal it. I figured it was safer just to not let anybody use the vending machine. I did the same thing right after those agents started snooping around.”

“Oh yeah, I forgot there really is a secret passage back there!” Wendy recalled “That’s so weird, I had a dream about that last night.”

The Employees Only door slammed open and Ford loomed into the gift shop.

"Oh, hey Stan Two." Wendy greeted him, as if it were perfectly normal for your boss' long-lost twin to suddenly barge in on a conversation.

"Tell me everything you can remember about this dream." The old researcher demanded.

"Well, that's what was really weird about it. I don't normally remember my dreams, but this one was really vivid." Wendy explained.

"Yes, and what happened?"

"Uh, I opened up the secret passage behind the vending machine… then there were like stairs leading to an elevator? That was really weird. Then when I got out of the elevator there were like, I dunno, balloons or bubbles or something everywhere? Dipper was down there, but he was weird too. Kinda like when he went nuts during Mabel's puppet show last month? Anyway, he handed me my axe and wanted me to start popping the bubbles, or whatever they were. Like I said, man, it was weird."

"How did it end?" Ford asked frantically.

"Uh, I think I woke up after he gave me the axe."

"Did you make any deals? Did you shake his hand!?"

"Nnnnnooo?" Wendy replied, starting to feel a little weirded out.

Ford grabbed her by the shoulders. "This is gravely serious. Your dreams were invaded last night by Bill Cipher."

"Wait, you mean like that jerk Mabel needed the unicorn hair to get rid of?"

"Yes, and he's trying to convince you to cut open the rift I already sealed! What exactly did he say to you?"

"Who, you mean the Dipper in my dream?"

"Yes, I'm almost certain that was Bill in disguise. Did he have yellow eyes?"

Wendy looked genuinely spooked now. "How… how did you know that?"

"What did he say to you?" Ford repeated forcefully.

"Relax, Captain Paranoid." Stan stepped between his brother and his employee.

"I am not paranoid!!" Ford shouted. "There is no possible way she could just coincidentally dream all those details, it has to be Bill!"

"I know, alright, but you're freaking her out!"

To the untrained eye, Wendy just looked mildly perturbed, but Stan had known her long enough to know mildly perturbed for Wendy was on the verge of a panic attack for an average person.

Ford tried to reel in his frantic, fearful energy, but he still needed to know what happened. "I'm sorry, I don't mean to frighten you, it's just--"

"I'm not frightened." Wendy insisted. "It's just a lot to take in, ya know?" She paused and thought back to her dream. "He just handed me my axe, and said 'Have at it, Red!' and that's not how Dipper talks to me, so I woke up."

Stan could practically see the gears turning in Ford’s head as the old researcher tried to guess what Bill was up to. The old conman was pretty worried about the whole thing himself; he honestly hadn’t thought Bill would bother anyone outside their immediate family, but he wasn’t about to let any of that show. Wendy was freaked out enough as it was.

“Thank you… Wendy, was it?” Ford finally said. “For now, you needn’t worry. Just be cautious if you have any more strange dreams: don’t shake anyone’s hand, don’t make any deals, and don’t burst any bubbles, balloons, or other dome-like things.”

“Yeah, sure.” Wendy nodded, which Stan knew was probably the strongest affirmative she’d ever give any adult.

“Do you dudes wanna hear about the weird dream I had last night?” Soos asked.

“Yes.” Ford said gravely.

“Oh boy.” Stan just rolled his eyes.

“Ok, so I was at Beryl City Nerdic Con with Melody, only she wasn’t actually there in person, she was just there on my laptop that I had to carry around with me, and I was trying to go to a panel where Mr. Pines was the guest speaker, except the room kept on getting changed, so I was running all over the convention center, but I had to be careful not to drop my laptop, or Melody couldn’t see what was happening. And then they moved the panel to a tent outside…”

Stan pulled Wendy aside while Soos continued the ramble on. “Hey, kid, we’re pretty slow today, so if you’re not feelin’ great after last night--”

“I’m fine, Mr. Pines.” The girl insisted. But the fact that she’d passed up an opportunity to get out of work for the day was practically a blinking sign advertising the fact that she was definitely not fine.

“If you say so.” Stan folded his arms. “But like I said, we’re slow. Do me a favor an’ go check on the kids. I haven’t seen either of ‘em all morning.”

“Yeah, alright.” She walked through the Employees Only door and into the main part of the house. Stan was sure Dipper and Mabel would do a better job of explaining what was going on and comforting the teen than his brother had. Of course, Ford had set the bar pretty low.

“... So I spent like, the next twenty minutes of the dream working on this dude’s engine. And when I’m finally done, instead of asking him to give me a ride to the panel, I just keep walking! I didn’t even realize I could’ve asked him that until we were like a block down the street and Melody brought it up! So then it started raining--”

“Soos,” Ford finally interrupted the handyman’s long winded retelling. “Were there yellow eyes at any point in this dream?”

“Uh, not that I remember.”

“Did you ever shake anyone’s hand?”

“Nah, I had to keep holding on to Melody’s laptop.”

“Did you make a deal with anyone?”

“Well, I did start working at that restaurant, and fix that one dude’s truck. But those weren’t really deals, I don’t think. I just saw jobs that needed to be done.”

“Then I think I can say with certainty that Bill Cipher did not enter your dreams last night.”

“Heheh, what a relief! So anyway, once we got to the tent where the panel was being held…”

* * *

Mabel had been texting back and forth with Pacifica since she’d gotten up that morning.

Pacifica, I have a weird question for you

I thought I told you to delete this number

And for the last time, it wasn’t actually a hug

No, not about you and diper

*Dipper

Have your parents been acting weird lately?

What do you mean they’re never weird

They’re the opposite of weird

They’re just really rich and controlling

I mean have they been acting different from usual?

No they’re just mad at me

why?

Its a long story. Come over later and ill tell you about it!!!

Can’t

I’m super grounded after the photoshoot thing

Do we need to come rescue you???!?!

No please don’t I’ll just get in more trouble

:( :( :(

Well let me know if you have any weird dreams or anything

Why what’s going on?

I don’t think its safe to talk bout it over phone

Are you ok?

:D :D :D :D

Yeah im fine!!!!!!!!!!!!!!

I helped Grunkle Ford set up a protection spell

You remember he was the one you said looked like hot Stan

OMG SHUT UP!!

The colorful girl hadn’t heard back from her crazy rich rival since that last comment, but at least it seemed nothing was up with the Northwests. Mabel sighed as she hugged Waddles and scrolled back up through their conversation. She may have stretched the truth a bit with Pacifica. “Fine” probably wasn’t the right word for how she felt. But she didn’t want her friend to worry about her.

She was interrupted from her thoughts by a knock on the door.

“What up, dudes?” Wendy called from the other side.

Mabel finally got up out of bed and opened the door to her teenaged friend. “Wendy! What are you doing up here?”

“Stan asked me to come check on you guys.” She shrugged. “Hey, where’s Dipper?”

“I think he’s on the roof. He… he needed some time to himself for thinking.”

“Well, he’d better be done, ‘cuz I need to talk to him.” Wendy said sternly.

Mabel led the ginger teen over to the nearest window with access to the roof. It wasn’t necessary, Wendy knew her way around the Shack, but the colorful girl needed an excuse to get up and out of her room. Once Wendy was outside, Waddles started thumping down the stairs, probably in search of a late breakfast. Mabel followed him down the stairs and into the kitchen.

Stan had made bacon and cheesy eggs, although they’d gone cold by the time Mabel reached them. Oh well, it was nothing a few seconds in the microwave couldn’t fix. The girl scooped the eggs into a bowl and nuked them for a few seconds. Waddles sniffed at the food on the table above him.

“No Waddles!” Mabel admonished him, pushing away the plate of bacon. “That’s cannibalism!”

Once it was warmed, she scooped half her eggs directly into the pig’s mouth, then proceeded to eat the rest herself. After finishing breakfast, she made a beeline for the livingroom and the TV, intent on watching Saturday morning cartoons. The den and the livingroom kind of bled into each other, and when Mabel sat down on the recliner in front of the TV, she couldn’t help but notice Ford sitting at the card table around the corner, intently watching his own screen.

The girl wondered if this was the right time to finally confront Ford about the apprenticeship thing. They were alone in the house at the moment, but he looked busy. Then she remembered. Ford had said he wanted to watch the security cameras to make sure no tourists tried to get into the lab today! Mabel knew better than to try and interrupt that, so she just flipped on the TV instead.

The sound of the TV turning on, however, alerted Ford to her presence. The old researcher looked up at her, then back down at his screen, then glanced at the door, back at the screen, and finally back up at Mabel again.

"Mabel, may I speak with you for a moment?" He asked.

Mabel's brain tripped all over itself. This was her chance, but what was she supposed to say? How could she explain to her Grunkle how what he was offering Dipper was hurting her? Would he get mad at her? Was she going to lose control of her emotions and get mad at him?

Her apprehension must have been apparent, because Ford crossed the room and knelt down beside her, getting on her eye level. "I want you to know, it was never my intention to hurt you by offering Dipper the apprenticeship. I guessed it might upset you, but I didn't realize just how strongly you'd react, or how terrible my timing was. I'm afraid I can't give you the same kind of personalized education I can give your brother, the kind of education you deserve, but you're welcome to stay here too, if you wish."

The girl was stunned, unsure of how to react. Her thoughts, which had already been scrambling to figure out how to confront Ford, were knocked completely off-course. Wasn’t this what she wanted? More time in Gravity Falls? More time to spend with her new family and friends? More time to have adventures with her brother? Or had her new Grunkle’s offer just made her situation worse? If Mabel stayed in Gravity Falls, she wouldn’t get to go to school with her old friends, wouldn’t get to go home to her mom and dad, or her cat, back in Piedmont.

“...Mabel?” Ford asked when she hesitated.

“I know you’re trying to make me feel better, but you’re not!” She finally cried. “You’re making me choose between my brother and my parents!”

“Mabel, no--”

“Yes, you are!” She maintained, with tears in her eyes. “I know you’ve been alone for a long time, and you’re mad at your brother, b-but you’ve got to understand how hard a decision you’re asking us to make!”

The old researcher was obviously distressed that he’d made his niece cry, but he went on talking anyway.

“Mabel, I do realize how difficult a decision this is... and you don’t have to make that decision right away. I just-- just realized it wasn’t fair to not at least give you that option. And I know you’re capable. You’ve already made several difficult decisions this summer, from what I’ve heard.”

“So what’s one more, right?” She cried indignantly, wiping furiously away at her tears and storming off.

Unfortunately, the sounds of their argument had attracted Stan. He poked his head in from the gift shop just in time to see Mabel’s aggrieved exit. The old conman entered the room, and if looks could kill, Ford would have been dead on the spot.

“What. Did you. Do?”

* * *

The roof held its fair share of bad memories for Dipper. It was where Wax Sherlock Holmes had tried to kill him, where Tyrone had melted, where Bill had first tried to make a deal with him. But there were some good memories too. It was where he’d first started hanging out with Wendy, where he’d lit off fireworks with Grunkle Stan and Mabel, where he still liked to go when he needed someplace to think. It was some peace and quiet away from his raucous family members. Dipper definitely got why Ford spent so much time in the basement.

Today it was especially nice. The weather was cooling as fall approached, and a pleasant breeze whispered through the treetops. The sun-warmed shingles were just the right temperature, making a comfortable seat.

Dipper needed the tranquil environment. He had a lot on his mind, and a big decision to make. Today was the first time since Ford had offered him the apprenticeship that he had an opportunity to stop and really consider his options. So far, the boy had compiled a detailed pros and cons chart, and was currently in the process of reviewing that list and giving each item a weighted score. Pros like “Don’t have to ride bus back to Piedmont” only got one point, while pros like “Get to explore UFO” got ten. The cons were rated on a similar scale, with the worst one, “Don’t go home with Mabel”, getting a score of eleven, because it was a very bad con.

“Hmmm, get to hang out with Wendy after school… Would that be a six or a seven? Mabey an eight?” He mumbled to himself.

“I’d go with eight. I might be biased though.” Wendy’s voice replied behind him.

The boy’s face flushed the same shade of red as the teen’s hair. “W-wendy! I-I’m sorry, I didn’t notice you there! It’s not--I’m not--I just wanna hang out as friends, I swear!”

“Don’t sweat it, man!” She punched him playfully in the arm. “I’m the one who snuck up on you.”

“Heh.” Dipper forced out an awkward chuckle. “Did you come up here to escape work?”

“Eh, sorta.” Wendy waggled her hand in a so-so motion. “Stan asked me to check on you dudes.”

“Oh. Yeah, everyone’s kinda freaked out right now ‘cuz Bill showed up yesterday. He tried to make a deal with Mabel and Stan, and then when he couldn’t, he got angry and started making threats. Ford’s got something he wants, but it’s safe, thanks to that unicorn hair you and Mabel got the other day. We just have to make sure it stays that way.”

“Yyyeah, that’s kinda the other reason I’m up here.” Wendy admitted.

Dipper turned his full attention to her. He hadn’t seen Wendy this nervous since they almost got their memories wiped.

“So… I had a weird dream last night. I didn’t really think anything of it until I talked to Ford about it when I got into work just now… but… he seemed to think it was that Bill guy, and honestly… I think he’s right.”

Dipper’s eyes widened with fear. “Ohmigosh, a-are you ok? What happened? Did he try to make a deal with you? Did he threaten you or your family?”

“Nah, dude, he just… It was weird, I guess in the dream he was pretending to be you? I went down into the Shack’s basement and it was filled with these bubbles of glitter, or something, and you were down there, but your eyes were yellow and you were calling me weird names. You gave me my axe and said ‘Have at it’. Or, Bill did, I guess.”

The breeze that had once felt pleasant was now sending shivers up Dipper’s spine. “The rift! He was trying to get you to cut open the rift!”

"Yeah, that's what your Uncle said. Uh, and that is…?” Wendy asked.

The boy hesitated. Ford had asked Dipper not to tell anyone about the rift, not even Stan or Mabel… but that had almost led to Bill tricking them yesterday. He probably would have, if not for Stan’s instincts. It would probably be best if he told Wendy, right? He’d already kinda spilled the beans, after all.

“The portal that Stan used to bring Ford home created a rip in the universe.” Dipper explained. “Bill wants it so he can invade our world. Me and Ford sealed it up with an alien adhesive, but it’s taking longer to dry than we thought, so it’s still vulnerable. And Bill will try to convince anyone to break it open.”

“Yeah, well he wasn’t all that convincing, if you ask me.” Wendy said flippantly.

Dipper thought back to that night over a month ago on this very roof. “He wasn’t that convincing the first time he tried to trick me either. But then he showed up when I was desperate, and…” He suddenly understood why Ford had been so reluctant to share his past with Bill. Dipper couldn’t reveal such an embarrassing secret, especially not to Wendy. Still, it was probably the most effective way to explain what Bill was capable of to her.

“You remember what happened at Mabel’s puppet show, last month?”

“Yeah dude, you were so sleep deprived you started acting like the villain from a bad slasher flick.”

“That… wasn’t sleep deprivation. Bill possessed me.”

“Wait, what?” Wendy asked in disbelief.

“I-I screwed up. He said he’d give me the answers I was looking for, and all he wanted in return was a puppet. But I was the puppet!”

Wendy stared at him in horror. Dipper’s stomach flip-flopped. Was she going to tell him off for being stupid enough to fall for such an obvious trick? Was she afraid that Bill would come back and possess him again? Did she even believe him, or did she think he’d finally lost his mind?

“That wasn’t you…” she finally spoke in a low voice “...and I didn’t even realize… no, I knew something was off, but… Oh my gosh, Dipper, I’m so sorry, I should’ve done something!”

“What? No, Wendy, it’s not your fault!” he assured her. “I just wanted to warn you! Bill might come back, you need to know how he works, what he might try to do.”

The ginger teen stared out over the forest with a far-away look, her knuckles bone-white as she tightly gripped the edge of the roof. Dipper realized her gaze was pointed towards her house.

“Hey, uh, if I were to get my hands on some more unicorn hair, would your uncle be able to, I dunno, protect my house the way he did to the Shack?”

“Uh, I think so…” Dipper replied. “I’d have to ask him first.”

“Great. You talk to Ford. I gotta go talk to Stan. I think I’m gonna take the day off after all.”

* * *

Stan had just finished up a tour with a young couple who seemed more interested in each other than the exhibits. Eh, he’d take what he could get. Maybe he could set up a secluded corner of the gift shop and charge them to use the “Mystery Make-out Cave”.

He’d been about to move the T-shirt rack to start just that, when he heard a raised voice coming from the den. Stan turned up his hearing aide and leaned his ear against the door. It was Mabel, and she sounded upset. Next, he heard the long-winded ramblings of Ford. Whatever his big-mouthed brother had said obviously didn’t make Mabel feel any better. Stan poked his head into the room to see what all the commotion was about, just in time to see her fleeing the room. He’d only caught a glimpse of her face before she rounded the corner, but it was enough to see the tears streaming down her cheeks.

