#○ you understand mechanical hands‚ you’re the ruler of everything — ic | Explore Tumblr posts and blogs

the-headbop-wraith · 4 years ago

Text

3 _ 43 _ Rekindling

As ever when all was well and right the garage was a cacophony of sounds, from hydraulics humming off the rotary lifts and power drills, to the squeal of impact wrenches. Each car port had one vehicle tended to, with a technician toiling away with the task of repairing or renovating an assigned vehicle. Outside, the carport had more automobiles parked up with numbers slipped onto dashboards.

On the work floor, Uncle Lance was lending an extra pair of arms to the diagnostic work of a utility van, a lot more teched out than his usual forte of labor. However, a tech savvy guy was left to the task of breezing through the more specialized work of the Bluetooth incorporated hardware. This was not the issue it was brought in for, but double-checking the software was procedural. The undercarriage of the vehicle needed a total overhaul and realignment, a time-consuming task.

Familiar barking rang through the garage.

“Gimmie a moment,” he grunted, to the operator in the passenger seat. He moved back from the open driver side of the van and cast his view across the open floor of the garage. There he was, a black and white streak trotting around supply carts, head held high like he carried an important purpose. In tow was Vivi, momentarily preoccupied by the phone in her hand, and some sort of satchel was draped over her shoulder.

“A bit early, are yu?” he posed. Lance took the end of the rag pinned to his pro-wrestler belt and rubbed some of the grim off his fingers.

“Work rooms locked,” Vivi replied. “Is he in today?”

“Course.” Lance nodded toward the direction of his office. “Shouldn’t be too long, ‘e’s meetin’ with a ‘‘client’’.” He did air quotes.

“Ooh,” Vivi groaned. They moved off the work field and relocated to the wall, beside where empty boxes from parts were stacked. “How do they keep finding him?”

Uncle Lance shrugged. “People post them pics to ‘em nosey sites, and they git the info where’n he works. Ye’know, that societal medium thing.”

“Social media?”

Mystery yipped, frowning behind his spectacles. This was very tiresome, tedious, and tumdum.

“Whatever ya call it. Nuisance, they are – dragging him off work.” Lance grumbled under his breath some phrase, which might’ve been a curse or a Curse. “Think they’re them first to come by, offerin’ this biggest, best deal. Arthur could git ah’lot done with them gadgets, but I understand his privacy is important.”

Vivi set the satchel down on one of the boxes, and looked the way to the doors to Uncle Lance’s office. “It’s not so much the anonymity he wants, but the builds and designs… they’re not, how do I say? General public applicable.”

“Applicable-micable,” Lance mumbled.

“Even the housing for the collar to shoulder hookup is specialized.” Vivi leaned over and rubbed Mystery’s head. “Eventually, he might try for a patent, but the models… even the college is thirsting over the incorporation. Anyway, it’s his business.”

Lance took a deep breath and sighed. “Yer right. Pisses me off still, need tu get a sign out there. Pisses me off, ‘ee’s too nice.”

Vivi leaned up rummaged through the satchel, revealing bags with containers. She selected a small box and handed it over. “You seem more, um… gruff than usual. Everything okay?”

Lance popped the lid and examined the small treat within. “We’re backlogged fer parts, work is comin’ through, and I got fancy suits in mah office tryin’ be clever. An’ I gotta get through the client list, before thay start callin’ me.” When Arthur strolled over, he raised up the little food box. An unspoken gesture fortifying break.

“I can work some over time,” Arthur began. His arm was not attached. “An hour or something, just to get some of these vehicles prepped for the morning shift.” Lance whipped around to face him fully and squared up his shoulders.

“Arthur. When five o’clock rolls around, the doors close and the shift winds down.” He waved the food box like a school teacher threatening their student with the ruler, and probably a firm algebra lesson. “No one, and no one ever built a better car while exhausted.”

Arthur rolled his eyes, “But—”

“I dun car with how enthused yu are, there’s a chasm in the ground to distinguish between work and recharge time. Your brains a battery, and batteries need recharge – or they get replaced. Aw’right?” Lance jabbed at Arthur’s chest, getting the point across the way Lance did when he was cross. “Down time is still werk, yu werk hard restin’. It’s important.”

Arthur droned out, “Yus, Uncle Lance.”

Vivi swooped in and threw an arm around Arthur’s shoulders. “And that’s why we’re gatherin’ at my place. Nothing but ‘no doing’ going on there. No cars, or parts, or pieces to tinker with.” Arthur nearly tumbled but Vivi kept him upright. “Complete bores-ville.”

A thin smile tugged at Arthur’s cheeks. “Whatever you say.”

Lance nodded, as if he won an argument – which he probably did. “Yu see to that.” He was about to move away, but leaned back toward the two. “Ah, and no work on the van, either.” Then, he took his leave.

Arthur stuttered and quivered as his Uncle left. “But… the tools need to be reconditioned, or they might turn against it!” Vivi pulled him by the collar, hauling him off. On the way, she grabbed the satchel off the boxes.

“You can still look at it. They did a fine job, you’ll never know it was crushed once they get the paint redone—”

A distant roar bellowed out from the owner’s office, “WHAT?!”

“Exaggeration!” Vivi hooted back. “C’mon Art, nourishment awaits!”

Arthur hadn’t gotten his feet squared off or organized, he skipped on his heel as she dragged him across the work room. “Whoa, hold up! Vi! Mercy! Mercy!”

The Mystery Skulls van sat at the back of Kingsman Mechanics, the location used primarily by delivery and staff parking. In the lead paced Mystery, with Vivi and the screaming Arthur trailing. Once Arthur spied the vehicle with its refurbished side, he magically regained his balance and began leading Vivi by her sweater. He had stars in his eyes, for once.

“Oh wow, you can hardly tell it was crushed.” Arthur’s phone chimed, and when he stopped dragging the blue girl to fish the device from his vest pocket to check the screen. The message read:

“WHAT?!??!?!?!?!?!?”

Arthur coughed and texted back.

Beside the van, Vivi raised the hand holding the packages. “I dunno, it might be more seamless when we get the new paint done.” She posed beside the side, arms flung high. “I can’t wait to see the design.”

Arthur cringed down, with a grin. He slipped the phone back into its pocket. “Yeah, can’t wait to show off the new colors. Hmm.” He looked aside.

Off and away from the two, Mystery was sniffing around the parking lot. Once he gave the clear, he barked and rejoined his colleagues.

“And look, we got windows in the back now.” Vivi escorted Arthur to the aforementioned updates, showing the windows. “Surprise!”

Arthur gaped. “Oh, awesome. Now we can witness the angry mob chasing us out of town.”

Vivi waved a finger. “Don’t forget, the creepy monsters we can’t deal with. Won’t that be fun?”

“Ooh-dles.” The back doors swept open, and Arthur retreated back five steps.

Lewis leaned out. “You guys are really loud.”

Arthur shuffled over to the doors and examined the fitted panel. “One way?”

“And reinforced,” Vivi chimed. She handed off the satchel to Lewis. “Is it okay?”

Arthur shrugged. “I’m not opposed to it. Hey Lew.”

“Sup.”

Inside the van and along both walls laid long, flat boxes. The label read industrial shelving, and one was already opened. Metal bars and packing sheets littered the floor. On the end of one box, Lewis set out the food cartons from the package.

“I’m gunna miss the cuvees,” Arthur mentioned. Vivi was busy wiping his hand off with a rag and some ninety-nine, even though he didn’t work on the floor since his meeting.

