#9 hours of hiccup and non stop

[sleepyconfusedpotato]

Had a terrible hiccup today damn 😵‍💫

[canadiannationalfox]

(Reposting a story I wrote on dA) Murder Drones - Fragility and Memories, a J story

Spoilers for Episode 8, duh

It had been already a couple hours after the Copper-9 Apocolyptic Cyncident, things had settled down, and yet, at the bottom of the pit in the darkness, a hum of a busy disassembly drone's internal computer echoed through the cavern in the sinkhole from the battle that occurred earlier.

The silver haired robot tinkered away at the damaged landing pod, busying herself to avoid the knot within her that was gnawing away at her.

J finally had to take a break from the welding, resting herself against the side of the spaceship.

The weight of everything that day was now starting to take it's toll. She held in her hands the ripped black bow she had found when she awoke down in the pit.

"Tessa," J whispered to herself,

J remembered how long it had been since the true Tessa died. How Cyn stripped the life away from the young woman and started wearing her one true friend's body as a morbid costume to both trick the humans as well as J's colleagues.

J started to feel sadness creep up, an emotion she often repressed since she was built to be perfect. She wrapped her injector tail around her body, trying to remember the last hug she had received from Tessa.

"That was the morning of the Earth incident," J said as she hiccupped in sadness, "Tessa adored me"

She felt the tears appear in her LED eye display and went to rub them away but her hand stopped short, feeling the cropped left ponytail. The ends were crunchy and burnt from the blast of the railgun, the one that had injured J before.

With Cyn gone now, J could remember even more repressed memories.

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"TESSA J ELLIOT" the familiar matriarch of the JC Jensen brand scolded as she glared to her daughter.

All around Tessa on the floor were chunks of lifeless cool-dark hair, and Tessa's once long hair was now an uneven lob. There were even more tell tale signs of what Tessa had done; a pair of sewing shears, a bowl of peroxide, some stolen silver shampoo from her Mother's cabinet.

But most telling of all was the beautiful new silvery wig upon J's head, with lush and glossy pigtails.

J had, until Mrs Elliot came in, felt so proud of her lushious new wig, despite her worrying about this exact moment.

She stepped between Tessa and her mother.

The girl with the bow sorrowfully replied in an apologetic tone, "I... I cut it, I wanted a change, I am sorry Mother... " Tessa lied willingly knowing that if her Mother knew, she would have J's new wig thrown away with the drones her father had destroyed today for fun. Tessa hoped this would spare J from punishment too.

The woman in the fancy attire stood still looming like an ominous obelisk before she scolded, "I can't stand this non-sense. First you dress up that little butler bot, then you made a wig for your little maid RIGHT BEFORE the family portrait making us all look foolish, and now THIS?"

Tessa flinched in fright as her mother grabbed her wrist strongly, lifting the drone-adoring girl up slightly.

"And what do you think people will say when they see you looking like a butchered ragamuffin!?" Mrs Elliot hissed at her daughter.

J had to do something, and Tessa and her had practiced this protocol before.

She firmly suggested, "Ma'am , I feel it would be best for Tessa to be put in her room as punishment," the proud maid drone had a slight hitch in her voice as she continued, "I will see to it that she stays put and won't upset the shareholders at the ball."

Tessa blinked to J as a way to thank her silently, as she was set back down.

Mrs Elliot's voice was more reasoning now, but still contained some vitriol as she stated strictly, "Excellent work, J. I will return later once the ball is over. You MAY allow your colleagues to bring Tessa dinner, but neither of you are to leave this room."

She then turned on her heel, exited Tessa's room and locked the door, forgetting to chain Tessa up this time.

J put her hands on her hips and scolded softly in a caring tone, "I told you it was a bad idea, Tess."

Tessa flopped back-first onto her bed and reassured with a sorrowful sigh, "It's 'right J. Hair grows back."

She turned onto her stomach to face J and smiled, kicking her legs back and forth in the air as she giggled quietly to her loyal protector bot, "I just wanted you to have one of the most beautiful wigs of all. Because you always do your best to protect me."

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

J finally returned to the present from her warm and fuzzy memory.

She felt even more like crying, her hair which was her veil of perfection was damaged, and knowing now how much more it actually meant, as a gift from Tessa for being protective and kind, it stung her insides.

She then started remembering when Cyn had taken over.

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

"At least you were more c-cooperative," the monotone computery voice rang out in the cellar of the ruined Elliot Manor, as the claw like appendages moved back to allow J to see around the room.

She glanced down at her new hands, the blades sharp and glistening in the low light from the ruined ballroom above. Curiously, the new-disassembly drone retracted her claws and looked through the dark.

Stepping out from the darkness was now the one who was pretending to be Tessa, which caused J's face to form an expression of concern.

Cyn got closer, forcing her programming to emulate the late Tessa's voice as she giggled, "Thanks for protecting us, You will still be bestowed the most beauty of all my creations."

She brought out of the shadows J's wig, still pristine and lush and reaffixed it to J's head.

Although this time, despite the comforting weight and lush softness of the wig being returned to her, J felt a hollowness in her contentment. It wasn't the same since it was Cyn.

J rationalized to herself in her mind, "She wants what's best for us and the company... She's the head of the company," she felt horrible knowing now she had to lie to N and V about what happened to Tessa, as neither knew that Tessa was dead as their memory of that night was gone. Her only true friend, Tessa, was gone forever, and J couldn't fix it, but... she would do whatever it took for Cyn, even if Cyn was just using her it felt like she needed to stay.

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

"V... N..." J muttered softly, hugging herself now with her arms too, "I... I bossed them around for at least a decade," now she had no one, just herself.

Her usually bossy voice sounded small in the echoey cave, "They betrayed me..." her mutter became a hiss of rage and vitriol, "All because that purple haired brat and her stupid fucking railgun."

J was stressed, and this wasn't normal for her, so she resorted to an old bad habit, chewing on her hair.

She chewed absent-mindedly at the burnt short pigtail, sucking sometimes slightly for comfort, as she paced through the snow that had piled on the ground. She finally stopped and the now soggy strands of her wig popped out of her mouth, they had recovered a little bit, but it was still slightly shorter than her right ponytail.

She stood tall, trying to pull herself together and commanded to herself, "If I want a way off this damned planet, I need to keep working, even if I am alone and upset."

J kept working until she felt the pangs of hunger creeping through her vessel, which she then hunted robo-roaches for a while until she was satiated.

J hung upside-down by one of the anchoring legs of the landing pod trying to fall asleep.

Fore she knew tomorrow would be another long day full of working to escape the planet by trying to fix the pod, as well as remembering her failures, missing the others and her status.... but most of all, missing the true Tessa more than anything.

The End

[midday0nightmares]

24 - through the night.

previous chapter number 4.

m.list.

warnings: this series contains themes of yandere\mafia, blood, violence, mental health, drugs, non-con.

author note: this is pure fiction and it is not intended to romanticize any of the situations mentioned bellow.

.

8:11 pm

You pushed the fluffy covers off and hoped off of the high bed, dragging your feet to the bathroom to wake yourself up. The untouched food was waiting for you, the thoughtful warms your heart. You flipped through the channels looking for something to interest you, settling for a cheap action movie to watch while you ate the cold meal.

.

9:42 pm

It’s getting late, guess no fun for you in this trip..

.

10:53 pm

Are they seriously staying late and leaving you alone? That’s when you notice that jeno’s bag is gone.. it can’t be, did he leave?

.

11:28 pm

You look outside the window, everything I closed, the road is empty.. are they staying out all night? You huff.

.

12:17 am 

Maybe you stop waiting and just sleep they are grown ass men, but what If something’s wrong.. you can’t help but to worry.

.

01:06 am

You stir awake to the sound of the door peeps announcing someone’s arrival. you sit up on the bed in anticipation, you swallow a knot of anxiety as the door slowly opens, you let go a breathe of relief when you see jaemin’s face, finally.

“Where have you been?” It comes out louder than you intended it to be, your feet taking you closer to him as he walks in, he doesn’t answer you but still gives you a weak smile, his hands stops you before you can wrap yourself around him. he pushes you back deeper into the room. confused, you can see the words hanging off of his lips as he wants to say something, you impatiently wait for him to speak.

Jeno comes behind him, struggling with his suitcase, he drags it to the bathroom.The strange behavior takes your attention away from jaemin, the wheels in your head turns trying to figure what was he doing. Slowly you begin to build a terrifying idea, horror washes over you turning you pale. he drops the suitcase on the floor, its heavy weight makes the ground under your feet shake.. the fine hairs on the back of you neck raises.

your heart was throbbing in your ears, loud and irregular,

“sera” jaemin calls your name,

but you barely hear it, as your mind was clouded with fear, he gently shakes you “listen to me” he tries to calm you, but it’s too late, panic has already setted in.

he tries to pushes you down to sit you on the floor, now that you are standing in the farthest point of the bathroom door, between the bed and the window, but you are frozen in your place, your eyes are transfixed on the suitcase, you can’t stop watching as jeno closes the door.

Plastic, thats all you can hear.. something plastic begin unfolded. A feeling of dread crept up from the pit of your stomach, it’s too much for you to withstand, your knees buckle from beneath you collapsing you to the floor.

Tremors take over you, you look at at jaemin through a blurred vision, wanting him to deny what you think is happing, but he doesn’t.

The sharp sound of the suitcase being unzipped echos in the bathroom, he tries to calm you down as your teeth chattered in fear, his hands cup your face “shhh.. here” he take his AirPods case and puts the earbuds in your ears, they connect to his phone “here, listen to music okay? Don’t take them off and don’t move okay?”.

You open your mouth to speak but you choke, irregular shakes take over your hands, you don’t realize you were crying until his thumbs wiped the tears from under your eyes, “stay here” he repeats holding your face to make you look at him “don’t come close to that door” he only lets go after you’ve nod, he plays a song from his playlist and turn the volume to the highest setting, discounting you from the noise surrounding you. he puts the phone in your hands before he gets up and leave to join jeno.

Time dragged through you at an aginzing pace, each minute passed brought you closer to madness, the horror has became a living creature, it crept over your skin like a hungry beast. You sat in the same exact spot for hours, not daring to move. shaking and on the brink of losing your sanity. It didn’t take you long before you  started praying to god to make it stop, but as always, his ears were deff to your prayers.

Hours passed with the same song replaying itself for the thousandth times, the explosive horror that toke over you before has melted into a cold lump of disfigured sadness mixed with sickness, it sat on your heart. The black sky turning blue outside, You were exhausted and worn out.

Jaemin comes into your view, scaring you for a second. You gasp and jump in your place, he shows his open palms to you in non-threatening manner, your eyes scan him for anything, you note that he’s not wearing the same clothes he was the last time you saw him. he crouches down in front of you, the strong stench of bleach coming from him, your stomach twist and you hold down the need to throw up. you scoot away from him in fear, he singles for you to take out the earbuds. He looks at you for a minute, your hand clawed in fists, your eyebrows noted in distress as hot tears fill in your eyes again. he sighs and looks away, that’s when you notice the dark red spot under his ear. the sharp intake of air you made, the way your eyes were struck, staring at his neck, and your tense body, they all screamed to him that he missed a spot. He quickly wipes the spot your eyes were looking at, cursing under his breath when his fingers return red, he gets up and walk away..

The cheerful birds chirping outside contrasted the grim atmosphere in the room, your stiff joints crack as you stand up, you carefully look around the room, scared your eyes may land on something you don’t want to see. But it’s just you and him, the room looks the same, the bathroom door is wide open with jaemin in it washing his hands, it looks like nothing had happened.. clean.

he comes out drying his hands and starts packing his belongs, he avoids your eyes. 

“what the hell jaemin?!” You yell at him, encouraged by jeno’s absence, a heavy sigh leaves him while he keeps his back to you.

“is this what you’ve become now?” Your voice crack as you choke, for some reason you feel betrayed by him. You sit on the edge of the bed, hot tears flow down your face, it’s not until a pained sob breaks free from you that he turns to you.

 “he was a very bad man, look at me..” He stretches his hand to you, 

but you doge his touch “don’t you fucking touch me!” you get away from him “your a criminal and a killer!” Your voice rising as well as your emotions. He takes one step towards you, he towers over you, “keep your voice down” his tone threatening enough to shut you down, but the angry hot breathes that fanned over your face, the jaw muscles that seethed under his skin, and the icy look in his eyes have crushed your newly regained courage. 

You try to clam your cries as you watch his hands picking the items from around the room and throwing then into his bag, not believing what they have done, what they are capable of. shiver ran down your spine at the thought, you bite your bottom lip and look away, you look outside the window trying to distract yourself.

The room’s door opens and jeno walks in, he exchange looks with jaemin and nods his head confirming something to him, something you wish didn’t understand, but unfortunately you do. Unlike jaemin he looks unbothered, normal, absolutely no guilt. you look at him with and you just hate him, you despise him. you force yourself to look away from him.

He points at you, “Why the hell is she crying now?” He asks jaemin, destine evident in his voice. you panic and do your best to tame your cries and wipe your tears, you were scared of him, of his anger, of what he could do to you.

Jaemin throws you a glance as you try to recompose yourself, but the four cold eyes that were starring at you in this particular situation are making it extremely difficult for you not cry. Jaemin shrugs his shoulders and returns to packing. strong wave of hurt hit you when he turned his back to you, it felt like he had given up on you, leaving you for jeno to take care of. 

Jeno on the other hand had his hands on his hips, anger storm rising in his chest, he walks towards you and collapses on yourself in fear, pathetic pleads for forgiveness falling out of your mouth as you cry harder, he grabs your arm and pick you up, his grip threatening to snap your bone into two pieces, you cry in pain but it doesn’t faze him. “Stop crying! You want to gets us caught huh?” He violently shakes you “huh?” He demands an answer, you shake your head denying his accusations “no” your crying getting louder..

“I don’t have time for you and your childish tantrums! cut it out” he shoves you to the wall and turns, he picks the car keys with him and slams the door behind him.

You lean against the wall, tears streaming down your cheeks. You were unable to left your head feeling overpowered and too broken, your hands shaking as you gasp for air between the hiccups, yet again pitying yourself.

 Jeamin who was quietly watching, sighs. his feet comes into your view, this time you don’t flinch away when his hand land on your hair and his fingers run through it. he holds your your chin and make you look up at him, his eyes watching the misery floating over your tired features. he tsk and wipes your tears away. you lean into his warm palm, your own hand holds his wrist to keep his in place, you squeeze his arm as a silent plea. he takes you in his chest, his arms wrapping around you, his tight hold reassures you. he keeps you close until you pulled away ready to leave before jeno comes back angrier than before.

You slip into your shoes and put on your jacket, you want to zip it up to keep the clod out but you can’t, you can’t still your freezing fingers enough to do it, his hands take the zipper from your fingers and he zips it up for you, your face heating up as he looks down at you and ruffles your hair. Again, he sighs and takes out his sunglasses and puts them on your face to cover your puffy eyes, you cried too much tonight.

[kaiparker-avengerssmut]

Their Doll 8

Let me in

B.Barnes x Reader, S.Rogers x Stark!Reader

series synopsis:  y/n Stark, all records of her non existent, and yet Hydra still find her. When she is kidnapped by a certain super-soldier and no one believes her, she finds herself searching for unexpected familiarity in her not-so-distant past.

Series Warnings: smut, violence, torture, swearing

Chapter Summary: y/n gets emotional

Warnings: swearing, feelings

A/n: The timeline in this has been altered, as there I things I wanted to include but I also wanted this fic to follow the storyline/timeline of Winter Soldier and Civil war.So for purposes of this fanfic, Peter Parker was discovered by Tony at a much younger age - when he was bitten - and has been an intern with him since, almost like a protégée.(For the purposes of this story Peter was bitten much younger too - more like when he was 9 or ten rather than 14/15)

Masterlist | Series Masterlist

Life at the tower was...tiring, to say the least. During my free time I often found myself in the gym, lobbing knives at a target and trying my hardest not to biting one in Steve's chest every time he would correct my technique. When I wasn't trying to murder the avenger in cold blood, I was usually dragged into things by the other: briefings and debriefing for missions I'd never go on, my dad's parties, group training sessions and study periods with Bruce in his labs to name a few.

But for now, I was huddled in my rooms - fresh out of a hot shower after a brutal two hour training session and four mile run with Natasha - curled up on my bed and attempting to catch up on a few of the films I'd missed. But the exhaustion and drowsiness clouded my eyes, the noise from the TV merely in the background as I felt my eyes growing heavier by the second.

A sharp knock at the door snapped my out of my lowsey state, the people movie across the screen simple a blur of colour as my eyes darted past the tv and over to the door.

"Mr Stark is waiting at your door. Would you like me to let him in?" FRIDAY's evenly calm voice chimed, making me groan and mumble a 'no' into my pillows. The last person I wanted to see right now was my dad.

"Come on kid, let me in." My dad called from the other side of the door, and I could practically hear him roll his eyes and shake his head when I stayed silent. When he spoke again, it wasn't directed at me. "FRIDAY, override command and open the door."

"Wait! That's hardly fair!" I whined like a five year old, groaning again when the door swung open and my dad stood on the other side, quite clearly just as exhausted as I was.

"Get used to it, kiddo. Life isn't fair." Tony chided, walking over to my bed. I tried to shuffle away slightly when I felt the bed dip, my dad perching on the edge as his eyes scanned over the room. "I see you haven't decorated yet." He commented casually, as if nothing had ever happened between us.

"Yeah, well, I thought It'd be a shame to spend so much time on something when you're probably waiting to kick me out anyway." I mumbled, refusing to look at him.

"What the hell is wrong with you, y/n? Ever since you got back you've been-"

"Acting different?" I cut in, and when Tony simply swallowed thickly I nodded. "Funny that, seeing as I was kidnapped and tortured for three years. Not to mention made to kill people for another year after that."

"Y/n I'm sorry..."

"But you're not! You can't be, otherwise you'd actually have tried to save me, rather than leaving me to rot!" My voice cracked, tears pricked at my eyes and I now sat up straight in my bed, facing my dad but not looking him in the eye. "And you can't change that, you can't go back in the past and fix your mistake. And trying to fix it now sure as hell won't work, so I suggest you leave before I'm tempted to use you as my target for my training session tomorrow." I raised my voice, eyes now keeping his captive as the tears rolled freely down my cheeks.

"Oh, kid, they broke you." Tony murmured, cupping my cheek with his hand, eyes swimming with sorrow. Sorrow that I didn't want.

"You can't fix me either, because I'm not broken!" I said harsher now, voice only getting louder. "I don't need to be fixed..." I trailed off, voice barely above a whisper Joe as my eyes broke the contact, averting to my lap as the tears dropped onto the bed sheets.

That's how I found myself in my fathers arms, face pressed against his shoulder as the sobs made my body shake, hiccups escaping me as I tried to speak.

"A-all I needed W-was my D-dad, and yo- you took him f-from me!" I wailed, hands clutching my dad's shirt and his arms wrapped protectively around my shoulder, hands rubbing circles over my back soothingly.

"I know, kiddo. I'm sorry."

...

"Who is that?" Clint frowned, staring at the pictures scattered over the table in front of Natasha and Steve as they studied them deeply,  brows creased in thought.

"Our newest pain in the ass." Tony answered for them, slapping a thick folder down in front of Clint as he said so. The marksman was quick to pick it up, flicking through the documents, news stories and information sheets greedily.

"The...winter soldier?" He asked, looking at the three superheroes in front of him as if they'd gone mad. "But he's a ghost story!"

"I've seen him. Been shot by him, actually." Nat said, an sadistically proud smirk forming on her lips with her last words, almost as if it were an achievement.

"We're trying to find out more about him, maybe that way we can beat him." Steve explained, sitting back in his chair with crossed arms as he huffed in defeat, sick to death with staring at the same five pictures all morning.

Y/n walked in, a skip in her step as she crossed the room to Tony.

"Morning, dad." She greeted, placing a quick kiss to his cheek and heading over to the cupboard to grab a mug. Clint and Natasha frowned in confusion, looking between the two as if they'd witnessed pigs fly.

Tony shrugged, y/n too preoccupied with making herself a coffee to notice the avengers' reactions. When her coffee was done, y/n swiped her mug from under the machine and sipped happily, letting out a content sigh before wandering over to stand behind Natasha.

"What are you working on?" She asked, peering over the spy's shoulder to get a glimpse of the pictures.

A loud smash crashed through the room, Tony's eyes widening in shock and Natasha jumping from her seat in order to not get covered in spilt coffee. Y/n stood paralysed, eyes never leaving the photo in front of her as she started at the Soldier. Steve frowned deeply, studying the girl as her eyes glossed over with with what seemed to be...sadness.

Clint was already at her side, a comforting hand on her shoulder as they all asked y/n what had happened and if she was alright. It was like a constant ringing in her ear interrupted their words before they reached her ears, and y/n suddenly felt nauseous as she starred at the bright red star on the soldier's arm, his long and messy dark hair shrouding his face and his leather clad, muscular body. Only his cerulean blue eyes could be seen, the rest of his face covered in a black mask she didn't usually see him in.