“What. Did you. Do?” Stan asked, his voice dangerously low.

Ford at least had the decency to feel guilty about making his niece cry. “I-I just told her she was welcome to stay here with Dipper during his apprenticeship, but for some reason beyond my understanding--”

“You did what!?” Stan growled.

“You’re the one who told me I was excluding Mabel by not extending her an offer as well!”

“You were supposed to call their parents first, genius!”

“You never said anything about which one I was supposed to do first!”

Part of Stan wanted to shake his brother, ask him how a guy with 12 PhD’s could be so stupid. But the other part of Stan knew Ford had always been like this. You had to give him ridiculously specific instructions when it came to social interactions, or he’d completely mess them up. Sometimes he’d mess them up even with instructions. It was Stan’s own fault for not saying “First you have to call the kids’ parents and get their permission. Then, there won’t be a then because there’s no way on Earth they’ll ever agree to it!”

Instead, Stan just pinched the bridge of his nose, massaged his eyes in a futile attempt to stop the oncoming stress-headache, and heaved a sigh of frustration.

“You know what your problem is? You’re treatin’ these kids like adults.”

“You see that as a problem?” Ford raised an eyebrow. “Perhaps your problem is that you treat them too much like children.”

“I don’t mean talkin’ down to them, or babying them!” Stan clarified. “I mean tryin’ to give them a normal-ish childhood! I mean not expectin’ them to grow up too fast! I mean not dumping huge problems or decisions on them! I mean lettin’ them enjoy bein’ young while they still can!”

“Normal is overrated.” Ford replied coolly. “And I still fail to see why they can’t enjoy being young here in Gravity Falls.”

Stan gave up. Why did he ever think his brother would listen to him? There was obviously only one way he was gonna make Ford see reason.

“Alright, time for you to call the kids parents.”

“I’ll call them after you shut down the gift shop for the day.” Ford said, looking back down at the security feed on his future-tech screen.

“Quit putting it off, Sixer! I’ll watch the gift shop. You go call. Now.” Stan insisted forcefully.

Thankfully, Ford relented. Just as he was about to enter the kitchen to access the phone there, Stan stopped him.

“Their numbers are on the fridge. Micha and Deborah. You probably have the best chance of reachin’ Debbs this time of day. Don’t call her Debbie, or she’ll chew you out for fifteen minutes.”

“Noted.” Ford nodded.

Stan returned to the gift shop. Someone had to keep an eye on the vending machine, after all. Of course, he was also going to keep an ear on Ford’s call, to make sure the nerd didn’t worm his way out of actually asking for permission.

When they were kids growing up in New Jersey, Stan and Ford would often listen in on their mother’s customers by carefully picking up the second receiver downstairs in the pawn shop. All they had to do was cover the mic and be careful not to giggle too much, and even their mom wouldn’t realize they were listening in until either one of them laughed too loud or dropped the phone. Stan’s landline had a second receiver in the gift shop, right next to the cash register.

The old conman picked up the phone, pressed his thumb over the mic, and held the speaker up to his ear. Bingo! It was still ringing, and it didn’t seem that Ford realized his brother was listening in, as the old nerd was humming to himself as he waited.

“Hello? Stanford?” Debbs asked as she answered the phone.

Ford's little gasp was amplified by the crackle of his breath into the phone's mic. "H-how did you-- you know who I am?"

"Caller ID, silly!" She explained with a giggle. "I know you're old, Stan, but it's been a thing since the 80's."

"Actually, it's been around since the 60's," Ford corrected her, "although I imagine its use became much more widespread after 1982."

"Uh, yeah… Stanford, are you sick? You sound, um… you don't sound like yourself."

Stan grit his teeth. Sure, rub salt in that wound. Because his brother didn't already hate him enough.

"I'm fine." Ford answered stiffly. "It's an incredibly long story, one I don't have time to relate over the phone now. Suffice to say, I'm more myself now than I've been in the last 30 years. But I have more important things to discuss with you."

"Is everything ok?" Debbs asked, a hint of worry coloring her voice.

Don't mention the dream demon threatening to kill us all! Stan thought desperately.

"Oh, I'm not calling about any trouble." Ford assured her.

Stan breathed a sigh of relief. So his brother wasn't completely clueless after all.

"I'm actually calling because I have a great opportunity for Dipper and Mabel!" The old researcher continued enthusiastically.

"Did you find discounted bus tickets?"

"No. In fact, there's a good chance you won't need to buy bus tickets at all! You see, I'd like to take Dipper on as my apprentice studying the anomalies of Gravity Falls! Mabel is welcome to stay too, although I'll need to find an appropriate teacher for her as soon as I take care of… ah, some more pressing matters in my work. I promise you, I'll make sure they continue to keep in regular contact with you through weekly letters, and with modern communications technology, you'll be able to talk with them face-to-face whenever you like. We'll also make time to come down and visit as often as our studies will allow. All I need is your permission for them to continue their stay here."

There was a long pause on the other end of the line. Finally, Debbs giggled nervously, like she was forcing herself to laugh at a joke she didn't get.

"Uhhh, that's great Stan. Are you practicing one of your new sales pitches on me?"

"I assure you, this is not one of my brother's schemes." Ford insisted. "You're my family, I would never expect any kind of compensation, regardless of how much the price of a secondary education had risen."

"Secondary education? I don't understand. What are you talking about?"

"I realize they're both at a seventh-grade level now, but I have twelve PhD's. With my one-on-one personalized teaching, even Mabel could begin learning at the college level in a couple of years. As for Dipper, I'm confident he could reach that level before next summer."

“No.”

“Well, I’m sure you’ll need to speak to your husband about it first, but we’ve still got another week to come to an agreement.”

Debbs' voice switched from sweet and patient to icy and venomous. "Listen, I dunno who you think you are, but you're not getting my kids!!"

“Y-you misunderstand me.” Ford’s voice faltered. “I don’t want to take your kids away from you, I’m just trying to give them a better education than what’s available to them back in California. Like I said, we’ll keep in regular contact, and we’ll come to visit--”

“Oh, I don’t care what kinda ‘better education’ you’re offering!” Debbs snapped sharply. “Nothing is worth being separated from my children!”

“What? But… but you’re separated from them right now! You’ve been separated for months! Why is it suddenly a problem now?” Ford asked in confusion.

“Two and a half months.” Debbs clarified. “Two and a half months so they could get out of the city and spend some time in the great outdoors, and even that’s been hard. And you expect me to just… just let my babies move away?”

“E-everyone moves away from home eventually, though.” Ford reasoned. “Surely, you don’t want them to still be living with you when they’re in their thirties!”

“Eventually, maybe. But not when they’re barely even thirteen!” She retorted. “Now you listen to me Stanford, or whoever you are. My kids had better be on the bus back to Piedmont come next Friday, or I’m coming up there to get them myself. And you’d better believe if I have to do that, they’re never going back to Gravity Falls again!”

With that, she hung up. Stan quickly hung up as well, so Ford didn’t notice the line was still active.

“...Great.” Stan hissed to himself, massaging his temples. That stress headache was really setting in now.

He’d been counting on this talk with the kids’ folks to be a wake-up call to Ford, but he hadn’t stopped to think about how much damage control he was gonna have to do afterwards. How could he have forgotten how much of an interpersonal relationship disaster his brother was? He should have been there in the same room with Ford, coaching him through it, making sure the nerd didn’t screw things up for both of them like this.

Stan picked the phone back up and dialed Deborah’s number, hoping against all logic that she’d pick up. He needed to fix this, or he might never be allowed to see the kids again. The old conman felt a wave of relief when she actually answered.

“Debbs, that wasn’t me on the phone just now!” He shouted into the receiver the moment he heard her pick up.

“Yeah, I kinda figured.” she replied. “Do you know who that was? What’s going on?”

“Uh… just some guy I went to highschool with back in Jersey.” The best way to sell a lie is with a bunch of technically true facts. “He’s here visiting.”

"What is his problem!?"

“I dunno, Debbs, he’s got some serious issues.” Stan rolled his eyes. “But, you know I’d do anything to make sure Dipper and Mabel come home safe to you, right? You don’t gotta worry.”

“I know, Stanford, and I appreciate the sentiment, but I’d really don’t feel comfortable with the kids spending time with your friend.”

“We, uh, we’re not exactly friends anymore.” Stan clarified, his heart sinking.

"Well, that should make it easier to tell him to stay away from my children."

Stan had originally just called Debbs back to reassure her and make sure he didn't lose the privilege of taking care of the kids. He'd done that. He could just say 'You got it' and hang up, but he didn't. Instead he found himself opening up his mouth and defending his brother.

"Look, I know he was way out of line, tryin' to ask you to send the kids up here year-round, but I swear to you, he doesn't mean 'em any harm. He, uh, he's been on his own for a long time, and he's been through some terrible stuff. I'm not exaggerating when I say Dipper and Mabel are probably the best thing to happen to him in 30 years. He wasn't great with people before, and all that time alone definitely didn't help. I tried to tell him he couldn't just invite the kids to stay here all year, but he wouldn't listen to me. So I told him to call you. I shouldn'ta done that, I'm sorry. It, uh, it's my fault."

Stan wasn’t sure why he was sticking his neck out for his brother like this, but regardless of how he and his brother felt about each other, Stan knew the kids loved Ford, and the nerd loved them right back. Even if Mabel was really upset with Ford right now. If the girl could forgive someone like Pacifica Northwest, she'd definitely make up with her mysterious new uncle who spoke in overdramatic monologues and sent her to look for unicorns. It would break all three of their hearts if they weren’t allowed to see each other any more.

Debbs sighed, but it was with more fondness than frustration. “Helping someone heal from trauma does sound just like my little angels… but can you promise me he’s not dangerous?”

Stan remembered what he’d told Dipper, just last week. My brother is a dangerous know-it-all…

But hey, he was already an expert at lying to his family.

“Yeah, sure, I promise. And if it makes you feel any better, I’m pretty sure he’d take a bullet for either of them. Not, heh, not that he would ever need to!”

“Well, ok. I suppose that’s the best I can ask for, short of driving up there and having a talk with him myself.”

“Yeah, I wouldn’t recommend it. We’re at peak tourist season here, the Mystery Shack’s a hive of activity.” Stan said, looking out over the deserted gift shop.

“Well, thanks for taking time out of your busy schedule to call me.”

“Hey, family comes first.”

“Too right. Oh, and I never got your… uh, acquaintance’s name.”

“Fffffrank.”

“Ok. Please try and have another talk with Frank. I know you said he wouldn’t listen to you, but--”

“Oh trust me, I’m gonna have a long talk with him.”

“Thank you, Stan. Take care!”

“Yeah, you too.” Stan hung up and turned to his handyman. “Soos, hold down the fort for me, and keep an eye on the vending machine. I gotta go have another talk with my brother.”

#Gravity Falls #Fanfiction #Mabel Pines #Dipper Pines #Stanley Pines #Stanford Pines #wendy corduroy #My Writing

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almostafantasia · 4 years

Text

from the same star

a villaneve soulmates au | read on ao3

In a world where your soulmate’s initials appear on your skin after you meet for the first time, Eve’s life gets turned upside down when the single letter ‘V’ appears on her abdomen on the same day that a senior MI6 official gets assassinated just down the road from where she works.

- - - - -

chapter eight - assassin radar

“We’re getting nowhere,” sighs Eve, slumping back in her seat dejectedly. “I really thought we had her when we got the sketch drawn up but there’s nothing. No name, no DNA. Nothing.”

“She may as well be a ghost,” Elena says unhelpfully.

“Except that I know she’s real. We met her in that coffee shop, remember?” Eve runs an exasperated hand through her hair, loosening it from the confines of the elastic and running her fingers through their curly lengths, before she lets out another groan of frustration and says, “We met her and we’ve still got nothing on her.”

“We’ll get her eventually,” says Bill. “We just need to know what we’re looking for.”

“Did you get anything on the Ukrainian guy’s son, Kenny?” asks Eve, although she already knows the answer. It has been more than a week since they added Artem Kravchenko’s strangled corpse to the board, and Eve knows that Kenny would tell her the moment he found anything suspicious.

“Nothing that I can find,” answers Kenny, with a regretful shake of his head. “I’m going through it all a second time, just in case I missed something the first time, but he’s clean. His finances are a mess so he’s definitely got the motive of inheriting his father’s millions, but his emails and phone records are all in order. If he’s involved in something dodgy, he’s doing it from burner phones and secret accounts.”

“Well I can’t go to Carolyn and tell her that we’ve hit a wall,” says Eve. “She’s trusted us with this. But at the moment it seems like we’re just waiting for the killer to strike again and hoping that she slips up next time.”

“I’ve started compiling a list of influential people who have died over the last few months,” Bill tells her. “None of them have stood out to me yet but I’ll send across what I’ve got so far if you like and you can take another look at them. You know her better than I do.”

“Thanks, Bill,” says Eve, smiling her thanks at him. “But right now it feels as though I don’t really know her at all.”

The office falls silent for a few moments, filled only with the sound of computer keys clicking, until it is broken by the chime of Eve’s computer telling her that she has a new email.

“There you go,” says Bill. “See if any of those light up your assassin radar.”

Bill is right about the first two on the list. The first is a man in his late sixties who seems to have suffered from a heart condition, while the second was killed in an incident involving a drunk driver. Eve ignores them both and moves onto the third death on Bill’s list instead.

As soon as Eve reads that the third person died from a gunshot wound to the head while visiting a German art gallery, she is interested. Their assassin, after all, is earning herself a reputation as somebody who likes to kill in public places. And even if this isn’t their girl, it still fascinates Eve as she starts to look into it further. She stares at photos of the crime scene with a morbid fascination, unable to tear her eyes away despite the gruesome smear of blood across the floor from where he was shot to where his body was found.

A gunshot wound to the head - surely that would have killed him almost instantly, which rules out the possibility that he crawled away himself, before dying moments later against a nearby wall? But that means that his killer would have been the one to move him.

Why move a body after the victim is already dead? Eve can only think of one reason for moving a body, which is to dispose of evidence that it was ever there in the first place, but that was clearly not the murderer’s aim here.

Eve tries to put herself in the killer’s position, desperate to understand their rationality. If she had just murdered somebody, particularly in a public place such as an art gallery, she would want to remove herself from the scene of the crime as soon as possible. She definitely wouldn’t fuss around with moving the body several feet away from where it fell, only to leave it slumped against a nearby wall.

Eve squints at the picture of the crime scene again, enlarging the image so that she can zoom in on the body. But on closer inspection, it is not the body that attracts Eve’s attention, but instead the painting that the body has been moved to sit beneath. She paid very little attention to it before, a dark canvas with a few blocks of much lighter colour that had been too distant for her to discern what it was before. Now that she sees it up close, Eve realises that it is a portrait of a woman. Her nude torso is the most prominent part of the painting, surrounded by black, while the woman’s face is almost creepy in the way that it is shrouded in shadows. Eve is captivated and intimidated by the woman in the painting in equal measure, unable to tear her eyes away.

It’s probably nothing, but the fact that the killer has moved the body to sit beneath this painting in particular is playing on Eve’s mind. She crops the picture of the crime scene until it is just the painting, then opens up a search engine and runs a reverse image search. The results that pop up are pages of similar paintings, portraits of other people that use almost identical dark colour palettes.

It isn’t until Eve reaches the bottom of the second page of images that she finds what she is looking for. An identical image to the painting in the photo of the crime scene almost jumps out of the screen at Eve and she cannot click on it quickly enough. It leads her to a page of German text that Eve doesn’t understand, but there is also a larger version of the painting, as well as a caption giving the title of the painting and the artist's name.

DIE SÜNDE - FRANZ VON STUCK

Eve looks at the painting again and feels the hairs on the back of her neck slowly rise to attention. She shudders, an awful chill running down her spine as if somebody has just slipped an ice cube down the back of her shirt. The woman in the painting is creepy, but that’s not quite it. Eve feels as though she is being observed from a distance, an unsettling feeling bubbling away in her gut. This feels like their assassin, but Eve isn’t sure where the instinct that is screaming that at her is coming from, because it’s just a dead body slumped beneath a painting of-

“Wait,” says Eve, feeling her pulse quicken as she realises what she’s looking at. “What about this one, Bill?”

“Which one?” Bill asks, as he looks up from his computer.

“The German art gallery shooting that took place two days ago.”

“You think that could have been our assassin?” asks Bill, frowning as he gets to his feet and crosses over to Eve’s desk. He peers at her screen as Eve switches back to the crime scene photos, then he comments, “What a big mess.”

“Let’s see,” says Elena, rolling her chair over and craning her neck to look past Bill at the pictures. “That’s a lot of blood.”

“This one bothered me when I saw it but I wrote it off as irrelevant because there’s no way that he was killed by a woman,” explains Bill.