“Yeah,” she hummed. “But we lost inventory, and stuff would get crammed in the back and forgotten. We never cleaned them.”

He toed one of the boxes with his sneaker. “I’ll modify these, so nothing goes flying off while you’re driving.” Lewis had relocated to the front seat and snorted, a little flame curled off his shoulder. “Someone did bring in catering today. You didn’t have to come abduct me.”

Vivi was already digging in, eating some chicken with sauce. “I wanted to show off the van. And we had to dump it off anyway, so you can load up supplies.” She pulled over the portable ice chest and popped the lid. “You gunna be able to do that on your own?”

There was no sound, but Arthur did catch the faint movement of Lewis as he glanced over the bench seat. “Yeah, I’ll be good. I didn’t feel like wearing it today.” He leaned over and snagged a drink from the cooler, the ice was melting and the canister damp. “I was replacing a servo and Gally, bless his hamster instincts, decided to gnaw through the circuit board.”

Vivi nearly choked. “He what?! Is he okay?” Mystery had curled up beside her, and raised his head, horrified. “He’s usually such a good helper.”

“Yeah. I must’ve fucked up the current or something. He hates that.”

Mystery rested his chin back onto his paws. Yeah, that sucks. Arthur made that mistake once before, and it turned Galahad into a round fluff.

While they ate, Vivi pulled out a notepad and wrote out what equipment they could use tonight. Their meetup wasn’t directly off the work lane, there would be movies and not much else going on but ignoring the movies – or complaining how unrealistic the movies were. For the most part, she wanted to discuss more work centered stuff, and perhaps do something about the cluttered closet that held predominately junk stuff. She insisted on using the words ‘stuff’ and ‘things’ without remorse.

There was likewise a separate list for movies they could stream or buy, or pirate.

“You can put more down,” Arthur mentioned, as he tried to work through the veggies someone insisted he have. “Uncle’ll help me. He’ll be working late tonight.”

“Lemme get this straight,” Lewis spoke, “he won’t let you work overtime, but he will.”

“It’s his business. He can do whatever he wants,” Arthur retorted. “And people had better not start seeing your spooky shadow ‘round. We get enough problems with jackasses showing up trying to get copycrap over my spec designs, I don’t want Spectral Seekers showin’ up, harassing Uncle Lance for a crummy show.”

Lewis leaned back over the bench seat. “I was bored, okay?”

“Bored?!” Arthur spat. “Was that today, or when—”

Mystery barked.

“Art! It’ll be fine,” Vivi proclaimed. “That was one time, we figured it out. After this, we’re goin’ straight back to my place to set up. Cool?”

Arthur made a face and deflated. He poked at his food and sipped his drink, but just a bit. He avoided raising his eyes or checking the front of the van. “Hmm. Yeah. We’ll just… the guys need to stay focused.”

Lewis hunched down in his seat. “I wasn’t tryin’ to be a ‘presence’, it’s hard being all cooped up.”

Arthur fixed his legs, readjusting them along with his hunched posture. “Sure. I get that.”

Once everyone got settled, or stewing, Vivi relaxed and resumed poking at a salad. That wasn’t too bad, but she wondered if it was always like this, or when this all started. They were talking again, the progress was slow but any amount she appreciated. Then again, maybe it wasn’t them. Maybe it was… her.

Before the break could be called a success, Vivi helped Arthur bring down one of the boxes packed with equipment and stowed it in the van. The spare bike was stashed in the van, and Lewis helped Vivi pull her eco-friendly, short distance transport out before he evaporated in a plume of flames. Likely, to attach himself to the flashlight stored in the side pocket of her backpack. She clicked on the light to confirm for Arthur, Lewis wasn’t hanging around.

“Let me know if you’re running late or anything comes up,” she stated, while Arthur double checked that the van was secure and latched tight.

“I’ll remember,” Arthur replied. They said farewells, and he returned to the garage of Kingsman Mechanics, with Mystery by his side.

The remainder of Arthur’s shift whirred by in a steady momentum, cranking out the vehicles on his roaster. It was a little before closing when he scrawled out the end time of his last assignment, on the task chalkboard on the work floor wall. He might actually make it to Vivi’s before she began with the texting. It’d be fun to wait outside and just hang out, until the first one chimed off.

Following one brief shower, Arthur got busy in his work room packing some fresh clothing for the next day. A separate bag sat reserved for parts, if he got around to the easier aspects to his arm and trying out the new cooling system – it was rather clunky and added weight – though, keeping the circuits at a controlled temperature kept rotors from overheating. A vent would be a nice benefit, but he needed a sealed compartment; a difficult feat in a multisegmented apparatus.

While Arthur went around the work room browsing for items he needed, Mystery was satisfied with dozing on the couch. It was only when Arthur hauled out the travel cage for Galahad, that spurred interest from Mystery. Arthur went to the hamster terrarium and located his caramel colored companion in his nest.

“Well get this stuff downstairs and get that flatcart,” Arthur explained.

Mystery was already nosing the door to the room open. He glanced back at Arthur, ear twitching. You got that okay?

“Lead the way.” He claimed the terrarium under his one arm and went with Mystery, to the ground floor.

The lights around the corner blazed bright, but the sounds from the work floor approached subdued. By now it was well past five, and shutters barred out noises from the open road across from the carport. He hardly saw anyone as he went for a flat cart parked by supplies. Mystery hopped onto the panel and rode it, while Arthur guided it back to the corridor. Loading up his gear was a piece of cake, and he was making good time. He’d park the flatbed cart by the employee access and bring the van around, and leave the cart in parts for whoever needed it next.

Only a last cluster of technicians remained in the garage, upon his departure. A few closing out some diagnostics or working with one of the trainees. Arthur exited through the back and locked the employee access. The last order of business was a quick text to Uncle, reminding him to lock the deadbolt.

Score! No messages from Vivi, yet.

It was almost a shock for Arthur when he arrived at the door to the apartment, and it opened to reveal Vivi. He shouldn’t really be surprised, why would someone not ‘living’ in her apartment answer the door. The fragrance of sugar and popcorn swept out.

“Holy cakes, I was about to start texting,” she cheered. “Did Uncle Lance kick you out?”

“Naw,” Arthur grinned. Mystery nudged the back of his legs. “Did you need any help setting up?” He and Vivi had to give space for Mystery, the dog shoved his way on through and went straight for the kitchen. “More important, do you ever feed him?”

Vivi sighed. She was already gathering up Arthur’s bags. “He had a whole chicken today.”

Arthur grabbed the terrarium and stood, the cage nestled under his arm. The Plexiglas box wasn’t heavy nor cumbersome, even so, he lingered at the threshold watching as Vivi retreated within. He glanced away and toed at the edge of the door jam. When he raised his gaze, Vivi was still there and quiet, a patient smile tugging the edge of her lips. She nodded toward the living room.

His feet shuffled across the entry. Noises came from within, the sort you’d expect to curl forth from a kitchen. “A whole chicken? Wow. Isn’t that something.” The sounds didn’t pause or hush a bit, as he scooted through the corridor.

Finally, he poked his head into the kitchen. “Are you doing spicey stuff?”

As expected, Lewis was at the stove with a pot and spatula looking guilty. “No?”

“I’m gunna start sneezing.”

Lewis shrugged. “It’ll clear up your allergies.”

“I don’t have allergies.”

Vivi relocated to the living area to deposit Arthur’s gear, and swung back. She was dressed casually, not her typical skirt or sweater, but her clothing was certainly on the poofy side, and clearly comfy. “Are you gonna start arguing again?”