"I-I need some air." She stuttered, stumbling blindly out of the room and down the stairs, tipping over a few steps from the bottom and tumbling down the last few. She quickly pulled herself to her feet, hearing still ringing and vision offset, hazy, as she scrambled for the double glass doors. Luckily they already stood open, so she flew through them and out into the busy streets of New York.

Y/n found herself colliding will someone almost instantly, angry shouts of 'hey, watch it!' And 'look where the fuck you're going, kid!' Being called after her like a chorus as she pushed through the bustling people.

She finally stopped, dropping to her knees and simply staring straight ahead, no intended subject in her line of vision as she tried to comprehend the-the grief, at seeing the a soldier's face again.

It had only been two weeks, and yet two weeks without him, his touch, his scent - it felt like an eternity to y/n now. She hasn't registered what her feeling meant for him before, liking him beyond a source of comfort had just felt...wrong, after all he'd done, and yet y/n couldn't deny it.

She was in love with the Winter Soldier, and she didn't even know his name.

...

I wasn't aware of when someone had found me, nor of how they got me back to the tower or even how I was now stood staring blankly out of the window that stood next to my bed. I gazed longingly, almost as if I stared long enough, hard enough, he'd appear.

But of course he wouldn't, he was probably half way across the world, knowing HYDRA. A soft knock on my door and my head was turning, facing my visitor with a look of pure grief and want. Desperate, unhinged want that could eat you up from inside out and you'd still feel it.

"Hey, y/n. Can I talk to you for a moment?" Nat asked tentatively, clearing trying to to disturb my shaken up state. I nodded, offering a small smile which she returned as I now faced her. She walked up to me, talking my hands him hers and playing with the as she spoke, eyes kind and full of understanding.

"There's a mission, and we want you to go." She said calmly, almost as if the mere thought of it would send me into some kind of heart attack.

"Okay," I begun, eyes flitting down to the floor before back up again. "What is it? Aren't you scared that I'm still HYDRA and all I'd do is stab someone in the back?"

"Not exactly." Nat informed me with a smile, amusement glinting in her eyes at my assumption. "For starters, we all trust you, well maybe not steve - but everyone else does." Nat and I both laughed slightly. "And I think you wouldn't have it any other way it to go on the mission yourself." Nat finished.

"How come?" I asked, brow raised.

"There's been a lead..." she started. "On the winter soldier. We thought you might want to help check it out, possibly capture him. Your powers may be the best chance we have a detaining someone as strong as him." Nat spoke. "And if we can detain him.."

"We can save him." I finished.

"Exactly."

[avengershumanresources]

blood 9 - Strange/Stark!Reader

Relationship: Dr. Strange/Princess!Stark!Reader

Rating: M

Warnings: Adult Themes, smut, adult language, implied sexual violence, general violence

Synopsis: Reader is the daughter of the legendary King Anthony Stark, Uniter of Lands, The Iron Defender, and leader of the realm. When the king disappears during battle, hope is lost and he is presumed dead.

When the late king’s uncle, Obadiah, takes the throne until your brother Peter is of age, he quickly arranges a marriage for you with a wicked king in a neighboring kingdom.

With the realms politics in question, and rumors of an upcoming siege to overthrow Peter’s rule before it starts, you quickly learn who is loyal to the crown and who is not.

part 8 - part 10

Masterlist

Chapter Playlist

WARNING: Mention of violence/attempted assault from prior chapter

9 - a king’s arrival

Thank the gods Loki crossed Stephen’s path first, because things were happening far more quickly than the sorcerer had anticipated. He had heard a particularly chilling rumor upon his return to the castle from surveying the magical barriers with Amora and was in route to your quarters to check on you. 

Loki intercepted him and caught him up to what had happened.

Loki had told Peter the details of what he’d stumbled upon between you and Brock. Immediately inflamed, Peter started in motion the rebellion he’d been planning with Nat and the guard. With the Asgardian army’s support, Peter could easily usurp the throne from Obadiah by the end of the night. 

Especially now that the alliance between him and Brock was in question with the betrothal in a murky area. 

Less than twelve hours, Stephen calculated while Loki kept pace with him toward your room. That’s all it took for the plans to go into motion and the next steps to proceed.

“He didn’t-,” Stephen asked after they’d arrived, his anger simmering and threatening to boil based off of his companions response. He needed to keep control. He needed to kept his head or risk you falling into harm.

“No,” Loki stated clearly. “It was stopped before he finished his task. Her seidr did well to protect her. You acted in good judgment by not fully sealing it.”

“Amora?” he pressed and Loki smirked back at him. 

“She’s been tending to Brock the last hour, but I’m certain they won’t have time to rally a guard to their cause,” he explained quickly. “My men outnumber theirs two to one, and from what Natalia has told me, the majority of the guard will support Peter.” He paused and glanced around, lowering his voice.

“Besides, even if they mobilize troops, after you finish your part, Brock will have nothing else to gain from an alliance with Obadiah.”

“And the queen and younger princess?” Stephen’s hand rested on the knob of your door. Eyes shut while he listened to Loki’s report.

“James is with them now,” Loki nodded. “They’ll be moved once Peter makes the first move. I’m meeting with Thor before dinner to confirm some of the entry points to the castle in case Obadiah tries to deter us once things get.. chaotic.”

Perfect. Everything was falling into place, and you were none the wiser, which meant neither were your enemies. 

Loki disappeared once Stephen summoned a tray of stew and started through the door, unsure how he’d find you on the other side. 

Personally, Stephen wanted to rip Brock to shreds. He wanted to cut the skin off of him and sprinkle salts and other acids over open wounds and watch him scream. He wanted to gauge his eyes out, fling him from the tallest balcony, and listen to his cries for mercy. 

It wasn’t a pride thing. Stephen wasn’t the least bit upset that you’d been sullied or marked by another man, no, he was upset because he’d hurt you. 

And seeing the aftershocks for himself only further fueled Stephen’s rage. 

You were in a sleeping gown, hair pulled loose, legs curled into yourself, fully submerged in your bedding. When he set the tray of food down on a nearby table and stirred you, his heart broke at your swollen eyelids and red, glossy eyes. 

He should have been there sooner. 

“Stephen?” you asked sleepily. You clearly cried yourself into exhaustion, your cheeks still puffy from the ordeal.

“My love,” he sat on the edge of the bed and fully enveloped you in his arms. You were a bit tense at first, but immediately sank into him when he started rubbing soothing circles into your back. “I’m so sorry I wasn’t there.”

“It’s not your fault-,” you murmured with a small hiccup and a sigh. Pulling away, you looked up miserably toward him. “He’s a monster... we knew that. I shouldn’t have sent Steve to find you.”

Stephen stopped, taking your hand and pressing his lips to your palm, cradling the shaking digits tenderly. 

“You did nothing wrong,” he stated firmly. “A lady shouldn’t have to fear her company- her betrothed- would... dishonor her in such a horrendous manner. You were brave and defended yourself. I’m proud of you for being so strong.”

Your eyes watered again, your bottom lip trembling. A few tears snuck down your face and before you could wipe at them angrily, Stephen caught them with his thumb, his hands moving to cradle your cheeks. 

“Loki... he said he would fix it... is everything...?” you asked meekly and despite the gnawing feeling that lying to left him, he nodded. 

“All is under control,” he assured you softly. “Why don’t you have some stew and continue resting?”

“Will you stay?” you asked, gripe tightening around his hand. 

“I’m not going anywhere,” he promised, pressing a kiss to your forehead and helping you settle into bed, before handing off the tray. 

He sat next to you while you picked at your food, listening while you told him about what had transpired in the garden earlier and how your seidr had reacted when you’d fought Brock off. 

“Loki was right,” he noted, passing you a slice of bread from the tray. “It was lucky Amora was off the grounds when that happened. She would have noticed and retaliated immediately.”

You hummed to yourself, dipping the corner of the bread into the stew and taking a small nibble. 

He could tell you were still out of sorts, the fresh exchange with Brock having come so unexpectedly and traumatically. More than anything, he wished he didn’t have to do what happened next. 

“Here,” he finally relented when you barely touched your meal, pulling the tray aside and out of the way. “You should sleep.” 

“I’ve rested plenty,” you protested, but after a pause, gave in and snuggled deeper into your blankets. 

“I’ve got something that should help,” he pulled out the small glass vial, holding it between his fingers for you to examine. The liquid inside shimmered an almost stunning cobalt blue against the light from your fireplace.

“A sleeping draught?” you guessed, reaching for the vial and examining it for yourself. 

“Not quite a sleeping draught,” he explained, plucking the cork free and letting you give the scentless liquid a sniff. “It’ll relax you enough to let you ease into a full and restful sleep.”

“So, a sleeping draught?” you teased with a small grin, swirling the liquid in the bottle with a tilt of your hand.. 

“Call it what you’d like, but it’ll help. You just drink the whole vial,” he instructed, watching you consider it briefly. 

“Am I going to fall into an eternal enchanted sleep?” you asked, joking, but unaware of how close to the truth you were. “Like the old stories?” 

“It won’t be eternal,” he assured you with a forced chuckle, settling his hands at his side so you wouldn’t see him shaking. This was it. The most crucial part of the plan. “You’ll wake with a full night’s rest. It’ll help you feel a little better.”

“At least that’ll help me face him tomorrow,” you murmured, swallowing the contents of the vial in a single gulp. You let out a yawn. “Don’t leave until... sleep..?” 

Your eyes were already fluttering shut and he plucked the bottle out of your hand before it broke on the ground. 

“Stephen?” you asked again, voice laced with sleepiness. “I love you.”

“And I you, princess,” he choked out, standing and pressing a final kiss to your head. “Please know I do this all out of love.”

You mumbled something incoherent before your body fell unnaturally still, the potions effects quickly taking over. 

He had to work fast. Waving his hands over your body, he changed your night dress to the outfit you’d worn earlier with Brock. 

The image made him sick. Your skirt was covered in blood, the corset nearly ripped off your frame- fortunately, your recent tears had swollen your face and reddened it more.

He positioned you delicately above the blankets, draping your hand over the edge of the bed and wrapping the vial carefully in your slack fingers. 

He dug through your nearby desk for some parchment and enchanted a quill to mimic your handwriting. A final goodbye, as far as anyone was concerned.

After all, the events had been so traumatic to you, you’d raided Stephen’s observatory and crafted a deadly poison to kill yourself. 

And aside from him, Tony, Loki, and Wanda- everyone would think it was effective, in turn, removing you from harms way while the castle was reclaimed.

Not even Peter nor Natalia was privy to what he and his fellow magic users had planned. 

Once the coast was clear and your body was taken to the family tomb, Wanda would bring you back to his ancestral home, now occupied by your father’s rebel army. 

Stephen couldn’t imagine you were going to be pleased with his dishonesty, particularly after drugging you and keeping your father’s survival to himself, but at least you’d be safe. 

And in the end, that’s all that mattered. 

Satisfied with the scene he’d crafted, Stephen removed the dining tray with a wave of his hand and portaled outside of the kitchens where he intercepted your personal maid, Violet. 

“The princess is unwell,” he explained, letting the princess expression of solemn sympathy flash across her features. “Could you bring her a tray for dinner?”

No one would know he’d crossed your path, and Amora would be too focused on healing Brock to notice any non-seidr magical ongoings around the castle. 

Excusing himself to his own quarters, Stephen cleaned himself up for dinner... and a show. 

(—)

“The princess-!” he heard Clint call into the dining room that evening. Pepper had excused herself from the meal to tend to the suddenly ill with pox, Princess Morgan. 

Brock had the audacity to actually join the group, with Amora smiling dutifully at his side while he and Obadiah discussed trade routes. 

Loki and Thor had graciously accepted the kings invitation, and as usual, Stephen was in his place next to Peter. 

“What is it?” Obadiah demanded sharply. 

“She’s-,” he paused looking to Brock with unease. “Your majesty, the princess has killed herself.”

Stephen waited until someone else reacted first, putting on the most confused and dismayed expression he could manage. 

“Take me to her,” he demanded with Peter hot on his footsteps.

Sure enough, you were still laying in bed. Someone (probably Violet) had folded your hands over your chest delicately, and placed the empty vial next to your note. 

Stephen made a show of checking you for signs of life, even offering Amora a chance to give a second opinion. 

Fortunately, he was that good at what he did. 

The potion mimicked the effects of death so well, even the enchantress was shocked by the sudden turn of events. He could tell she was trying to feel out any signs of your seidr, but after a brief pause, turned to confirm the truth to her king. 

Loki hissed a curse under his breath and turned on Brock, knife in hand, pressing the cowering king against the wall, demanding justice for the premature death of his bride. 

Peter, for his part remained composed. He ordered that he be the one to inform the queen, and parted with his fists clenched at his sides and his eyes filled with fire. 

“This is... a tragedy,” Obadiah knelt by your bedside, nudging Stephen aside and taking your hand into his. “So young and just before her wedding. A cruel circumstance of the fates!”

Stephen could have sworn he heard Loki snort at the dramatic scene the king was putting forth. 

Thor had managed to pry the prince and king apart, demanding Amora  “remove the villain from his sight before he changed his mind”, leaving the two Asgardian princes, Stephen, and Obadiah alone in the chamber.

“Is there no saving her?” the king asked quietly, looking up to Stephen with a desperate frown. “I know what she was to you. Tell me, is there truly no hope?”

Stephen cleared his throat, letting a slight break in his voice crackle as he spoke. 

“My grace, I’m familiar with the poison, and Enchantress Amora will confirm my words,” he looked down at you with a heartbroken sigh. “The princess was well aware of the potion she was consuming. There is no return. My most sincere apologies for your loss, your highness.”

Obadiah nodded to himself, standing back up. 

“Then the kingdom goes into mourning,” he stated decidedly. “Alert the priests, and have the maids prepare her for viewing.”

He looked at the Odinson brothers, a small sneer tugging at his expression. 

“Perhaps we can renegotiate our trade deal,” he suggested, earning a snarl of insults from Thor. 

The room now empty and the door closed while maids and servants scurried about with the news outside, the two sorcerers exchanged a look. 

“You did well, the effects are convincing,” Loki lifted your arm and let it drop to the bed. “You’ve accounted for rigor mortis?” 

“Brother?” Thor stepped forward, lips pressed together tightly as he took in the exchange. “Surely this isn’t another of your tricks?”

“Of course not,” Stephen waved a glowing hand over your body, a small spell that would mimic the effects of rigor mortis, and eventually wear off as the natural sensation would in time. “This trick is mine.”

He repositioned your hand delicately over your chest. 

“Is the princess... asleep?” Thor lowered his voice. 

“In a sense,” Loki patted his brothers arm. “Keep it to yourself, brother. We need Peter’s fury if this is to go as planned.”

“But she’ll be moved to the crypt-,” Thor started and paused, a knowing smile on his face. “I see. Let me know if I can be of assistance.”

The door swung open and Pepper swept inside with a quiet, red haired, maid behind her. 

“The loss is truly a tragedy of our time,” Thor continued, putting on a better performance than Loki and Stephen combined. “The beast that pushed this beautiful maid to an early grave must face justice!” 

He slammed a fist against your armoire, meeting Peter’s gaze with a passionate nod when the prince reappeared to comfort his mother. 

“Morgan can’t know until the morning,” Pepper stated, her eyes were wide in horro, her voice wavering. “I want that man out of my home.”

She looked between Thor, Loki, and Peter, the men nodding curtly and excusing themselves from the space. 

“Stephen, dear Stephen,” Pepper took his hand. “I’m sorry.”

It was a genuine reaction that, admittedly, startled the sorcerer. He’d had suspicions that the queen had known about the two of you- and you’d as much confirmed them earlier in the evening- but the way she looked to him with such earnest sympathy made him realize something. 

The queen had stood in his very place not even a few months prior. 

She too, had lost the love of her life to senseless violence at the hands of King Brock Rumlow. 

It was no wonder she wanted the king out of her sight. 

“If it’s comfort to know, it was painless and peaceful,” he mumbled with a nod toward the vial. “She fell asleep and felt nothing.”

“That will bring me some peace,” Pepper murmured, eyes returning to your still form. “Thank you.”

She reached for his hand and gave it a tight squeeze before asking that she be left alone with you for a few moments to mourn. 

“Take the time you need,” he stated softly, managing to blink back tears in his own eyes. 

Leaving the room, the countdown began. 

You’d be awake in four days, and he needed to ensure you were out in the family crypt and removed to safety in that time. 

Loki would prod Peter to remove Brock by force, and depending on how the king responded, would likely expedite any funeral plans for you. 

Who would have time to mourn when the castle descended into chaos? 

The queen and younger princess would be removed for their safety and then the real challenge began. 

Getting Peter onto the throne.

“Did you know she would do this?” Natalia asked, pulling Stephen aside after leaving the queen. She caught tugged on his arm furiously. “Stephen, look at me!”

Natalia would be the most difficult to convince. He knew it from the beginning. She was your oldest friend and most trusted confidant. 

“I... she assured me she was going to be fine,” he kept his eyes low, guilty even, if she looked at him too carefully. “We spoke briefly after Loki had informed me... I shouldn’t have let her out of my sight. She’s said she’d wanted to rest.”

“And then you asked Violet to bring her a meal?” Natalia questioned, eyes narrowing. “It’s not like you to leave the princess behind when she’s distressed.”

“I don’t think she was particularly pleased with my gender at the time,” he shot back. “Please excuse me, I’d like some time alone with my thoughts.”

He parted abruptly, praying to himself that Natalia wouldn’t dig around too deeply and ruin this whole charade. 

(—)

Across the kingdom, just outside of the House Strange keep, Wanda lightly touched Tony’s shoulder, eyes glowing bright crimson. 

“It’s happened,” she informed him. “The dawn truly brings a new day.”

“And a new king,” Tony grunted. “I just hope Peter is ready.”

(--)

10 - a trick

TAG LIST (message to be added!):

@ayamenimthiriel @ladynothing​ @im-a-bi-disaster-help​ @idkwhatthisislol

[parkersbliss]

i saw your hc about the avengers and one direction was mentioned so i had an idea where the reader stayed up on july 23rd and she was crying because of one direction and then the avengers come in and ask what is wrong but when they say what happened they can’t stop laughing or something like that. hopefully that made sense :)

this may or may not be how my day went??

If y’all want more directioner reader stuff I am so down

Manifesting | Avengers

—

So obviously, like any other directioner fan, you were not ready

Here’s the picture: it’s July 22nd, 9 P.M New York time

You’re in your room, listening to one direction and crying your eyes out

It’s like Christmas Eve, except you don’t really know if tomorrows Christmas

Something could happen

Nothing could happen

It’s a very stressful situation

You had opted for staying up all night, after all, they were 5 hours ahead of you

But instead you decided to just wake up early

So 5 A.M You’re out of bed, first thing you do

Grab your phone and check it

AND WHAT DO YOU SEE

NOTHING

Nothing??

BUT YOUR HOPE WASNT GONE

There was an interview scheduled with Liam in two hours, that had too mean something

Right

RIGHT

WRONG

Seven minutes of nOTHING

I mean, seriously

By now all the avengers were up

You were still in your room, blasting one direction as one does

“kid?” Tony asked knocking on your door

He opened it all the way and… he’s not sure what he saw

“Are you meditating?”

“SHHH”

“What the hell is going on?”

“be quiet!” You hissed

“kid, what the he-“

“she’s manifesting,” Peter anserwed, standing behind tony.

“what now?”

“manifesting, she’s manifesting that something happens. now, if you’ll excuse me, I must join.”

So now Tony is just kind of staring as the two of you ‘manifest’

He mumbled something about it being too early for this and walking out

You had your phone’s ringer on, notifications turned on for instagram, twitter, youtube, you name it, you had it

You hourly checked your phone, just in case

But at some point, you decided to take a shower

So it’s like 9 am

You just got out of your shower and you’re in a towel

And then you hear it - a small ding from your room

You waste no time in throwing the door opening, hitting Bucky in the face who stumbles onto the floor

“(Y/N) what the-“

But you’re gone

You race into your room grabbing your phone

And there it is

Twitter

A TWEET BY ONE DIRECTION

You screamed

Very loudly

And so Peter raced in, laptop in hand

“DID YOU SEE”

“OPEN IT OPEN IT”

The two of you quickly get to work opening the website and

It crashed

OF COURSE IT CRASHED

“WHAT DO WE DO” Peter asked frantically reloading the page

You turn to him, mouth set in a straight line “We hack it”

“genius.”