“Why not?” asks Elena.

“Because the killer moved the body,” answers Bill, pointing at the trail of blood across the floor to where the body rests. “The victim was a big chap. He would have been difficult to move and I think it’s unlikely a woman was able to move the body.”

“Unlikely, but not impossible,” points out Eve. “It bothered me too because why would you move a body? She shot him in the head and he would have died pretty much instantly. Surely she would want to get away from the scene as fast as possible?”

“She?” Bill repeats back at her, raising an eyebrow at Eve. “You’re sure that our assassin was responsible for this one?”

“She moved him to that painting,” says Eve, pointing at the image on the computer monitor of the victim’s body slumped below the painting of the half-naked woman. “Why that one in particular?”

Eve minimises the photograph and opens up the webpage that she found from the reverse image search. The text at the side of the screen is all in German that Eve doesn’t understand, so she just looks at the painting instead and the words beneath it.

“D- die …” Eve attempts to read.

“Die Sünde,” Bill reads aloud, in perfectly accented German. “‘The Sin.’ Hang on, is that a snake around her neck?”

Eve squints at the picture and recoils when she realises that the dark shape surrounding the woman’s body has a pair of eerie eyes that she hadn’t previously noticed. It makes sense now, knowing who the woman in the painting is.

“Wait, the sin?” Elena speaks up. “You’re talking about the original sin, right? The woman in the painting is Eve? I mean, not our Eve. But Eve Eve.”

“Adam’s Eve,” explains Bill.

“Hey!” protests Elena. “Let’s not define women by the men in their lives. Eve was a big girl who doomed humankind all by herself.”

Eve has never felt any particular kinship with her biblical namesake, but she cannot help but wonder if that is the message that this assassin is trying to send. And if it is, then it means that the assassin has learned of Eve and the team’s effort to hunt her down and is taunting them.

A performance - that’s what each kill is to this psychopath. And this kill is a performance specifically for Eve.

“Bill, can you get on the phone to the German authorities and ask them to send across everything they have on this case?” Eve asks. “I want to find proof that this is our killer’s work.”

“Sure thing, boss,” Bill says as he returns to his desk.

“And what if it is her?” asks Elena, worry etched on her face. “Is she trying to send a message that she knows about you? About us? Aren’t you worried? What if she comes for you next?”

“She won’t,” Eve insists. “She likes the attention. It’s all a game to her and if she hurts us then she loses her players.”

“I just don’t want this to come back and bite you on the arse,” says Elena, before her eyes widen and she adds, “Or worse!”

“It won’t. If this kill is her, then I don’t think it’s a bad thing that she knows I’m on her trail. This proves that, don’t you think?” Eve gestures at her computer screen, where the website showing the painting is still up. “She’s showing off for us now, and it’s only a matter of time before she gets careless.”

“Or a matter of time before she gets bored and comes after you personally,” Elena counters with a grimace. “I don’t think I like the idea of playing games with an actual psychopath but it’s clearly getting you excited.”

Choosing to ignore Elena’s comment and Eve returns her attention to her computer. She opens up the website showing the painting and, realising that it is the website for the very art gallery that the murder was committed in, she uses her mouse to highlight the block of German text and pastes it into an online translation tool. The resulting paragraph in English is full of grammatical errors that could be much better translated if she asked Bill to do it, but it makes enough sense to confirm that the painting is depicting the biblical Eve and the serpent who led her to temptation.

Is the message that the assassin is trying to send by moving the body beneath this particular painting as straightforward as simply making a connection between names and showing off that she knows Eve is on her trail? Or is it more than that? Is the assassin trying to lead Eve astray in the same way that the serpent led the other Eve into the path of sin?

“Eve?” says Bill, from the other side of the office, pulling Eve out of her musings. “The German authorities have emailed across some more information about that murder and I think you’re going to want to see this.”

Eve can feel each ominous thud of her heart against her ribcage as she gets to her feet and crosses over to Bill’s desk. The crease of his frown fills her with anxiety as she approaches, tentatively moving to stand behind him so that she can see the screen. She is vaguely aware of Kenny and Elena coming to stand beside her too, the whole team huddled around Bill to see what he has discovered, but Eve shifts her entire focus onto the image on Bill’s screen.

If it were possible for Eve’s heart to leap out of her body via her throat, then it would in this moment. It takes a few seconds for her to realise what she is looking at, but when she does, it stuns her into disbelief.

On the screen of Bill’s computer are two photos side by side, almost identical in nature. They show the body of the man who was murdered in Munich, but the pictures have been taken from much closer up than the one Eve previously saw, cropping out the painting below which he is slumped. The new perspective allows Eve to see something that wasn’t visible in the more distant shot, with the photo on the left side of the screen revealing a patch of blood soaked into the front of his shirt over his abdomen. The second photo has been taken from the same angle, but a hand wearing a latex glove reaches in from out of frame and peels aside the bloodstained shirt to reveal the source of the blood.

Oh shit.

There, on the victim’s stomach, just to the right of his navel, are the letters ‘EP’, carved into his flesh with a blade.

Eve feels herself start to go a little bit lightheaded. She reaches out with one hand and grips the back of Bill’s chair for support, while her vision starts to blur in her peripherals until the only thing she can see is the picture.

Those are her initials. The assassin has carved Eve’s initials onto the man’s stomach, immortalised in blood. And there must be hundreds of different two letter combinations that she could have gone for, which means that fact that she has picked these particular two is too improbable to be a coincidence.

Of course, just as damning is the fact that the killer has carved the letters onto the exact spot where Eve has the ‘V’ on her own stomach.

Her skin burns where the mark is, as if somebody has set fire to the front of her shirt. Eve lifts a hand to her stomach and rests her palm over the mark, the skin sensitive to her touch, even through the material of her shirt.

“Well I guess that answers that particular question.”

Kenny’s voice is what snaps Eve out of her trance, voicing aloud the same conclusion that she has just reached in her own mind. Eve looks away from the screen quickly, only to find that the other three are all watching her intently, gauging her reaction. She drops her hand from her stomach and tries to act indifferent.

“So what?” Eve shrugs, unable to make eye contact with any of her colleagues, so she settles for staring at the wall beyond Bill’s computer instead. “We already had suspicions. Like Kenny said, now it’s just confirmed.”

“Eve, you know this means that she’s got one too, right?” says Elena, resting a concerned hand on Eve’s arm just below the crook of her elbow.

“So it’s professional,” says Eve. “I’m destined to be the one to catch her.”

“Do you think she sees it like that?” asks Bill.

“This is big, Eve,” continues Elena. “I know I’m always the one preaching that these marks mean nothing, but she’s a bloody psychopath. You have no idea what she thinks of these marks. Or what she’s going to do next.”

“It’s fine,” says Eve, sparing one final glance to the gruesome letters on the victim’s stomach, before she forces herself to look away and return to her own desk. “She’s just trying to send me a message.”

“Exactly,” insists Elena, following Eve across the office and leaning against the side of Eve’s desk. “She knows your name and she’s probably got your initials on her body. What next? What if she comes looking for you?”

“Then it’ll make our job a hell of a lot easier!”

“I really think we should tell Carolyn,” says Elena. “This is a big development and I think she needs to know.”

“No!” protests Eve. “Carolyn doesn’t need to know. Not yet, at least. This is my mark and I don’t want her to know about it.”

“Back me up Bill!” pleads Elena.

As both Eve and Elena turn to look at Bill, he just shrinks back in his chair and holds his hands up in surrender.

“It doesn’t matter what I think,” he replies. “If Eve doesn’t want Carolyn to know then it’s her decision.”

“Kenny?” says Elena, in one final plea.

Kenny hesitates before answering, his eyes flitting between Eve and Elena. There is a brief moment in which Eve wonders if the mark on his arm, though concealed by the sleeve of his polo shirt, will persuade him to sign with Elena, but he eventually shakes his head.

“Sorry Elena,” says Kenny, shooting her an apologetic glance, before he elaborates by saying, “I don’t think that we should tell Carolyn about this. And I trust Eve.”

“Thank you Kenny,” says Eve, giving him a grateful smile. She can’t imagine how mortifying it would be to have to admit to Carolyn Martens that the assassin she has asked them to trace has Eve’s initials on her stomach.

“Fine,” Elena says with a frown, disgruntled at being outvoted three to one about telling Carolyn about the marks. “So what is our next step?”

Eve pauses for a few seconds to collect her thoughts, which feel a little bit as though they’ve been put in a blender and torn to shreds by this latest discovery. The confirmation of the one thing that Eve has been trying to pretend isn’t real may have answered one question, but it’s raised a dozen others too.

What does the ‘V’ stand for? That is the biggest question on Eve’s mind. The killer must know Eve’s name now, for her to have connected a mark on her stomach to somebody who might learn about the body in the art gallery. And with Eve’s name, the assassin would only have to do a little bit of digging to gain access to all sorts of other private information. All Eve has is a letter on her stomach and the memory of a face.

There are other questions too. Why has the universe, after more than forty years of letting Eve quietly get on with her own life, decided to pair her with an actual psychopath? How did the assassin find out about Eve? Why has she decided to etch Eve’s initials onto this particular body?

Well, there is one thing they could do to get answers...

“We go to Munich,” Eve answers Elena’s question. “She wants my attention, so let’s show her that we have it.”

“All of us?” asks Kenny. “Shouldn’t some of us stay here and continue working on what we’ve got already?”

“Probably,” Eve concedes.

Eve glances across at Elena, who immediately shakes her head and holds her hands up in protest.

“Don’t look at me!” she says, shaking her head at the suggestion. “I’m not chasing a deadly assassin across Europe. I’m very happy with staying at home and staying alive. Anyway, Bill is the one who actually speaks German.”

Eve acknowledges this with a small incline of her head, then shifts her attention onto Bill instead.

“She has a point,” Eve says. “What do you say, Bill? Fancy a few days in Munich with me?”

“Are you sure you want me there?” asks Bill, a slow smile spreading across his face. “I mean, I don’t want to be a third wheel for you and your soulmate.”

Eve glares at him, unimpressed.

“Okay, for that you don’t get a choice,” she tells him. “You’re coming with me, end of discussion. Kenny and Elena, are you both alright to hold down the fort here for a couple of days?”

Eve doesn’t miss the way that Kenny and Elena make a point of not looking at each other as they both nod, and she remembers that they have each other’s marks. Neither of them have spoken to Eve about it since that first day, and Eve wonders if they’ve even mentioned it to each other yet. Eve knows that they both claimed indifference to the marks, but there is a part of her that thinks they would make a cute couple and wonders whether two or three days alone with each other will be enough to give them a nudge in each other’s direction.

“Fine with me.”

“Not a problem.”

They both mumble their responses at the same time, and Eve smiles past the ache in her abdomen that has been there since she saw the assassin’s artwork on the newest body.

At least this case has some direction now.

“Let’s go to Munich!”

- - - - -

There are few things that Villanelle enjoys more than being correct. Being right about something is basically just evidence that she is amazing.

Being right about Eve Polastri being the woman from the coffee shop is a euphoric feeling. Villanelle lurks outside the gallery and waits, nearly going giddy with excitement when a taxi pulls up across the street and the woman she’s been thinking about every time she masturbates for the last few weeks gets out of the vehicle. She looks even more majestic than Villanelle remembers, and though her hair is pushed back into a bun on the back of her head, there are a few loose flyaways close to her hairline that bluster about in the autumnal wind. Villanelle’s hands itch to touch it, to wind one of those curls around her fingers and loosen that thick mane from its elastic confines.

Eve’s clothes leave something to be desired. It seems that Villanelle must have conveniently pushed that part of their first encounter out of her mind, and she screws up her nose in disgust at the practical waterproof coat that doesn’t quite manage to conceal the crinkles of the blouse she wears underneath. It’s difficult to tell from across the street, but Villanelle suspects the shirt may be a cotton-polyester blend, which makes her feel a little bit nauseous.

Villanelle will have to do something about this awful wardrobe when they’re together.

A man follows Eve out of the taxi, in his sixties and balding on the top of his head. The pair seem close, laughing together about something that Villanelle is too far away to be able to eavesdrop on, and she sincerely hopes that he is just a work colleague and not anything more.

Eve and her companion are greeted by an official looking man in a suit at the entrance to the gallery, then all three of them bypass the sign left outside the door to let visitors know the gallery is closed until further notice, and disappear inside the building.

Phase one of Villanelle’s plan - lure Eve Polastri to Munich - has been a success. And that was probably the hardest part. Phase two - to get Eve alone and actually have a conversation with her - will be much easier now that they are both in the same city. The companion will have to be dealt with, of course, because Villanelle cannot let her first proper conversation with her soulmate be interrupted by somebody completely irrelevant, but Villanelle is certain that she can find a way to make sure he stays out of the picture.

Eve will be occupied for much of the day, and it excites Villanelle to know that Eve will spend the entire day talking about Villanelle, admiring Villanelle’s latest kill, trying to work out who Villanelle is.

Well tonight Villanelle will show her.

There are some preparations that she needs to make before she is ready to introduce herself to Eve. She will have to make a trip to the pharmacy, and she mustn’t forget to book the hotel room.

But first of all, Villanelle needs to buy a costume.

- - - - -

“You’ve got her on CCTV?”

Eve doesn’t know what she was expecting from their visit to Munich, but to be told that the kill was caught on camera within minutes of arriving at the scene of the crime was definitely not it.

“Yes, I sent the video across to Bill with all the other files,” says Weber, the German BND agent who is liaising with them on the case.

To have footage of the assassin actually killing could be a complete game changer for this investigation. To be able to see more of her at all would be progress, but to actually watch her in action? Eve is … well, to say that she is excited about the prospect of watching a man get shot in the head is probably a little insensitive to the victim, but Eve wants to see this footage more than anything else in the world right now.

This CCTV is the breakthrough that they need. They’ll be able to study the assassin - her movements, her mannerisms, her kill style. And not just the kill too. If that has been caught on camera, then the staging of the body after she shot him will have been filmed too. Eve will get to watch the killer as she draws Eve’s own initials on the man’s abdomen with a knife.

Carving those letters into the victim's stomach is far more intimate than anything that Niko has done for Eve in at least the last five years, if not ever.

Eve turns to Bill, her eyes wide.

“CCTV?” she asks him. “Why didn’t we know about this sooner?”

“The German investigators were very thorough,” Bill answers with a shrug. “They sent over a lot of stuff. It’ll take Elena and Kenny a while to go through it all.”

“I will find it for you,” says Weber. “You can watch it now.”

He summons one of his colleagues with a wave of his hand. The pair start speaking in rapid German, which Bill appears to be following, and Eve is grateful for the distraction brought by her ringing phone. When she reads Elena’s name on the screen, Eve answers straight away.

“We were just talking about you,” says Eve. “How are you and Kenny getting on?”

“I’ve already told you, Eve,” comes Elena’s indignant reply. “There’s nothing going on between me and-”

“I meant with the investigation,” Eve cuts in, smiling to herself at Elena’s misunderstanding and making a mental note to revisit that topic at a later date, because there is clearly something going on, even if it is just in Elena’s mind. “Have you discovered anything useful?”

“Oh, not really.”

The embarrassment is evident in Elena’s voice, even over the phone, and Eve doesn’t need to see Elena to be able to picture the flustered expression that will no doubt be plastered across her face.

“There’s a lot of information to sort through,” Elena presses on. “We’re still trying to sift through it all to work out what’s important and what isn’t, then we’ll go through everything in the important pile in greater detail.”

Eve hums in approval and says, “Sounds good.”

“Oh, by the way, Kenny stumbled across something interesting. Apparently there’s CCTV of her … you know, actually doing it. Killing the guy. It confirms that it’s a woman - blonde hair, mid-twenties, athletic build.”

“Blonde?” queries Eve, because her own memory of the assassin from their admittedly brief encounter is of a brunette with bangs.

“Well we know that she likes a costume,” Elena points out. “She probably uses wigs too.”

Eve considers the idea for a few seconds, then concedes, “Yeah, I can see blonde hair working, actually. It would suit her complexion.”

Hearing Elena snort on the other end of the phone, Eve’s cheeks flush when she realises that she said that aloud, and she is quick to press on to avoid Elena commenting on it.

“So, have you seen the CCTV footage?”

“No, they didn’t send it to us,” answers Elena. “That’s why I called you. Kenny found some notes that were made from the footage - her description, her movements through the rooms of the gallery, and so on - but there were no video files in the stuff that the German authorities sent across.”

“That’s weird,” Eve says, with a frown. “Our contact here says it was sent to us. They’re just finding it now so that Bill and I can take a look.”

Hearing his own name, Bill’s head turns towards Eve and he walks towards her.

“Hang on, just give me a second,” Eve says to Elena, before lowering the phone. She covers the speaker, then hisses at Bill, “What’s happening? Have they got it?”

Bill grimaces and shakes her head apologetically.

“Apparently they’ve lost the footage.”