Woof?

“We’re not arguing,” Lewis defended, swinging the spatula.

“This is a conversation,” Arthur affirmed. He went ahead and followed Vivi. He set Galahad’s terrarium under the end table in the corner of the room and popped the lid.

“Whatever you call it, I’m not refereeing.”

Lewis cackled. “Purge initiated.”

Off center of Vivi’s living area, the other end table was situated with a television on top, with wires hooked from it to the laptop sitting on the floor. In the corridor to the bedroom, the closet door was open and some of the boxes within left on the floor. The door was pulled back fully, permitting Arthur to view some of the items left out of containment, wedged on the shelves within. He shuddered.

A cacophony of popping erupted from within the kitchen, and Lewis swished around the large pot upon the burner. “Wanna get a movie going, and we can start looking through the stuff?” he proposed. “I did some homemade candy.”

“Mmm!” Vivi hummed. “These gummies are really ugly, but they’re tasty.”

“That’s what happens when you don’t use molds.” Lewis brought up a plate with wax paper, and little colorful globs topped. They were ugly as heck, Arthur noted. In a large bowl, Lewis poured out a whole kettle of corn from the pot he was using. The fluffy kernels were still glistening with melted sugar, steam shimmered across the lumpy peak.

Likewise on the counter, there sat two fire extinguishers. Arthur supposed they could pack one or both in the van. He wondered if she bought both, or if one came with the apartment.

“Arthur.” He shook his head and looked to Vivi. “Can you get a movie going? I gotta boot up my laptop.”

The couch was already dressed with blankets and extra pillows. It kind of reminded him of the old times, like nothing changed. He took his seat beside the chair arm, near where he put Galahad’s travel cage. He took the ball of fluff from his little nest and set him up on the back of the couch. Mystery thundered onto the couch and gave the hamster a close look over.

Opening credits ended for the introduction, and the movie began. Vivi planted herself beside Mystery, and Lewis was last to join with the bowl of popcorn and plate of gooies. Vivi took a handful of popcorn and started eating, along with one of those gooey treats from the plate now set on the back of the couch. Galahad was wheeling his way over, but Mystery lay his head in the way.

“I was thinking,” she said, and swallowed. Lewis left the popcorn in her care and revisited the kitchen. “We’ll be off on another assignment, and doing whatever cases we want on the way. But we have all this stuff, and it’s kind of starting to pile up.”

“Right,” Arthur muttered. “You could just dump it off on Duet.” He took the bowl she passed and tried the popcorn. It was good, salty and sweet. Lewis came back over and handed off some drinks to him and Vivi. “Uh, thanks.”

“Don’t you think I tried?” Vivi licked her fingers and went to typing on the laptop. “We get duplicates and we got fake crap, some of it is legit. Yeah Lew?”

He nodded. “Some of it gives me the heebie-jeebies. Don’t like that.”

“I’ve been checking some blogs and people,” Vivi went on, tucking the unopened bottle beside her hip. “I have harmless crud, that’d make for good props for research. That stuff can go to whoever, but Duet doesn’t want duplicates or reproductions.”

Arthur popped the cap to his beverage and took a sip. “I’ll leave that to you bunch then. I didn’t want much to do with it then, and not really much now.”

“That’s cool,” Vivi assured, with a smile. “You had some heavy run-ins with some of this crap, and I don’t blame you.” She plopped the laptop onto Arthur’s lap and got off the couch.

A timer went off, and Lewis made his way over to the kitchen. “Should be good to say farewell, though? Eh, Art?”

“Yeah.” He reached over to the popcorn bowl and grabbed a kernel, which he delivered to the hamster sitting on Mystery’s head. “No goo junk,” he commanded. “We don’t want to give Mystery a haircut, ‘cuz of some gummy stuff.” Mystery delivered and expression of utter petrification.

Then it hit Arthur, while Vivi was pulling out a plastic crate from within the closet. “Shit. I forgot the equipment.”

“Que s’eso?”

“The equipment.” Arthur took the plate of small, browned marshmallow meringues Lewis handed over. “Um, I was supposed to finalize it. Make sure I’ve got it all stabilized and tuned.” He and Lewis held a painfully long stare. “I wasn’t planning on testing that crap on you. Though, it’d certify if my handywork was thorough.”

“No.”

Vivi set the crate down on the floor and browsed through a few clay figures, among them bundled tissue paper and bubble wrap. “That’s fine, we’ll get to that another day.”

Arthur sucked in some air beside his teeth. “Meh. It was my thing to do, while you guys did yours. Fuck.” He sat a moment, debating if there was something else he could do if he wasn’t preoccupied with his go to task. There was the tinkering work on his arm, but he recalled some of the tools for that was left in the boxes he meant to pack. Aside from eating, which he now was not in the mood for, he didn’t have much else to do but watch bad movies.

“It’s not late, I can swing over and grab ‘em.”

“Or you could just let it go, and have a weekend to relax,” Vivi indicated. She leaned on the couch beside his legs. “I wasn’t serious with getting a head start on this, so that stuff can wait. Right?”

Lewis took the plate of gummies off the couch back, before Galahad could crawl into them. “Is this gunna be a bother for you all evening?”

Arthur sighed. “Yeah. Threw off my groove and everything.” He pouted. “It won’t take any time at all. Zoom over and back. It’s not a lot to gather up either, I don’t wanna put it off though.”

Vivi stood up. “Fine. I’m not like, your other boss or anything.” She tried the meringue thing. “Are these burnt?”

“They fucking are,” Lewis rasped.

“But they’re good anyway. I love burnt marshmallows.”

“Not helping.” Lewis pointed down at Arthur. “I’m going with.”

“Why?” both Arthur and Vivi exclaimed. Mystery woofed. Lewis looked from Vivi to Arthur.

“To… help? Is there… a reason why I shouldn’t?”

Vivi stuttered, “No – not… it’s up to Arthur.”

All up to him. Yay. Arthur set the laptop aside and got off the couch. “Sure, fine, it’s cool. Let’s go so we can get back.” He went to the entry way, twirling intermittently through his strides to call, “Keep an eye on Gally, huh? I want him eating normal hamster things.” Lewis nearly ran into him on their way down the corridor.

They were already headed out the door, when Vivi answered, “He’ll be good— Gally! Mystery! Not the gummies! No!”

By all appearances, the garage was vacant of life and sat with impenetrable silence, scarcely an aura of habitation. Vehicles huddled abandoned, the tools cold and still at long last following a brutal and arduous workday. Upon one soldering table stood a partially drained Styrofoam cup, a stray draft teased a greasy rag hung over the handlebar of a flat cart. Light flickered over the listless machinery, in the deepest reaches of the shop strange shadows carved burrows into deserted spaces. Aside from those minute scraps of animation, nothing stirred within Kingsman Mechanics. However, appearances are deceitful.

The small access doorway for shipments betrayed the established stillness. The knob twisted one way slowly, then the other gradually, a faint tick-tick twittered from the key chamber. Tick-tick… tick! The dead bolt swept sideways with genuine dedication, and the latch barked loose.

A brief reprieve followed, insisting that nothing was amiss and all was complacent, ordinary, and drab. Then, the faithful metal panel eased an inch, enough to allow a swollen lump to squeeze through. The squishy bulb observed the blanket of unremarkable matter. Off from the doorway, the blocky stacks of supplies and barren pallets, a tarp and some other obscure items, industrial shelving and other blocky shapes.