So you hack the system

You break in and-

“OH MY GOSH”

“ITS REAL”

Cue the tears

But as you go deeper, and you enter the 2010 stage you LOST IT

The website it blasting what makes you beautiful and you’re just in tEARS

Because literally what the fuck one direction come back

Peter is sat beside you, praying frantically

“bring them back . They can save 2020. Please I’m praying on harry’s rings, louis’ accent, Liam’s fear of spoons, Niall’s bitchy tweets and Zayn’s non existence, PLEASE”

So you’re going through liking everything bc uh yes?? You love it all

Your visions also kind of blurry from tears so you can’t really see anything

But then you get to louis’ highlight

It says he’s 5’7

You and Peter both look at each other

“LIES ITS ALL LIES ITS FAKE”

And then harry’s and

“he’s not 5’11” you said

“he’s six feet”

“they’re lying to us”

And don’t even get me started on the ending page

THE END

HELL NO

“time to manifest again”

So you and Peter are once against praying, your mixtape in the back

When your phone goes off again

And again

And again

And there it was

The boys posts, each one of them thanking the fans, TAGGING ZAYN

You’ve never cried so Hard in your life

And louis’ tweets

And then your door burst down

And in walk tony, bucky, cap, nat, bruce, Thor, Clint and well the whole squad

“WHO IS IT”

“What it going on?”

Peter shakes his head sadly, holding onto you as you hiccup

“It’s - it’s them - ONE DIRECTION THEY’RE ALIVE”

Tony rolls his eyes

Cap bursts out laughing, grabbing onto sam

Nat and Clint are howling as they clap

And Thor is still holding his hammer as bruce tries to explain that one direction was a boy band and not a group of evil space aliens

“you slammed a door in my face fOR A BOY BAND”

“IT WAS NECESSARY”

“NO IT WASNT”

“if you’re done now, we must manifest for Zayn’s reply” peter spoke up

“we can only hope” you said sadly

“you guys are crazy” cap said

“no” Peter corrects “We’re a Bunch of clowns with depression”

“i’m concerned” Nat whispered

“me too” peter said

Needless to say

It was a very emotional time

And the avengers did not shut up about it

“so did he ever reply?”

*cue crying breakdown*

“NO”

“so now what?”

You look Tony dead in the eye, “we’re staring the kitten direction”

“(Y/N)”

“it must be done” Peter said, bowing his head

“kid”

“Tony we NEED THEM BACK”

“They could save us all”

“with what?”

“you don’t understand their power”

“they’re adults mEN”

Instead of replying, you grab your phone and blast one direction so you can’t hear them

And this was how you and Peter stayed up all night theorizing about it

Louis’ wouldn’t egg Liam’s house over this

He’s not 5’7

Harry’s 6’0

All lies

And it’s up to you and Peter to figure out the truth

They could save 2020

You just have to save them

[carolina-skies]

ℂ𝕠𝕗𝕗𝕖𝕖 𝕊𝕙𝕠𝕡 𝕊𝕠𝕦𝕟𝕕𝕥𝕣𝕒𝕔𝕜 - ℂ𝕙𝕒𝕡𝕥𝕖𝕣 𝕋𝕨𝕠: 𝕋𝕙𝕚𝕟𝕜𝕚𝕟𝕘 𝕠𝕗 𝕐𝕠𝕦

Bertholdt Hoover x Annie Leonhardt Beruani Coffee Shop AU

Published: 9/26/2021

Subscribe on AO3

Masterpost

Ko-Fi

Bertholdt’s entire mood was shifted for the rest of his shift at the coffee shop. Even when his coworkers and boss came in a few hours later, they noticed his chipper attitude. He was the kind of employee that preferred to open up shop and get everything started before anyone else showed up, this coined him as the main opener for Brewed Awakening. The bell above the door chimed, hardly loud enough to hear over the current crowd of java patrons. Bertholdt prepared himself to repeat his usual customer service greeting before he was cut off.

“Good morning! I’ll be right wi-,” he started.

“You keep that goody-two-shoes-good-morning to yourself, boy. I’ll be in the office if you need me.”

Bertholdt smirked at this response. Dot Pyxis wasn’t exactly the poster child for the ‘The Customer is Always Right’ type of customer service. How he managed to have such a booming caffeine-based business, Bert will never understand. He knew the older man meant well, though. He just wasn’t about to sugar coat anything that came out of his mouth. His boss beelined for his office and shut the door behind him.

A tall, ashy brunette strolled out of the back room, carrying a gallon of milk and replacement bottles of flavored syrup.

“Y’know, I’ll bet you my entire paycheck that he’s a morning person,” Jean teased, voice dripping with sarcasm.

The raven haired boy faked a gasp.

“Jean, keep your voice down! Do you know how upset Pyxis would be if he heard you call him a person?”

The two boys shared a laugh over this before getting back into a coffee-making routine. Those two were the dream team for a small coffee shop; they worked like a well-oiled machine. Bertholdt would document the customer’s orders onto the disposable cups and pass them along to his coworker, who was lightning fast at creating the desired drinks. When Jean had one-too-many beverages to handle at once, Bert would step in and co-pilot, forming a non-stop method of cranking out sugary, caffeinated bliss.

The flawless routine encountered a hiccup when Jean did what he was notorious for: opening his giant fucking mouth.

“So, Bertholdt. You seem like you’re having a pretty good day, huh?” He prodded.

Bert looked at him with suspicious eyes, pausing after his friend’s comment before replying.

“Yeah, I guess?”

“Listen, all I’m saying is, I’m proud of you. It’s about time you got up on that horse.” Jean said, shrugging as he dried part of a blender with a hand towel.

Bertholdt was beyond lost at this point. He had no map, no compass, and no GPS to help determine what the fuck his friend was talking about.

“Do you have any idea how ironic it is for you to be making small talk about horses, considering you look like one?”

His teasing earned a swat with a damp towel.

“Eat me, would ya? Besides, this isn’t about me. It’s about you.” Jean bit back before allowing a shit-eating grin to return to his features.

“Dude, what the hell are you even talking about?” Bertholdt asked, pausing to write down a customer’s order of a pumpkin spice latte.

He would be the first to admit that those drinks were tasty, but a little too sweet for his liking. Jean let out an annoyed sigh as he felt that he had to spell it out for his overly-tall friend.

“Y’know, for someone as tall as you, you sure do let a lot of things go over your head, but that’s another problem for another day.”

He inched closer to his friend to bring up the apparently top secret topic.

“You obviously got laid, dude. You’re practically glowing!” Jean whispered, giving Bert one of those I’m-proud-of-you slaps on the back.

This time, it was Bertholdt’s turn to let out a laugh. Jean’s grin didn’t falter for a second, though.

“Dude, I don’t know what you laced your coffee with this morning, but I’ve got to try it.”

“What do you mean?” He interrogated.

“Jean, I wake up at the asscrack of dawn, usually before 5am, every morning. Could you please enlighten me on when I’d have the time to get intimate with another person?”

The shorter boy took a moment to think about this, seeing how it made sense. He shrugged but then a thinking look returned to his face. Something changed, what was it?

“Ok, fine, but you are in a really good mood, even for you.” He instructed.

Bert shrugged at his friend’s observation. He wasn’t quite sure how he felt about verbally acknowledging that his mood was altered by the petite blonde girl from earlier this morning. He smiled to himself for a moment, now knowing her name.

Annie.

He decided that it was very fitting for her. It was a name that appeared to be simple, but it could have so many layers if one would look. Annie could be short for a number of names, or it could create a whole cluster of nicknames. He’d bet half his paycheck that she had many layers to her, most she probably didn’t let others see.

“Ha! Something did happen! I don’t know what’s going on inside that big ass head of yours, but you smiled. Spill.”

Bert let out an annoyed sigh. Jean had always been good at reading people and picking up on subtle body language meanings. He could’ve sworn that’s what his coworker was going to school for, but he could confirm that later. He very much wanted to keep this morning’s interaction to himself, but he knew Jean would never drop it until he told him. He dropped his hands to his side after placing an empty disposable cup on the counter.

“I just had a really good…,” he paused, not knowing what to call it. “Interaction. I had a really good interaction with a customer this morning.”

Jean bumped Bert’s shoulder with his own, encouraging him to give a little more detail.

“Ooh, you got a girl’s phone number, didn’t you? Well, I’m so proud of you, son. You’ve really grown up so fast.” Jean teased.

It was no secret that Bertholdt was kinda shy when it came to any aspect of relationships, including flirting, small talk, etc. He’d had relationships in the past, but nothing too serious, just enough experience to know what he was doing. Sort of.

“No, Jean. I did not get a girl’s phone number. I got her name.” He smiled at the end of his sentence.

Jean looked at him with the most lifeless stare, like he had explained the most boring thing ever. This look felt familiar, he could’ve sworn he had the same look on his face throughout the entirety of his high school physics class.

“Her name? You’re over here having heart palpitations over a girl’s name? Geez, Bert, did you get all flustered when she told it to you so you could write it on her cup? If she gave you her name, of all things, for her order, it must be true love.”

Bertholdt whacked Jean with an empty syrup bottle. “Lay off, would you? I just thought it was interesting because she’s very quiet, and doesn’t really talk a whole lot unless it’s necessary.” He defended, throwing the empty bottle, previously used as a weapon, into the sink to be rinsed out later.

“Hold the phone, Bertholdt Hoover, that means you know her. Or you at least know of her. Is she a regular here? Do I know her? What does she look like?” Jean pestered, riddling off a row of questions.

“Yes, Jean, she’s a regular. You might know her, though. She’s small, and she’s got blonde hair and icy blue eyes,” he described, seeing a blip of her face in his memory.

“Icy blue eyes,” Jean mocked.

Bertholdt soon regretted telling him what Annie looked like, because every time a woman with blonde hair walked into the shop, he’d harass him with a ‘hey, is that your girl? Is that her? What about her?’. Each time, he’d have to tell him that it was not her. However, there was something about hearing Jean ask if someone was ‘his girl’ that made that infectious blush rear its ugly head again. Thankfully, sometime after this awful conversation, Bertholdt got to return the teasing.

The three-person group that Bert had briefly remembered this morning was now making their way in. Eren, the stoic girl, and the blond boy whose name probably started with an A made their way up to the counter. Out of the corner of his eye, he could’ve sworn he saw Jean freeze. Bertholdt turned to greet them.

“G’morning! Er, afternoon, I guess. What can I get started for you?”

The stoic girl returned his greeting with a nod before turning to the two boys with her, and asking them what they wanted. The blond boy quickly muttered his drink preference, to which the girl nodded again, and dismissed him to go grab a booth for them. Eren pondered for a moment, looking at the menu on the wall behind the counter. He finally decided on something with caramel and a shit ton of sugar. The girl relayed the orders to Bertholdt, and ordered her drink with an additional pastry. As the transaction completed, Bert couldn’t help but notice that Jean had been stuck in the same spot since they approached the counter. Eren stepped forward a bit.

“Hey, uh, Bertholdt, is it?” He asked, squinting to read his nametag.

Bert nodded.

“What’s up with your buddy, here? Or is he a wax figure? I feel bad for the guy, since apparently no one has ever told him it’s impolite to stare.”

The taller boy turned his head to look at his once frozen, now thawed out friend. Jean’s face was bright red. He rubbed the back of his neck, clearly embarrassed.

“Uh, s-sorry. Thought you looked familiar, is all.” He excused lamely.

The girl paused for a moment, looking Jean over. After what felt like an eternity to him, she finally spoke.

“Do you go to Maria University?” She asked.

Jean’s head nearly fell off of his shoulders from it shooting up so quickly. He stuttered to speak.

“U-um, yeah. I’m a psychology major at Maria.”

This answer seemed to satisfy the girl. She nodded and put the back of her hand against Eren’s chest, moving him back a bit as if to tell him to back off a little. Eren seemed to swallow a bit of his protectiveness before taking a step back.

“Then you must have seen me around before. I’m a forensics major; I spend a lot of time in the Reiss building.”

Jean nodded and muttered something about having a few classes in that building.

“Mikasa Ackermann.” She stated bluntly, sending another short nod his way.

“O-oh, I’m, uh, Jean. Jean Kirschtein.”

Once again, Mikasa nodded and a smirk formed on her lips. She paid for their drinks and signed the receipt handed to her by Bertholdt.

“See you around, then, Jean Kirschtein.”

Bertholdt stood there watching like a fly on the wall throughout the entirety of the interaction. It was equal parts entertaining as well as awkward. He’d only heard of Jean’s amazing stories of how much of a ladies’ man he is, but he never got to witness it in person. There was a moment of seemingly comfortable silence before Bertholdt decided to switch the roles. He was mindlessly cleaning the register area when he decided to bring it up.

“So,” he started, earning a look from Jean. “Is that your girl, Kirstein?”

His look of defeat, which had apparently been plastered on his face since the moment Mikasa walked away, was quickly replaced with a smirk.

“Oh, please. She could be my girl if I wanted. What can I say, I’m just that kind of guy.”

Bertholdt desperately tried to bite back a laugh, but failed. His laughter earned a nasty look from Jean, who was trying to act like it also didn’t bother him. “Look, you’re just mad because you didn’t have the balls to ask out your mystery girl,” Jean shot back.

Bertholdt rolled his eyes. He knew his friend didn’t actually have any harsh feelings against him, but this was more than likely a reaction due to some sort of insecurity. If he were an asshole, he’d pry about it, but since they were still at work, he’d save it for another day.

“She’s not a mystery. I know her name, and what kind of coffee she likes.” Bert answered.

“Yeah right, you won’t even tell me her name, dude. I’m thinking you just made it up.”

In the middle of their banter, someone on the opposite side of the counter cleared their throat. Both boys looked up to see another one of their friends, which was always a pleasant surprise. This coffee shop was on the other side of town for most of their friend group, minus Bertholdt.

“Hey, Marco!” Bertholdt greeted.

The dark-haired, freckled boy waved at the two behind the counter, donning a goofy grin. The guy just really knew how to light up a room. He immediately dropped the play-fight with Jean and approached the register to take his order. He asked him the usual ‘what can I get for you’ and took note of Marco’s response. How he was never bothered by asking the same question possibly a hundred times a day, he’ll never know.

“Do you have any more of those little sandwiches with the egg and cheese on them? I just got out of class and I could hardly focus, it was all I could think about for the entire lecture.”

Bertholdt sucked in a breath and rubbed the bag of his neck nonchalantly.

“Gee, Marco, I don’t know. I think we sold out of those almost instantly this morning. Y’know, they’re quite a popular treat.” He bluffed, knowing damn well there was one waiting for him.

Marco looked a bit defeated before perking up a second later.

“Jean, you hog! I’ll bet you ate them all, didn’t you?” He teased.

“Oh, uh. Yeah. I’ll save you one next time.”

His response was dull and lifeless. One thing that Bertholdt always noticed was how peculiar their friendship was. Marco would always try to joke around with him and start some sort of conversation, and Jean’s response was very bland. One might think that Marco would have an issue with the monotonous responses from his supposed friend, but his usual goofy grin always seemed to grow wider after. He wasn’t sure how those two could consider themselves to be friends, they never hung out one-on-one, to his knowledge.

Everyone else in the friend group was known to hang out one-on-one. There were many times that Jean would crash at Bertholdt’s tiny apartment because it was closer than his own home and he was dead tired from work. They’d spend the rest of the day watching movies or showing each other stupid things on their phones. Bertholdt and Reiner were practically like brothers, in almost every way. They would often look out for each other, as well as try to screw with each other, just like real brothers.

Hell, he’d even hung out with Marco before. Marco was studying to be some kind of historian, so he often asked his friend group to help him study for exams. Bertholdt would be lying if he said he didn’t enjoy their little study sessions, partly because the two just enjoyed being goofy together and partly because it made Bertholdt feel like a student. Almost all of his friends, minus Reiner, were in college, but that wasn’t the case for him. He’d lived on his own since he was eighteen, due to his parents basically disowning him. Granted, they hadn’t actually tried to disown him, but they didn’t try to be apart of his life either. It took them a week to figure out he had moved out. He had woken up to a phone call that morning of his mother asking where he was. When he explained that he found his own place and left, she was silent for a moment before mumbling some sort of acknowledgement to his statement, and hung up.

“I’m just messing with you, Marco, I’ve got two more behind the counter. D’ya want both of them? I doubt anyone is gonna buy a breakfast sandwich this late in the day. I’ll even discount them for you.”

He grabbed his phone out of his back pocket to check the time, confirming his theory that the sandwiches would probably go to waste. It was just after 2 o’clock, very rarely did customers come in wanting the breakfast food they carried.

“Oh, sure! Thanks, Bert.”

“No problem. Jean, would you do the honors of toasting those bad boys and packaging them up for our favorite billy goat, here?”

Jean responded with a curt nod, turning around to get started on his new task. Bertholdt and Marco made small talk across the counter while the food was packaged up.

“Hey, do you know that group over there in the far corner? The quiet girl and her two friends?” Bertholdt asked.

He knew Jean and Marco went to the same university, maybe it was a small world and they knew each other. Marco discreetly looked over his shoulder at the table. His eyebrows rose as he recognized two of them.

“Oh yeah, the girl is in one of my psych classes. Her name’s Mikasa. I've actually been partnered up with her before. I’ve seen the blond guy hanging around with her, but I don’t know his name. Why?”

Bertholdt nodded at the information and shrugged in response to the other boy’s question.

“Eh, mostly just curious,” he said, but lowered his voice. “I think Jean’s got a thing for her. He was saying she looked familiar and everything.”

One of the freckled boy’s eyebrows shot up.

“Oh, uh, you think so? M-maybe he does, I’ve never heard him mention her before. Who knew?” Marco shrugged with a sheepish smile.

Marco was awful at lying and the whole world knew it. He was hiding something, and Bertholdt was certain of it. However, he kept his interrogating questions to himself. He nodded once more. He wanted to ask further on how close the two actually are, but they were interrupted by the barista in question.

Jean made his way to that end of the coffee bar and went to place the white paper bag containing the two sandwiches down. As he did, Marco reached for the bag at the same time. He nearly jumped as their fingers brushed against each other, a jolt of electricity traveling down his spine, hoping it was something Bertholdt didn’t see. He wasn’t mentally prepared for his friend to make things weird. Jean looked over at the taller boy, who seemed preoccupied with the register, so if he did see anything, he wasn’t making it obvious.

He nodded at the paper bag on the counter and placed his hands on the edge of the bar, putting his weight on his arms. He pushed out a heavy sigh.

“Enjoy.”

Marco nodded in thanks and wished the two baristas a good day, appreciative of the extra sandwich. Jean watched as the freckled boy walked out the door, perhaps letting his eyes linger a bit too long. When he turned back around, he was met with a strange look on Bertholdt’s face. The shorter boy asked him what his issue was, to which the taller replied that it was nothing. Jean shrugged it off and they spent the rest of the shift running smoothly.

[freewheelshippin]

FIC: “What Do I Call You?”

There was something so honest about how she hyped the crowd, leaned so forward she seemed like she might leap into a crowdwalk, pointing at her ear until the whole crowd bellowed in their own guttoral harmony. And she smiled so much at her crewmates -- Ranmaru realized he was smiling, too, while she played guitar and accompanied the others’ solos, only breaking from her deep sway with the music to look at them with brightness and joy in her eyes. 

In those moments, Ranmaru understood something he hadn’t before, but it also made him realize that the hunger in him wasn’t being sated so much as it was deepening. 

So! I had some fun writing for the roleswap AU, where I’m the punk rock idol and Ranmaru’s the freelance artist getting some juice from all the love and music.

Not much by ways of content warnings -- lots of eating, a fair amount of alcohol, too, and you know, we utter the word ‘fuck’ a few times.  

Ranmaru swore as he dropped the case on his toe. He could tell immediately that this was one of those jammed toes that would hurt for days from the bruising, especially when he still had half of the city to cross before he could get back home. And what was home? His shithole apartment and limping around while he went on his rounds for the local cats? 

At least the train was empty enough he could sit alone, even comfortably with all his equipment. He was still cross that the live house didn’t have it themselves. Weren’t they professionals? Stupid. The show had sucked, too, with the band spending more time fucking around then putting on the damn show they were paid for, that their fans came out to see, that Ranmaru had put such care into getting the tech just right to enhance. And that one jackass trying to throw hands with anyone in the crowd. Nobody on staff did a fucking thing to kick him out until Ranmaru dragged him out himself, and now he had a black eye and the stink of shitty beer and stale cigarette smoke hanging on him to show for it.

Thirty minutes ‘til his stop. He could listen to some music to smooth over this shitty...everything. He slipped his headphones on, ready to mute the rest of the world and stop anyone from entering his. 

Reiji (12:42 AM) : Iiiiiiiiiit’s dropped!!!!!

What, your balls, Ranmaru thought ruefully to himself, unconsciously clicking his tongue in annoyance. He moved his finger to swipe and mute him for … a week, maybe, from how shitty he was feeling right now, but Reiji was too fast. The link appeared, and Ranmaru hit it, if only to have something concrete to be annoyed with him for. 

It was a preview for a new PV. That’s right. It was technically tomorrow already, the day this content was due, but this was still early. Reiji must have found a leak. Lucky he was such an otaku, Ranmaru never had to go hunting for sketchy files or talk with weirdos he knew he wouldn’t be able to level with outside of the crowd. There was a long windup before the music even started playing, the visuals building dramatic lighting and obscuring anything but their silhouettes, but there was the low fuzz of an amp before it all hit at once. 