“Lost the - how do you lose CCTV footage of a murder?” Eve lifts the phone back to her ear and says, “Sorry, Elena. I’ll call you back in a bit.” Ending the call with a tap of her thumb against the screen, Eve turns her attention back to Bill and adds, “Elena said that they never sent it to us either.”

“Really?” asks Bill, his eyebrows shooting up across his forehead. “Now that’s interesting.”

“How does a federal government agency lose CCTV footage of an assassination?” Eve groans, running an exasperated hand through her hair and loosening the hair tie keeping it out of her face.

“They don’t,” Bill answers, with a simple shrug.

Eve’s eyes widen as she realises what Bill is implying.

“You think it never existed?”

“I think that it did exist, but somebody has gone to great lengths to make sure that it doesn’t anymore.”

Eve glances over at Weber and his colleague, both bent over a small laptop and murmuring conspiratorially with each other. Could one of them, or somebody else working in German intelligence, have removed all traces of this vital evidence from their systems? Eve cannot imagine that whoever ordered this assassination will want footage of the killer doing her thing to continue to exist, especially not when she has been completely anonymous for so long. But to get that footage removed before it can be shared around must mean that either the hit was ordered by the German authorities, or that the people responsible are powerful enough to have significant influence over the German intelligence service, perhaps even moles inside the organisation. And if they have people inside one government authority, how many others are they controlling from within?

“Who are we dealing with?” Eve asks Bill, shaking her head in disbelief.

“Somebody very powerful, which is why we need to be careful,” Bill answers. His eyes flick down to Eve’s stomach, then back up to her face, before he adds, “Especially you.”

“I’m always careful,” counters Eve.

“And I hope that you don’t live to regret those words.”

#killing eve #killing eve fanfic #villaneve #villaneve fic #villanelle #eve polastri #from the same star

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coloursflyaway · 4 years

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Let's Repeat Our Chorus Triumphantly [4/4]

Pairing: Geralt of Rivia/Jaskier

Rating: M

Word Count: 8.100

Tags: Angst and fluff, fix-it of sorts, past character death, falling in love (and everything that goes along with it), a little bit of violence in this one

Loving a human means losing them eventually, but Jaskier will always be there to guide Geralt home.

Chapter 1

Chapter 2

Chapter 3

Read on AO3

It’s a warm day, even though the sky is matted with clouds, and Geralt leaves Roach in the stable, but still sneaks her an apple and an extra pat before he leaves. He faintly remembers the lake the fisherman talked about, even if he would have considered it nothing but a pond, remembers Jaskier taking off his shoes and wading into the muddy water on a far too hot day, his grin cheerful and innocent, betraying the lines on his face, the threads of silver weaving through his hair. He had splashed water into Geralt’s direction but missed, remedied the situation later, after he had slipped and fallen face first into the water, by pulling Geralt into a long, lazy kiss and leaving his shirt just as wet as Jaskier’s doublet.

There are no kisses to be shared today, hopefully no reason to get his clothes wet, but Geralt allows himself a few moments to bask in the memory of Jaskier’s blue eyes anyway, pushing aside the pain that always accompanies his recollections. For some reason it is easier to do so than it usually is, a sense of tranquillity lingering in his thoughts in the dimmed light of this summer morning. Geralt drinks it up gratefully, feels the scratching of ranogrin against his wrist and the pull of his muscles underneath the armour.

Usually, the moments in which he is calmest are with Ciri, her presence a balm which could soothe almost all heartaches, her smile still something Geralt can see Jaskier in, if he dares to look. The last time they had met was in spring in Novigrad, Geralt being plagued by the familiar mix of wanting to run and never wanting to leave again. And yet, finding Ciri in the garden that had been Jaskier’s and his a lifetime ago had felt right, her clever fingers picking at the weeds growing between small batches of healing herbs. She considers it home still, Geralt knows that much, comes back every few weeks if her Path allows it, but thinks that Geralt doesn’t notice that she tends to the plants, dusts the shelves upon shelves of books in Jaskier’s study and washes the windows so that the morning light lights up the living room in hues of orange and gold. She’s not with him, but the few lines Geralt had penned the night before have brought her closer, and maybe the memory of her smile is enough to calm him. He hopes that she is happy, that is what Geralt had written as a last line in his letter, and it matters above all else, Ciri being happy and loved and knowing that she a home, not just in Novigrad, but in Kaer Morhen, in Kovir with Triss and wherever Yennefer is. And maybe, if Geralt and Jaskier and Yennefer and Triss and Vesemir have raised her right, she’ll one day make her own.

Jaskier’s fingers are gentle as they brush through Geralt’s hair, untangling the knots, and Geralt leans back into his touch, letting his eyes slip shut. He has been trying to make every moment count, like Jaskier keeps telling him to, but it’s so hard to know if he is succeeding or if he is still missing time he could be spending with Jaskier in between, seconds of the other’s smile, sunsets he ignores or long evenings they could fill with talking but instead Geralt sharpens his swords and Jaskier writes down his thoughts, each of them wrapped up in their own world. Jaskier always just laughs when he asks, tells Geralt that he’s doing just fine, darling, really, now pass me my doublet, would you, but right now it is easy not to carried away, because Jaskier drops a kiss to his head and scratches his fingernails across that spot behind Geralt’s ears that makes his skin break out in goose bumps. He could live in this moment for the rest of eternity, Geralt thinks, and stores it away, a memory for when he won’t have much more than that.

“Darling”, Jaskier starts in between sweeps of his fingers through Geralt’s hair, who can’t help but smile; he knows this tone of voice, has heard it in front of window fronts and while walking past inns that looked temptingly warm and dry during a downpour, once from Jaskier with a length of rope in his hands and a flush on his cheeks. “What do you need?”, he asks and Jaskier chuckles in response. “You know me too well to have secrets any longer, don’t you?”, he asks and Geralt can’t, won’t deny it. “Well, not something I would usually ask for. No clothes, no feast, nothing of the sort. Do you perchance remember a certain fellow down in Novigrad by the name of Alonso Wiley?” “No.” “Ah, well. Perhaps you know him under another moniker”, Jaskier continues, a certain playfulness in his voice which Geralt can’t help but adore. “Whoreson Senior.”

For a second, Geralt means to laugh, but then he remembers Whoreson, a bastard of a man with a sadistic side he didn’t bother to keep hidden. “The crime boss?”, he asks, unable to keep the surprise from his voice. If Jaskier wasn’t weaving his hair into a braid right now, he would turn around to look at his bard and try to read what he is thinking in Jaskier’s eyes. “The patron of the arts, I’d prefer to call him”, Jaskier corrects him, still playful, but tension audible underneath. “Particularly of me, as it turns out. He was murdered recently and, well, it appears he left me a brothel in his will.”

“What?” No hands in his hair can keep Geralt from turning now. Jaskier doesn’t try to stop him, but lets go of his half-finished braid easily and has the decency to look sheepish when he meets Geralt’s gaze. “Why would he leave you anything, let alone a brothel?” “I have no idea. Perhaps he just liked my music?” “Enough to leave you a brothel?” Jaskier shrugs helplessly, still half-smiling, and although Geralt is slightly dumbfounded by the revelation, he can’t help but to return it; it is the most bizarre situation to find themselves in, after all. And it seems to be the right response, because some of the tension leaves Jaskier’s form and he reaches out to take one of Geralt’s hand in his, weaving their fingers together. “I suppose he did? I was as surprised as you are at the news, but it appears that we now own a brothel.”

It shouldn’t matter, because they have been sharing everything for decades, and yet it makes Geralt’s heart sing when Jaskier includes him so easily, even if it is in a situation this strange. “And what are we now going to do with our brothel?”, Geralt asks, fighting the urge to laugh. For a moment, it seems like Jaskier is dealing with the same problem, but then the tension settles back into the space behind his eyes, dimming them ever so slightly. “Well, that’s the part where my request comes in”, Jaskier starts, gripping Geralt’s hand a little tighter, but smiling up at the Witcher when Geralt moves to cover it with his own. “We could sell it, of course, but I was thinking… I love walking the Path with you, you know that. But I am not as spry as I used to be, and at some point, I suppose, I will have to stay somewhere for more than a few days at a time.”

It doesn’t come as a surprise, not really; they haven’t talked about it yet, but Geralt has seen the signs, noticed the aches that don’t leave Jaskier as easily anymore as they used to, the way he sometimes winces when he thinks Geralt doesn’t notice, the times Jaskier falls asleep in the early evening, leaning against Geralt, because the day’s trip exhausted him. Every sign of Jaskier’s age makes Geralt’s heart clench painfully, knowing he can’t do anything to make it better, but ignoring it won’t help either. “You want to settle down in a brothel”, Geralt states, still slightly disbelieving, and Jaskier should be relieved, but doesn’t look it.

“I’d like to convert it to a cabaret. Or a tavern, maybe. Not yet, I have a friend in Novigrad, Zoltan, who I think would agree to run it for now. I won’t leave you, dear heart.” The words flow from Jaskier’s lips like he has been thinking about how to say this for some time, like he is scared of Geralt’s answer, and it’s only a few moments later that Geralt understands why. “I know, Witchers don’t retire, only get slow and die, you told me that yourself – “ “Jaskier”, Geralt interrupts, and there’s a hint of fear in Jaskier’s blue, blue eyes, like he thinks he could be rejected, and Geralt loves him with a passion that is still enough to take his breath away now, after decades. “Back then I also told you I didn’t want anyone to need me. And yet, here we are.”

The world seems to pause for the length of a heartbeat, then the tension bleeds out of Jaskier’s form, relief flooding his eyes and making them shine the way they are supposed to, a smile spreading his lips wide. “Here we are”, he repeats back at Geralt, his voice as soft as his eyes, as the way he brushes his thumb across the back of Geralt’s hand. “You could still go on hunts, there are contracts in Novigrad, and I could come with you and leave Zoltan to run things so I could find some new inspiration. But in between, we could… come home.” “…come home”, Geralt echoes and doesn’t know how to continue; it’s no concept he ever really considered, no life he thought he would be allowed to live. “Yes”, Jaskier says, the smile on his lips still so tender, but at the same looking so happy that Geralt thinks it rubs off on him, even before he has the chance to kiss it from Jaskier’s lips. “We could find a house nearby. A study for me, space for all the books I could ever read, a garden for you to sharpen your weapons, maybe grow some herbs for your potions. A living room with a fireplace and a bathtub that is big enough for the both of us. A bed that is ours.”

Geralt cannot see it in front of his inner eye, but he knows Jaskier can, and that’s enough for both of them. “A home?”, he asks, and Jaskier leans in until their lips almost brush. “Yes”, he mutters and now Geralt can taste his happiness. “Our home.”

By the time Geralt reaches the lake, the clouds have parted just enough to let the occasional ray of sunlight through, reflecting off the muddy water and making it glitter for a few, precious moments. It still looks like Geralt remembers it from years ago, even if the houses have inched closer, crowding the shore now as Lindenvale has grown in size, fishermen’s boats scattered across the rough sand. In another life, with the right care, the houses could be welcoming little homes with a fireplace and a table that fits an entire family around it, a few beds filled with children and the scent of dinner cooking on the stove to come home to. But in this one, they are in a sorry shape, just like the rest of the town, the houses’ windows blind and if their inhabitants ever had the means to paint them, the remnants of the attempt have long since been washed away by the rain. Whoever lives here hardly seems to have the money to keep a roof over their head, so Geralt doesn’t know just how they would find the money to contract him, especially because the nets he sees on tangled on the shore are dry and haven’t been mended in a very long time. Maybe he’ll refuse their payment, instead ask for a warm bed and a meal the next time he comes around, but while the coin he got for the griffin was decent, it won’t last for long.

He takes a moment to look around, take in the sadness that seems to weigh down the air around them, the fear that turns its scent sharp; at first glance, there are no signs of sirens, no mangled fish or incisions in the ground from their tails whipping into it, but the lack of them doesn’t have to mean anything. A child was taken and Geralt won’t go back to its parents without information, or without knowing for certain that the monster that caused their pain is gone. So instead, he walks on and listens to the faint hum of a siren’s song weaving through the air.

“Is it everything you thought it would be?”, Geralt asks Jaskier as they look out across their small garden, Jaskier’s arms a familiar warmth around his middle. The other’s chin is resting on Geralt’s shoulder, his silver hair tickling Geralt’s cheek whenever Jaskier moves, but there is no answer for a few, long moments. Instead, Geralt can hear the crackling of the fire they lit in the living room, the hum of the city outside, the beat of Jaskier’s heart, so much faster than his own and yet relaxed. “No”, Jaskier finally answers and tightens his grip around Geralt’s waist just a little bit. “It’s so much better.”

Geralt walks the entire length of the lake without finding a single sign of a siren, of any monster. There are claw marks on the side of one of the boats, dried blood crusting on the worn woods, half eaten fish on the shore, their blood soaking into the sand and turning it dark brown, but it’s nothing concrete. If it was a siren, it hasn’t come back for at least a week, giving its scent time to fade away until even a Witcher’s senses cannot pick it up and Geralt is starting to believe that maybe, the danger has been banished after all, that he will be able to give the fishermen good news and still refuse their money. But then he looks out across the lake once more, just to make sure, and spots it.

A shadow, high up over the surface of the water. Too large to be a bird, its wings wide and tattered, a thick tail swishing to cleave apart the air beneath it; it’s a siren and yet it’s different, an ekhidna, stronger and quicker and far more deadly. It hovers over the lake for a long moment, then, as if it could sense it is being watched, the ekhidna screeches, the sound so shrill and hollow it would chill Geralt right to the core, had he not heard it a thousand times before. They’re ugly beasts, covered in purple scales, their teeth as sharp as razors and the force of the blows they can deal with their tail so grand it can shatter bones without an effort and Geralt watches its form dip until it skims the water, before it turns and moves away from him, towards the other side of the lake. There is nothing he can do but grit his teeth, and follow.

“Do you have to go?”, Jaskier whines; some things, it seems, do not change with age. “I far prefer it when you’re here.” He looks up at Geralt with eyes that seem to have grown even more blue with his hair turning grey, years of laughter etched into the skin around his mouth, a trillion smiles written into the lines around his eyes. Geralt thinks he’s beautiful, even if he knows that Jaskier spends more time looking in the mirror nowadays, applying oils and tinctures and cursing under his breath, and he loves him just as much as he did the first time he kissed Jaskier, if anything, a little more. “Unfortunately, that’s what the ekhidna down in Ursten would prefer too”, Geralt answers and presses his lips against Jaskier’s forehead, smooths his fingers down Jaskier’s cheek. “I said I’d take the contract, so yes, I have to go. But I won’t be gone for long, two or three days, if even that. And afterwards, I’ll tell you all about it for your next ballad.”

He needs to get out of the city from time to time, allow his ears not to hear, his nose not to smell, both of them know it, but today it doesn’t seem like enough to wipe the pout off Jaskier’s face. “As if you’d need my ballads any longer. One day, some young plucky bard is going to come along and just snatch you up to be their muse instead, and you’ll forget all about my ballads.” Jaskier is teasing, but there is a hint of vulnerability in his voice, in the way his eyes soften around the edges, and Geralt feels his heart seize with love, with a determination so bright it borders on possessiveness. “Never”, he all but growls, gripping Jaskier’s chin and making sure the other looks at him. “Never, Jaskier.”

Gratitude and love shine out of Jaskier’s eyes, and Geralt hates it for just a moment, because it shouldn’t be something Jaskier is grateful for; Geralt is the one who is fortunate that Jaskier chose to spend his life with him. But it’s hard to concentrate on that when Jaskier presses a kiss to Geralt’s lips, short but even sweeter than his usual fleeting kisses are, and when the familiar glint is back in his eyes once Jaskier has pulled away again. “In that case, I suppose I can allow you to go”, he concedes and picks Geralt’s hand from his chin and instead holds it tightly in his own. “If you promise me something.” “Hmm.” “Promise me”, Jaskier says, soft and loving that Geralt’s heart swells although he knows the words that will follow; he has heard them a dozen times before after all. “That you’ll come home, darling. Come home to me.” It’s the easiest promise Geralt has ever made.

By the looks of it, the ekhidna has seen almost as many winters as Geralt has. Its wings are ripped in places, scarred in others and its scales have partly lost their shine, but it still seems healthy as Geralt approaches cautiously, taking care not to make more sounds than absolutely necessary. He did not prepare for this; sirens are an easy enough thing to get rid of, nothing but pesky vermin, but to fight an ekhidna, Geralt would usually bring oils and decoctions, maybe bombs, but definitely not only his swords.

For a moment, he considers turning around and walking back to the town, seeing what else Bram’s mother has in stock, but he thinks of the boy the creature already took, of the dry nets and the shabby houses with their sightless, dark windows and decides against it. After all, it is just one beast and he has dealt with many of them before and made it out alive; all the while, a quiet voice in the back of his mind reminds Geralt that, if this time should be different, his last breath would be a sigh of relief.