Through the doorway extended a small cylinder, and with a click the glaring slate of light glittered through the interior room, skewering the gloom and incriminating the present occupants. Hubcaps, a flatbed cart, opened boxes and packing materials strewn on the floor. Cold metal sleeping in the dark, oblivious boxes, and not a conscious soul in sight.

The vague shape eased through the slither of doorway and let the panel whisper shut at their back. Once within fully, they doused the light and let their eyes adjust to the swollen murk. With practiced grace they moved from delivery, and inched onto the work floor. Some dull glow did enter through the front windows of Kingsman Mechanics, illuminating the barest of outlines upon workstations and patient vehicles. They moved through the garage meticulously, pausing only to listen and grasp their environment through hearing, and their intuition. It hadn’t failed them yet.

Parts and easily mobile machinery were everywhere, some adding up into the thousands if packed carefully into the duffle bag slung over their arm. None of it had substantial value, only a temporary check to drop in the bucket. They followed the wall, clicking on the flashlight and capping the front to stifle the blast of light. There was no rush, if they couldn’t find it tonight, there was always next week. It would mean stake out and observe for changes, but a task amended without issue or too much delay. Better safe than sorry. Maybe the gear wasn’t here at all, and this was a waste of time. They wouldn’t know until a thorough search was launched. But all night lay ahead.

#cliffhanger #mystery skulls #mystery skulls animated #mystery skulls ghost #fanfiction #fanfic #msa fanfic #mystery skulls fanfic #msa fanfiction #mystery skulls fanfiction #mystery skulls arthur #mystery skulls lewis #mystery skulls vivi #mystery skulls mystery #mystery skulls lance

4 notes · View notes

robininthelabyrinth · 7 years ago

Text

Nocturne (FFXV) - 2/30

Fic: Nocturne (2/30) - Ao3 Link

Fandom: Final Fantasy XV Pairings: Mostly Gen (variety later to come)

Summary: In which Cor Leonis loses his temper, accidentally acquires a kid, and tries to single-handedly dismantle the Lucian immigration system – and that’s before he and his lawyers find out about this Prophecy business. If the Astrals think Cor’s going to let his kid’s best friend die without a fight, they’ve gotten the wrong cheetah ‘taur.

(a young adult novel set in @kickingshoes’ ‘taur AU)

——————————————————————————————- ——————————————————————————————-

“So, I’ve done something rash,” Cor says into his phone. It’s not connected, of course – any hope of reception died ages ago – but he likes to record his reports as voicemails to himself in the event that the only part of him that makes it back to Lucis is his phone. Clarus makes a point of checking Cor's voicemail when he's away on mission, and sometimes after, and they've informally agreed that the garbled statements that sometimes make it through are not to be monitored for things like clarity, coherency, or cursing the way normal reports are. After all, one must sometimes make allowances for the weather.

Cor’s currently wrapped up in a thick cloak that’s barely enough to keep out the chill. He’s never been more grateful for the fact that ‘taur physiology permits all creatures, regardless of type, to keep their most sensitive parts retracted inside the body, though of course his poor bare paws are freezing every time they touch down on the frozen earth. Cheetahs are made for warm climates, not – this.

Niflheim.

Yes, yes, he knows this particularly bitter artificial winter that sits upon Niflheim comes from that almost legendary battle when the great Glacian Hind came to life and massacred a large portion of Niflheim’s armies before being killed in turn. And yes, he’s well aware that that battle is one of the only reasons Lucis has managed to hold Niflheim off for so long, but that’s not the point.

The point is that it’s cold.

The point is that Cor is seriously considering buying some of those stupid booties they sell sometimes to keep his paws from icing over, and he hates those.

The point is –

The point is that Cor usually has more self-control than this. This was supposed to be a covert mission, after all – and it still is, mostly.

There's another explosion from behind him. Cor turns to look, just in time to see a giant swath of the factory ceiling caving in as one of the support pillars goes down. He winces at the sight.

He winces again as a small fire breaks out within the ruins of the factor, penned in only by the gently falling snow.

...mostly still covert.

Well, okay, they haven't actually definitively identified it as an act of Lucis and of Cor specifically yet, and that's about it, really. Every other pretense to subtlety has been blown up – quite literally.

And yet, when he saw – he couldn't leave it the way it was. He couldn't leave them.

The kittens.

Well, puppies, actually; he's fairly sure canideataurs call their young puppies instead of kittens, but it's irrelevant. They’re not even proper kitlings yet, just - babies! Babies in cages, babies in tubes, babies with mechanical attachments, with brands, with barcodes –

Sometimes, Cor hates the rulers of Niflheim so hard it takes his breath away, and he's never hated them more than he does now.

How could they?

How could – anyone?

The letter that Clarus' spymasters had dismissed as an obvious trap, the one that purported to be from a scientist in a Niflheim factory, offering up the coordinates of what was supposedly one of Niflheim's infamously well-hidden Magitek factories, where the tech that made them so dangerous was developed, offering to smuggle them into the factory in return for assistance getting out of Niflheim – it sounded too good to be true, on paper, but it was true.

Justina had just about lost hope of a response when Cor came and made contact with her. She really was a scientist working at one of the hidden Niflheim factories, a big and plump ‘taur of the canine breed she fondly referred to as a 'San-Bernard' or something like that, and she'd worked for the Niflheim Empire for ages without complaint only to find the experiments performed on babies a step too far even for her. She'd developed a plan to smuggle the puppies out of the facility, but she needed help, and she was willing to trade access to the facility in return for that help – like Cor wouldn't have helped her regardless, just for the puppies’ sake. She hadn’t realized he would care about that; that’s why she hadn’t included any mention of the puppies in her letter.

Niflheim is an awful place sometimes, and nowhere is it worse than in its factories.

She'd take them to Cleigne, Justina told Cor after he’d seen them and stopped in his tracks, horrified; in Cleigne she’d made arrangements. There were families there, families living quietly under Niflheim rule, not bothering anyone, families that would be happy to take in some puppies without question. She’d prepared thoroughly in advance; she’d even had passports made up for all of them -

- or so she'd thought.

She hadn't been able to count up how many kids there were – some died during the process, she explained, which in Cor’s opinion ought to be enough reason to stop any process at all right there, and she couldn't afford to have extra passports made for her without having the kids to show for it at the border, so she'd estimated the numbers.

She'd gotten it very nearly right: there was only one left over once the passports were all handed out, a blond baby puppy labeled (labeled!) NH-00O6-O204-1987.

"I'd thought he'd die," Justina whispered to Cor when they found the child, thin and sickly and not even a full year old, but still alive. He was snuffling slightly in his sleep. She looked taken aback by the fact that he was still there. "I thought - he's a runt, even for a saluki, and I thought – all the other salukis his age died already, you see, and were incinerated.”

She gestured at the empty tubes next to the sleeping puppy, and Cor shuddered to think of them being filled with puppies just like this pup – to think of those puppies dying, alone and unloved in these cages, and their bodies callously thrown into the fire.

“What does that mean, then?” he asked. “For your plan?”

“I didn't get a passport for a saluki,” Justina said. “Which is a problem – some of the others, I could pass off as mutts, but salukis? They’re rather distinctive.”

"What does that mean?" Cor asked again.

She frowned at him.

“What do you suggest we do?” Cor clarified.

“We leave him, of course,” she said. “I don’t have a passport for him; I can’t get him across the border.”