Ranmaru didn’t want to admit that his eyes darted right to that flash of turquoise as the lights came up in the PV, because it would mean that he might’ve smiled at just the sight of her. No, it had to be the sound. That clean, driving guitar, that strong bass, it felt like Deep Purple and Iron Maiden, but pushed to be danceable and idol-friendly with synth and a digital drumkit beat Ranmaru could vaguely recognize parts of.  

His toe and face didn’t stop hurting and body didn’t stop aching, but he stopped feeling so mad about it for the minute he watched and listened. There was professional polish there he’d missed seeing at the shitshow that was tonight’s gig, but there was still that rawness there of a good, irreplaceable concert. Something less precise than other idol groups’ practiced, saccharine perfection, but Ranmaru found it more welcoming than any other group he’d seen or worked with. 

The camera cut to a focus shot. Her hair was as bright as ever, styled like she were one of those princely girls from anime, just somehow made real, and she turned to look right at him-- 

Reiji (12:44 AM) : Ranran~~ how are you liking your girlfriend in this one :3c 

Ranmaru actually growled a little. He only realized he had been smiling because of how intensely he frowned at that bastard, barging into his texts --  

Ranmaru (12:44 AM): shut the fuck up and let me watch it. don’t call her that   

Reiji (12:44 AM): Isn’t she doing all the things you like??? 

Reiji (12:45 AM): So handsome! So rock! So passionate!

Reiji (12:45 AM): Feels tailor made for you ;o 

Ranmaru (12:45 AM): I told you to shut the fuck up. go text natsuki if you have to annoy someone

Reiji (12:46 AM): Aww Ranran did the show go bad? :(

Reiji (12:46 AM): But I already did, you know! And I’ve already gotten twice as many sparkly sticker replies than texts you’ve sent me in the past week!!! 

(He had to admit he laughed a little at that. Reiji was probably getting another onslaught as he was typing, his own push notifications as clogged as he was making Ranmaru’s.) 

Ranmaru (12:47 AM): I’m muting notifs since you won’t learn how to fucking shut up 

Reiji (12:47 AM): ohhhh she’s getting ranran’s full attention~! You must really like this preview, huh? I guess it’s true love 

Ranmaru (12:48 AM): WILL YOU SHUT UP ALREADY   

Reiji (12:48 AM): You’re right, I should, I should be listening for wedding bells! 

Ranmaru (12:48 AM): go make out with your gacha girlfriend body pillow and leave me alone 

Ranmaru (12:49 AM): hypocrite 

He finally muted all his notifications. An hour should be enough to ride it out, he thought as he settled a little into the hard plastic of the seat, restarting the video. The anger from the past couple hours melted away as he watched, uninterrupted, and replayed it with eyes closed as the sound flowed in through his headphones and released the tension in his body bit by bit. 

--- 

The hour ran out when Ranmaru was squatting over an especially runty kitten, eating noisily while the others watched from a couple feet away. Why stray cats could understand him better than anyone else when he said to piss off, he’d never know. He swiped around to turn his notifications back off for the rest of the night before pocketing his phone again. 

“...Oi. Slow down.” He pulled the plate of food away from the kitten. It shook with hiccups as it watched carefully, almost fearfully, before it pounced back onto the food, gobbling it down like it was going to be its last meal. Ranmaru sighed but couldn’t blame the little thing. He dumped out the last of the food, gave the rest of the cats one last look as he stood up to walk away, and he heard the frenzied scratch of their claws against the pavement as they swarmed the plates of food. 

 Maybe it wasn’t so much they understood him as he understood them. To hunger like that, both literally and for something less physical but just as carnal.  

He plugged his headphones back in, listening to the leaked preview a few more times on his way back to the apartment. 

--

He liked this group to begin with mostly because of her. She dressed, talked, and acted more like someone from a band than an idol, and something about that felt weirdly familiar and good. The rest of the group were more unique than a lot of other idols -- you’d expect that from a unit made up of a pack of ragtag international recruits, sure, but it was refreshing how they’d made everything about their presence wholly their own. 

Hers just made the most sense to him. The brashness, the way she talked about music, the way she performed, it all felt like someone who was chasing and understood the same things he did. She even said her music was about giving people power in an interview Reiji’d dug up for him. 

“Beyond language, or the way words reach people,” she’d said in decent but definitely non-native Japanese; she’d grown up some in Okinawa while her family lived on the military base, but mostly shuttled between America and Bangkok before getting recruited by chance here. “I want to give everyone a home that makes them feel strong through my music.” 

He wondered, dimly, as he took a hot shower and stared down at his swollen red toe, if he felt drawn to the group because he wanted that for himself, or because it reminded him why he kept picking up jobs that made him as angry as tonight’s did. 

He went to bed that night with an ice pack balanced on his swollen eye, the frustration more or less passed as he listened to the classic bands that new song reminded him of. 

--- 

He woke up to his phone buzzing, the hold on push notifications finally expired, and he murmured in bewilderment at just how many there were. Not just from Reiji, but Natsuki, too. 

Rather than try and parse whatever the hell happened while he was asleep, Ranmaru just went into the group chat well after he’d gotten himself breakfast. 

Ranmaru (9:28 AM): what the hell happened last night that you had to blow up my phone 

Natsuki (9:30 AM): Maru-chan-senpai! Ah! You’re alive!!!! 

Ranmaru (9:31 AM): I just went to bed is all 

(“Why the hell are you calling me ‘senpai’?” Ranmaru had asked him, and Natsuki had looked at him with those big dopey eyes and earnestly said since he’d been a fan longer, he was naturally Natsuki’s senpai, and any protest Ranmaru made never stuck.) 

Reiji supplied a link without any fanfare, introduction, or goofy dramatics, which almost startled Ranmaru. 

Notice (posted by Ootori Eiichi x/xx/xx): 

We are currently seeking an emergency replacement sound/stage technician for performances at the following dates and locations. Inquire immediately. [PAID] 

Ranmaru stared at the listing, barely processing the lurch in his stomach that came from just reading it. It was for them. That act. The debut mini-tour for that new single. It’d take rearranging his sound editing queue and massaging some deadlines, but he could feasibly make all of those dates and times.

He thought for a moment of doing that sound check, and seeing for himself the electric energy of that live. Of working with that group whose respect for their audience he personally felt, of watching her prepare, having to talk directly to her as she tuned her guitar....

There was the very real possibility that it’d prove everything he believed about them - about her, really, that ethos he was drawn to - was just smoke and mirrors, too. 

Natsuki (9:35 AM): Can you do it, Maru-chan-senpai? 

Reiji (9:36 AM): Ranran, you have to do it. 

Ranmaru (9:36 AM): this is just a listing, just because I ask doesn’t mean it’ll go through 

There was a long pause, where everyone went on and off typing, never actually saying anything, and he frowned. 

Ranmaru (9:40 AM): can you all just fucking say what you’re thinking already 

Natsuki (9:42 AM): You really love their magic and energy, I just wanted to say I hope you do it and get it because your heart wants it! 

Reiji (9:45 AM): Yes, Nacchan, you said it! Ranran, I’ll give you all the free bento you need to keep your tummy full to go do this! 

Ranmaru (9:45 AM): don’t fucking do that, reiji, you’ll just piss of your sister. I’ll buy them myself

Ranmaru (9:45 AM): assuming I even do this 

Reiji (9:46 AM): I really think you should. 

Reiji (9:46 AM): Not because we want the insider scoop. But because when’s the last time you had fun at a live you worked? 

Ranmaru could curse Reiji where he stood. Whenever he stopped fucking around and got to his point, it was always a good one. 

---

He got the job, somehow, after a little emailing back-and-forth and negotiating the contract. Now he was on a train to Yokohama for the first gig, his case packed full, his backpack stuffed with supplies for a week. Comping travel, hotel, and meals was enough to take the job, even if it paid like ass, but it didn’t. The contract was actually pretty decent. They -- or, well, at least that Ootori guy -- were upfront that he’d be worked hard, the hours were going to be long, and there wasn’t going to be much room for rest or leisure. But the pay was good. Enough that if he had a dryspell of jobs afterwards, he’d be okay for longer than usual. 

It was worth it for other reasons, though, he thought to himself, stuffing spare merch he’d gotten in blindbags (and a couple other last-minute buys he didn’t tell the others about) into a bottom corner of his suitcase. None of it was of her, none of it for him. Something felt unprofessional spending this job acting like a fan, but at least there wasn’t any harm grabbing some signatures for friends who never made it to meet-and-greets. 

The single was out properly, now, and so was the PV. There was a section of it he especially liked and had gotten into the habit of watching on train rides, where she broke out of the dance routine to put her arms around her teammates, grin a dumb grin, and kick her legs high. It cut to a different shot of the group in different costumes but perfect sync, and when it cut back to that first shot, she stumbled and fell right on her ass, dragging the others down with her. Still grinning stupidly, and singing through it all. 

She didn’t take many vocal solos. She only had one line in this song to herself, and she was singing with the whole group for this shot. He read in an interview she wasn’t happy with the tone quality of her voice yet -- it needed to be richer, and she still needed plenty of training before it reached what her teammates and audience deserved. 

Ranmaru told himself, as the train was minutes away from the station, that this had to be the last time he watched this video and listened to the song like this. At least for the duration of this job. Every time he watched that shot, as she kept singing and the rest of the group tumbled down with her with the same dumb grin she wore, he knew in his gut the voice she sang in must’ve sounded like the soul of rock. Even if that gesture were directed and performed, there was still something genuine there that reminded him of those moments at concerts that convinced him to walk the path he did. 

Maybe he’d get to see it live. Maybe he wouldn’t. But he had to stop imagining it. She - this whole group, rather - was about to become real, and whether or not everything he imagined would turn out to just be something he made up to deal with his shit, he had a job to do. 

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

He had a chance to leave his clothes and belongings in the hotel before heading to the live house. Ranmaru was unsure why this Ootori guy had picked him. He didn’t have an exactly long resume with idol shows, but then again, this was a group that debuted without any typical idol sound. There wasn’t any gimmick to them (Ranmaru wouldn’t call being made up of foreigners much of a gimmick when it came to the music), and they weren’t afraid of reaching into all sorts of genres he more typically worked with. 

Right as he got to the live house, his phone rumbled with back-to-back notifications. 

Reiji (5:48 PM): Ranran~!!! Ganbarimachochho from us! 

Ranmaru wouldn’t deign the attached selfie with a response right now (he was about to work, after all), but he felt himself suppressing a smile. Reiji was sticking his tongue out and making a victory sign, Natsuki further in the background, half-buried in stuffed animals and doing the same. They were going to be streaming the event for special-tier fanclub members like REIJI, which Ranmaru had always harangued him for. If he was a fan, wasn’t it enough to just cheer their hearts out live, enjoy their music, buy a CD and shirt, and feel the energy they had to give that way? 

(He still pored over the behind-the-scenes and advance material Reiji forwarded to him and Natsuki regardless. Sometimes he translated the English from their social media accounts, even. It was satisfying, as stupid as it felt sometimes, to do those little things in between the real shows.) 

He’d never been to the live house before, but it had the same vibes as so many others he’d been to. He found the back entrance effortlessly, where a man with glasses almost took him by surprise. 

“Kurosaki?” he asked. His gaze felt just as intense as all the other communication they’d had over e-mail. 

“Ootori,” he grunted back. 

“You’re early,” Eiichi replied, grinning at Ranmaru. Not that it surprised him in the slightest, but it made him look less approachable and instead even more intense. “Good. I like that in a recruit.” 

Ranmaru gritted his teeth quietly. This guy was going to be an absolute bastard, he could feel it, but at least he seemed like he knew how to run a show. “Don’t say that like I joined your agency. Tell me where the group’s at with setup, and I’ll get started.” 

 Eiichi’s eyes glinted from behind his glasses. He looked too satisfied with himself for Ranmaru’s taste. “I liked how you didn’t beat around the bush when you reached out for the job, and it’s good to see you hold to it. They’re rehearsing in the space, but we still have equipment to unload and cues to sync. You read the notes I sent you, I trust.” 

“All forty fuckin’ pages of it.” Ranmaru left out that he’d actually found it pretty impressive, appreciating the thoroughness and ambition of the show for a smaller group and venue. “Are we going to stand around shooting the shit or are we going to get started working on them?” 

Eiichi laughed at that. Ranmaru wasn’t sure if it pissed him off or made him feel eager to get to work. 

“This way,” he said, showing him to a van stuffed full of equipment. 

------ 

Ranmaru went straight to the live house staff to start doing his work. The master controls were kept in a little room that overlooked the stage. His gut flipped when he first saw them all, rehearsing some specific-looking choreography that needed to adjust to a new stage.  He wasn’t about to let that interrupt work. This was just like any other job, except he liked the performers a whole lot more, and things progressed like any other job. Until she looked dead at him from the stage, calling out. 

“Heeeeey,” she said. “Scuse me, are you the new tech guy?” 

“Yeah.” Ranmaru forced the feeling rising in his throat back down (as much as he could with sheer willpower, anyway). “Whaddya want?” 

“I just wanted to ask your name! We gotta call you something!” 

“Ranmaru,” he answered, hoping dearly that whatever he felt burning on his face was hidden by the dim lighting. 

“Cool, OK. Ranmaru-san,” she continued cheerfully. Ranmaru felt his chest tighten as he heard his name on her lips. “Are we queued up enough that we can do this number with music?” 

“This is the one for the new single, right,” he called back. He took a look at the levels, gain, and so forth as they were and instinctively nudged the knobs where the countless plays of that new song told him to. He’d imagined the vision of its stage presence for weeks. “I’m gonna test out some different settings for the levels ‘n stuff while you do that.” 

She made an expression of surprise as it came on. Delight, even, as she rode out into the following beats. Ranmaru couldn’t help crooking into his own smile, satisfied his know-how just helped that vision become a little bit brighter. She flashed him a thumbs up, then a gesture to pause, still grinning. 

“Can we take it from the top? Five, six, seven, eight---” 

-------- 

Ranmaru had never felt this sort of contradiction. She was restringing her acoustic guitar, from steel to nylon strings, as she hummed and practiced segments of songs, and Ranmaru was adjusting amplifiers and other equipment on the stage nearby. His head swam with the thought and excitement they were sharing the same stage, even just as a tech and pre-show performer, but approaching her felt like being both sides of a magnet at once. 

But that push and pull gave way, eventually, as the guitar finished being re-strung and tuned, and the humming turned into full-on singing. Ranmaru fought desperately to make sure he wasn’t just confirming what he’d already imagined, to just appreciate her live voice on its own merits and flaws. But he could feel in his chest that that character, that quality he’d responded so much to was there, that even with some lacking technical skill, there was still a rich tone color you could only get with passion and the spirit for rock. 

“You doing any solos tonight?” he asked in English. 

“Hm?” She looked caught by surprise. 

Ranmaru answered, already anticipating the question. “I’m half-American. I speak it fluently enough.” 

“Well, shit,” she said with a grin. “That’s convenient for us. I mean, I don’t mind Japanese if it’s easier…” 

“‘Sfine. Do what you want. I won’t complain about the practice, though.” 

She chuckled. “Man, maybe losing our usual guy from the agency was a stroke of good luck.” 

Ranmaru laughed challengingly. “Say that after the show goes well. And you still haven’t answered my question.” 

“Oh, uh. Right. Not really? Why do you ask?” 

“Why not?” 

She took a moment and laughed brightly in reply. Ranmaru could practically hear the insecurity she was covering up. 

“‘Cuz we’re an idol group.” 

Ranmaru gestured and murmured in vague acknowledgement. “You still have less solo lines than everyone else.” 

“Oh, do I,” she replied flatly, going back to her guitar, trimming overhanging strings. “I guess you would know, now that you’ve gotta manage all our sound.” 

“I just think it’s stupid you’ve clearly got your own voice but can’t think of sharing it without hiding behind everyone else’s.” 

She looked up at him incredulously. “Ranmaru-san, right?” 

“...Just call me Ranmaru.” 

“Alright, Ranmaru.” She looked at him again. Somehow when she looked at him dead-on this time, nothing went to mush inside of him. “Don’t fucking talk to me like our group voice isn’t the backbone of everything we’re trying to do.” 

“Nothing’s wrong with your group voice,” he shot back, getting heated. “It’s good. I can feel the soul behind it all, even when you’re rehearsing.” 

“So why are you fucking complaining?” She was still smiling, laying cheer and energy over her growing frustration. “Is there something you wanna say to me about my crew’s voices?” 

“They’re fine!” he barked back, frustrated she wasn’t getting his point. “This isn’t about them! You have something your audience is gonna be lit on fire hearing more of, that’s all!”  

Some eyes were starting to fall on them, but Ranmaru could barely notice them over the way her chest rose sharply and her expression became inscrutible. 

“...how about,” she said, speaking slowly as she deliberately, diplomatically pulled out her words, switching back to Japanese. “You save any notes you have for after the show.” 

“......Sure.” His stomach flipped again, more intensely and more painfully than the last few times. He went back to fussing with the amp, and she laid the pliers she’d trimmed her strings with on it before heading backstage until the show started. 

--- 

The show was electric. Ranmaru couldn’t say he was the right audience for most idol groups -- not so much out of distaste as much as incompatibility, he guessed. The way Reiji and Natsuki would lose their minds over their favorites’ cheerful cuteness or the kindness in their voices, Ranmaru wouldn’t. The fanatical, cult-of-personality devotion some other idols could curate with otaku-types, he didn’t connect with, either. What spoke to him was passion, backed by steely sounds and the sweat behind them; the excitement and fervor of rock and a crowd stinking of sweat; how well you could make someone scream themselves hoarse for that one, shining moment without any care for how sore they’d feel the next morning. 

Maybe it was the adrenaline from earlier, but when he could look away from the tech, he felt that here, too. There was no drum or bass player onstage, but he could still feel the beat thrum through his chest and rumble through his bones until his breath quickened, like he were jumping and dancing with the crowd. There was joy in their teamwork. In how they shaped their bodies together in song and in voice, and pushing and pulling the spotlight until it was something brighter, something shared and tangible between them and the audience.

His eyes fell on her. What should he call her? She had a stage name in Thai, but she was open that wasn’t her given name or anything friends and family called her. “Aroon” was just something she picked so she could wear her heritage proudly. It meant ‘dawn,’ it sounded cooler, more idol-ish than her Western name, which wasn’t a secret, by any means, but he heard her called by so many versions of it, none felt real. 

It only felt so weird because seeing her onstage, he felt far beyond any confirmation bias he could’ve had that the person he’d seen in the PV’s was every bit as real as he’d hoped. He saw someone who didn’t just fit on stage, but relished and grew like a plant in the hot lights burning down on them. There was something so honest about how she hyped the crowd, leaned so forward she seemed like she might leap into a crowdwalk, pointing at her ear until the whole crowd bellowed in their own guttoral harmony. And she smiled so much at her crewmates -- Ranmaru realized he was smiling, too, while she played guitar and accompanied the others’ solos, only breaking from her deep sway with the music to look at them with brightness and joy in her eyes. 

In those moments, Ranmaru understood something he hadn’t before, but it also made him realize that the hunger in him wasn’t being sated so much as it was deepening. 

They got cheered back on for an encore. And towards the end of that last song, Ranmaru watched as she broke choreography to literally lift the one Natsuki was convinced was a fairy, spinning them around as the practiced moves dissolved into joyful chaos. The whole group ended the song arm in arm, sloppily holding mics for each other as they alternately laughed, belted, fumbled, and shouted thank-yous into the audience.

Ranmaru still felt something tug at him as the mic got held in front of her, she grabbed it, and handed it to someone else. Just sing, damn it, he thought to himself. It didn’t matter if it was perfect, it just mattered that it was hers. 

Didn’t she realize she deserved to be adored the same way she wanted the rest of her group to be? 

Ranmaru cut everything as they filtered offstage, staggering and softening the mics as they put them back and let them go. He took a deep, sighing breath in and out, almost like he’d been holding it for the entire concert, as his stomach growled. 

Maybe he should’ve taken some more of Reiji’s bento, after all, and give Natsuki’s cookies another try.  

-------- 

They closed up quickly. With the group no longer bound by rehearsal, takedown went faster than ever, and there wasn’t any meet-and-greet at today’s venue. Ranmaru dimly considered looking at the merch table, but he had a week to do that and had other things to finish with today’s closeup, anyway. 

He could hear the group discussing amongst themselves in English about where to go for a late dinner celebrating a good show.

“I want chicken,” she pleaded. “Is there one of those Taiwanese shops where you can get boba and chicken around here? You know, the kind that comes in a little bag and a toothpick?” 

Eiichi approached them, and she started to repeat herself in Japanese before he asked to interrupt her. 

“We’re all headed to the izakaya two blocks from here,” he announced to everyone. “I’ve already called ahead to reserve the space. Consider it a reward for a triumph of the first show on tour.” 