He creeps up a little closer to the ekhidna, until he can make out the shine of its teeth as it parts its jowls to devour the fish it must have caught before, then he starts to unsheathe his sword. It’s a good moment for it, the ekhidna occupied with something different, but the silver scratches against the hardened leather and Geralt was right about the beast. It might be old, but that makes it no less of a threat. For a sound this quiet is enough to make the ekhidna whip around mid-air, dropping the fish carcass back onto the shore as it focusses all attention on Geralt, on the danger he presents. Its tail snaps through the air, as harsh as a whip would sound, and its face distorts, razor-sharp teeth glistening in the sunlight as the ekhidna leans forward, readying itself for a fight. The sight should be terrifying, but Geralt only thinks of cornflower eyes and a bright smile, a declaration of love on pink lips and lute-calloused fingers leaving goose bumps on his skin and grips his sword tighter. Wonders what kind of ballad Jaskier could spin out of an encounter this bland, a town this forlorn, a hero who would consider death a kindness. And charges.

Pressed against Geralt’s chest, Jaskier feels even thinner than he is, his thin, silver hair tickling Geralt’s cheek as Jaskier leans back against him, sighing contentedly. It’s a warm summer day and their garden around them is in full bloom, the branches of the raspberry bushes heavy with ripe fruit, the grass speckled with dandelion and daisies; Geralt inhales deeply and yet can’t smell anything but Jaskier’s shampoo, the remnants of black tea and juniper berries clinging to his breath. “What a lovely day, isn’t it, my darling?”, Jaskier asks, his voice soft and sweet, something Geralt can’t help but cling to. Geralt just hums in response, not sure if it is wise to trust his words.

There is a pause, thick as honey, and Geralt wishes he could speak just to break the silence before he drowns in it, but he doesn’t know how to when Jaskier is so frail in his arms, when Geralt loves him so much his chest is heavy with feeling, his heart permanently bloated, as if ready to burst. Yet, maybe he should have, because like this, it’s Jaskier who speaks first, his lips wrapping around words Geralt can’t bear to hear.

“We won’t have much longer, will we?”, Jaskier asks, his tone mild, as light as a summer’s breeze, even if the question punches the air right out of Geralt’s lungs. It hurts like nothing ever has before, no fight, no wound, no meanspirited word, because it doesn’t slice into his heart, through his flesh. Instead it’s a dull, all-encompassing pain, an ache as inevitable as unbearable. If anything, it feels like suffocating, it feels like being crushed under the weight of the world, it feels like looking up at the night sky and finding nothing but emptiness staring back at him. Geralt wants to lie, both to Jaskier and to himself, as if refusing to acknowledge it could help, but Jaskier has been strong for him more times than Geralt can remember, so Geralt forces himself to admit what hurts him most. “No.”

Jaskier hums, pulls Geralt’s arms around him as if he’s cold even now, and Geralt aches in the worst of ways, because he knows that the only thing the future holds for him is more pain. “It was a good life, though, wasn’t it?”, Jaskier asks him, the past tense sounding so jarringly wrong Geralt cannot help but flinch. Without thinking, he tightens his arms around Jaskier’s waist, who doesn’t seem to mind, only settles back against Geralt’s chest and covers his hands with brittle ones. “Better than any I could ever have hoped for”, Geralt answers and feels how his throat closes up, tears threatening to well up in his eyes. Even after having so long to try and prepare for this, he still doesn’t know how to lose what is most important to him.

Jaskier knows it, has held him a hundred times, whispering sweet nothings into his hair, singing of flickering candles and cold wind, about being together endlessly when both of them knew it was the one thing they wouldn’t be allowed to have. Now, when his strength isn’t even enough to carry him out into their garden without Geralt’s arm around his shoulder, or Ciri’s helping hands, Jaskier only squeezes his hands, turns his head to brush a soft kiss against Geralt’s cheek. “I’m glad, then”, he murmurs, and his breath is warm, smells of juniper berries and the lazy mornings they still spend in bed together. “You deserved nothing less.”

The ekhidna lunges at him, drawing its wings close to its body to mould itself into an arrow, claws outstretched and just as sharp as Geralt’s silver sword. It cuts through the air, so fast Geralt only has a split second to prepare, but even though he has been tired for so long, Geralt has never felt more awake than he does now, his senses sharpening until they become the tools that have allowed him to walk the Continent for so many decades. There is a shift in the air around him, almost unnoticeable, and Geralt ducks, rolling to his side to evade the ekhidna’s claws, but its tail almost catches him across the back nonetheless as the creature passes him. And it truly must be a clever beast, for the ekhidna slows immediately after it had realised it has missed him and rises up into the air once more, away from the reach of Geralt’s sword, fletching rows of jagged teeth as it glares down at him. For a moment, they stare at each other, until Geralt almost expects to see a flicker of consciousness within the ekhidna’s eyes, but then whips back its head and lets out a shriek so loud and shrill it would have stunned a human.

Although Geralt’s senses are far keener, he only loses a moment of time, even if the sound is so jarring it echoes in his head, momentarily drowning out the memories of Jaskier’s songs, the sound of his laughter; their loss is more painful than the ringing in his ears, but Geralt just grits his teeth and raises his sword once more, waiting for the phantom screams to die down. After all, this is a dance he has learnt the steps to long ago; the ekhidna snarls and snaps its tail, trying to goad him into charging, but Geralt stands his ground, unwavering, his eyes fixed on the creature’s hovering form.

Again, its tail whips forward, nothing but a taunt, then the ekhidna starts to move to the side, floating over the lake’s glittering surface, its strong, ragged wings stirring the air in which almost feels like a summer’s breeze against Geralt’s skin. It’s only the scent that breaks the illusion, the air foul with the smell of rotting fish and copper instead of juniper berries and dandelion. Although the space is limited, Geralt mirrors the creature’s movements as much as he can, taking a few steps aside until they are circling each other, neither letting the other out of their sight for even a moment. It’s a stalemate of sorts, but then the ekhidna snaps its jaws, leaning its weight forward once more, and Geralt’s nerves are pulled taut, his grip around the heft of his sword strong, and yet when the creature swoops down once more, his reaction comes too late.

It can’t be more than a moment he has missed and yet his blade only hits the spikes on the top of the ekhidna’s wing instead of its breast, bouncing off the tough scales and the bone just hidden underneath. But his ill-times blow gives the ekhidna an opening; it burrows one hand’s set of claws into Geralt’s breastplate, shredding leather and metal alike. The speed it possesses is enough to rip of his left pauldron, and even if the claws only graze Geralt’s flesh, it is a small consolation in a fight that is long before over.

Now useless, the piece of armour falls to the ground behind him and Geralt curses under his breath as he whips around, just fast enough to see the ekhidna turn its body around mid-flight and bare its teeth. It hisses, clicking sharp claws together, then it swoops down again, but this time, Geralt is ready. His aim is true, his silver sword slicing through purple-grey scales as if they were fine silk, catching the creature in the middle of its breast and the wiry muscles of its arm. The blow drags a shriek from the ekhidna’s jaws, so hateful it seems to freeze time itself and turn the air around them cold as snow, but still it is not enough to ground the creature. As it pulls itself up into the sky once more, its body wallows, teetering for a few moments, but there is still fight left in its cursed frame.

A breathless moment passes and the adrenaline rushing through Geralt’s body is so thick he can taste it; then the pain sets in. He hasn’t noticed it before, too focussed on trying to put an end to the creature in front of him, but while his sword may have found its target, so did the ekhidna’s claws. Geralt cannot look down and let it out of his sight, but he can feel the warmth of blood against his skin where the ekhidna’s tail has managed to tear through what was still left of his breastplate. It hurts, which matters little; what does is that it’s a stinging, searing kind of pain, indicating that this time, it hasn’t only been skin that has been ripped apart but muscle and sinew, but bone that has splintered under the sheer force of the attack.

All of a sudden, Geralt’s breath comes harder, the sword seems heavier in his grip and with his next exhale, a curse spills from Geralt’s lips. Given time, his bones will mend, and his flesh sew itself shut, but for now, Geralt’s ribs are cracked and his chest is torn open, his lungs trying desperately to ignore the pain and fill themselves with precious air. Both him and the ekhidna are fighting on borrowed time, the creature losing blood from the wound on its breast and the gash on its arm, but so is Geralt. He tries to steady himself, feet finding steady ground on their own volition, but the ekhidna doesn’t give him a moment to breathe, instead darts down within seconds, claws outstretched; they catch Geralt’s cheek as he doges the attack, slicing into the flesh, but Geralt retaliates by spinning around, his sword cleaving the creature’s arm straight off its body.

The ekhidna lets out a bloodcurdling scream, its wing whipping across Geralt’s head and disorienting him, giving the creature the moment it needs to pull itself up into the air once more. Blood is spurting from the stump of its arm and the ekhidna wails, the other arm for a second fluttering between the wound on its chest and the empty space where its limb is missing, and Geralt could feel sorry for it, had he the time to think at all. It must be getting desperate, there is no other explanation, because when it swoops down again, for the last time, the ekhidna’s intent is clearly only on hurting him, its body a flurry of motions, wings flapping, its single arm thrashing around to catch Geralt’s face, his throat. He parries it swiftly, slicing through the creature’s wing with ease until his sword hits bone, the blade getting stuck for just a second before separating it; the moment’s delay is all the ekhidna needs to lash out with its tail.

The reinforced end of it catches Geralt’s chest, tearing through the already tattered flesh, slicing through the leather of his armour down his stomach, and the force of the blow is enough to knock Geralt back, yanking his sword from the ekhidna’s maimed wing. His cracked ribs scream, the air leaving his lungs in a cut off groan, because the pain is too vast to curse any longer. Geralt can hardly manage to raise his sword again, his muscles protesting, sinews he would need having been split apart, but the adrenaline coursing through his body is enough to force his arms to cooperate. In front of him, the ekhidna is flailing, finally grounded, and Geralt knows it will only take one more blow to cleave its head off its shoulders, one blow for this to finally be over.

The ekhidna hisses when Geralt drags his body closer, and he expects no more attack from it, not with the amount of blood it has already lost, the wounds in its breast and its wing and the hewn off arm, but the creature launches itself off the ground with its unharmed wing and its tail, a flash of fury and blood and violence. Geralt’s arms try to move before his head has caught up with them, whipping his sword around to block the attack, but then time slows, something scratches against his wrist, almost as soft as a lover’s touch, the air still smells like blood and sweat, but something else penetrates it, tart and fresh; Geralt smells the ranogrin in the crook of Jaskier’s neck, on the tips of his calloused fingers, all around them as they huddled together in the wild of Spikeroog for warmth and for each other’s company. It only costs him a moment, but it’s too much, or maybe just enough.

Instead of blocking the ekhidna’s attack, Geralt sinks the entire length of his blade into the creature’s stomach, an injury that will surely, finally kill it, but it comes at a hefty price. Instead of forcing them further apart, the blow brings them closer together, and Geralt doesn’t see, cannot parry the tail that shoots up from behind the ekhidna’s twitching frame, doesn’t have time to doge and no armour left to protect him. The sharp tail end buries itself in Geralt’s chest just as he tries to rip back his sword, the spikes on it slicing through his mangled flesh like butter, the force of the hit enough to shatter his ribs completely. Blood and torn flesh spray through the air, and as Geralt staggers back, having lost his grip on his sword, copper is the only thing he can still smell in the air.

It's no sound that wakes Geralt, instead it’s the lack of it, a silence he has been dreading for decades. Jaskier is in his arms, limbs thin and his skin still warm where it is pressed against Geralt’s chest and his shoulder, but there is a pause between each of his breaths that hasn’t been there when they went to sleep that night, a delay between heartbeats that Geralt has come to know as well as his own. Not by much, it’s just a moment that doesn’t belong in between of them, but it’s enough to make dread rise in Geralt’s chest. This is not the first time it has happened, not the second, not the third, and there is a chance that Jaskier’s heartbeat will even out once more, find back to the rhythm that Geralt goes to sleep to, but the thought hardly helps. For one day it won’t, one day Geralt will have to listen to Jaskier’s breath fading and the thought terrifies him more than any monster could.

Careful not to disturb Jaskier too much, Geralt pushes himself up on his elbow, looking down onto the face he has loved for more than half a decade, and brushes his fingertips across Jaskier’s cheek. “Wake up, sweet”, he mutters and brushes a strand of fine white hair behind Jaskier’s ear, letting his fingers linger just for a moment. Usually, it would be enough to wake Jaskier, but a second passes, then another and nothing happens. Jaskier doesn’t stir, his breathing doesn’t pick up and his lashes don’t start to flutter, his lips don’t start to stretch into that smile Geralt has fallen in love with so long ago. He doesn’t move at all and Geralt forces the panic down to prevent it from drowning him; it’s nothing, just sleep, just a better dream than usual, which Jaskier doesn’t yet want to leave.

“Come, now”, Geralt says, a bit louder this time, and presses a kiss against Jaskier’s cheek, then his forehead, to rouse him, even as a quiet voice in the back of his mind starts whispering, what if... “Don’t scare me like this, Jaskier.” He lets his lips linger just like his fingers before, waits for the twitch of muscles under paper-thin skin, a small yawn as Jaskier wakes, but there’s nothing, just the sound of Jaskier’s heart beating a little too slow, his lungs taking a bit too much time to draw a breath. Panic starts to claw at Geralt’s throat, makes his fingers tremble, and this time, he cannot swallow it down again, even if he tries, inhaling slowly to quell the burn of it. The only thing it does is put the pause between Jaskier’s breaths into even sharper contrast.

By now, after years of it, the fear is a well-known companion, a tightness in Geralt’s chest that seems destined to crush him, the sensation of suffocating even while he continues breathing. His heart speeds up until Geralt can feel it pound against his ribs as if it was trying to escape, the thrum of blood so loud in his ears it makes it difficult to think. Because the delay in Jaskier’s breath seems longer now, just by a fraction of a second, not noticeable unless you look for it. And Geralt has been looking for a decade at least.

“Jaskier”, he tries again, not able to keep the fear out of his voice any longer, the frantic beating of his own heart so loud it almost drowns out Jaskier’s. “Please wake up, love. Wake up.” He gives Jaskier a few moments to react, but there’s nothing, and something within Geralt breaks and spills, threatens to overpower him for a moment. It’s every sob he has swallowed down while watching Jaskier try and remember a line of his own songs, every bolt of pain shooting through his heart he ignored while helping Jaskier down the stairs or out into the garden, every tear he didn’t cry because he didn’t want it to taint the time they still had together. It’s every moment he loved Jaskier and knew he’d lose him, every time he pushed the thought aside, so he’d be able to continue breathing in time with the other, return each smile, each kiss, each whispered confession.

They flood him, leave him gasping and it’s too much, breaks his back and his heart and his spirit, leaves Geralt’s mind reeling, every sense finding a single focus. Jaskier’s heart is slowing, Geralt can hear it clearly now, every beat of it a little later, and it’s too much, too much, too much. He has no control over his body left, but his hands pull Jaskier up against his chest, cradling him close, until his fading heart beats right against Geralt’s. Jaskier’s hair tickles his cheeks, and Geralt feels himself shiver with a half-suppressed sob, buries his face in the crook of Jaskier’s neck and smells fresh sweat and fool’s parsley and ranogrin, feels their first and their hundredth and their millionth kiss.

Sees Jaskier on that very first day, blue eyes wide and hopeful; sees him at Cintra’s court, shining gold and silver and brighter than anything else Geralt had ever seen; sees him on that dreaded mountain, talking about the coast and pretending that being rejected does not hurt; sees him in the tavern Geralt found him in so much later, forgiveness painted across his dear features and mending Geralt’s heart with a smile; sees Jaskier offering his own heart to him, unabashed and unashamed, braver than any other man Geralt had ever seen; sees him in a thousand nights, on a thousand beds, in front of a thousand fires; sees Jaskier in their cabaret on stage and behind the bar and on tables, singing and joking and drinking, winking at Geralt when he caught his gaze; sees him in their house, in their garden, weaving buttercups into Ciri’s hair and Roach’s mane, humming softly under his breath, unaware that Geralt could still hear him; sees Jaskier waving when Geralt set out for a hunt, his whispered words of come home to me still echoing in Geralt’s head; sees Jaskier offering his heart once more when he had realised it would break Geralt, asking the impossible of him and being granted everything, the least he deserved; sees Jaskier that evening, wincing when Geralt helped him into their bed but smiling softly into the kiss Geralt pressed to his lips before they went to sleep. Sees their life, all of it, the good and the bad and the mediocre, sees Jaskier and finds that even after trying to prepare for this for decades, he still is no step closer to knowing how to live without him.