“No,” Cor said. He didn’t even need to think about it. “I’ll take him. I have to smuggle through the Niflheim border anyway, and Lucis will let me through with him.”

Justina frowned at him. “Do you even know anything about puppies?”

“I’ll learn,” Cor said shortly. “Better than leaving him to die.”

“They won’t kill him immediately or anything, if that’s what you’re worried about,” Justina said, puzzled. “They’ll just keep going with the process – which, admittedly, will probably kill him, but honestly, he’s so sickly, he’ll probably just die anyway.”

“What do you mean, they’ll just continue?”

Justina shrugged, clearly not understanding the source of Cor's question. “As long as the factory’s still standing, they’re not going to stop production.”

Well.

From Cor’s perspective, there was really only one way to go from there, and he thinks (hopes) that Regis and Clarus will agree.

And if they don’t – well. That’s that, he supposes. He doesn’t think they’ll throw him out of the Crownsguard or anything, their old friendship is good for that much at least, but he might have to endure some sort of punishment. Maybe a suspension from his new role as Marshal.

Actually, a suspension might not be so bad; it’ll give him time to find a place for –

The puppy yawns.

Cor’s eyes drop down to the basket at his paws and he grimaces.

Yeah, no, forget everything. He’s totally fucked this one right up.

He has no idea how to deal with kittens. Much less baby kittens! Or, he supposes, baby puppies, but he assumes they’re much the same, and in either case he’s vastly underqualified here. Thank the Six that ‘taurs are a species with a very short period of early development: ‘taurs are only truly helpless babies for a few months before they grow into (mostly) self-sufficient, if extremely inexperienced kitlings, capable of speech and thought, and from that state they grow into children, then teenagers, then adults…

What Cor wouldn’t give for the puppy to be an adult right now.

He does not know how to deal with puppies!

Six, Cor can barely take care of himself – in fact, he’s almost convinced himself that his king and his advisor sent him on this mission exclusively because Regis and Clarus somehow found out he’d started having trouble sleeping again.

Also with eating, but Clarus wouldn’t let him leave until he’d eaten half a meal, so it’s not like he’s had nothing to eat recently. And Clarus only let him stop after half because it was visibly hurting Cor to continue to eat despite his anxiety; he made Cor promise that he’d at least try to eat some broth while he was travelling because collapsing mid-battle isn’t good tactics (Cor is aware of that, thanks, Clarus), and there’d been that lingering suggestion of a psychiatrist hovering in his eyes.

Again.

Cor does not want a psychiatrist. He hates talking about his feelings, he despises motivational speeches, and while he is perfectly happy for other people to benefit from correctly prescribed medication, he’s had a bad reaction to every single pill he’s ever taken.

(Domestic housecat his spotted ass. He’s still low-grade pissed about that. He doesn't think he'll ever be anything but low-grade pissed about that.)

In fact, just about the only good suggestion a shrink has ever had for him was to up his box time and to invest in some bubble wrap to knead with his paws as an anxiety-reducing measure, and that was someone he saw once when he was sixteen.

The last four shrinks Regis and Clarus strong-armed him into going to see (supposedly because there was a mental health requirement for being appointed to senior Crownsguard positions, which Cor knows is a damn rotten lie but honestly it’s not a bad idea to put in place, so he went along with it) weren't anywhere near as useful. Cor isn’t into mediation or ‘centering’ or self-reflection, and he likes himself just fine, so listing out positive things about himself (good at fighting, good at running, good at surviving, good sense of humor, albeit one that very few other people understand…) isn’t exactly helpful either.

He’s just stressed, is all. And no, ordering him to not work is even more stressful, as shrink number two and twelve both learned.

The most recent one even suggested that Cor think about getting some sort of therapy animal to help with panic attacks. Cor heroically managed not to punch him, but it was a remarkably close call.

It doesn’t help that he’s not dating anyone – of course, Cor doesn’t particularly want to be dating anyone, neither romantically nor sexually, to be honest. It’s not that he’s opposed to the idea or anything, it’s just never seemed important enough to pursue with the same sort of single-minded passion that he does for fighting or command or training and mating doesn’t seem like it would be a project worth going into anything less than whole-heartedly – and really the only problem with the lack is that basically everyone around him assumes that having a mate would ease his anxiety while simultaneously assuming that his anxiety is the only thing between him and a nice mate. Possibly also kittens.

Cor wouldn’t be adverse to a kitten or two down the line, but he's never really seen anyone who he thought of as mate material – he doesn’t even really have an image in mind, just a vague floating checkbox that society claims he’ll eventually need to mark off – and he’s just sort of figured that he couldn’t have the former without the latter and given up on both for the time being. After all, he’s young enough that he can afford to wait.

This plan, while tactically sound, also meant that at no point had he ever put any effort into learning how to deal with kitlings.

And now he has to smuggle a puppy across enemy lines.

Said puppy yawns again, displaying his little milk teeth.

Oh Six, the puppy is waking up.

Cor is so unqualified for this.

He crouches down next to the basket. “I’m going to need you to be quiet,” he tells the puppy, who’s now blinking at him. “Okay? No noise.”

The puppy burbles a little and reaches out for Cor.

“Um.”

When Cor doesn’t move, the puppy’s face starts scrunching up. Tears start forming in the corner of his eyes.

Oh crap.

Cor reaches out and picks up the puppy. This is apparently the right move, because suddenly the puppy is cuddling into him and making contented sounds.

His fur is very soft – silky and pale, just like his skin and his bright shock of hair.

“Well, at least you’re not crying,” Cor tells the pup.

Then he tries to put him back in the basket.

An hour later, Cor concludes that he may as well discard the stupid basket, because the puppy has somehow got it into his head that Cor holding him is the only acceptable way to get around and anything else is to be met with tears and long, mournful howls that carry far too well in Niflheim’s frozen environment.

“You’re not defeating me,” Cor informs the puppy as he trots further into the forest. “I just want you to know that. I’m just compromising with you because I need to get out of this country swiftly and quietly and fighting with you is distracting me from doing that.”

The puppy yips happily and nuzzles Cor’s neck, quite content with his current position.

Yeah, Cor wouldn’t believe him either.

Luckily the puppy’s pretty well swaddled against the cold – Justina’s work – and Cor is accustomed to carrying heavy swords for long distances, and the puppy barely weighs more than one of his swords. The puppy is also remarkably well-behaved, though Cor suspects that it has less to do with behavior and more to do with the ill treatment the puppy received up to now – he’s pathetically glad to be held by Cor, yes, but also his muscle tone is low and his lung capacity isn’t great. The puppy is small and sickly; a runt, as Justina said.

If Cor spends too long getting him back to Insomnia, he might not survive. That is – unacceptable.

Cor has accustomed himself, after all these years, to losses endured in battle. He’s lost colleagues, friends – even soldiers under his own command. And yet, the thought of losing this puppy, who had done nothing but be born in the wrong place at the wrong time, induces a stronger emotional reaction than Cor expected.

That’s probably why, when the puppy finally does start to get over-tired and starts hesitantly to whimper and whine, a tentative sound that nevertheless sounds hopeful, Cor immediately stops and begins to set up camp – hours later than Cor would’ve expected before encountering tears, but hours before Cor would normally have stopped.

The tears dry up immediately as soon as Cor puts the puppy down and frees him from the swaddling – looks like the puppy was just tired of being confined and was testing to see if making sounds would obtain a reaction, which is a horrifying thought in relation to puppies or kittens. No one should neglect a crying puppy to the point that he’s unsure whether crying will do him any good, especially one that’s just barely on the cusp of kitling maturity: old enough to think for himself, to wander by himself, and Six, old enough to be talking and understanding speech, and thus old enough to understand that he’s being neglected intentionally and be hurt by it.