“But is there chicken,” she repeated in Japanese in mock desperation as she mussed her own hair, fussing it out of the careful styling she’d had it in for hours. 

Ranmaru’s phone buzzed from the notifications he missed, shutting them off for the duration of the show. Mostly from Natsuki and Reiji. He scrolled through the groupchat as they reacted live to the stream and tried to compliment Ranmaru on managing sound so well, though he was sure it couldn’t have possibly made much of a difference for the stream. 

Ranmaru (11:37 PM): it was a killer show, wasn’t it 

Ranmaru (11:37 PM): they’re talking about craving chicken right now. Guess it’s too bad we don’t have a kotobuki bento branch around here. 

Ranmaru (11:38 PM): i could go for a kara-age bento 

Reiji (11:38 PM): Ranran….! 

Natsuki (11:39 PM): Waaaah~! I hope you find some kara-age soon and share it with your shining star! 

Ranmaru immediately locked the phone after that. His stomach somersaulted once more time. He stood by what he said to her earlier, but he couldn’t imagine she’d want to talk after the way things had gone. Better to leave the group to that postshow glow, feed himself, and head back to the hotel. 

--------- 

The room was swimming just a little. Ranmaru blearly looked at his phone, trying to ignore the fact that he’d drank beyond his limit like an idiot. He knew he was like this, so why did he keep downing beer after beer? He’d gotten too used to needing as much as he could stomach to tolerate Reiji’s antics (and, he knew dimly, he was just too used to being able to rely on him once he’d hit his limit). 

She was seated right across from him, because of course she was, but they didn’t exchange any words or even eye contact. She was entirely focused on the rest of the group and the meal itself, laughing loudly between boisterous stories and jokes and devouring whatever snacks she ordered. 

Ranmaru got up. He could make it back to the hotel by himself, probably. Nobody asked as he left, which was how he’d preferred things, right? 

If there was such thing as taking a desolate wizz, maybe this is what it felt like, he thought to himself as he dried his hands on his shirt and left the restroom to step outside. Just for a moment. Just to get some air. 

Eiichi followed him out. 

“Can I help you,” Ranmaru said roughly after Eiichi caught the door behind him. 

“Hardly.” He had the same look in his eye as before. “I thought I’d take the opportunity to say well done.” 

Ranmaru grunted. “You still have six more shows with me. Compliment me when I’ve nailed all of them.” 

“Hm. I’d certainly expect no less. But,” he continued, that grin going places Ranmaru especially didn’t like. “I can’t say that was what I was referring to.” 

Ranmaru looked at him suspiciously. 

“She’s been a tough nut to crack,” he continued. “I’m glad my instincts were right, Ranmaru Kurosaki, your brusqueness and deep experience with music laid her heart bare enough she recognized some changes she needed to make.” 

He didn’t think, and only saw red -- he couldn’t blame the alcohol entirely, but the haziness was enough that his brain needed a moment to catch up to his gut reaction. 

Eiichi laughed, unfazed by Ranmaru’s hands on his collar or snarling expression. 

“Bastard!” he barked. Eiichi’s eyes glinted behind his glasses. 

“I heard your little conversation. Do you not stand by those words?” 

“Of course I do,” Ranmaru snapped. 

“They reached her,” Eiichi cut in before Ranmaru could think of what to say next. “She’s already asking me about extra vocal training before the next recording sessions.” 

“She doesn’t need more training!” He threw Eiichi back, finally letting go. He barely needed any effort to recover, and Ranmaru just glared at him as he kept raising his voice. “And I’m not your for-hire music coach! Is this how you treat all your contractors, you rat bastard of a producer?!” 

He just laughed that laugh of his, making Ranmaru even angrier. “Your passion for music and straightforwardness was evident, even in your initial inquiry. It was just excellent luck your technical skills were just as useful for sending this idol group hurtling towards their fullest potential.” 

“If you want her to reach it, you’d tell her she doesn’t need any extra lessons. You’d just tell her she’s a great goddamn idol the way she is right now,” Ranmaru spat. “Trusting her voice is just what’ll make her into a better one.” 

“I hear some selfish intent in that, Kurosaki.” Eiichi looked like he was burning with excitement. “But that just means I can trust your intentions more than anyone. You speak as someone whose heart’s already been moved. A fan...a loyal follower who desires their success. Perhaps even more than she does.” 

“I’m going back to the hotel.” Ranmaru strode past him, feeling himself burn from top to bottom. He gave Eiichi one last look in the eye. “If you need me before the show tomorrow, find someone else.”  

------- 

The next day and next show went uneventfully. Now that he’d met the group at Yokohama, he was travelling with them in the cars and equipment vans, and he made a point of finding a back seat nobody wanted to share, stretching out, and napping the whole ride. The setup at the next live house was a pain in the ass with their unusual devices and systems, but Ranmaru was quietly grateful to have his hands full. He liked having a good reason for not wanting to talk to (scold) anyone but the live house staff itself. Being irritated they went for weird, cheap models with lower quality helped him double down on the attention needed to make the group shine. They collectively got ramen afterwards. The only words he exchanged all meal were with the one Reiji liked so much, ferrying his ramen order for him when he got frustrated with the shop crowd and left to go wait outside. 

(He’d have to find a way to talk with her later about Reiji. Not just for the autograph -- he opened up his phone, ignoring any notifications that weren’t his work email, and messaged him. 

Ranmaru (9:42 PM): send me a pic of your Mae shrine 

Reiji (9:45 PM): ehh? Ranran, what for? 

Ranmaru (9:50 PM): just send it 

Dutifully, Reiji did. Ranmaru couldn’t have imagined he really had no idea what he planned to do with it, but if he wasn’t just playing dumb, at least he’d be getting one hell of a surprise.) 

It was during the third show that things started to happen a way he could scarcely believe. The show went pretty normally, except for one point where she stumbled badly enough during a complex turn she completely ate shit. But she played it off into something hammy and funny, rolling out of the way of the others, lying like she were posing in a cheesy beefcake calendar while she found the beat again to sing. 

Ranmaru still thought she needed to own up to her lack of courage and just sing more, but putting it like she was a coward was a mistake. He thought dimly to what Reiji had said that had convinced him -- “when was the last time you had fun working a stage like this?” And he wondered if he’d ever had fun onstage like he saw. He might’ve tasted the glory and passion of the stage, the delicious energy of the audience, and the power of rock -- he knew he did, he’d looked an easier, blander life in the eye and felt too desolate to walk that path, even with his inescapable debt. 

But it could be more fun. That audience could feel more, even more connected, that he could smile through mistakes when the performance came from camaraderie as much as passion and soul. Things could be better when they were shared beyond just the respect of an audience and a performer.

He didn’t realize he was smiling as much as he was until his cheeks were hurting, but that was also because he felt hungrier than he’d ever been.  

----

He couldn’t help calculating how many meals he’d be cutting into as the convenience store clerk rang up everything, even though he’d already gotten Eiichi to confirm he was going to expense him the bill and get refunded every cent. 

The show closed late. They had a special meet-and-greet he didn’t need to be around to handle, but none of them had had the chance to eat much outside of some spare snacks. He figured something fast and easy before they could collapse in the hotel would fit the bill. 

She wasn’t there when he went around knocking on the hotel room doors and delivering the goods. Gone out to relax on the roof, they said, and when they offered to hold her food, he said no, he’d take it right to her. 

The sound of the roof door opening looked like it startled her, and he didn’t know what else to do but hold up the bag full of food like a peace offering. 

“Eat something,” he said in English, tossing her a banana from the bag. She caught it before eyeing him up and down, then settled back to the outdoor lounge chair she’d been resting on. Ranmaru took a seat in the one across for her, setting the bag on the ground as he pulled the rest of the food out. She looked hesitant, only speaking until he’d laid everything out, even the drinks.

“...That smells good,” she said in Japanese. “What’s that, kara-age?” 

“I heard you guys were craving chicken.” 

 “I mean, I sure was. Thanks.”

“I told you English was fine,” he said, back to Japanese. 

“My Japanese is fine,” she said, tearing into the banana first. 

“Yeah, but if you’re tired of speaking outside of your native tongue,” Ranmaru started, already feeling himself get heated. “Why wouldn’t you take the chance to just rest?” 

She finished her bite of banana before giving him a look. “...If you insist.” 

They just sat in silence as she ate for a bit. 

“Is there something else you want from me?” she asked. She left half the kara-age and bottled tea.

“...No, not really. I wanted to say sorry for the other day, though.” 

“Ah.” She smiled knowingly, though she didn’t look happy about it. “Don’t worry about it. It sure isn’t the first or last time I’m gonna be criticized in this industry. I can handle it.” 

Ranmaru murmured in acknowledgement, not sure to what end making himself clear to would earn, but he had to, anyways. He stared down the half-full kara-age container. 

“...This is your goddamn food, you know.” He pushed it closer to her. “Eat it.” 

“Oh, you’re sure?” 

“I didn’t have a meet-and-greet that made me miss dinner. Do you really wanna work a tour on an empty stomach?” 

She scooped it up with a knowing ‘hmm’ and a half-smile. After polishing it off, she let out a heavy sigh. 

“You are right, though. I’m being a coward, not singing more.” 

“You’re not,” Ranmaru grumbled. 

“Sure,” she said dismissively. “But I guess I should apologize for getting so defensive. I thought you were just another macho shithead trying to talk the piss out of our group and the voice we have.” 

“That’s nothing to apologize for,” Ranmaru said resolutely. “....when I was in a band, I wish I’d had bandmates who’d do that kinda shit for me.” 

“Oh, shit, what’d you play?” 

“Vocals. Bass. Rock.” 

“Aw, c’mon, get more specific than that. Surf rock? Indie boy shoegaze? Folk punk with a little dash of polka?” 

Ranmaru gave her an incredulous look. “...Oi. Do I look like a polka guy?” 

She grinned widely, looking very satisfied with herself. “I dunno, you never know who’s got a secret accordion! I could see you, maybe you painted half of it, like, red to match that edgelord RPG hero heterochromia thing you got going.” 

Ranmaru grumbled, looking away. She laughed. “....I just like rock. If you had to pull my leg I guess I’d tell you hard rock. Maybe a little alt and prog.” 

“Ooh!” She exclaimed, barely letting the sip of tea get down her throat. “That’s the good shit! Did you ever record anything?”

Ranmaru hesitated. “...Yeah, but nothing that anyone can listen to anymore.” 

She seemed to understand without much more explanation. “...Well. You’re fucking good at the sound engineering side of things. Don’t tell management this -- or well, just don’t quote me on this --  but I like you a hell of a lot more than the guy we were supposed to have from the agency. He doesn’t know shit about how to make music that’s about soul and hype. It’s like, all one level the whole time, you know? Like it’s just sitting at an 8 the whole time, we don’t really get to do stuff like crescendos. Or like, punch someone in the dick by taking it from a three and shoot it to an eleven, you know?” 

“Yeah,” Ranmaru said, throwing a hand up. “What’s with that shit? There’s a bunch of stupid clients I had who were like that. Just one kind of loud, the whole album or concert through. What’s the fucking point if you aren’t gonna make people hear something other than just fuckin’ loud?” 

“Yeah! You get it!” she whooped, before she held her hand out for a fistbump. 

It surprised Ranmaru enough that it took a moment to register. But he smiled a little and pounded it. 

------

“Man-eating momma, steam-driven hammer

Sorts the men out from the boys--” 

She slid her arm around his waist, and he nearly choked on his beer. 

They were at Korean barbecue tonight, their own private room. The last meal, after the last concert, after the last meet-and-greet, after the last frantic merch sales. Ranmaru tried to buy himself a shirt, but instead was presented with a staff hoodie for the tour and a “one of everything” comp for the rest of the merch. They were now safely tucked with other goods he’d gotten signed for Reiji and Natsuki last night while everyone hung out in their big hotel suite. Hotel management made a mistake and upgraded the whole crew to their biggest room with extra cots to fit them all, and they spent the entire post show in a dizzying, joyful, communal haze. Ranmaru even told stories of the embarrassing depths of his groupchat’s devotion to the group and each of their favorites, and everyone took turns recording chaotic, personalized videos for Ranmaru to share later. They fell asleep at a truly stupid hour, and Ranmaru wondered if this is what having sleepovers as a kid felt like. 

“Takes no messing, all-in wrestling

Is one of her pride and joys” 

Ranmaru recognized the words as she pulled him closer, swaying after slamming her beer to the table. Maybe less the tune, since that was being yelled more than sung. 

“She's a classy, flashy lassy

Imitation sapphire shine-- c’mon, dude, you know!” She looked at him expectantly. She was very, very flushed, and at this point, he had to be, too. 

“We’re not at a karaoke bar!” he barked. 

“Where’s all that ‘you gotta sing more, fuckass’ energy now, huh,” she said, lowering her voice so much to mimic that Ranmaru briefly questioned if this is what he sounded like to her. 

“....Fine! If you’re gonna sing it, actually fuckin’ sing it, don’t just yell!” 

“Oh yeah,” she said with what passed for a shit-eating grin with her. “Then show me, partyboy. Hey, everyone, meet my new vocal coach! Hold onto your dick, folks, he better fuckin floor you with all the shit he’s been talking --”  

Ranmaru looked at her a moment as she kept ranting, first with incredulity, then with a weird surreal awe. What the hell was happening?  

Why the hell should he bother questioning it? 

“-- Two-faced liar, full of fire

But I know the flame is mine!” He cut off her rant, singing as much as he could like this were a stage. 

She -- and a bunch of other staff at the table -- whooped and cheered and laughed, but she and only she joined in with him without a care in the world. “Rocka Rolla woman for a Rocka Rolla man

You can take her if you want her

If you think you can--” 

He let the arm that’d been just awkwardly dangling behind her wrap around her shoulder. He felt warmer than he’d ever had, burning all the way to the tips of his ears. 

“Rocka Rolla woman for a Rocka Rolla man

You can take her if you want her you can!” 

They hung on the last note of the chorus -- she hung on comedically long before dragging them both up to bow while everyone else clapped, laughed, cheered. A server came, yelling that they had an order of grilled beef up. Eiichi, from the other end of the table, gestured that he’d ordered it, but passed it down until it sat in front of Ranmaru. 

-------- 

They had an overnight bus trip to get back home -- or close enough to home, anyways, Ranmaru still had another long train ride waiting afterwards, so he’d planned to sleep the whole bus ride. 

But she wound up sitting next to him, and even if he could pretend like that didn’t make his heart thump now by itself, she was chatty. 

He didn’t mind the conversation, though. They mostly talked about music, sharing concert stories and albums. He even talked a little about what he wanted to do now in between all the freelance work, and when she wished him luck and couldn’t wait to hear it, he didn’t feel like she was just blowing smoke. 

There came a pause while she downed a bottle of tea. 

“...I meant it when I said there’s something in your voice the audience oughta hear,” he said, looking at her intently. 

She laughed uncomfortably after she swallowed. “Thank you. I’ll…..I guess I just have to go for it, huh.” 

“What’s stopping you?” 

“I...hm….” She paused in intent thought for a while. “Well, for one, the technical control isn’t there.” 

“Yeah, but you’ll improve that by doing it.” 

“Yeah, yeah. But there’s more than just that, I guess.” 

“Like what.” 

“...Well, you know how this industry is. It’s…hard. Finding the balance of what you’re good at, what people want, and what the higher-ups think they want. I don’t think I’m anywhere near figuring that balance out...”

“Forget all that.” Ranmaru looked at her very seriously, shifting in place so he could look her in the eye a little better. “Don’t worry about any of those things.” 

She laughed disbelievingly. “Okay, sure, lemme just. Throw out my job description while I’m at it. Dude, the whole point of this job and this work is to make other people happy.” 

“I was happy hearing your voice just as it was that first day. You just. Sang the way you wanted to. I liked that. It felt good. Genuine.” He took a moment to recall the words he found at the beginning of the tour. “...You like it when people connect with your group’s voice ‘n adore your groupmates. So let ‘em adore you some.” 

“Oh, cuz I’m so adowable,” she joked, laughing as Ranmaru scowled. 

“I mean it. I….” he started. “...The audience is going to be better for hearing more of you. Whatever that means.” 

She thought about that for a moment. “...I...you know. I don’t think I’ve ever asked myself what that looks like. Or let myself realize it, anyway.”

“You can handle the criticism if it comes. If that’s something you’re scared of.” 

“...Maybe it is. Thank you, Ranmaru, I’m going to think about that and kick everybody’s teeth in the next time we record.  

“‘Snothing,” he murmured, but he felt like his heart was going to soar out of his chest, and later, as they both nodded off and slumped over each other as the road stretched on, he realized he felt sated in a way he couldn’t remember being. A weird sort, that took away the pang of hunger, but made him feel it more deeply through his whole being. 

---- 

When he arrived ‘home,’ it was lunchtime, and he was too dazed, hungry, and tired to weather one last long walk home without some food in his stomach. It was on the way-- he may as well go to Kotobuki Bento and make Reiji make good on the free bento offer. 

(His sister rang him up, and Ranmaru paid up.) 

Reiji found him after the meal, and he wound up heading to Reiji’s room. To give him the merch, theoretically, but after Reiji earned enough grouchy monosyllabic replies, he brought something that sounded like an actual question. 

“...So, Ranran, while you were away…” 

“Just say it,” Ranmaru muttered, eyes too tired to focus. “I’m too fucking tired for you to take the long away around.” 

“Nattsun’s friend wants to join our little fanclub!”

“....And.” 

Reiji shrank a little, speaking more sheepishly. “The thing is...we mentioned you and....he’s pretty sure you two already know each other and you’d want nothing to do with him.” 

Ranmaru hazily tried to recall who that could be. There were too many people whose guts he hated for him to figure it out by himself. 

“Who is it,” Ranmaru growled tiredly. “Just fucking say it.” 

“Does...Hijirikawa ring a bell?” 

It did. Ranmaru fumed in silence for a moment, thinking about the whirlwind of disaster that name was attached to, but also the vague memories of that quiet, serious boy in traditional dress who fretted after him when they were too small to know of things like debts and bankruptcy...

“...Whatever,” Ranmaru muttered. He looked at Reiji’s bed and decided he wasn’t going to tolerate any more of this exhaustion -- he had a reliable neighbor to leave food out for the cats, anyway, what was a couple more hours? “It’s not really much of a fanclub if it’s just the three of us. He can join if he wants. It’ll give you ‘n Natsuki someone who’s better at responding to your crazy nightlong gushing than me.” He tossed the dakimakura on Reiji’s bed, dented in the middle from so much hugging, to him, before he shrugged closer into his staff tour hoodie and slumped into Reiji’s bed. 

He could practically see Reiji stammering, even as he turned away and settled into the comfort of eyes closed and a real bed. Clearly, that wasn’t the answer he was expecting, and it wasn’t the one Ranmaru was expecting to give, either. 

“-- R...Ranran, you really--” 

“Yes! What the fuck wasn’t clear about what I said! Masato can join! Go add him already! Just let me sleep, you noisy bastard!” Ranmaru barked one last time at Reiji. 

Ranmaru ignored whatever last jabbering Reiji had for him, already carried off to proper sleep. He wondered what he could possibly dream about that would rival the past week and this satisfying feeling, cradled in his new hoodie.  

(I perform semi-professionally -- not as an idol, mind, but I’m still getting up on a stage/camera to entertain people on the reg -- and it was so weird but also really......doki-inspiring, let’s say, to imagine Ranmaru being a fan of my stage bravado :’’’’’D To be honest I’ve been feeling a little discouraged and burnt out by it lately but this really refilled my tanks!!!) 

[themelancholicmedstudent]

Jan. 1st, 2021

100 Days of Productivity Challenge Day 27/100

Good morning! I tried doing my first weekly spread today and there were a lot of hiccups. My boxes aren’t aligned well and my handwriting is a bit wonky. I’ll have to remember to use a ruler next time and maybe a pencil.

I’m gonna pause this challenge, since I’ll be having surgery soon. There’s a few bujo posts scheduled to go up at that time that I’m excited to share. I’ll probably stick to bujo posts until the 2nd semester kicks off on the 17th. By then I should have had enough time to (hopefully) recover and can start posting academic stuff again. Winter break is pretty much going to be me chilling and catching up on things I enjoy that I couldn’t do too much during the semester. I might post some info on what I’ll be taking the next semester but that’ll be near the end of the winter break.

My cats were really on edge today for some reason and have been going at each other non-stop. Nothing’s changed recently, so I have no idea what’s got them riled up like this. They usually get along pretty well with the occasional spat here and there.

I wanted to try out that game that everyone’s been talking about, ‘Genshin Impact’, but it took forever to download on my laptop...T-T. I was really excited to explore all afternoon and evening but guess I’ll have to wait an hour or two for the game to download. I could probably get it on my phone quicker but I don’t really like gaming on my phone all that much. Since it was gonna take a while, I took a shower to pass the time. I already shower before bed but having a second or third shower during the day can be pretty soothing.