There’s dirt caked under his fingernails from dragging his body across the lake’s shore when Geralt leans against the tree, the bark scratching the exposed skin where the ehkidna has ripped apart his armour, but the solid pressure is slightly comforting still. He’s dimly aware that he’s in pain, his chest torn open by claws and the creature’s powerful tail, his ribs broken and splintered, but the fact doesn’t properly register in his brain any longer, adrenaline washing away the side effects of the fight. It turns the pain into water that keeps running through Geralt’s cupped hands, just like the pressure on his lungs that makes it impossible to draw a proper breath, just like the constant stream of blood that slicks up the leather of his armour, the heaviness of his limbs. Even without seeing it, Geralt knows that it’s bad; yet, even without seeing it, he knows that he’s sustained far worse injuries in the past.

His armour is in tatters, beyond repair, but Geralt’s belt is still heavy against his hip, the small pouch he carries his potions in untouched, and even if every motion sends a shockwave of pain through him, Geralt slides his hand across his body to reach it. His blood-slick fingers find the clasp and undo it, drawing a groan from behind Geralt’s lips that sounds raspy, breathless even to his own ears. The vials inside are still intact as Geralt pulls them out, bringing his hand up to his face to see their contents and leaving red smears across the glass, the cork stopper. Cat, White Honey, Golden Oriole, all the potions he knows he carries, but Geralt’s eyes keep searching for the one thing he needs, because it’s not poisons that are making his head swim and his thoughts slow, it’s not the night that is making it difficult to see, but the loss of blood. There’s no Swallow.

It makes no sense at first, for long, long moments, until Geralt lets his hand sink down onto his stomach, unable to keep it raised any longer, until his eyes become heavy with the strain of keeping them open. And then it does. Geralt remembers the warmth of his room at the inn, remembers the scratch of needles and the familiar smell of them, the call of a time long past. Remembers the ingredients he packed into his bag this morning, unused, the phantom weight of Jaskier’s hand on his shoulder, trying to pull him back into bed. Bram’s face as he ripped Jaskier’s sketch of Eskel out of the notebook for him and Judet’s wistfulness as she promised Geralt that she’d remember them forever. He won’t be there to find out if she does.

His fingers loosen their grip on the other vials, letting them tumble to the floor where they break, or maybe stay intact, Geralt doesn’t know, because it doesn’t matter any longer, nothing does. It’s the strangest thought, and yet the one that still rings through his congealing, dimming mind; it seems that there is no clarity in death, but Geralt cannot bring himself to mind. His heart is slowing down and every breath he takes allows less oxygen into his veins than the one before, a sure sign of a punctured lung, and Geralt knows he is going to die here.

It’s almost impossible to consider after such a long time, sixty-four years after making a promise he never thought he would be able to keep, and yet Geralt can feel it, his limbs going numb and his eyelids becoming heavier, his breath picking up, each inhale accompanied by a rattling in his chest, a pitiful whistling as the air rushes back out of his lungs. He’s dying and he knows the sensation well enough by now, knows that without the potion he never brewed, this will be the last time he has to go through it.

Despite the muted pain, the lack of air, Geralt feels laughter bubbling up from his chest, the sound of it twisted and distorted, but floating from his lips anyway, bringing the taste of blood and freedom with it. He’ll die here, bleed out in a town that Jaskier and he used to travel through without giving it a second thought, and there is poetry in there somewhere, Geralt knows it, but with his fighter’s mind, he doesn’t know where to look for it. Jaskier would know, would brush Geralt’s hair from his forehead and press a kiss to his lips, would know just what words to whisper to turn dying into something more, something worth remembering. Like this, it’s just dying, just every beat of his heart being weaker than the one before. And it’s fitting, because what was left of poetry in Geralt’s life died with Jaskier in his arms.

It’s hard to keep his eyes open, so Geralt allows them to close, only realising he’ll never see the sky again after it’s gone; it doesn’t seem to matter. The darkness is kind and warm, feels like blood gushing down his body and like lazy mornings spent in bed, cocooned in their covers, and Geralt thinks of Ciri. She’ll be fine, he knows it, and even if he knows it will be hard on her, she has family left in Triss and Yen and Eskel and sometimes, even Lambert, she has friends and a horse she called Buttercup and pretended she didn’t notice it when Geralt’s eyes misted over at the sound of the name. And she’s a good Witcher, better than that even, and unlike Geralt she still has a heart left to be broken, if she ever wants to gift it to someone. He thinks of watching her grow up and training her and watching her become who she wanted to be instead of following another’s footsteps, thinks of how much he loves her, even if there were years in which he would had done everything in his power to never have her within his sight. He thinks of Yennefer and Triss, of how they will miss him even if Geralt is certain they’ll know that he was just biding his time, thinks of Lambert and Eskel, who are as close as he could get to having brothers, and how most likely neither of them expected that he’d be the first of them to go.

Moving is near impossible by now, cold having started to seep into his limbs, the tips of his fingers and the soles of his feet, but Geralt forces his hand across his body anyway, until he can grip his glove with the other, tugging it off with the last bit of strength he has left. The air around him smells like blood and dirt, like death, but suddenly, there’s a tartness mixing in between, a scent that smells like coming home. Geralt breathes in as deep as he can, his chest rattling with the exertion, but the hint of ranogrin on his lips makes it worth it.

And Geralt thinks of Jaskier, of his smiles and his eyes and his voice; of his little touches that meant nothing but I am here, I won’t leave; of his hair turning silver but remaining just as soft and his clothes that stayed vibrant all his life; of the way Jaskier’s voice would go softer by just a bit every time he said Geralt’s name. He’s fading and Geralt has never been optimistic enough to believe in an afterlife, but that’s alright; he’ll gladly lose himself in the darkness, if it’s the same one that took Jaskier too.

Again, he breathes in, his chest hardly moving, but there is a breeze coming from the lake, light and warm, carrying the scent of ranogrin, and just for a moment, Geralt believes he can feel a weight on the back of his hand. Hear a voice next to him, calm and loving and familiar. Come home to me, darling, come home.

He does.

#the witcher #the witcher fanfic #the witcher fanfiction #geraskier #geraskier fic #geraskier fanfiction #geralt of rivia #jaskier #i really enjoyed writing this as much as one can enjoy writing angst

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clansayeed · 4 years

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Bound by Destiny ― Chapter 5: The New Normal

PAIRING: Kamilah Sayeed x MC (Nadya Al Jamil) RATING: Mature

⥼ MASTERLIST ⥽

⥼ Bound by Destiny ⥽

Nadya Al Jamil (MC) has been struggling from the day she moved to Manhattan, but her new job as assistant to the mysterious CEO of Raines Corp was supposed to turn her luck around. Until she finds herself caught in the middle of a war involving the Council of Vampires who secretly run the city. An evil from the birth of Vampire-kind stirs beneath, feeding on the conflict, and finds Nadya bound to a destiny she never asked for.

Bound by Destiny and the rest of the Oblivion Bound series is an ongoing dramatic retelling project of the Bloodbound series and spin-off, Nightbound. Find out more [HERE].

⥼ Chapter Summary ⥽

As it turns out life with a big secret is pretty much the same as regular life. Only Nadya has to lie to her best friend a lot.

[READ IT ON AO3]

“And you are willing to accept the burden of two humans pledged to Clan Raines?”

“If one of them is up for grabs I’m more than happy to take this one,” Lester’s calloused hand runs up Nadya’s forearm; it’s physically impossible for him not to feel her disgust yet still he persists, “Adrian may have all the cool new toys but I assure you, sweet girl, you’ll be wanting a vampire with some years under his belt.”

She smacks his wandering touch away before it can get to her shoulder. It does little against his supernatural strength but he’s too taken aback. All three vampires are.

“Alright, first thing’s first, never call me that again,” she can’t even repeat the grossly infantilizing pet name without feeling like she’s dipped in grease and slime, so she just continues, “second, and this I promise you Mister Castellanos, you can be darn well sure I want nothing to do with anything even near your belt. And third —”

Lester recovers from his shock then; puffs up his chest and makes to stand from his chair.

“How dare you, little —”

“Let her finish, Lester,” Kamilah doesn’t have to raise her voice to grab their attention. She does so simply by being Kamilah. She meets Nadya’s eyes across the conference table and there’s an interested amusement hidden in their depths. Hidden in the slight quirk of her dark lips. “It’s about time someone put you in your place, after all.”

Lester’s face goes a frustrated shade of red. Kamilah taps her chin softly. “Continue. ‘And third?’”

Nadya only hesitates to remember her train of thought before rounding back on the lecherous man.

“And third,” she repeats, “I don’t care who you are, how much money or power or whatever that you have — if you treat me like that again I’ll make sure the only toy you get is a stake up the butt.”

The look she throws Adrian seeks forgiveness, not permission, but her boss is too stunned to speak. Instantly Nadya recoils, flinches away as if she’s a completely different person. The only thing that keeps her from her natural-born instinct to apologize is reminding herself how disappointed Lily would be.

And it wasn’t as though a creep like Lester didn’t deserve it. There was just the threat of ticking off a vampire that needed factoring in now. She sits in her chair and awkwardly scoots it closer to her boss’ side.

Finally Adrian addresses Kamilah’s question. “Yes, Kamilah; though I’d hardly call the pair of them a burden.”

“Speak for yourself,” Lester seems to be doing all he can not to spit, “she’s gonna be a handful. We should just debrief her.”

“No — she was given the option and declined. Lester, you voted with me against forced debriefing.”

As the men argue Nadya steals a glance at Kamilah only to find the vampiress seemingly assessing her. Kamilah’s brow quirks slightly, ‘boys will be boys’ it says, and she scribbles down something on a stack of papers in front of her.

Adrian’s patience finishes entertaining Lester’s complaints.

“I think this will be good for Nicole, as well. Take some of the pressure off of her back.”

Kamilah snorts softly. “Oh indeed. I look forward to hearing her thoughts on the matter.” She scribbles a signature and slides the papers to Adrian. “If you’re sure, and so long as you’ve weighed all of your options.”

“I have.” He replies.

“Then the sooner we finish this, the sooner I can get back to my date~” Lester practically yanks the stack away from Adrian and signs with a flourish.

After Adrian adds his name to the bottom he offers the pen to Nadya. “The contract isn’t legally binding, but we’ve found it easier to keep certain things on our record. Part of immersing ourselves in the business field.”

She looks it over. Working for a corporation as big as Adrian’s has taught her a few things about the industry of industry, but she’s still a novice at most of the technical language. The small print combined with the occasional phrase like “for which the punishment is death” makes her eyes glaze and the contract blur.

“So I’m, what, signing my soul over to the Council?”

Adrian ignores the laughs of his colleague and places a hand on Nadya’s shoulder. “No. You can be debriefed at any time — though like I said the more time that passes the less we can completely erase. This is more just something we’ve had to do when it comes to humans being associated with the Council. For your safety and ours.”

Lester leans over with a smarmy grin. “In the old days we just branded you. Like cattle.”

It sends a shiver down Nadya’s spine. But a signature was better than a brand — right? She clicks the pen and signs her name carefully. Adrian beams with something close to pride. Takes the contract and hands it back to Kamilah who stores it in a shiny leather briefcase.

The vampires stand and Nadya rushes to follow. That’s it? She thought there would be more ceremony to it — more morbidity. But apparently even supernatural business has joined the corporate mainstream. Adrian offers Lester his thanks but the portly man waves it off and leaves without a goodbye. Grumbles something under his breath that Nadya chooses not to hear a word of. Kamilah stays a minute longer; takes Adrian’s offered hand in a firm shake and tucks her hair behind her ear.

Remembering what Adrian said earlier that night, Nadya tries her very best not to stare openly.

“Thank you for this, Kamilah,” Adrian’s sincerity is almost saccharine, “I know things have been tense lately but I’m glad to know we still agree on things like this.”

“Oh Adrian, pet, I don’t agree with you in the slightest.”

“What?”

Nadya and Adrian stare at her — blinking out of sync but with equal measures of confusion. Like with everything else, that amuses her.

She continues, “I don’t think this is a good idea at all. But I also know you too well, and know that your mind is made up. You don’t reach my age without gaining a sixth sense about picking your battles. You can sign as many humans as you’d like to your Clan so long as they stay in line. Unlike Lester, I have the humility to admit that mortals have their uses beyond sexual favors and snacking.”

He looks ready to argue, but Kamilah makes up his mind for him. She bids Nadya a farewell nod and leaves them in a far more graceful fashion.

“So that’s it? One contract and a greasy perv and boom, I’m in the secret squad?” Adrian holds open the door to their private elevator and Nadya hits the button for his office. It was like nothing had changed, though everything had.

Adrian shrugs one shoulder. “I mean, yes, that’s all you needed to do. Back in the old days —”

“How old are we talking?”

“Well, Lester had a rather big party for his half-millennium back in ‘09. Kamilah’s two millennium in but you won’t catch her celebrating anything.”

It takes a moment for the word millennium to process; leaves Nadya gaping. “She’s two thousand years old?”

“Yes, though surviving that long is rare — especially these days. Young vampires are reckless and fueled only by their hunger. They tend not to last long without Clans to protect and guide them. And with humanity’s unerring desire to exterminate itself in the last century… well, the older generation is considered a war casualty.”

It’s a lot for her to take in, and Nadya has a feeling if she was left in stunned silence every time Adrian casually brings up something incredible about vampires she might never speak again.

Adrian doesn’t break stride as he opens his office door and leaves her at her desk. She has to stop and take a moment to look at the thing before actually taking a seat. Everything is exactly where she left it when she clocked out almost a week ago but nothing is the same.

“Something wrong?”

Nadya looks up to see Adrian leaning in his doorway. His lips turned downward in concern. He steps out and places his fingertips on the desk like it has something to say to him.

“No, no,” though she’s stiff, awkward as she takes her seat, “well… it just doesn’t feel real. Like, this is my stuff, but it’s also like a museum exhibit of my stuff.”

He nods as though he understands. Maybe he does — about as much as he can.

“And what would the exhibit be titled?”

It takes her a laugh and a moment to think. “Hm, I think ‘My Life Before Vampires’ would work.”

“It’s a lot to take in. I would understand if you needed some time off.”

“No, no more time off,” and that Nadya is insistent upon, “better to just dive right in than let it fester. Unless you want a million texts with questions I could just ask you in person.”

There’s something about sharing that familiar moment that eases the tension; makes it so they’re both sharing soft laughter and when Adrian leaves her to her work this time around it looks more like her desk again.

Getting back to a version of ‘normal’ at work is one thing, but trying to find that balance back at home proves a challenge.

Nadya’s content to act like nothing strange happened when she first arrives back on her doorstep. Being bodily mauled on by Lily’s concern, though, gives her a clue that she won’t be able to just let it go. Eventually Lily realizes “I was mugged” is her story and she’s sticking to it, no matter how much she’s teased, poked, prodded, or bribed otherwise.

And after three weeks straight of the silent treatment, neither of them can take it anymore and they make up with a pizza (delivery this time) and homemade margaritas.

Everything else continues as it was. Adrian picks her up, they go to work, lunch is now spent together with a new list of questions that he answers with unerring patience, he drops her off. Nicole doesn’t take the news well — what little she saw of the woman before somehow diminishes. But Nadya won’t complain about a lack of frigid witch in her daily routine.

The most exciting thing she gets to do with her newfound induction into the vampire club is visit a Priya Lacroix afterparty. Woefully underdressed, she tries to keep the same straight face on that comes naturally to Adrian.

“I have some business to take care of in the back,” he gestures to a gilded door of glossy black paint and gold filigree, covered on both sides with a thick red curtain.

Nadya tries to peer inside as the door opens to let through a pair of giggling models; catches what looks like the high-arched back of a throne but nothing more.

“What’s back there?”

“Nothing you’d like.”

“I’m still trying to process this whole Priya Lacroix famous designer and bloodsucker thing.”

Adrian looks around quickly and his frown is chastising, though hardly strong enough to be effective.

“Maybe we say that a little quieter next time, hm?”

The bartender taps Nadya’s shoulder and offers her a fizzy flute of champagne. Before she can decline, Adrian gestures for her to take it.

“Just try not to down four bottles of the stuff before I get back, okay?”

Her deadpan is not amused. “You’re never gonna let that go, are you?”

“Not likely.” He’s already heading off, flashing something to the large man standing guard at the exclusive club door and stepping inside.

When Adrian returns — only a second glass of champagne later — there’s a grim frown set into his jaw. He practically rushes them out of the venue with little explanation.

She’s ready to ask about it — the question is on the tip of her tongue — but Adrian’s aura screams do not cross and she knows when to leave well enough alone.

Her first (and so far only) time in the proximity of other vampires and she didn’t even get to meet one. Nadya has to hide her disappointment to avoid another lecture.

They say their usual farewells at the curb and Nadya kicks snowplow slush from her heels while she waits for Lily to answer the buzzer.

“Dude, we ordered this twenty minutes ago! Are the dumplings even steaming anymore?”

Nadya has to hold up and back off. She looks at the complex address first — yes it’s her building — and then double check she hit the right button.