Monstrous.

At any rate, the puppy is no longer on the verge of tears – now he’s frolicking around, rolling in the snow and the leaves like he’s never seen either before.

Probably hasn’t.

Cor groans and makes a small fire the old-fashioned way, not wanting to draw the attention of anything magical. The forest is thick enough that he’s fairly sure the MTs won’t be able to identify him based just on the flame, assuming they’re even looking in this direction after all the misdirecting he’s being doing –

“No you don’t!” he shouts, leaping forward to catch the puppy before he runs straight into the fire.

The puppy beams up at him, babbling wordlessly.

“Fire is dangerous,” Cor tells him. “I know you probably never encountered it before, but don’t touch it.”

He puts the puppy back down.

The puppy goes for the fire again.

“No!”

This is going to be harder than Cor originally thought.

He ends up planting a paw in the puppy’s soft belly (and kneading it a little, to the puppy’s delight) while rummaging in his pack for some food that he can boil down. Luckily he has some soup – surely that wouldn’t be too difficult for a puppy to eat?

He offers the puppy a spoon.

The puppy blinks at it.

“You eat it.”

The puppy pants happily, but show no sign of taking a bit.

“You eat – oh, by the Six.” Cor sighs. He waves the spoon in the air a little until the puppy is focusing on it. “You eat the soup. Like this.”

He takes a bite himself, making a pointed purring sound of enjoyment as he does. Then he offers the puppy the next spoonful.

The puppy eats the spoonful.

Cor sighs in relief. Mission accomplished.

He offers the next spoonful, but the pup whines unhappily.

Cor seriously considers beating his head against the nearest tree. Didn’t he just show the puppy that he could eat the food safely?

He takes another bite himself, and on the next try the puppy does accept another bite. Going back and forth, they manage to finish the whole bowl, at which point the puppy promptly flops over onto its stomach to fall asleep, making cute little snores almost at once.

Cor rolls his eyes and cleans up the campsite in case they need to leave in haste, then curls around the puppy to provide warmth.

It’s not until he’s about to drop off into the light doze he uses on missions where he needs to be on watch at all times that he realizes that the half-bowl of soup is more than he’s eaten in a single sitting for nearly a month.

“See, Clarus,” Cor grumbles as he yawns his way into sleep. “I can take care of myself just fine.”

The puppy somehow maneuvers himself out of the warmth of Cor’s belly and onto Cor’s face while he sleeps, as Cor discovers when he wakes up, but somehow this ends up being charming instead of annoying.

He does wonder why the puppy doesn’t talk, thinking to himself about it as the puppy wiggles around on the ground while Cor goes to hide the evidence of the now-extinguished fire. After all, surely the puppy's something like a year old, now, judging by size comparisons with Regis’ kitten? Little Prince Noctis has certainly started talking, and quite a bit, too, albeit with some fairly terrible grammar. He’s a good comparison.

Unlike, say, Clarus’ Gladio, because even besides him being two years older than this puppy, Cor would be willing to bet against Bahamut that Clarus’ boy is going to out-grow everyone around him. After all, his mother in her youth was one of those tall Lucian warrior ‘taurs that settled in the Duscae outpost, a berserker who knocked Clarus clean out in a friendly bar-fight and whom he’s been madly in love with ever since – and Cor has long since learned not to use anyone who breaks the curve as a standard.

(He used to beat all his friends at footraces when he was a kitten, and they hated him for it, but he couldn’t run as slow as them, he just couldn’t, and he never knew why – just that biting freezing isolation of knowing something was wrong and he wasn't like the others – didn’t have parents, didn’t act right, didn’t love right, didn’t move right, not like the rest of them –)

The puppy sneezes and sits up.

A lone leaf drifts down and lands on his nose.

The puppy watches it fall with absolute fascination, and once it lands, he tries to bat at it, unbalancing himself, and falls over backwards with a surprised expression.

Cor doesn’t laugh, but it’s not for lack of wanting to.

The puppy starts to tear up again.

“No.”

The puppy stops and look at Cor.

“No crying,” Cor says sternly.

The puppy holds its arms out towards Cor, babbling happily, albeit incoherently.

“Why don’t you talk?” Cor grumbles. “You should be talking by now.”

It occurs to him only a moment later that the puppy probably didn’t have people around him to learn from – and no incentive for the scientists to bother teaching him.

Even Justina dismissed him as just a runt doomed to die.

Cor makes a face, mentally damning Niflheim yet again, and scoops up the puppy, starting to trot onwards again.

“Let’s start you on some basics,” he tells the cooing baby puppy. “Don’t want you falling behind just because the Niflheim scientists stunted your development.”

He frowns, trying to think of what would be a good place to start. What’s a basic, necessary, commonly-used element of speech?

“How about ‘no’,” he finally says. “That should be harmless enough.”

By the time they get to the border a few days later, the pup is familiar with ‘no’, ‘up’, ‘mine’ and ‘want’, and Cor has determined that he’s an absolute moron because now the kid won’t stop saying them.

Especially ‘no’.

The border itself is – trickier than expected.

“Papers,” the bored female ‘taur at the window says.

Cor isn’t surprised by the request, even though he’s normally recognizable enough that he doesn’t have to bother with the details: after all, he’s covered in mud from having to do a bit of fancy footwork to get around the bigger MT patrols, he’s not wearing Crownsguard clothing, and he has a baby strapped to his back because that turned out to be the acceptable balance between “being held” and “in a convenient location so that Cor can still fight”.

He passes over his papers.

“Papers.”

“I just gave them to you,” Cor points out.

“For the baby.”

“He’s a refugee,” Cor says. “Also, a baby. He doesn’t have papers.”

“He can’t go through the border without papers.”

“We get dozens of refugees every day,” Cor stresses. “Not everyone can have papers.”

“They can get papers,” the clerk says, clearly uninterested. “You’ll need to go to the administration building down the block.”

Cor sighs, but goes.

There’s a line.

Sure, he could probably cut, using his status as head of the Crownsguard, but that feels a bit too much like being a privileged asshole, and at any rate he’s not looking forward to explaining this to Regis and Clarus anyway, so he waits.

The people at the front of the line are overworked and overtired and he gets three questions in before he realizes that they’re trying to make papers for him, and then he has to explain that he already has papers, it’s just the puppy that doesn’t.

…he thinks they think he stole the kid from someone. That’s definitely the look on their faces right now.

Then they send him to another line, because apparently combined situations are taken care of at the other admin building.

Six lines and multiple hours later, Cor’s fur is standing on end and he’s considering stabbing someone before putting a sword to Clarus’ neck and demanding he fix whatever the fuck is wrong with administration here because this is just plain awful even if they're trying to stall him because they think he’s some sort of child smuggler.

“Listen,” he snarls at one particular female ‘taur, a bobcat, that he’s been talking to for nearly twenty minutes after yet another line. “It’s not that hard. Just make the kid a passport. I’ll get the rest verified when I get to the Crown City. I don’t need a pass. I don’t need a housing permit. Just give me a piece of paper that gets me though the border.”

The bobcat clerk scowls at him. She has circles under her eyes, and Cor would’ve been sympathetic two hours ago but he’s not anymore. “Fine.” She pulls out yet another form. This is the fourteenth he’s seen. Most of them have turned out to be the wrong form only after he’s gone through the process of filling them out. “What do you call him?”