The game finally downloaded! It was pretty fun. The controls are a bit weird using a controller but nothing too bad. I think I just need to tweak the controller sensitivity a bit. I played about 2 hours which was about enough time to get a the hang of things. Next time I play it’ll probably be an hour max. With these types of games I like to go one region or big quest at a time.

For dinner I decided to try and make some ‘fancy’ ramen out of a pack of instant ramen. I topped it with a runny boiled egg, spinach, a breaded chicken cutlet, broccoli, cherry tomatoes, green onion and sriracha. It was delicious! It didn’t even take that much effort to make. The chicken and broccoli were baked together, the noodles, eggs, spinach and egg were boiled together (I used a strainer to keep them separate) and everything else just needed to be cut up or was ready to use like the sriracha. All I had to wash in the end was a small pot, a cutting board, a knife and a sheet pan. I’d expected something like this to take a lot more effort but luckily it’s easy to make and has so many yummy veggies! My face is gonna swell like crazy from the sodium though (even with only using half the seasoning packet).

To finish off my day, I caught up on ‘Bob’s Burgers’. I hadn’t seen the 11th season yet so I got through that. I did the rest of my IPL treatment while watching the episodes.

My goal for the day was to do a weekly spread in my bujo, disinfect the cat litter box and finish up yesterday’s IPL.

Here's a quick rundown of my day.

Woke up at 9:30 AM

Made my sibling breakfast

Disinfected the litter box

Wiped down my desk

Worked on my bujo

Cleaned up my desk

Showered

Played some ‘Genshin Impact’

Made dinner

Continued yesterday’s IPL, caught up on ‘Bob’s Burgers’ episodes

Washed a load of laundry

Put away laundry

[creambunnie]

Jaemin - 2 Lives

chapters : masterlist , 1 2 3 4 5 6 7 8 9 ..

8 ;

a few weeks after making up with Jaemin, y/n and Jaemin decided to put a pause on their tutoring sessions to focus on their club performance.

only two groups will be chosen to perform at the school event anyways, so it was understandable that they wanted to do their best during the audition .

y/n and her boyfriend/partner, Seungmin, had already chosen a song to perform. it was 'For Now' originally by Kwon Jinah and Sam Kim .

it was a soothing and calm song with strong vocals. just about right for the couple. the two of them even planned to play the guitar together like how the artists did.

they thougt it would be a great experience for the audience to listen to a totally live performance.

y/n wouldn't say that their practice sessions were very enjoyable but she understood that they had to be serious to be given the opportunity to showcase their talent.

Jaemin on the other hand and his partner, Haechan, were still searching for the perfect song. they were still experimenting some songs and rearranging them to suit their style.

in contrast of their simple personalities, choosing a song was actually hard for the bestfriends.

it was a weekend, y/n and Seungmin decided to rehearse for a bit at Seungmin's place in the morning as the both of them had their own plans in the afternoon.

practise was unfortunately awful. it didn't really end well. it kind of ruined y/n's mood for the whole day.

y/n was sitting in front of her mirror, trying to find a way to conceal her swollen eyes. her usual light make up can't cover up her red eye bags and she was not in the mood to apply thick make up.

after contemplating for a few minutes, y/n decided to just go with her usual style, ignoring her uneven eyes.

she was meeting up with Jeno in an hour and she knew if she was to stare at her pale face for a few more minutes, she would be late for their plan.

Jeno was at the cafe they decided to meet at with Jaemin. it was supposed to be Jeno and y/n only but Jaemin was nearby so Jeno asked him to join too.

the two boys already ordered some drinks for the three of them as y/n was a bit late, just like she predicted. she did text Jeno to inform about her being late.

after a few minutes of waiting, Jaemin immediately sat up when he saw y/n entering the cafe.

Jaemin didn't know why but when he saw her tired face as she walked towards their table, he quickly stood up and went to y/n.

Jeno raised an eyebrow at his cousin's actions and just smirked. *oh how obvious, Jaemin.* .

"hey y/n, are you feeling okay?". Jaemin asked worriedly as he welcomed her with a carress on her arm.

y/n patted his hand back and smiled tiredly. "i'm just a bit worn out...". she replied weakly.

Jaemin frowned and quickly led her to her seat.

"you just finished rehearsing with Seungmin right? did anything happen?". Jeno asked straightforwardly.

knowing the boy from little, Jeno was aware of Seungmin's demanding attitude . a toxic trait of his.

y/n really didn't want to talk about it but she broke down right after Jeno asked. Jaemin panicked as her tears flowed non-stop.

Jaemin who was initially sitting opposite of y/n quickly sat on the empty seat next to her and wrapped his arm around her shoulders to comfort her.

"you can tell us anything y/n.. we are here for you.". Jaemin said softly as he carressed her arm. Jeno nodded, agreeing with his cousin. he was glad they picked a table at the corner.

y/n sniffed before starting her explanation.

" i don't know what is wrong with Seungmin. he has been cranky these past few days during practice , especially after Mark told the music club that companies representatives might be at the school event for scouting.

i understand that he wants everything to be perfect. i know he wants to be picked to perform, to have the opportunity to showcase his talents. a chance to be scouted and reach his dreams of being a singer...".

y/n sniffed again as she paused. Jeno passed her a napkin to blow her nose. y/n took a deep breath before continuing.

"i understand all of that but... he didn't have to hurt my feelings just because he wants to achieve his goals. maybe i'm just a bit sensitive but it hurt me when he started criticising my vocals and say hurtful words to me while raising his voice at me.

he told me that my vocals just won't reach his standard. and that if only he didn't have feelings for me, he would've chosen another partner. a partner that could bring him to his goals.". y/n broke down harder after that.

Jaemin's hands curled into fists as he heard the whole bullshit y/n had to go through. Jeno only managed to sigh and massage his forehead.

"Seungmin you shithead. why are you like this.". Jeno mumbled under his breath before facing y/n, whose face was now buried into Jaemin's shoulder. Jaemin side-hugged her as he continued carressing her back to console her.

"i-i'm try--ying. i-i'm trying my be-best.". y/n mumbled in the middle of hiccups.

Jeno sighed and raked his brain to help his bestfriends. he didn't like it when friendships are broken in order for one to reach success. Jeno hated that.

.

.

a/n : ik ik , today's update is a bittttt late. it's cos i was kind of busy (being a lazybum). but hope you guys enjoyed the angst! ik it kind of escalated quickly but that's life ! anw, stay healthy everyone!

[seagreen-meets-grey]

When Lightning Strikes Ch. 7

When your life is nothing but a cloudless sky, lightning can come and strike you so unexpectedly, you won’t even know what hit you.

Or: When Hiccup and Astrid meet, it is as if lightning strikes.

[Chapter 1] [Chapter 2] [Chapter 3] [Chapter 4] [Chapter 5] [Chapter 6] [Chapter 8] [Chapter 9] [Chapter 10] [Chapter 11] [Chapter 12] [Chapter 13] [Chapter 14] [Chapter 15] [Chapter 16] [Chapter 17] [Chapter 18] [Chapter 19] [Chapter 20]

Crossposted on ao3 and ff.net

_______________

Destiny and fate were interesting concepts. The idea that there was one sole purpose to one’s life, one goal that would guide the way to fulfillment – it didn’t make sense to Astrid. She didn’t believe that there was only one main road in life, one that lead her to whatever fate awaited her. She understood the thought behind the sentiment, about how whatever struggle one had to overcome, their choice would be the one they were destined to make. The right choice, after all.

But making choices was what determined the road. Life was a labyrinth to her, one with innumerable turns and crossroads and junctions, and every single one opened up to new paths to take. People could tell her all they wanted about how the roads she decided to take were the ones destined for her in the end – she would keep rolling her eyes at them and live her life by the standard that she was free to create her own paths and laugh in the face of destiny.

Facing her choice between marrying Eret and going for Hiccup proved her take on fate again. She could either decide to go one way or the other, both paths resulting in different, lifechanging avenues anew.

Blinking the little sleep out of her eyes that she got last night, she thought of the dress hanging in her wardrobe, in-between everyday clothes like a swan in a pig stall. She rolled around in her large bed, so empty without Eret next to her.

She could still change her mind. Take the other road. Plunge into the unknown. But then her phone rang, the loud tune pulling her the rest of the way from her slumber, and she reached for it with a sigh. She stared at the name showing up on her screen until her phone went quiet and notified her that she had one missed call.

Throwing it away to the foot of the bed, she grumbled and pulled the covers over her head. Three and a half hours were way too short to be rested. Not a minute later, her phone started ringing again, muffled by the blanket it had landed on. Astrid rubbed her forehead and stretched her arms, closing her eyes for one last moment. She couldn’t prolong this forever.

_______________

After leaving his house in a hurry that afternoon, Hiccup jogged around the building to where he had parked his car. He fumbled with the keys, shivering from the wind and the increasing amount of cold rain drops landing on his neck and rolling down his back.

He ducked into his car and dropped the keys only twice before he started the engine. It stuttered, spluttered and lurked a few times in tune with his stomach.

“Come ooon,” he pleaded, “don’t leave me hanging, don’t–“ His eyes fell on the fuel gage and with an exasperated groan he let his head fall on the steering wheel, jumping when his forehead honked the horn. For a minute, he sat there staring at the rain now pelting against the windshield, entertaining the thought of rotting away in his useless car for eternity.

A bright flash in the sky and the faraway sound of thunder shook him from his reverie and he felt determination flood back into his system. Grabbing his keys and pulling the zipper of his jacket up to his face, he got out of the car and had half a mind to lock it behind him before sprinting off to the next bus station.

Out of breath and cursing the puddles on the street that had soaked his feet through his shoes, he reached the stop, dashing under the small roof. In the company of a woman playing on her phone and a moody-looking teenager listening to loud music, he tapped his feet impatiently. According to the schedule plastered to the wall behind him, the next bus downtown should have arrived one minute ago.

Hiccup couldn’t stand still, pacing back and forth in the crammed space, earning judging looks from the teen. Wringing his hands, he stuck his head out every other second to see if the bus was somewhere to be seen. Five minutes passed, eight minutes, ten, twelve. Still no bus.

Swearing colorfully under his breath, he kicked at a pebble that had the misfortune of lying there on the ground. He could feel every second fly by, forever lost to him. Chancing another peek down the street, his heart leaped into his throat when a vehicle came around the corner.

_______________

The deep gray blanket of clouds parted on their way to the hair salon, one lone ray of sunshine breaking through. Ruffnut cursed and blindly reached to the backseat, producing a pair of sunglasses from the mess that was piling up everywhere in her car.

The beam fell on Astrid’s face. She closed her eyes and enjoyed the way it warmed her skin for too short a while until it disappeared behind the clouds again. The dark sky did nothing to soothe her nerves. Every forecast she’d repeatedly checked over the last week had predicted sunshine and warmth, only for the weather to pull a one-eighty on her now. She didn’t like the taste of rain in the air, feared that the wind would mess up her hair later the moment she stepped outside.

She sent a silent thanks to her friend when she parked right in front of the building. Should it start raining while they were inside, they’d need only seconds to reach the safety of the car.

The sound of scissors and hairdryers and the smell of various hair products greeted her when they entered the hair salon. Most of the chairs were occupied with women with tinfoil in their hair, reading a magazine while they waited for the color to seep in. A handful of stylists were working their magic with several other people, washing and cutting and chatting away.

“Good morning, can I help you?” A young woman with long hair somewhere between dark blonde and light brown appeared from a side room.

Astrid opened her mouth but Ruff beat her to it. “Astrid here needs to get laid tonight, so please make her hair look dazzling.”

Recognition flashed on the young woman’s face and with a smile that meant she’d met Ruffnut before, she waved Astrid over to a comfy looking chair in front of a big mirror. In it, Astrid watched Ruff wave at her before she left the salon, off to pick up the veil from the cleaner.

“I’m sorry for my friend,” she said when she set down. “She doesn’t know how to be normal.”

“Don’t worry, I met her before. She came here last week to ask who’d be doing your hair and tried to talk me into dying it pink. I figured you’re not a fan of pink.”

“Not at all.” Astrid shook her head. She wasn’t surprised. In fact, she’d wondered why Ruff had been so anti-chaotic during the whole ordeal so far. Maid of honor or not, she was still Ruffnut Thorston, and this little pranking attempt of hers gave Astrid some sense of normalcy, for which she was immensely grateful. She was anxious and stressed enough, and even though walking out of here with pink hair – if Ruff’s prank had worked – had ended in murder, it helped her breathe away some of the stress.

“Now, Miss Hofferson–“

“Call me Astrid.”

“How do you want your hair today, Astrid? I’m Marie, by the way.”

Astrid looked at herself in the mirror for a moment. “Honestly? I usually have it in a braid or ponytail because it’s practical. I don’t care much about hairstyles.”

Marie wiggled her fingers with a grin, obviously excited. “Alright darling, I got you covered. Let’s do this!”

_______________

It wasn’t the bus.

Hiccup’s shoulders sagged, only to go rigid again when it dawned on him that the bus wasn’t coming. He turned to the schedule again and let his finger run down the plastic cover, stopping under the information for when the next bus was supposed to arrive. It was more than an hour until then.

Cursing himself for moving to the outskirts of the city and even more for not filling up his gas tank sooner, he stepped back into the rain and walked down the street in quick steps. Fumbling out his phone with cold fingers, he typed in his destination and let the app calculate the time needed to walk there.

When he came to a crosswalk and looked up to check if he was good to go, he saw a long vehicle stop at the bus station. Oh great, it seemed like the universe had it out for him. He uttered a long sigh, fully aware that it was too late for screaming and waving at the bus driver while running back like an idiot.

The app had finished loading the calculation and the time display on the screen sent another wave of anxiety through him. Even if he ran, he wouldn’t make it on time. If only he had a car…

In a moment of clarity, he raised his hand and smacked his face. Why hadn’t he thought of this before?! While looking up the number of Berk’s cab company, he reached for his wallet with the other, only to come up empty.

“Figures,” he groaned and turned on the spot to run back home.

_______________

“And I was like, can someone please tell me why men are all imbecile spawns of hell?! No offense, honey, I know you’re getting married today, but boy, they can suck my non-existent dick.”

Marie had been working Astrid’s hair for nearly two hours now, first washing it and then trying a bunch of different hairstyles until they found one that they were both happy with. Ruff hadn’t yet shown up again and Astrid was wondering what was taking so long at the cleaner. She hoped her maid of honor hadn’t decided to rent a boar on the way to make the ceremony interesting.

“It’s okay,” Astrid assured Marie, “I know what you mean, believe me. Before I met Eret, I was in a situation similar to yours. I had already settled for staying single forever because I thought being in a relationship meant losing my independence. But there are good ones out there.”

“Yeah, I guess so.” Marie reached for a tube of haircare oil that smelled of coconut and summer when she combed it into Astrid’s hair. “But right now, I don’t care about any of them. Maybe one day, I’ll bump into a Shawn Mendes kind of guy and he’ll be nice and perfect and not like Kevin at all.”

Astrid smiled at her through the mirror. “Personally, I wouldn’t go for Shawn Mendes. But regardless of that, you should know that you don’t just bump into the perfect guy and everything immediately works out just the way you want it to. Relationships need work and the myth of the one perfect person for you is just that – a myth.”

Marie smirked. “I sense a story coming. Dish, girl, dish.”

“There’s nothing to dish. I just realized lately that when you think you found the one you want to spend your life with, someone else can sweep right in and show you the truth.” Astrid didn’t know why she was telling her this. She didn’t even know this girl. But maybe that was the reason; she could just talk this off her soul and remind herself that she was doing the right thing.

“What happened?”

“Nothing happened. I decided to not throw this relationship away because of these uncertain feelings I have for someone else. Because if I dump Eret now and try things with the other guy and that doesn’t work out, I’ll just regret it because I threw away a life of happiness and comfort.”

Marie was quiet for a minute, running her fingers through the strands of Astrid’s hair one last time to make sure every hair was where it was supposed to be. The bell over the front door jingled and through the mirror, Astrid saw Ruffnut walk in, holding up a clear bag with the veil.

“Well,” Marie mused and put her hands on Astrid’s shoulders, “I hope that everything works out for you.” She gave the chair a twirl. “Go get him, girl!”

_______________

Ignoring the mess he’d made while searching for his wallet, Hiccup called himself a cab while he ran back outside and didn’t stop walking. If he already started heading in the right direction, it shortened the route the cab would have to take, right?

The guy on the other end of the phone informed him that it would be a few minutes until a cab was available in his area. Hiccup didn’t care anymore, his stress level already through the roof and unable to rise higher – or so he’d thought.

As it turned out, the way he had to go wasn’t necessarily the way the cab was coming from. One mile later, his phone rang and a bored-sounding cab driver asked Hiccup if he still required his services or if he got the address wrong.

Apologizing for the misunderstanding, Hiccup told the driver where he was. He didn’t dare to walk away from his spot this time. But standing still was even worse than realizing he was at the wrong place. He kept looking at his phone without really seeing anything but the time, almost dropped it a few times and then once for real, paced around a lone trashcan, his head swiveling up and down the street in search of the cab. He messed up his hair – see, good thing he didn’t put any energy into combing it – and was soaked by the time the car pulled up at the sidewalk. The driver only raised his eyebrows at Hiccup’s state, and had this been a less stressful situation, he would have apologized for getting the seat wet.

He told the driver the address and promised to pay double if he made it quick. The man only shrugged and floored it while Hiccup grabbed the handle on the door and glanced at the clock for the umpteenth time. Although he was finally moving faster towards his destination, he now really started to panic.

_______________

As soon as Astrid and Ruffnut left the hair salon and made it back to the car without a strong gust of wind ruining all of Marie’s hard work, Astrid wanted to go back inside. The atmosphere in the salon had been weirdly peaceful and calm, and as long as Marie hadn’t been done with her hair, Astrid had had an excuse for not being somewhere else right now, for not moving forward with the day, for not facing the source of her nervousness.

Not much later, she was having breakfast at her parents’ house. Her father was quietly reading the newspaper, occasionally sipping from his giant mug of coffee. Her mother was listing all the things that still needed to be done and arguing with Ruffnut who was lounging in her chair, smearing chocolate spread all over her shirt.

When Wilma glanced at her watch, her eyes widened and she stopped trying to get Ruff to rub the chocolate off her shirt with a washcloth. Standing up, she started to simultaneously clean the table and collect several makeup utensils from all over the house. All the while, she was ranting about wasting time, Ruff doing a bad job by not dragging Astrid out of bed earlier, about the weather, and at some point, while she was disappearing upstairs, Astrid was sure she heard her blaming politics.

Her dad looked up from his newspaper shortly to roll his eyes with Astrid. When Wilma came back downstairs, Ruff planted herself in the doorway.

“You!” She poked her finger in Astrid’s mother’s chest. “Give me that.” She snatched the utensils from her hand. “Now go and scream into a pillow or something. I got this.”

Wilma put her hands on her hips and looked like she was about to dive into a lecture that started with young lady, but Astrid’s dad interrupted her.

“Let’s all just keep calm, okay? We still have a lot of time on our hands. Why don’t we just have breakfast without ripping each other’s heads off, and then we worry about what comes next.”

Wilma wasn’t having any of it. “A lot of time? Have you looked at the clock recently, Frederick?”

While her parents continued bickering, Astrid gave up resisting the fuss made around her and let Ruff apply her makeup in-between bites of bread rolls and scrambled eggs. She had just closed her eyes so that Ruff could give her a touch of eyeshadow to cover any evidence of lack of sleep, when she heard the front door open.

“Hello, everyone!”

“See?!” Wilma snapped at her husband. “He’s ready!”

“Not at all,” Eret answered and Astrid couldn’t contain a smug smile. “I just came here to give you,” he put a hand on Astrid’s shoulder, “an update. I just met your aunt Ruth and she told me she brought three of her lady friends along.”

“What?! She can’t just do that. Do we even have enough room for more people? And why would–“

“Wilma!” Frederick interrupted her.

Eret continued as if her mother wasn’t in the room. “She said something about them all being lonely and needing some company tonight, I don’t know. Anyway, I just wanted to give you a heads up.”

“Thanks,” Astrid mumbled. Eret might have sounded completely calm to everyone else, but there was a tension at the edge of his voice that was obvious to her. It kind of grounded her, knowing that she wasn’t the only one feeling this way, and that her nervousness didn’t stem from her being uncertain about what she was doing. (Which she wasn’t, because she had made her decision and was sure about it, alright?)

“I told Dagur to rearrange the seating a bit, I’m sure he’ll figure it out.” His hand left her shoulder and she heard him turn around before he added, “Oh, by the way, Dagur’s sister isn’t coming, he said she’s on vacation with her new boyfriend. Which means that Dagur’s without a date tonight, so I can finally hook him up with Theresa!”

She smiled at his jaunty enthusiasm. Ruffnut was still not done with the eyeshadow – Astrid was only slightly concerned about that – so she blindly reached her hand over her head for Eret. He squeezed it once and she felt him coming closer to her face, but Wilma chose that moment to barge back into the conversation.