Because the last time she checked Lily didn’t have a thick Spanish accent.

She buzzes their apartment again. The voice comes back with a vengeance.

“My girl isn’t gonna pay for cold Chinese, so. Try again.”

“Uh…” Nadya fumbles for what to say, “I live here?”

There’s static on the other end — and she’s really relieved to hear Lily’s static-filled laughter.

“Sorry Nadi’! Forget your key?”

“Yeah, I left it at the office.”

“It’s gonna do you loads of good there. Buzzed you!”

Whatever her subconscious was suspecting when she opened her front door — this isn’t it. Lily in her ‘I’m Going Out’ getup (which is the same as her usual clothes, only there’s typically more belts and bracelets involved) with her boots kicked off and leaning very close to a woman with a bright blue head of hair and a devilish grin. They jam their fingers into the console handhelds like the fate of the world is at stake.

Lily doesn’t look up even when she closes the door a little harder than necessary.

“Oh! There it is!” Blue-Hair jumps and her tucked-legs catch her deftly on the couch — which creaks in protest. Lily joins — Nadya watches to make sure their secondhand-secondhand couch doesn’t collapse under the weight. Then they’re screaming, and shrieking, and Lily drops her controller and pumps her fists into the air in a victory dance only gamers know.

It’s like watching animals on the Serengeti do some weird mating ritual. Screeching, then hugging, then the silence of hot breaths when you realize you’re in close proximity with someone and that feeling kicks in.

“Ahem.” Nadya clears her throat. Catches their attention in the brief silence. Lily jumps down from the couch and embraces her tightly.

“Sorry about that. We ordered Chinese —”

Nadya nods. “Like, twenty minutes ago?”

Lily’s grin is understandably sheepish. Her friend doesn’t wait to be introduced — leaps off the couch with ethereal grace and comes towards them with her hand extended.

“You’re the roommate I’ve heard so much about,” she looks Nadya up and down, then gives a nod of approval, “nice, nice.”

“And I’ve heard so much about you…” before she can flounder for a name Lily saves her skin.

“Maricruz. ‘Member, I told you I was going to that Girl Gamer thing in the East Village?”

She does remember something about that — if vaguely. Maricruz wraps an arm around Lily’s shoulders and squeezes them together.

“How is it that even in a gay bar fuckboy gatekeepers will still find a way to be obnoxiously patronizing?” She and Lily laugh; some inside joke Nadya isn’t privy to, “I was real close to punching one in the face and getting the hell out of there and then who walks in but this angel.”

“We were the only W-L-W’s there, I shit you not.” Lily adds.

“Oh! Well… that’s, uh, that’s great,” Nadya cringes when Maricruz raises a dark eyebrow, “that you guys found each other, I mean.”

“Dude, Mari’s amazing. Her cousin’s girlfriend’s roommate knows a guy who works at one of the salons I was looking into, right, and he has an online hookup to the unreleased alpha of The Crown and the Flame Thorngate DLC!” She looks at Mari with eyes that would give shelter puppies a run for their money.

Mari, to her credit, soaks up the attention without seeming to Nadya like a complete tool.

“Hey, I like to share the wealth with gamers who deserve it. Sapphic ladies get priority.”

“About time we did.”

“You know it.”

They dissolve into laughter again. Leaving Nadya pushing up her glasses, snow slush soaking into her nylons, feeling like the spare donut tire nobody ever uses. Suddenly “I went to a Priya Lacroix show” doesn’t sound nearly as cool as their evening.

Lily double-takes, catches the slight fall of Nadya’s shoulders, and elbows Mari with a smile. “Nadya works for the head of Raines Corp, did I mention,” then, to Nadya, “What Wall Street shit did you get up to tonight?”

The three women migrate to the living room; Lily and Mari on the abused couch while Nadya relaxes in her bean-bag cushion. It’s pretty obvious half-way through recounting her experience with the door guard outside the show that the blossoming couple are only giving her half their attention; she’s just something on in the background.

There’s a brief knot of jealousy that tightens in Nadya’s stomach. But Lily deserves this — someone to spend time with. She deserves someone who doesn’t blow her off the way her ex did. And she deserves someone to spend time with that isn’t her best-friend-and-roommate. Sharing is caring; isn’t that what they say?

She claps to get their attentions; announces she’s going to change into something more comfy and when she returns they’d better be ready to give her a play-by-play of Girl Gamer Night. She tries to keep all sexual noises to a minimum while stripping off the second skin her nylons had become, and giving herself some space from the sudden appearance of Maricruz really does ease her jealousy away.

“Okay — so first remind me who decided to host…”

Nadya’s voice dies out as she looks around to one less body. Lily types something wicked-fast on her phone before hopping up to pull back the curtains. Early daylight isn’t terribly bright, but what streams through makes Nadya wince.

“Girl, this job is making you a straight-up vampire.”

She chokes on air. Lily waits until she’s breathing again to laugh. “Mari caught the time — she works across town so she dipped while you were changing.”

“But I wanted to hear about Gamer Night...” The petulant whine comes out without Nadya’s permission. Lucky for her Lily finds it cute.

“Don’t worry, chica, you’ll hear all about it soon enough. I gotta go get ready — coffee me?”

“Will do—” they pass to trade places, but before Lily’s clear of her Nadya grabs her arm, “—hey, hold up—” and pulls her into a crushing hug.

“You good?” Lily can’t — or won’t — hide the twinge of worry. She hugs back nevertheless.

Nadya nods. “Yeah. Just happy for you. She’s weird, but I’d expect nothing less.”

“Oh my god, it was one date. Not even!” They dissolve into laughter and Nadya feels a quick kiss to her temple before Lily’s off to get ready.

Nadya fills the coffee maker and the whole apartment starts smelling of espresso.

Adrian IMs her to come into his office. Nadya takes a second to finish her bullet point on a spreadsheet before knocking on the door. She hasn’t even crossed the threshold when he looks up with a smile that’s a little bit too wide for her to be comfortable with and says he’s changed his mind.

“Are you sure…?”

“Yes, yes — it’s nothing.”

“Okay…”

Ten minutes later he asks her to join him again. No hesitation this time — but the door’s only halfway open when he backs out.

“Nevermind. Sorry for bothering you. Do you have the Whitman report?”

Nadya frowns. “Almost done. You sure you don’t wanna tell me what’s up…?”

“Quite. Just email me when you’re done.”

It takes her twenty seconds to pull the door closed. Ample time for him to change his mind — but he doesn’t.

The third message Nadya doesn’t even see. There’s a ping from her computer and she whips open the door so hard her hair catches the breeze and her glasses go flying. Adrian startles; looks up from his screen to the frustrated figure wreaking havoc in his doorway.

“Nadya? Are you okay?”

She stomps to her glasses — made significantly less impressive by the sound-muffling Persian rug — and pushes them back up so hard her eyes see little spots of light. Continues stomping over to his desk and places both her palms flat on the wood to look him straight in the eye.

Adrian leans back slightly; oblivious. “Erm… Nadya?”

“What. do. you. want?”

He tries to make light of it, “Should you really be speaking to your boss that way?” but when it doesn’t lighten her mood he has the decency to look apologetic.

“Is this some weird vampire yuppie hazing ritual,” she’s serious, wants a genuine answer, “some game like see how many times the human jumps when I say? Because if we’re trying to beat someone’s record, I’m totally down. But if you’re just messing with me I’ve got a bone to pick.”

Sheepishly Adrian shakes his head. “Not in the slightest. I’m sorry for bothering you. I’m sure you have work to do, so —”

“If you tell me it’s nothing one more time, Adrian Raines…” She points a threatening finger at him. There was nothing more terrifying to a young Nadya Al Jamil than the threat of the Mom Finger; the secrets of which had been passed along to her before she left for college.

Now, the true test of parenting authority was tested between species. They lock eyes and, breath held, Nadya watches with a victor’s delight as Adrian wilts. He gestures to one of the fancy chairs in front of his desk with resignation.

Nadya sits to recover from her awe. “I can’t believe that worked.”

When the vampire looks as though he’s about to question her Nadya jabs the finger at him again — makes him shut his mouth with a click.

“Now — talk.”

Adrian’s not the type to waste time on something that isn’t important. He’s probably the most productive CEO in Manhattan at any given moment. He’s two hundred-something years old, and it shows. It shows in his confidence, in how he carries himself, and in the surety with which he does… most things.

So watching him fumble over his words — constant apologies, lack of eye contact, the way he paces around his office and makes Nadya wish she was part owl just to follow his movements — is uncomfortable to say the least.

“I wouldn’t ask you to do this, I shouldn’t,” he repeats yet again, mumbles something to himself Nadya’s human ears can’t quite catch, “but I have no choice. That’s the awful part. But…”

He passes her chair and Nadya grasps his wrist; it’s enough to get his attention, to draw it out from the aether.

“Why don’t you actually tell me what you need and I’ll decide if it’s too much or not?”

She’s put her frustration aside. Looks up at Adrian with honesty. Instead it just makes things worse.

Finally, and only with a whiskey in hand, Adrian tells the tale of ‘The Baron.’ And the more she learns the more Nadya hopes she never has to meet him. Mobsters are terrifying on their own — but making them immortal and hungry for blood just seems like a violation of the Geneva Convention. Or the vampire equivalent.

She raises her hand like a student in class; Adrian pauses and nods.

“So he’s a bad dude — I get that part,” she frowns, “but what I’m not getting is why the informational lecture? Is he coming here? Crap — should I have reserved a conference room?”

Adrian’s smile is wistful. “No — now, I promise this is related, just bear with me. Do you remember what really happened that night in the park?”

Gooseflesh runs down Nadya’s arms.

“When I was attacked, you mean.”

“Yes.”

“I… sort of?” Her voice strains. It wasn’t something she had to work hard to forget — thanks in part to the alcohol — but occasionally there were nightmares. Not that she told Adrian about that. Just a normal part of being attacked by a feral creature, right? “If you’re saying he was there…”

Adrian shakes his head again. Leans forward with his fingers laced together.

“The Feral who attacked you wasn’t a newborn. I could tell that from the start. Kamilah and I have been looking into the matter — likely he was a vampire who was in the wrong place at the wrong time.”

“But he can’t be cured.”

“No,” a beat, “he’s dead, Nadya. I killed him to save you.”

Hearing the creature was dead was one matter. But Adrian’s excuse — “to save you” — makes her stomach roll. “Whatever. Was this Baron guy the Feral, then?”

“Oh, no, he —”

“Then connect the dots before I lose it.”

“The Feral was formerly a vampire named Douglas Courette. He worked at the Shrike… better known as the Baron’s place of operations. Now, you remember there are pacts in place to keep the number of vampires in New York at a consistent and manageable rate. There isn’t any concrete evidence that the Baron is behind the Feral population increase… but this is the first time we’ve been able to link, well, anything back to one of our own.”

It’s a lot to process. Adrian gives her time.

“So,” with a shaky breath, “what does that mean?”

“It means he needs to appear in front of the Council — which is formally requested via summons,” Adrian opens the center drawer of his desk and pulls out a manila envelope sealed with dark red wax. Nadya recognizes Kamilah’s liquid penmanship scrawled across the front bearing the Baron’s title. “Once the summons has been given the Baron will be bound by Council decree to appear and testify.”

“And if he skips it? Gets stuck in traffic?”

“Then his position on the Council is forfeit and his Clan would be dissolved.”

“Guess it’s something you can’t exactly have FedEx-ed, then.”

“No, not exactly,” he steeples his fingers and finally looks into Nadya’s eyes. She’s starting to regret that fourth cup of coffee. “For a summons to be binding it must be delivered in person. And unlike Priya — who at least pretends to get along with everyone — the Baron’s Clan knows every face of mine and won’t let us get within a hundred feet of the place.”

He doesn’t have to say any more. Nadya can read him like a book — now more than ever. And it brings an awful feeling up into her throat.

Unable to school her emotions Adrian recoils. “This is why I didn’t want to ask you. It’s too dangerous.”

“Yeah, it is.” Nadya extends her hand for the envelope. “But it’s also my job.”

The last time she wore anything even remotely this ridiculous was Halloween night her senior year of college. Her frarority — still obscure enough to pass for a group of friends who lived in the same house — had decided on a group costume. Even more ridiculous; they decided to enter a contest held by the largest sorority on campus.

Needless to say their ‘Unpopular and Obscure Internet Memes’ group costume got a few chuckles but didn’t get anywhere close to the final four. And it had taken a solid month for her green face paint to completely wash off.

If she could Nadya would text Adrian to double-check The Shrike’s address. Wearing a shiny gold flapper dress in the middle of a seemingly-abandoned warehouse district makes her stick out like a sore thumb. But they both agreed it was too much of a risk.

This being one of the many reasons she wouldn’t make it as an undercover cop.

But Nadya isn’t the only person out of their element; she catches sight of a man in a crisp but old-fashioned suit leaning against a brick wall. His fedora obscures his eyes but she has no doubt what color they are.

“You goin’ my way, Daddy-o?” Her heels click-clack with each step. Get her the door guard’s attention just enough for him to rouse himself to his full intimidating stature.

He looks her up and down with a scowl. “You talkin’ to me, toots?”

I can’t believe that worked. She steels herself and bats her eyelashes.

“Anyone else here? Didn’t think so.”

His eyes linger on the way the fringe of her dress catches on the dim streetlight over their heads. Sure enough they gleam blood-red. She stifles a nervous swallow.

“Pretty young thing like you shouldn’t be runnin’ around dark alleys at night,” he scolds, “you never know what hangs out around these parts.”

Nadya ticks her tongue. “Oh I’ve got, erm, a pretty swell idea.”

“Oh yeah?”

“Yeah.”

They lock eyes — a contest of wills. He smells of old chewing tobacco and something burning; the combination bringing a stinging tear to her eye. Finally Nadya relents; cocks her hip to one side and when she crosses her arms over her chest the wax seal on her envelope catches the same light.

“Alright, nope, can’t do this. I have a summons for your boss so how about you let me in?”

Whether the vampire got off on the roleplay or not the second the spell is broken so is his restraint. She’s pretty sure he doesn’t have to flash his fangs when he frowns but that doesn’t stop him in the slightest.

The door guard steps forward; towers over Nadya. His eyes glow in the shadow cast by his hat.

“How’s about I don’t?”

“There you are, dollface!” Nadya breaks into a full-body shudder at the familiar voice behind her as it calls out from the dark, “so much for goin’ in together!”

The guard looks up — Nadya rounds on the woman with paling surprise. The sleek black flapper dress ringed with pearls looks wholly alien on Maricruz’s jolly form as she trots up to the pair of them. She urges Nadya back around towards the door just in time for the guard to slam his hand on the metal.

He looks between them, upper lip curled in distaste. “And who the hell are you?”

Mari twirls one of the strands of pearls around her neck with a long finger. If anyone else was running around New York at night in Gatsby attire the irony would stand. But despite only meeting her once Nadya wouldn’t forget that smirk for the life of her.

“Calm your pants ya bluenose. My gal and I here were just lookin’ for a hot place to go half-seas over. Ain’t that right, sweetheart?”

Before Nadya can protest Mari seals their mouths together. She makes it a point to swallow all the air in the girl’s lungs before pulling back — and only then does Nadya understand why.

Maricruz’s fangs press just over the swell of her bottom lip. Her eyes like garnets in the light.

The guard, to his lack of credit, grins smugly at the display. Men never change. But the sight of Mari’s true form is like a skeleton key and with a gruff grunt, he knocks in a lazy four-beat tune on the door. The sound of bolts and locks being undone echoes through the alley and the door swings open with a whine.

“Whatever.” The guard tries to play it off but his focus lingers on the envelope in Nadya’s hands. She quickly stuffs it between her body and Mari’s as she’s led inside.

The door closes on them swiftly. They’re plunged into a dimmer darkness than the nighttime; old rust and a musty weight to the air making it hard for her to breathe.

She doesn’t get the chance to speak — instead Nadya finds herself pinned to the corridor wall with a hand beside her head.

Maricruz leers down at her with eyes blazing. Her voice; a purring croon.

“Now… why don’t you and I have a little chat?”

#bloodbound #choices #kamilah x mc #kamilah sayeed #adrian raines #lily spencer #bloodbound mc #oc: maricruz espinoza #mc: nadya al jamil #oblv: bound by destiny #oblv: new chapter #; my fics

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currentlyreadingmanga · 4 years

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Toilet-bound Hanako-kun Chapter 12: The 4pm Bookstacks (Part 2)

Previously: Yashiro and the suspicious girl (yes, I’m gonna keep calling her that until we learn her name) met for the first time. Her suspicion levels rose to even greater heights since she seems not only to know about Hanako (and the other mysteries) but also she seemed to imply that there’s possibly another little ghost boy going around? Which made me ask a lot questions last chapter, and apparently they will be answered in due time, so I won’t repeat those here. Anyway, following her advice, Yashiro and Kou ventured into the 4pm Bookstacks a.k,a. the fifth mystery of the school to hopefully learn more about Hanako. And Yashiro did find some details but the big terrifying butterfly monsters in that boundary made their little expedition come to an unexpected end. Thankfully, Hanako and...Tsuchigomori, yes, that was his name, appeared just in time to get rid of the two big butterfly Yashiro and Kou look-alikes. Tsuchigomori really wasn’t pleased with the state the kids left the bookstacks in sooo..... we’ll see what happens.