“Pu – oh,” Cor stops abruptly. That’s the first time he’s been asked that. As far as he knows, the kid doesn’t even have a name, just a number.

And he’s pretty sure ‘puppy’ isn’t actually a real name.

Like, 90% sure.

You never know what celebrities are naming their kids these days.

“Prompto,” the clerk says, writing it down. “Got it. I assume he’s also a cheetah?”

“Why would you assume that?” Cor asks blankly. Prompto? Where’d she get that from?

“Prompto means quick,” she says. “Standard cheetah name, and I can see your spots. He’s a cheetah like you, right?”

Cor twists to look at the pup – Prompto, he guesses, because one name is as good as another – and he’s gotten so wrapped up in the swaddling that his legs are barely visible.

“No,” he says. “He’s a saluki.”

“A what?”

“Canidaetaur.”

The clerk frowns at him.

“You assholes know mixed families exist, right?” Cor asks, crossing his arms. “He could be mine.”

“You look fifteen,” she says. “And you’re covered in mud and – is that blood?”

“When I was fifteen, everyone said I looked twelve,” Cor says dryly. They were usually being generous, too. “And no, it’s MT engine oil.”

She looks more suspicious now. Chalk another one up to Team 'they think he's a child smuggler.' “Is he yours?”

“No,” Cor says. “I rescued him.”

“Uh-huh.”

“Listen, if you’re going to have me arrested, can that happen sooner rather than later?” Cor asks. “And preferably after I get the pup’s papers?”

He actually does end up having to talk to a local guard about it, because apparently Cor is a very suspicious person when he’s trying to follow the rules. The guard turns out to be one of the remnants of what was once Lucis’ army, one of the branches that never swapped over to being Crownsguard, but he still recognizes Cor and suddenly everyone is horribly embarrassed about everything, which does not even slightly make up for the fact that Cor could’ve been a normal person going about his daily business with a rescued baby and then he’d still be in those awful lines waiting to get through, and possibly also in prison.

By the Six, Cor is going to Do Something about this, and if Clarus and the Council won’t do it, he’ll just have to file another goddamn lawsuit.

(Regis joked once that Cor must spend half of his Crownsguard salary on lawyers, but he’s not entirely wrong. Winning one massive precedent-setting lawsuit in such a well-known and public manner has gotten the idea into people’s heads that he’s potentially willing to fight others, and unfortunately they’re not entirely wrong about that, either. Cor’s sharp-toothed and very expensive lawyers are very fond of him.)

And then he takes Prompto (is that a typical cheetah name? Cor has no idea; he’s never really fit in with the other cheetahs in Insomnia – his mannerisms and cultural understanding are totally different, having been raised a housecat, and most of them are far too intimidated by his reputation as the Immortal to actually have a conversation with him about what he’s getting wrong) and marches his way back home, through the back end of the city, and straight to the Citadel.

Normally, he’d swing by the barracks to at least groom himself first, but he has a point to make.

“Cor Leonis, Marshal of the Crownsguard,” the doorkeeper announces, as unmoved as ever. The day he sounds surprised about someone coming through this door, Insomnia will be about to fall, Cor swears it.

Cor marches in, stiff-legged and pissed off, his tail stuck out low and puffed up in case they hadn’t gotten the message from the angry stalk.

“Welcome back, Marshal,” Regis says warmly from his throne. “You’re several days later than we expected you; we were beginning to become concerned about –” He stops mid-sentence.

“The border crossing is a shambles,” Cor says, totally ignoring the usual protocol of talking to the King while he’s sitting on his throne. “It is imperative that we fix it.”

“Perhaps you should start with your mission report –” Clarus begins, only to get rather obviously elbowed in the side by Regis. He frowns at Regis, who is doing something bizarre with his eyebrows, and then looks back at Cor. A second later, his eyes go wide as well.

Meanwhile, Cor has managed to get a hold of himself. Clarus is correct. Protocol is protocol, and there are no exceptions. Cor shifts into parade rest – hands behind his back, legs straight – and starts, “I left Insomnia on the thirteenth of –”

“No, no, never mind the mission report,” Regis says. “Cor – is that a baby?”

Prompto has gotten loose of the majority of the swaddling and is attempting to chew on the edge of Cor’s jacket. This is a sufficiently common occurrence that Cor has stopped paying attention to anything more than whether Prompto is still slung on securely and if the jacket is still relatively clean but for the drool. He’s hypothesized that Prompto’s baby teeth require sharpening and that he’s using Cor’s jacket as a substitute teething tool.

“Yes,” Cor says shortly, even though technically Prompto’s probably closer to being a kitling at this point. Prompto is not the issue here. “As I was saying. Upon leaving Insomnia, I went to the check-in point, where –”

“Cor. Why do you have a baby?”

“That part doesn’t come until later in the report, your Majesty.”

“Skip ahead.”

“There weren’t any passports left to get him to Cleigne,” Cor says, being deliberately obtuse. “Which is why I just spent nearly a full day waiting in line at the border – and nearly got arrested for it.”

“Cor, just – please – just tell me you didn’t steal somebody’s baby,” Clarus says. He’s put his face into his hands.

“I didn’t steal somebody’s baby,” Cor says obediently.

“Thank you, Cor. Could you try that again, but this time at least make an effort to make me believe it?”

“He may have been somebody’s baby once,” Cor says, though privately he’s not so sure about that. Some of the puppies Justina had taken with her had looked awfully similar – cloning, perhaps? “But they gave up all moral rights to him when they locked him in a small cage and branded him with a number instead of a name.”

Regis and Clarus’ smiles disappear.

“Start at the beginning,” Regis orders.

Cor starts at the beginning.

#final fantasy xv #cor leonis #prompto argentum #regis lucis caelum #clarus amicitia #nocturne #my fic

22 notes · View notes

astral-writings · 8 years ago

Text

Proper Etiquette (Part 2)

Author: Scarlett Word Count: 1,749 Reader Gender: Female Warnings: Abuse, violence, swearing, feminine reader Love Interest: Black Widow Note: I feel like making a Part 3 to this series. Tags: @iamvvanda

****As I said in Part 1, in no way, shape, or form is any kind of abuse ever okay. This is written strictly as a coping mechanism, and is not in any way, shape, or form romanticizing abuse. Abuse is abuse regardless of sexual orientation, gender identity, or anything else. If you’re being abused, please contact the authorities or go to your local domestic violence shelter. I love you all and stay safe ♥♥♥♥♥

||Part 1||

“Hey, Y/n, I was hoping you and I could switch seats? Winter Soldier over here wants to talk to you.” Natasha spoke gently, and I looked back at Raven.

“I think she’s fine sitting here.” Raven spoke with a hardness in her tone.

“I think we should let Y/n decide where Y/n wants to sit.” Natasha stated coldly, faking a nice tone.

“Fine, but I’m telling you, she’s going to sit with me.” Raven stated, using a special tone towards the end.

“I-I am fine sitting here, I thank you for y-your generosity.” I speak quietly, taking the seat next to Raven and looking at my lap.

I stayed within my thoughts for a while, fearing that if I spoke up I might get the words slapped out of me. I fiddled with my hands, focusing on my dark red nails. Red was Natasha’s colour, and I secretly wore red for her. Plus, Raven always insists that red is the colour that a true lady wears, and I’d probably have gotten hit if I came down in another colour. I gently pushed my dark sunglasses back up to my pale face, not wanting my bruised eyes to show.