“Don’t you dare! No kisses! Traditionally, you’re not even supposed to be here. So get out and get yourself ready! Then at least one of you is.”

Eret laughed quietly but she could feel her mother’s deadly stare even through closed eyes. Astrid had to have inherited it from somewhere which meant Eret knew the extent of the Hofferson Death Glare. He said goodbye and the front door fell shut behind him.

Astrid’s heart was beating uncomfortably in her chest and her head felt dizzy. Taking a deep breath and refraining from biting her lip lest Ruff yelled at her for ruining the lipstick, she willed herself to calm down. That stone in her gut meant that she was generally nervous, nothing more.

Only when she dropped a glass of orange juice a while later did she pause to think for a second, but that turned out to be a mistake. Thinking made her go down the route of impactful decisions again and it had a tiny voice in her mind ask her if maybe signs of the universe were real after all.

_______________

They were moving excruciatingly slowly. Every time a car or even a bicycle passed the cab on another lane, it made Hiccup’s knee twitch. The driver looked at him in the rearview mirror oddly from time to time and seemed to have forgotten about the extra money Hiccup had promised to pay him if only he stepped on it.

When the car came to a full stop on the road, Hiccup threw his hands up in frustration. “Seriously?!”

“Traffic, man,” the driver said lackadaisically, leaning back in his seat and drumming his fingers on the stick shift in a bored manner.

Hiccup wiped a hand over his face and pulled his phone from his pocket. It was clammy from his soaked jeans. The app told him that it would take him sixteen minutes to reach his destination if he walked. Less, if he ran.

Crawling halfway over the center console, he peeked out the windshield to gauge how long the traffic jam would go on, ignoring the sideways glance of the driver. Upon seeing only very little movement far ahead, he gave the man a few bills and climbed back to his seat to get out.

“Hey,” the driver called after him, “that’s not double!”

Hiccup stuck his head in again to call back, “And I’m not there on time,” before he slammed the door and navigated his way through stuck cars until he reached the sidewalk. Orienting himself once more, he figured out the fastest way to the venue and started to run.

His days on the couch, the lack of healthy food and his relationship with exercise in general quickly came to bite him in the ass as he had to stop one street over to catch his breath. As winded as he was and as much as he’d love a raincoat right now, the thought of Astrid lent him a new wave of energy.

Ten minutes later, the place came into view, one final sprint away. He just had to pull himself together one last time.

_______________

Putting on the dress was a feat on its own. She couldn’t pull it on over her head because it would ruin her hair so she had to step into it and have Ruff close it on her back. The zipper was thin and the fabric sat tight on her so, naturally, her skin got stuck in it several times before her mother took over. She sent Ruff away to do her job and make sure everything at the venue was ready and going smoothly.

“We’re going to arrive to either a perfect arrangement or a crime scene,” Wilma mumbled when Ruff was gone.

“Don’t forget the fire, the explosions and the wild horde of boars,” Astrid added. “And her brother.”

Now that they were alone, her mother seemed to calm down considerably. All that was left for them to do was to drive to the wedding. Astrid wondered if it was her who was shaking or if it were her mother’s hands that delicately stroked over her back where hopefully no trace of the zipper was visible.

“This is really happening, hm.” Her mother’s voice was no further above a whisper, more than twenty years’ worth of nostalgia sewn into it. “You’re finally leaving the nest.”

“I’ve left the nest years ago, mom.”

“But you were still a Hofferson until now.”

“I’m keeping my name. I’ll stay a Hofferson.” When the issue of last names had come up, Eret had suggested she take his. But the Hofferson inside her had screamed in protest, unwilling to give up her family name and the notion of independence by making herself all his. She knew that he’d never think of her as his property, but it still didn’t sit right with her to change her name. So she didn’t.

Wilma came around to stand in front of her and Astrid was surprised at the strange sight of tears welling up in her mother’s eyes. She figured it made sense for her to get emotional on a day like this, but she’d never seen her cry before.

“You know that you’ll always be my little girl, right?”

“I know, mom. Come here.” She pulled her mother into a hug and the two of them stood like that for a long while. Astrid felt like a little girl seeking out the safety of her mother’s arms. Right here, right now, she didn’t have to worry about decisions and destiny and consequences and whether she was making the right choices for herself.

She felt the arms around her squeeze one more time, then her mom straightened up, took a step back and gave her daughter a firm nod that conveyed more than Astrid could ever put into words.

“Are you ready to do this?” Wilma asked, voice both breathless and strong.

Astrid knew what it meant; she could see it in her mother’s eyes. She took a deep breath. “Yes.”

Her father was already waiting outside. Her mother fastened the veil in her hair and gave her the bouquet before she opened the door for her and lead her to the car.

When they neared the venue – which was a generic party hall rather than a beautiful old mansion, but it would do – there was no fire to be seen, no wild animals disturbing the scene, no Thorston twins’ shenanigans. Ruffnut was, for once, trying to contain the chaos instead of causing it, which Astrid had to give her a lot of credit for.

Her dad parked the car and opened her door. With a steely resolve, she climbed out of the vehicle and held her head up high. Nobody had to know that mere days ago, she had still been contemplating running away and leaving the man waiting for her inside, friends and family by his side.

She noticed the storm clouds in the distance, hanging lower than the blanket of ashy gray that had accompanied her on her way to the hair salon that morning. Her chat with Marie seemed like it had been years ago. Astrid squinted her eyes and watched closely as the clouds moved forward, passing a row of houses. They were coming fast. She hoped they wouldn’t ruin the photos her parents wanted to take with her before the ceremony and all the ones she had to take afterwards.

The photographer was already waiting for them, leading them to a set of trees decorated with white and rose gold ribbons and flowers, and the letters A and E made of wood hanging from a branch. It wasn’t the most elegant decoration, but it was more than Astrid had expected her maid of honor to organize. In all honesty, she kept waiting for sex toys to fall out of the trees or a banner that said all kinds of dirty things.

But the photos turned out great and the storm kept a distance during all of it. It was time to head inside and face the road she had decided to take. On her way to the building, she was still chancing glances upwards, waiting for a pigeon to fly by and drop a present on her head. But there was no bird shit and signs from the universe weren’t real.

The music started when she stepped over the threshold, walking arm in arm with her parents. The guests all stood, ohs and ahs sounding from every corner as she walked down the aisle. Eret’s eyes flitted over her appearance and fixated on her face, smile as soft and proud as his gaze.

She gulped, taking her place next to him and giving a tiny wave to her parents when they left her to take their seats. The officiator started talking but she barely listened. For some reason, her eyes kept wandering over the rows of guests, searching for an anker she knew wasn’t there. Finally, she looked back at Eret, and the ceremony went on.

_______________

Something was strange about this place. Hiccup couldn’t put his finger on it, but it was there. It was hard to concentrate on anything while his brain and body were begging for oxygen, his muscles were jittery and exhausted and all he wanted to do was lie down on the pavement and sleep for days.

But he didn’t have that luxury. All he could think of was arriving to the wedding on time, before she could say I do without him telling her how he felt. Maybe it would make a difference, maybe it wouldn’t. But he’d rather do it while there was still a chance of it making one, despite it being a naïve hope.

Bending over and wheezing for air, he collected his senses. Just do it, the Shia Labeouf in his mind shouted at him. A determined jolt went through his limbs and he straightened up, jogging down the driveway of the centuries-old mansion towering in front of him.

His hand was shaking as he lifted it to the doorknob. Ignoring the strange tug at the back of his subconsciousness still trying to tell him something, he opened the door.

_______________

The officiator, an old school friend of her dad’s, held a long speech about true love. She could tell that Eret found it a bit cheesy, judging from the looks he threw her every now and then, but that, ultimately, he saw himself in the man’s words.

Astrid caught comparatively little of the speech. She heard sentiments about solidarity, trust and togetherness here and there, but her mind was elsewhere. She was assessing her feelings, trying to make sense of the whirlwind of emotions kicking and jumping through her heart. There was nervousness, naturally, whereas she couldn’t care about the attention of the crowd any less. Then there was a mixture of giddiness, bubbling about in her chest, and a touch of fear as she was boarding a ship that would set sail as soon as she said the words. She could then only stay on that ship forever or jump into the cold, relentless ocean to escape.

Behind her eyes, the tiredness was beginning to press against her skull. She’d gone to bed so early last night, but when she’d been lying there alone in the silent darkness, she’d become a victim to her own doubts. For fear of dreaming of Hiccup and the porch again, just when she’d closed the gate to that road, she’d tossed and turned in her sheets for hours until exhaustion finally won over.

In the morning, she’d known that she had dreamed about something, although she couldn’t remember what it had been. All that remained was a faint feeling of easiness, lingering like a warm glow coating her heart. She couldn’t help but think about the possible what-ifs again. What if she said no? What if she had told Eret weeks or even months ago that she didn’t feel ready for this yet? What if she had never agreed to come with him to Dagur’s party?

Rain was rapping against the windows now and from where she stood, she could see the branches of the trees bowing to the wind. Someone switched on a second row of lights.

“And now the rings,” the officiator’s voice cut through her thoughts. Eret’s cousin, a small boy in dress pants and suspenders, jumped up from his seat at his cue and carefully carried over a tiny white pillow with the rings on it.

Astrid took a shaky breath. The officiator spoke again, leading up to the traditional questions.

In that moment, her attention was diverted when the door to the room opened. Her heartbeat stilled for a second when she saw a tall figure enter. She didn’t know why she was simultaneously disappointed and relieved when she recognized her cousin Beth’s husband.

“Do you,” the officiator started, calling Astrid back to the situation. Hearing Eret say I do suddenly pulled her down to earth and planted her feet on the solid ground, and the door stayed closed.

“And do you, Astrid Hofferson, take this man as your husband?” When she opened her mouth, she couldn’t imagine a different answer. She’d built this relationship with Eret and got her life together with him. She didn’t want to throw away all they had grown to be and what she’d come to call her life, where she felt safe and secure and loved and where she was happy, happy with the way things were.

“I do.” The roaring applause of the guests turned to white noise as Eret pulled her to him. She grinned into the kiss, feeling the waves lap against the ship’s hold as it left the harbor and the space between her and the dock became too large to jump.

This was what she’d wanted for longer than what she refused to think about anymore. Ignoring the still lingering notion of what if, she wouldn’t allow herself to think about another man while she was now married. However, although she knew she’d made the right decision, that didn’t mean that the entire Hiccup-conflict was immediately resolved. But it would soon be, because she couldn’t do this anymore now, and she wouldn’t. That brief chapter of her life had to come to a close.

She didn’t have time to further think about it, shaking hands and sharing hugs with every guest in the room. Photos had to be taken inside, and when it was time for the soup to be served, her face hurt from smiling.

When the rest of the dessert was being carried away by the catering staff, the band asked everyone to join the newlyweds on the dancefloor. Astrid had to take off the veil since it reached all the way down her back and wouldn’t survive the night if she kept it on. Then she danced with Eret, with her parents, with Eret again, with his grandparents, with Ruffnut and Dagur and even with Beth’s husband who told her about his weak bladder and apologized for taking a bathroom break in the middle of the ceremony. It was an incident Astrid didn’t want to be reminded about, for a reason different to what he might be thinking.

After a while, the party became a blur, people mingling everywhere and with everyone, drinking and laughing and dancing. Astrid was listening to her neighbor Larry telling her great-uncle Greg some story about a man that had once lived across from him and who he swore had been an undercover cop, when her mother tapped her on the shoulder. Astrid leaned in closer so she could hear her better over the music and the ruckus of conversation and frolicking party guests.

“There’s a young man outside asking for you.” Astrid frowned, in her mind going through all the people who would want to talk to her who weren’t already here. Her mother gave her a meaningful look and Astrid could tell she had a suspicion who it might be. She felt her heart rate go up at the implication.

Biting the inside of her cheek, she turned around to head outside.

“Astrid,” her mom called after her and met her eyes with a serious expression. “You made your decision. Don’t throw that away now.” Earning strange looks from Greg and Larry, she held eye contact with her daughter until Astrid walked away.

The rain had let up, quietly drumming on the canopy over the patio in an even rhythm. She heard thunder roll in the distance and inhaled the fresh air. Her mother’s words echoed in her mind but she was sure she didn’t want to change anything about her decision – only for that foundation to tumble the moment she saw him.

Her heart quivered in her chest. The sight of him leaning against a wooden beam, soaked in rain and rumpled from the wind, knocked her next breath right out of her so unexpectedly that she lost her voice for a second.

He noticed her and turned around, those green eyes shining like emerald beacons in the night when he set his sight on her. “Wow, you look…” He gestured at her dress with the little splotch of sauce on it, at her hair that was flowing down her back in waves, with small flowers woven into it.

His gaze set her cheeks on fire and she averted her face, biting her lip to keep it from breaking into a wide grin. “Thanks.” She glanced back at him and let the smile loose, anyway, twisting it into a smirk. “Not bad yourself.”

Hiccup looked down at himself, a bit of water running out of his hair and down his face at the motion. “Fancy, huh? I made an effort to get the November rain look right.”

“You know, I think that outfit goes with an umbrella.”

“One might think that,” he said in such a dry tone that it made Astrid snicker.

His face lit up at the sound and she could see the small gap between his front teeth when he cracked that lopsided smile she found so adorable.

She cleared her throat, snapping out of the bubble they were creating. “So… What are you doing here?”

He sobered up at her question as well, raising a hand to rub his neck. “Well, I…” He seemed to be struggling with his words, every line of his face immerged in countless everchanging emotions. “I wanted to come by and, um… And tell you…” After a beat of silence, he ran a hand over his face and gesticulated with the other. “I was at the other place first, but no one was there except some plumber guys.”

Astrid grimaced apologetically.

“I think they were as confused about me as I was by them, so we just stood there gaping at each other for a minute until one of the guys asked me what I was doing there. They told me about the water damage but didn’t know where you were now.”

“Sorry, we told the guests but didn’t send out new invitations. Where did you get the address anyway?”

A light blush covered his cheeks. “Saw Heather’s invitation. Anyway, so I looked up where events were held today, used a few of my dad’s contacts; most of them probably think now I’m some kind of stalker. I got it down to a few possible places and checked them all. Crashed a wedding, a bingo tournament and a funeral. Apparently, I look like the dead guy when he was young, because his widow fainted when she saw me. I think I yelled something about waiting for her in the afterlife and disappeared as fast as possible.”

Astrid burst out laughing, picturing him awkwardly talking his way through the situation, moving his hands and shoulders with every breath, eyes wide like a deer in the headlights.

“Yeah, so then I checked here and asked that woman out here if I was at the right place.”

“That was my mom, by the way.”

Recognition flashed over his face. “Makes sense. You have the same nose.” He blushed. “Sorry, that probably came out weird.”

Trying to figure out if he was serious, she pondered inviting him in. She was conflicted, because she really shouldn’t.

An idea popped up in her head. It was crazy, absolutely insane and, above all, very stupid. What if, she thought, what if she just threw everything to the wind and ran away with him, right now? Looking into his eyes, out here alone on the patio, it seemed possible.

But then reality came back to her in the shape of the ring pressing against the skin on her finger. It was like a punch to the gut; it doused her heart in gasoline and threw a whole pack of matches on top. Rushing for the fire extinguisher, she decided she wanted him around as a friend, if not to prove to herself that she’d made the right decision.

“Hey,” she said, “do you want to come inside? I’m hereby officially inviting you so don’t listen to Dagur, he can’t throw you out. I’m the bride, I have the last say.”

Hiccup’s eyebrows scrunched together and her smile faded. “No, I better leave.” He took a step closer.

“Why? Because of Dagur? Don’t worry, I can reign him in.”

He shook his head. “No. I mean, yes, but no, that– that’s not what I mean.”

“Then why not?” She mirrored his movement, ever drawn to him like a magnet. He took another step towards her, deep green irises glinting in the light of the patio. She could see the long scar on his chin, could count the freckles on his skin, wanted to feel the stubble on his jaw. Her fingers prickled under the phantom sensation conveyed by her imagination.

He slowly raised his hand to put a strand of hair behind her ear, stroked lightly over her cheek, leaving trails of tingling fires. Thunder grumbled directly above them and the clouds burst, releasing an ocean upon the earth. He leaned in until she could make out every shade of green in his eyes. His lips touched the corner of her mouth and her brain shut down.

It took her a few seconds to realize he wasn’t standing directly in front of her anymore. Her hand automatically went to the spot where he’d just kissed her. It tingled and crackled like it was loaded with sparks and she didn’t know how to speak.

“Goodbye Astrid,” he whispered, voice cracking, when he sent one last sad smile her way before turning around and walking away.

The sight of his retreating figure knocked her brain out of its stupor. “Wait,” she called out, running after him into the rain. “I’ll see you around, right?”

He looked back at her with eyes so full of pain it broke her heart. “I don’t think that’s a good idea.” With that, he left, hands buried in his pockets, head hanging low on his shoulders. There was one more sound of thunder in the nearer distance, but Hiccup took it away with him.

She stood there for a long while, hair and shoulders gradually soaking through, and stared after him until he had long disappeared from her sight. She knew he would always be her biggest what-if.

With the last drops of rain running down her face, she went back inside to her wedding.

_______________

- End of Part 1 -

_______________

[neo-culture-mafia]

Hi Princess (Aftermath)

First part

If he would have just told you. If he would have just told you what was going to happen, you could be prepared for this immense pain where you felt -- as if your stomach had been flipped upside down, and your emotions put into a bottle; shaken like a cocktail that was being served to the Devil himself.

As the video had come to a close, it was almost as if Mark was outside your front door...waiting. The door opened and you dropped everything: remote, blanket, and worry. You ran over and grabbed the older boy by the arms. "He's here. He's home, right?" You asked, panicked tears stinging your eyes.

He could only watch as you broke in his arms. "...y/n..." "He's here. He's coming up right now, isn't he?" You ask and slipped on your slippers to run down the hall to meet your boyfriend who pulled this terrible prank on you.

"Y/n. No. Stop it." Mark grabbed your waist and dragged you down to the hard and cold ground. "No. You stop. Get off of me." You wrestled with him. Your heart was going a million miles an hour and your head wasn't even yours, as it felt like you were floating on cloud 9.

Mark didn't get off though, he held onto you and kept you grounded to the floor. Yet you stopped struggling once someone else's arms were wrapped around your body.

"Calm down. It's okay." The soft words were familiar and comforting. It was all becoming real. He was gone...really gone...not coming back.

You broke down, holding your chest. Your hair was a mess as you gave up. You buried your face in the closest cloth you could find. You wheezed as you tried to catch your breath. Your head throbbed as you laid in someone's arms in the middle of the entry way to the once comforting home of you and Jaemin...now it was just your home.

Your eyes felt like they were bulging out of your head as you became dizzy from the lack of oxygen. You gripped onto the persons arm and didn't let go for a second. You couldn't even breath on your own anymore.

"Come. Back." You cried and screamed like a little baby. You heard murmurs behind you and realised people were here...yet you weren't moving for anything.

"Close the door." Mark said who was still sitting close to you. The door shut with a click.

"Please come back." You cried harder; coiling your body into yourself...trying to become non-existent.

This is it...this was how you were going to die...a broken heart...you were sure of it.

"Please." You begged, but he was never going to walk in the door again. You would never experience his touches anymore, or his kisses that were late at night when the moon held all of your guys' secrets, or the slow dances in the living room that ended in a long talk of the future for both of you...you had nothing.

You were hurt by the actions, but just felt an immense sense of guilt...if you just had told him you loved him one last time -- maybe he would have stayed. If you were more important -- he would have stuck around...if you would have shown him the pregnancy test sooner -- he would know that there's a little boy on the way.

You subconsciously held your stomach, and held on tighter to the person. You felt hands rubbing your back and realised the Junior Forces were here. They were family...and they would help...but it was all just too empty without Jaemin.

You were now rocking yourself in the arms of someone...someone who had comforted you enough to stop you crying in the moment. Hair was matted to your face and your face was blotchy with tears.

"...y/n..." You could hear Renjun whisper. But by looking at Marks reaction, everyone was telling him to shut up. You turned yourself around to look at the boys who sat close to you with their knees to their chest and arms holding them together, on the tiny block of hardwood -- meant for one to take their shoes off...but the Junior Forces were using it as a final family holding...building everyone stronger for the inevitable struggle that was coming.

You looked at the boys, and focused on Renjun. You nodded slightly, and he saw you and broke himself. His chest shook a little as he puffed out his cheeks and breathed. He couldn't make eye contact as he could only stare at his hands infront of him.

"He-..." he trailed off, shaking his head as if it would shake reality from his mind. "He gave me this to give to you." He finally got out and opened his pocket. He grabbed the small item and placed it in my hand.

I turned my hand over, looking in my palm.

The cool metal of your shared engagement rings ironically burned your skin. You could only nod, acknowledging it's presence. "Thank you." You nodded, giving a weak smile and setting it next to the key dish on the entry table.