Now onto the next chapter!

Ohhhhh we’re starting with a colour page of the last portion of last chapter! It’s so gorgeous and btw one of the main things that caught my attention when I saw the anime screenshots was the art style and the colouring. And I gotta say, the manga really doesn’t dissapoint, it’s so beautiful.

Okay, so onto the actual chapter and....

I legit had to go check how the last chapter ended again because I thought I was forgetting something but no. It seems like we’re starting after a little timeskip and Tsuchigomori wants Yashiro to say something?

Ah, here’s narrator Yashiro again. And I just

There’s so much going on here. Hanako cheering with the fans, the little “shame” sign above her head, the “(working title)” gag, and omg the little radishes with the microphones pffft I can’t. This manga really is something else.

But yes, Yashiro is recapping what happened between the end of the last chapter and the start of this one.

Kou mentions that he can’t believe that one of their teacher’s is not actually human and yeah, finding out someone you interact with almost every day is actually a supernatural being must be quite a shock. huh? But! Tsuchigomori says that it’s more common than one would think

Huh. When he puts it like that, I can see his point. I mean, there must be an array of supernaturals that aren’t necessarily bound to a place and they might not want to live in hidding. If they can blend in with the humans and live semi-normal lives, then why not do it? Also, being able to influence your own rumors makes a lot of sense, that way you would be able to stop them if they got too out of hand. But also

................well, now that he’s said that, I’m 90% sure that one of them will end up being a supernatural. Because come on, it would make the plot more exciting.

Yashiro brings up a good point: that could be dangerous, but Hanako says that they shouldn’t worry since that’s what the mysteries are here for and I just

There’s something so funny about this panels. Like, the contrast between Hanako’s cheery disposition and Tsugochimori and Yako’s just overall “done” aura it’s just great.

It just keeps getting better pffffft Yeah, idk if that’s the best way to describe their group. “Emo spider” made me giggle more than it probably should have

............Yes, the leader thing is clearly true. And I talked about it during last chapter, but I really wonder if he’s the “boss” because he’s the most powerful one of the bunch and because his task is to take care of not only the random apparitions but also the mysteries themselves (like with what happened with Yako). Also jfc sometimes I forget how scary Hanako can get

Ohhhhhhhhhhhhh we have a clearer picture of the mysteries!!! Okay so we have Hanako, Yako and Tsuchigomori highlighted since we have met them already. Then we have another three: I had noticed the girl and the mirror before but this confirms that they are two different mysteries; then there’s a clocked figure....that I know it’s facing away from us but my brain just keeps seeing it as a big bug that has huge bulging eyes and almost human teeth and I hate it. But this is just showing six right now, yes? There’s one missing? (EDIT: Oh, I think I see it now, there’s a separate silhouette between Yako and the bug man, right?)

But anyway!! the important point is here is that apparently they think there’s a traitor among them. And they think this traitor has tied their fate to a human and they’re using this human as a way to alter the rumors around the school. So the human would be the suspicious girl because we know that she’s been spreading rumors. And if that’s the case, then this possibility about the “other Hanako” being the traitor would also be high. Because, come on, the drama would unbelievable

Ohhhhhh that’s interesting. So the reason they think that one of the seven is behind this is because only a powerful supernatural would be able to change the rumors in a way that would actually affect another one of the seven mysteries. And I was right to a point: there meeting was indeed about the changes in the rumors.

...........oh. I mean, I guess that would get rid of the problem. But I really need to know what that would entail. Because it obviously isn’t permanent if he says it’s only “for a while”. Like, would it involve doing something like what they did with Yako? Because Hanako had said that she had to “return her number” or something of the sort when he fought her, right? And she has less power than she had before, too, right?

Ah, okay. The next page confirms that yes, that’s exactly the case. And because of that, Hanako’s idea is to destroy all of the mysteries’ yorishiros before they even have a chance of going berserk. And I can see the value in doing that but like, what if the “traitor” isn’t, for some reason, actually part of the seven? Wouldn’t that leave them vulnerable?

And I agree with Tsuchigomori (side note: my brain always autocorrects his name to “tsugochimori” and I have to make a conscious effort to actually type his name the correct way why is this so hard for me). It does seem like quite a rash plan to put into action, even if they can reappoint the mysteries later on. Then again, I understand why Hanako wants to avoid pissing Teru off because we know how that went and... yikes

Pffffft this face made me laugh so much, it reminds me of one of my favourite Tanjirou faces.

^this one

Also ngl my heart stopped for a second when he said “no” because I thought it would lead to a fight but then I scrolled down so thankfully that’s not the case.

.................. *looks up echinococcus*: any of a number of tapeworms of the genus Echinococcus whose larvae are parasitic in humans and domestic animals.

Omfg by e that’s harsh but also so nerdy. Yako’s response is both appropriate and incredibly over the top at the same time. I really like their dynamic so far

Ohhh okay. Tsuchigomori says that he’s a supernatural who craves knowledge, and if they’re gonna destroy his yorishiro and temporarily take away his boundry, then he wants information that would be valuable enough as compensation. And, okay, I now see what the beginning of the chapter was about.

Ah, he says that he will still let Yashiro destroy his Yorishiro even if they don’t tell him anything, but he says that if they don’t, then he will broadcast their most embarrassing secrets to the school. That.......that would do it, yeah, I completely understand why Yashiro was so willing to talk at the beginning. That would be a nightmare jfc

.............still kinda hot ngl

Btw I love that this is drawn as a fighting game, it’s so cute.

Yashiro gives it a shot but Tsuchigomori is not impressed.

(Side note but Hanako’s reaction just gives me life:

He doesn’t even try to hide his jelousy, does he?)

Omg he’s reading the one of the letters she “exchanged” with Teru and omfg Tsuchigomori stop she’s already dead

Okay now it’s Kou’s turn. Good luck, sweet child. It’s probably something really pure

...........Baby boy, bless him

Both of them are getting fired up and spitting out their secrets and they’re such small and dumb secrets, bless their little hearts

Ohhh and Kou is appealing to what’s probably their last resort: asking Hanako to spill any secret he might have (there are probably a lot of secrets, my instincs tell me Hanako’s secrets probably have secrets)

Oh? What’s this we have here? Those looks scream shared history. Well, I guess that Tsuchigomori could have read Hanako’s book since that’s part of his boundary. It would make sense for him to have read it. But idk, I feel like there’s something more to it that I can’t quite put my finger on. Like, why would he say “enough”? Because he’s read Yashiro’s book and he still wanted to know more. What makes Hanako different?

ಥ‿ಥ

and

ಥ‿ಥ ಥ‿ಥ ಥ‿ಥ

They’re so freaking cute I can’t deal with it omg Also look at Hanako’s surprised face! The NeneKou combo is too pure to resist

.......................................................of all the things I could have expected, this was not one of them. I- why is that so wholesome, though?? like, it’s really silly but also no one gave this child the right to be so freaking adorable (EDIT: also, is this gonna be relevant to the chapter title “donuts”? is Hanako gonna get some yummy donuts? I would honestly be okay with a chapter that centered around that. let the baby have his donuts)

“Are you both morons?” Yes, Tsuchigomori, they are. geez, I thought you had read their books, you should know by now. But also give them so leeway, they’re excited to learn more about their ghost friend. Like seriously

Look at them, they’re so happy together, even Hanako has what seems to be a genuine smile. And by that comment I’m guessing that Tsuchigomori noticed that, as well

Hmmm. Okay, two things: 1) so Tsuchigomori did read Hanako’s book and knows everything about his life 2) the fact that, knowing everything about him, he believed that Hanako wouldn’t want to create any new friendships AND the fact that this kinda implies imo that he hasn’t seen Hanako making that kinda gentle expression before is all just. really sad and it makes my heart hurt

Anyway, sad thoughts aside, spiderman here tells them their time is up because their secrets are so ridiculously dumb that they’re not worth discussing.

Why is he so fucking weird? and why do I kinda fucking love him already??

This man just keeps earning more and more points in my book

But yeah, he says that he’s not gonna broadcast their secrets since he was (kinda) joking and he did end up seeing something interesting after all. In the end, he agrees to take them to his yorishiro! Yaaay!

#toilet bound hanako kun #jibaku shounen hanako kun #jshk spoilers #tbhk #jshk #live blogging

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dumb-american · 4 years

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The Rebuild of Final Fantasy VII: Your Expectations Will (Not) Be Met

I apologize for the stupid title and I promise I’m going to talk about the Final Fantasy VII Remake, but I have to get this out of the way first. Sometime in the mid 2000s, acclaimed artist and director Hideaki Anno announced that he was going to remake his beloved anime series Neon Genesis Evangelion the way it should have been the first time, free from technical and budgetary restraints. Evangelion had a notoriously strange ending when the original anime aired, consisting of character talking over still images, abstract art, and simple animations. It was highly polarizing and controversial. Anno, for his part, received death threats and the headquarters of the studio that produced the anime was vandalized. Soon after the initial uproar Anno would direct The End of Evangelion, a retelling of the final two episodes of the anime, and that seemed to mostly satisfy the fanbase. Looking back now, The End of Evangelion wasn’t “fixing” something that was “broken,” no, it was a premonition: a vision of things to come. Why remake the ending when you can just remake the whole damn thing?

The mid 2000s also saw the birth of the Compilation of Final Fantasy VII: a sub-series of projects expanding the universe and world of the video game that had “quite possibly the greatest game ever made” proudly printed on the back of its CD case. The Compilation consisted of three games, all on different platforms, and a film. First was Advent Children, a sequel to Final Fantasy VII, where three dudes that look like discarded Sephiroth concept art all have anime fights with our beloved protagonists, culminating in a ridiculous gravity defying sword fight between Cloud and Sephiroth. Before Crisis and Crisis Core are prequels that expand the story of the Turks and Zack Fair, respectively. Then there’s Dirge of Cerberus, an action shooter staring secret party member and former Turk Vincent. Were these projects good? I’d say they were largely forgettable. Crisis Core stood out as the obvious best of the bunch and I think may be worth revisiting.

As a business model, the practice pioneered by the Compilation would continue on and eventually brings us FFXIII (and sequels), FF Versus XIII (which would later become FFXV), and FF Agito XIII (which would later become FF Type-0). If that’s all incredibly confusing to you, I’m sorry, I promise I will begin talking about the Final Fantasy VII Remake soon. Suffice it to say, both Final Fantasy VII and Neon Genesis Evangelion have a certain gravity. They punch above their weight. They are both regarded as absolute classics, flaws and all. And yet, in both cases, the people responsible for their creation decided that their first at bat wasn’t good enough and it was time to recreate them as they were meant to be all along. I think this way of thinking about art is flawed, limitations are as much a part of the creative process as vision and intent. Yet, we find ourselves in a world with a remake of Final Fantasy VII, so I guess we should talk about it.

From this point forward, there’s going to be major spoilers for every Final Fantasy VII related media. So, be warned.

So, is the Final Fantasy VII Remake any good? To me, that’s the least interesting question, but we can get into it. FFVIIR is audacious, that’s for sure. Where Anno condenses and remixes a 26 episode anime series into four feature length films, the FFVIIR team expands an around 5 hour prologue chapter into a 30+ hour entire game. Naturally, there will be some growing pains. The worst example of this is the sewers. The game forces you to slog through an awful sewer level twice, fighting the same boss each time. This expanded sewer level is based on a part of the original game that was only two screens and was never revisited.

Besides the walk from point A to point B, watch a cutscene, fight a boss, repeat that you’d expect from a JRPG, there’s also three chapters where the player can explore and do sidequests. The sidequests are mostly filler, but a select few do accomplish the goal of fleshing out some of the minor characters. You spend way more time with the Avalanche crew, for example. Out of them, only Jesse has something approaching a complete personality or character arc that matters. The main playable cast is practically unchanged which was a bit surprising to me. I figured Square-Enix would tone down Barret’s characterization as Mr. T with a gun for an arm, but they decided, maybe correctly, that Barret is an immutable part of the Final Fantasy VII experience. Also, it’s practically unforgivable that Red XIII was not playable in the remake considering how much time you spend with him. I don’t understand that decision in the slightest.

The game’s general systems and mechanics, materia, combat, weapon upgrades, etc. are all engaging and fun and not much else really needs to be said about it. I found it to be great blend of action/strategy. Materia really was the peak of JPRG creativity in the original FFVII and its recreation here is just as good. The novelty of seeing weird monsters like the Hell House and the “Swordipede” (called the Corvette in the original) make appearances as full on boss fights with mechanics is just weaponized nostalgia. In general, the remake has far more hits than misses, but those misses, like the sewers and some of the tedious sidequests, are big misses. It is a flawed game, but a good one. If I were to pick a favorite part of the game, I’d have to pick updated Train Graveyard section which takes lore from the original game and creates a mini-storyline out of it.

If that was all, however, then honestly writing about Final Fantasy VII Remake wouldn’t be worth my time or yours. The game’s ambition goes way further than just reimagining Midgar as a living, real city. There’s a joke in the JRPG community about the genre that goes something like this: at the start of the game, you kill rats in the sewer and by the end you’re killing God. Well, when all is said and done, the Final Fantasy VII Remake essentially does just that. Narratively, the entire final act of the game is a gigantic mess, but if you know anything about me then you know I’d much rather a work of fiction blast off into orbit and get a little wild than be safe and boring.

In the original games, the Lifestream is a physical substance that contains spirits and memories of every living being. Hence, when a person dies, they “return to the planet”. It flows beneath the surface of the planet like blood flows in a living person’s veins and can gather to heal “wounds” in the planet. In the original game, the antagonist, Sephiroth, seeks to deeply wound the planet with Meteor and then collect all the “spirit energy” the planet musters to heal the wound. The remake builds on this concept by introducing shadowy, hooded beings called Whispers. The Whispers are a physical manifestation of the concept of destiny and they can be found when someone seeks to change their fate, correcting course to the pre-destined outcome. Whispers appear at multiple points throughout the game’s storyline both impeding and aiding the party. The ending focuses heavily on them and the idea that fate and destiny can be changed. We receive visions throughout the game which some will recognize as major story beats and images from the original game. After dealing with Shinra and rescuing Aerith, the game immediately switches over to this battle against destiny and fate that you’re either going to love or hate. The transition is abrupt and jarring. While Cloud has shown flashes of supernatural physical abilities throughout the game, suddenly he has gone full Advent Children mode and is flying around cleaving 15 ton sections of steel in half with his sword. The party previously took on giant mutated monsters, elite soldiers, and horrific science experiments, but now the gloves are off and they’re squaring up against an impossibly huge manifestation of the Planet’s will. Keep in mind, in the narrative of the original FFVII, the Midgar section was rougly 10%, if that, of the game’s full storyline. This is, frankly, insane, but I’d be lying if I didn’t love it.

The Final Fantasy VII Remake, with its goofy JRPG concluding chapter, is forcing the player to participate in the original game’s un-making. We see premonitions of an orb of materia falling to the ground, we see an older Red XIII gallop across the plains, we see a SOLDIER with black hair and Cloud’s Buster Sword make his final stand, we see Cloud waist deep in water holding something or someone. We all know what these images represent, they’ve been part of imaginations for decades. But the Final Fantasy VII Remake allows us (or forces us, depending on perspective, I guess) to kill fate, kill God, and set aside all we thought we knew about how the game would play out post-Midgar. The most obvious effect of our actions is the reveal that Zack survived his final stand against Shinra and instead of leaving Cloud his sword and legacy, helped him get to Midgar safely. I have my doubts and my worries about the future of this series. I’m not sure when the next part of the game will be released or what form it will come in, but I can’t believe I’m as excited as I am to see it.

Of course, part of me wishes they’d just left well enough alone. Remakes are generally complete wastes of time and effort. Not all, but most. Maybe I’m, to borrow a term from pro wrestling lingo, a complete mark here and I just love JRPGs and Final Fantasy VII so much that I’ll countenance close to anything bearing its name. I’ve tried my best to be as critical and fair as possible to the game and I hope that if you’re on the fence and reading this I’ve maybe helped you decide if it’s for you or not. I think the Final Fantasy VII Remake is worth your time if you’re looking for a good, meaty JRPG. It’s not perfect and it’s final act is insane, but that just makes me love it more.

Have you ever wondered what it would be like for Zack, Cloud, and Aerith to face Sephiroth in the Planet’s core? I know 15 year old me did. And he may get his wish.

#final fantasy #ffvii #ffvii remake #review #jrpg

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