Even though I tried to cover it up with make-up, it’s the one thing that refused to stay hidden. It’s still visible from a distance, though not nearly as visible as it was without make-up. I didn’t want to take any chances, even though we were inside and it might look weird for me to have my sunglasses on indoors. I began to feel rather cold in the restaurant, even though the actual temperature was normal.

I couldn’t tell if the chill was due to my injuries, or simply due to my lack of sleep. Either way, it probably wasn’t a good sign. I took a secret glace at both Nat and Raven, and noticed the glares. They were having a silent war between one another, and I started to dread when the time came for me to come home. I would not be getting sleep tonight, and I’d probably face another round of ‘teaching’.

“Y/n, don’t you want to take off your shawl?” Natasha asked and I shook my head.

“I’d rather keep it on, I’m getting a chill.” I confessed, and she raised a brow.

“It’s summer.” She stated simply and I smiled nervously.

“Must be a cold night then.” I offered, feeling Raven glaring at me.

“Well, do you know what you’re getting?” She continued.

“I-” I began.

“She’s not hungry, she forgot tonight was the night we were getting together and ate before we left the house.” Raven lied coolly, and I felt the inside of me break.

“I think Y/n should spend the night with us.” Natasha spoke with a certain malice in her tone.

“I think you should mind your own business.” Raven confidently told Nat.

“G-Guys, please don’t fight-” I started, only to receive a slap.

“Stop talking!” Raven ordered and I immediately looked at my lap.

“Y-Yes ma’am.” I apologized quietly.

All was silent for a moment, and I could practically hear the tension in the room rise. I could feel anger boil within Raven, and my heart shattered at the humiliation. I fought back tears, remembering how Raven said that a lady never cries in public. I want to be a proper lady and make her proud, but it seems as though nothing I do is ever good enough for her. Is this what love truly is? Will it never get better than this? Is this how everyone is?

I felt an unknown resistance boil within me, and I had an urge to tell Raven to just piss off. I wouldn’t dare tell her that, I’d be dead meat. Plus, a lady never starts drama or curses, especially in public. I began to hear an argument go on between Raven and the others, but dizziness began to cloud my mind. I held my hands gently on the table to stable myself. I shut my eyes tightly for a moment before opening them back up.

The darkness slowly went away as I took a sip of my water, but I knew it’d be coming back. I didn’t know how soon, but it never goes away. God, I just want to sit on the couch with a tub of ice cream right now. I hate the diet she has me on, I thought I was fine before. She changed almost everything about me, and I hate it. Yet, somehow, I still feel compelled to listen to her. Maybe I’m blinded by love, or maybe I’m just hatters, who knows.

“Y/n, take off the glasses.” Natasha abruptly ordered.

“I don’t think-” I began.

“Take. Off. The glasses.” She spoke with a harder tone, and I complied.

“Showtime.” She spoke, wiping a wet cloth against my eye.

“Ow.” I whispered, still looking at my lap.

“Holy shit.” Tony whispered in disbelief.

“How the Hell did you get that?” Bucky asked, obviously angry.

“I-I tripped.” I stuttered, knowing that the jig was up.

“Bullshit.” Natasha stated.

“Y/n, it’s time to go.” Raven said, standing up and forcing me to stand up with her.

“Please, may we stay? I’m hungry-” I started, only to be slapped again.

“Don’t talk back!” She ordered, and if it weren’t for her holding my wrist I would have fallen.

I felt her hold on me release, and I fell back into my chair, holding my head as my mind began to spin. Darkness began to cloud my mind again due to the abrupt change in gravity. I felt my stomach nip at my mind, and I tried to pull myself down to Earth. As a lady, I refuse to go to the hospital over something as silly as this. I took a deep breath in, and the dark spots in my vision slowly faded away.

I turned to see Natasha kicking Raven’s ass, but I couldn’t make out what they were saying. Half of me wanted to go over there and tell Natasha to stop, and the other half wanted me to just watch. Maybe Raven was getting what she really deserved, regardless of what the other half of me thought. Nat had Raven under her, and didn’t have a single scratch on her. Raven’s neck rested in the space between Nat’s heel and the front of the shoe.

Nat had her fist raised, ready to create another bruise on Raven’s face if she so much as breathed wrong. Raven was another story, and looked completely different. She had a bloody nose, and bruises beginning to form on her face. There was a cut above her eyebrow, and she had her hands on Nat’s shoe. She was trying, and failing, to remove Nat’s heeled show from her neck. My eyes widened as I rushed over to them.

“N-Nat, please.” I gently pleaded, kneeling next to her and putting my free hand on her shoulder.

“Leave, and if you ever come back I’ll kill you in every way you can think of.” Nat threatened, face unchanging, and Raven ran off.

“Where’s she going?” I asked as I watched Raven scurry out the door.

“Away, and if she knows what’s good for her, she won’t come back.” She said, beginning to stand up.

“Come on, let’s get back to the tower and review the damages.” Nat stated as she helped me up.

[BACK AT THE TOWER]

I sat quietly on the couch, a tank top and a blanket being the only things covering my chest. Nat raised an eyebrow at me, prompting me to let her look at everything. I was scared, I didn’t want her seeing all of the bruises and scars. I kept my body hidden under the blanket, still scared that Raven was going to pop up at any moment and yell at me for disobeying her rules. I could still feel her watching over my shoulder, even though she wasn’t anywhere near me.

“Take it off or I’ll take it off for you.” She said coldly, referring to the blanket.

“O-Okay.” I said quietly, immediately taking off the blanket.

“Hey,” She said after a sigh, sitting next to me, “I didn’t mean to say it like that, I’m just-” She started but I stopped her with a small smile.

“I understand.” I spoke quietly.

“Holy fuck.” Natasha whispered, referring to my back.

“What happened?” Steve asked, genuinely concerned.

I looked away, feeling humiliated and ashamed of my entire relationship with Raven. Here I was, one of SHEILD’s top agents, and yet I couldn’t even handle a simple relationship. I simply shrugged, earning a sigh from Nat. I fiddled with my hands, wanting to simply disappear. Nat asked the others for some privacy, and the other people in the room politely listened. I felt her sit beside me, and her moved to rest her hand on my shoulder.

I flinched, and she froze for a moment before continuing her action. It felt comforting, and the feeling was somewhat new to me. It was something I hadn’t felt in a while, and I didn’t know whether to be scared or happy about it. I suddenly felt compelled to look at her, and we locked eyes for a moment. Her blue-green eyes locked with my own. I moved closer to her, my head resting on her shoulder, and her arms protectively wrapping around me.

“Tell me what happened.” She demanded in a soft tone.

“She said she was trying to make me a proper lady, manners and all that. She limited my meals and sleeping hours. Sometimes it’d be days, other times it’d be a week before I ate or slept.” I confessed.

“That’s why you kept holding onto the table.” She spoke and I nodded softly.

“If I didn’t listen, or if she thought what I did or said wasn’t good enough, I’d be hit. Sometimes with her hand, other times with the metal ruler she got from the craft store.” I confessed again.

“She isn’t here anymore, and she won’t be bothering you anymore. I can promise you that.” She spoke with a hard tone.

“How?” I questioned.

“Because she’ll have me to deal with.” She said simply.

“You can be pretty intimidating.” I confessed with a small smile.

“You flatter me.” She spoke in a half joking tone, “Now, we have to bandage you up.”

“No hospitals?” I asked, sitting up.

“No hospitals.” She confirmed and I nodded.

“Okay, then.”