You took another look at the boys and they looked disturbed.

"...y/n..." Jisung breathed. You hummed and he looked down to his knees that were near his chest. "I-" he began but was caught off with the hiccup bubbling from his chest.

He got angry a little, and gripped his knee a little too roughly. "It. Hurts." He said and you knew exactly what he was talking about.

"Alot." He choked out. He sniffles and you couldn't miss the single tear rolling down his cheek. "Jisung..." you called, setting your hand on top of his comfortingly.

"It's okay..." You breathed, reassuring him. His lip quivered as his eyes met yours. Your eyes became warm too, but you needed to be the rock in this moment.

"Its okay to cry, Jisung." You said and his face was lost in his knees as he wept loudly. Some of the boys looked at him in confusion...and some in envy.

Chenle broke...then Hyuck...Mark was a whimpering mess in the opposite corner. You turned towards the person who still held onto you, and held you when everything went wrong in the first place...Jeno. Renjun was getting closer to both of you.

"I'm so...sorry..." Jeno spoke in broken sentences. He looked at you with tears in his eyes and a heavy heart making a home in his chest. You held his face. "There is nothing. Nothing, to be sorry for." You said and he could only clench his teeth and crack his knuckle to stop from bursting into tears.

"He did this himself." You spoke, some tears falling down your own face. "He did this for us...all of us..." You reassured Jaemin's best friends.

Renjun was scratching his skin...trying to stop the flowing of tears. He tried to stay strong...but he had been strong for too long.

"Renjun." You spoke softly. "I'm fine." He said and you rolled your eyes at his stubbornness, you set a hand on his arm. He quickly pushed it off. "I said: I'm-" "Renjun." You sternly said and regripped his arm. Be finally looked you in the eyes and you couldn't explain the hurt you saw in his eyes.

"You don't have to be so strong all the time." The words made his shoulder drop with the weight of reality.

"He's...he's really...not coming back?" He cleared his throat, shaking his head again. You grabbed his hand more comfortingly.

"It's okay...renjun...to be sad..." Jeno said in short sentences, rubbing his wet eyes. "Its okay..." He tried continuing. He turned his head to the sky to make sure his tears didn't fall.

"Its okay...to cry..." Jeno said and the pain was evident in his voice. He was dealing with the death of his best friend, but also telling himself to let his guard down which was hard and not easy.

You patted Jeno's shoulder and held Renjun's hand. Yet Renjun's grip overpowered yours as the silent sobs raked through his body.

He tried to muffle his heartbreak with his hand...but it wasn't working. You dropped your hands and pulled his face into your shoulder. He gripped onto your waist, throwing his head into your shoulder. You held him as his body shook with each violent sob that was thrown from his gut.

Eventually everyone now huddled around you both. They laid into each other and released their pain and heart break.

Yet you knew...Jaemin was here. He was everywhere. He was here comforting the hurt group...but also in the base where he looked over the other members. He was with Doyoung who was downing his 5th bottle of beer; with Jungwoo who was crying silently into his pillow; with Johnny who had been staring at a blank wall since the time of detonation; with Jaehyun who was clearing the matches and lighter from his work box, opting to hang them above his work station; and with Taeyong...who sat alone in his office, crying, wishing he volunteered to go instead of him. Jaemin volunteered, he couldn't say no...Jaemin wouldn't let him.

"It's okay." You told all the boys, a few stray tears running down your cheeks. You didn't know if you were telling them it was okay, or you were trying to convince yourself that it would be okay.

You sniffled, rubbing someone's back who still shook with cries.

"It's okay."

[gigilberry-wips]

Ch. 2. Hiccup’s POV: Late July

Media: Fanfiction

Rating: General

Warnings: No Warnings Apply

Fandoms: How To Train Your Dragon (2010), Harry Potter - J.K Rowling, Rise of the Brave Tangled Dragons/The Big Four

Characters: Hiccup Horrendous Haddock III, Stoik The Vast, Original Non-Human Character

Tags: Hogwarts AU, kid!fic, Angst, Family, Strained Family Relationships, Heartbreak, Self-Loathing, Secrets, there’s a character in here that i didn’t put in the tags because spoilers, but know that they’re there, angst train choo choo

Word count: 3,043 words

Chapters:

1 | 2 | 3 | 4 | 5 | 6 | 7 | 8 | 9 | 10 | 11 | 12 | 13 | 14 | 15 | 16 | 17 | 18 | 19 | 20 | 21 | 22 | 23 | 24

AO3 Link

Summery:

When Hiccup goes searching for answers, he overhears a conversation not meant for his ears. He finally learns why his family came to England.

.°○.♢.○°.

In a wide expanse of hallway located in the west wing of an old manor in Kent, there was a blob of shadow sneaking where it shouldn't have been.

That blob was, in fact, a ten-year old boy named Hiccup Horrendous Haddock III.

A…rather long-ish name, for someone so short. He was supposed to grow into it. Eventually.

Hiccup was a Viking, even if he didn’t look like it, and he grew up in a tiny village full of Vikings who did look like it. The village stood on a speck of stubborn rock surrounded by unforgiving ocean located in the middle of freezing and nowhere. The two most important things that could be said about the village was that it has as much sheep as it did people and that it won all the awards for the world’s deadliest pest problem: dragons.

Real dragons. With wings and talons and fire. That hunted the Vikings as the Vikings hunted them.

The only thing that stopped the village from either crumbing to the tide or else going up in flames was the fact that the magic running through the land and its people was as wild and strong and dangerous as the beasts that troubled them. It was what helped them survive, and they were proud of it.

Even if Hiccup wasn’t much of a Viking, there wasn’t anywhere else he could think of that made him think ‘home’. It was where his family, and their family, and all the generations before his had lived and where he’d expected they’d live long after he passed.

It was why he was so entirely confused when his father told him to pack his things a few days before and carted them all the way across the oceans to where they were now.

No prior warning. No explanations given. Just a gruff, “Hiccup, we’re leaving,” and then they were gone at sundown.

It wasn’t even that Hiccup hated going on a surprise trip. Up until then most of his adventures had been about sneaking off to the nearby muggle town for its library (and by nearby, it was a boat-journey away) or else running away (well, not quite; he wasn’t much of a runner) from the local Viking children trying to beat him up.

The problem here was that those Viking children had come along with them. By the time Hiccup had his things packed and ready those children and their families had showed up and, group by group, they’d magically teleported to England to be greeted first thing by a raging downpour. A full hour of cussing, shouting, and general chaos had landed them in this damp, musty building, with Hiccup being dropped off in his new room and essentially forgotten about ever since.

But that was going to change today. Today was the day Hiccup would get some answers.

Just as soon as he figured out where he was.

A lump in his pocket shifted and woke. It slithered out and climbed under the folds of his bulky jumper. Tiny claws poked into the material of his tunic, until they reached his shoulder and a soft chitter tickled his ear.

Slow and silent, Hiccup turned his head. Murky, brown-green yes, same as his own, stared up at him.

“Shhh.” He hissed. He didn’t dare risk going louder than that.

The little ‘gecko’ he’d named Nessi took no such care, but she didn’t have to. She answered him with a tiny chirrup and rubbed her neck against his. Then she clambered up into his hair. That’s where she’d stay until he found the time to eat, before she’d leave to find a meal for herself. At least he could always rely on her to be predictable.

That meant he’d already spent too long wandering.

Tugging the shadows tighter around himself, Hiccup closed his eyes and breathed out. With his eyes open, he saw the same things as anyone else—a long, square corridor with dark, threadbare carpeting and unadorned walls of deeply coloured wood.

But with his eyes closed, Hiccup could find a different view. One only he could see.

Outside it was raining. It created a thick blanket of background noise that kept in the sounds that came from within the building itself.

The floors and walls breathed in the water that filtered through the air. They creaked and groaned alongside their neighbours, some quieter, some not, depending on where they were. Farther out than that, in the opposite direction of where Hiccup headed, were the distant clamours and wandering feet of the other families who’d come along and were trying to sort out their new life to fit the new land they were in. Deep within the building came the murmurs of the house staff, muffled and folded into the walls like the gentle ticks of a well-worn machine.

Hiccup did not just hear all of this, he saw it too. In his mind’s eye, the sounds bloomed into existence like the inverted colours of a developing photograph. They made a rough map in his head of where exactly everything was in the mansion and where he was compared to them.

This trick was just one of many little things he’d taught himself to do with magic. He didn’t know how he did it, simply that he could.

At the moment there was one specific sound he was trying to find. One voice, something he’d been hearing since time beyond memory. Those were always the easiest sounds to pick out. The more familiar they were to him, the faster he could find them.

He found it then. The low timber of it caught along the edges of his mind and he wrapped a mental fist around it.

Hiccup opened his eyes without seeing and followed the voice, one hand stretched out and lightly brushing past the wall. The carpet muffled his feet and the shadows surrounding him did the rest. Not even the rats that scuttled behind the walls took notice, smelling neither boy or gecko.

It was when he turned the final corner that Hiccup blinked back to the rest of his senses.

His magic had picked up only his father’s voice. But his ears now picked up another. An unfamiliar voice in an unfamiliar accent.

That wasn’t right.

If something made a noise, then he should’ve sensed it. He’d tested the trick out for weeks and it’s what had always happened. Always, that is, until then.

Hiccup frowned. A problem for later. He had work to do. With tiny, careful steps, he edged closer and closer to the double doors. If anything else in the empty corridor heard the thumping of his heart, then they paid it no mind.

Definitely not the mysterious voice behind the doors. He—and it was definitely a he—was going on and on about something, Hiccup didn’t know what, either unaware or unconcerned with how loud he was.

Then his father’s voice cut through. “Enough. It is of no concern to me the history of the institution you speak of. I do not need to hear what virtues the English hold up to, for I know you have none.”

“Now now now, don’t speak so harshly, Mr. Haddock! Why, this very institution is where you will be sending your own child to.” The other voice chuckled. It had an odd, oily edge to it, that chuckle. The kind that fit under a bowler hat, a moustache, and a cigar, like in an old western film.

Hiccup suddenly pictured such a man, probably short and stocky, too, faced up against his mountain of a father.

“Coming from you, my child whom you speak of sounds more like a product than a living being. I do not need a product, Mister On—”

“Ehem.”

“…Very well. Mr. Walters, whatever else comes of this, I do not care for my son and heir being made into a puppet, or for such a fate to befall the other children of my tribe, brought here on the trust and loyalties of their families. Neither I nor my people have any use for those who have been made spineless and docile. By the end of this, Havárđr needs to be a leader.”

Hiccup startled at the use of his given name. For some reason, the floors did not creak.

It was strange enough to hear his father speak this way, all grand and formal like that. (Where had he learnt to? How long had he been able to?) Hiccup had never heard him talk like that, not with him or anyone.

Hardly anyone used his given name. Both the names—Havárđr and Hiccup—had belonged to his grandfather. They’d named him the first and called him the other, a relic from when he’d been born too early and almost too weak.

It wasn’t until his tenth birthday that he’d been gifted the Horrendous part of his name, along with a grand ceremony and his first dagger.

Inside, it had embarrassed him, since he was used to being shoved away from being the centre of attention. He didn’t know why they’d made such a fuss over just another birthday, or if anyone really expected him to do something heroic with the dagger.

Something told him he was now staring in the face of the answer.

The other voice kept going, as smooth as if his father had uttered a compliment. “And a leader he shall be. Hogwarts is one of the best the schools of magic have to offer. One of the very few spoken for by wizards, so you can be sure of its quality. Those who graduate from there have become ambassadors and leaders, have gained prominent careers and great success.”

“Now if only this school of yours could teach my son to be a strong Viking.” His father sighed. “Havárđr has the makings of it in him, I'm sure he does, but he just does not seem to care to try and use it. He does not favour battle magic, did not even lift a weapon until one was placed in his hands, and he refuses to learn how. He hardly ever talks to the people of our village, his own people, be they his age or no, unless duty forces his hand. Instead he goes running off to who-knows-where and not having a care towards helping others. How will he gain the respect of his people in the years to come? How will he gain their trust? What does he think to accomplish when he spends his days indoors or wandering the hills like one of the sheep?”

The words hung in the air. The words stopped his heart.

He shouldn’t be here.

He shouldn’t be hearing this.

But hadn’t he already heard this? Hadn’t Hiccup spent his entire life hearing some version of all this from everyone else?

They hadn’t said it in so many words. But he knew what the other adults muttered about when they didn’t think he could hear it. He knew what their children laughed at him about where they knew he could. Everyone had been worried for the son of the chief when he was born, and the worry had grown into disappointment as the years passed.

But for his father to just say that, to present it all like that. And to a stranger. Not to him, never to him.

There was a ringing in his ears. His feet wanted to run. But he couldn’t move. He couldn’t do anything.

The stranger on the other side went on, as calmly as if there wasn’t a boy in the corridor whose world was crumbling to pieces. “Hm. Well, I’m sure how your boy turns out will ultimately be up to him. The school will teach him well enough, since you’d put so much weight on ‘giving to the community’ and ‘the good of your people’. Can’t honestly say the path of a wizard would hold up the same. Although as far as other qualities are concerned, it truly is the best, in my humble opinion—which reminds me. Again, I should ask: are you sure? Are you quite sure you wouldn’t rather want…?”

“No,” said his father, with the finality of a death blow.

“…Well, I can’t say I didn’t try. If you’re sure, then. Although those ties have much to offer, should you ever wish to change your mind. Things like greatness and power is what wizardry is all about. But it’s fine. At least with this, you will have the benefit of an internationally acclaimed school teaching your young. That, surely, we can agree is for the best?”

A long silence followed this. Or at least, it felt that way. A part of Hiccup, the part that didn’t care either way about unimportant things like emotional distress, idly wondered if, had he kept his trick going, perhaps he could’ve ‘looked’ into the room. He could’ve seen where the two adults were, if they were sitting in armchairs next to the fireplace, or at a big, heavy desk that rested before an expansive window, curtains drawn to keep out the chill.

Or perhaps, they were instead facing each other, neither daring to turn away, like an old-fashioned duel. Was that why the silence felt so heavy? Or was that just him?

A sound like a tea cup clinking against a table broke the still air. A floor board creaked as someone inside shifted.

“…Mister Walters, we are neither of us fools. I know as well as you do that this serves a purpose for you as well. It is why—…it is the only reason, I am sure, why you and your kind have lent your aid.”

His father’s deep voice had gone even deeper, almost a rumble by then. It was a sharp contrast to the other, who laughed, quick and light.

“But of course it does. And the details of it shouldn’t concern you in the slightest, trust me. You see, you, my chief, are a leader, while I am a businessman. And a smart businessman always ensures that any given situation is to the best interest of both parties involved.”

“Indeed. And you will do well to remember that it is not in good practice to hide vital information from your business partners.”

A rustle of papers, followed by the dull tap of many small somethings lightly hitting a wooden surface. “Everything I intend is everything you see on this paper here, Mr. Haddock. See this signature? It means that any and all involvement we have in your child’s personal affairs starts and ends with our getting him and his friends into Hogwarts. While the rest of these plans are what we, partner to partner, equal to equal, have already formulated amongst ourselves, and those are what you will see in four years’ time.”

“…Very well, then. In four years’ time, we will discuss this again.”

“Excellent. Now shall we go over the other matters at hand? Because I’d been thinking…”

The talk turned to business related topics, with words like ‘subsidies’ and ‘land use’ and ‘monetary transactions’ and other such useless noise that had nothing to do with Hiccup’s life.

His feet uprooted. Without another glance, he left the corridor as quietly as he’d come.

One corridor turned into another. The wing that held the others were left well alone. Up a flight of stairs, down a dim corridor lined with windows on one side, to the room at the very end…

The door shut behind him. The shadows he’d brought fled back to the corners of the room, settling in alongside the eternal damp. Opposite a canopy bed too thick and musty to be comfortable stood a pair of windows that gazed out into a drenched, overgrown garden. They cast the room in a cold and muted light.

The only other hint of colour came from a tray on the nightstand, a huddle of half-eaten fruits. Red, orange, and pale green—a rarity in the north.

Something about that flooded the feeling to his body, pushed the numb out. His hands were shaking. He…needed a nap. He really needed to eat. He shouldn’t have been this tired. It wasn’t good for him.

He shouldn’t have gone. He shouldn’t have listened. This was all his fault, this was his fault—

His legs buckled. Hiccup slid down like a puppet with its strings cut. Nessi dug her claws into his hair, then scampered down with an alarmed chitter. Chirping and squeaking, licking his chin and face, there were tears, she was scared—

His father’s words rang in his head. He couldn’t block them out, couldn’t make them stop, not even with his hands against his ears.

…does not to care to try and use it…he refuses to learn…not a care towards helping others…How will he gain the respect of his people…? How will he gain their trust? What does he think to accomplish…?

He wasn’t a Viking.

He was a failure.

That’s why they’d left the village. Because his father thought this place might fix him. Because at home he always messed up. He got in the way and messed up everything and no one wanted him and not even his father wanted him—

His father had taken him out of the village because of how completely useless he was.

The worst of it was that he’d tried. He’d been trying so hard, for years. Trying to help, trying to do better, to be good enough for once. He’d gone to the library to learn more ways to help. He’d drawn pages and pages of diagrams, weapons and tools to make in the forge, to help fight against the dragons. He’d wanted to make them and show them to everyone. He’d wanted his father to be impressed.

He could’ve done it, if he’d had more time. If he’d tried harder. Surely he’d have done it.

What can you do? No one cares. No one wants you. You’re so useless, what can you do?

Hiccup pressed his head to his knees, mouth clamped shut against the rising sob. He dug his fingers into his sleeves, gripped them tight, trying, trying to keep the pieces in him together.

It didn’t work.

[screamoffkey]

One Third Better (Tyrus Fan Fic) Chapter 3

8 days 4 hours and 14 minutes.

That’s how long TJ Kippen has been avoiding everyone he knows.

That’s a lie.

It’s been 17 minutes.

But it feels like a hell of a lot longer.

 There’s got to be a better way to quantify the amount of time that’s passed since TJ left reality and entered his own personal circle of hell.

46 missed called from Buffy Driscoll.

That’s certainly a better unit of measure.

 And, through all of that, he’s been sitting in the boy’s locker room, trying to stop himself from sobbing hysterically, and trying not to be seen.

 “Hi, TJ? You in here?” A boy’s voice reverberates in the empty locker room. It’s an unfamiliar voice. He’s heard it before, he knows, but he can’t place it to a face. Not that it matters, because it only takes a second before a brunette with a pair of soft green eyes finds him where he crouches in the corner of the tiled floor: Jonah Beck.

“Uh, Buffy asked me to come in here and check on you. She wanted to make sure you were OK after, um… what happened.”

Fuck. Everyone knows by now, don’t they? After spending all this time trying to hide it, his entire life can com crashing down with one stupid sentence.

He hasn’t said a word to Jonah. He can’t say much of anything through his ugly, hiccupping, sobbing. His face long gone red and ruddy, and his hands soaked slick from trying to dry his face,

Jonah Beck has never been good at hiding his emotions: he’s very uncomfortable, and it shows. Bright green eyes search the room desperately for a sign of what he should say or do, before he chooses to crouch down beside the sandy-haired boy and lay a hesitant hand on his shoulder.

“Hey TJ? I’m, uh, not sure what to say in situations like this. But, I’m here if you want to talk.”

TJ tried his best to scoff at the words, but with a sob still stuck in his throat, it came out warbly at best.

“What am I supposed to say?”

Jonah’s nervous gaze softened slightly. And a small smile found its way to his lips.

“Trust me TJ, I know how it feels to think your world is ending suddenly. It’s dizzying… like you’re losing control of your own body. You were there when it happened to me, remember?”

Their eyes meet for the first time during this conversation, and even through tears TJ can see the sincerity pouring out of the boy in front of him.

“It’s OK if you don’t have anything to say right now… or at all, really.” Jonah paused for a second, trying to gather his thoughts, searching his memory for something helpful. A bright smile spread across his face when he mentally found what he was looking for.

“Maybe we can just focus on breathing?”

--

TJ let the boy guide him through some simple breathing exercises. In. Hold. Out. And, he felt his mind clear ever so slightly as his frantic crying settled down.

In.

Whatever you said, you’ve already said. You can’t take it back. This is your life now.

Hold.

All you can do is move forward.

Out.

At least you aren’t totally alone. Jonah’s here. And, Buffy sent him to look for you. She hates you and she still cared enough to make sure you were OK.

In. Hold. Out.

Maybe you will be OK.

--

 They walked in silence down the hallway, TJ finally coaxed out of the locker room by a gentle Jonah Beck’s polite insistence that he can’t spend forever the dirty floor. One of the more recent of the 9 voicemails Buffy had left him told him that she’d be waiting for him in the gym after practice, if he wanted to talk, and he figured he needed to say something to her before his pity points wore off.

As TJ turned to face the gym doors, he felt he needed to say something. To thank Jonah in words he wouldn’t even begin to know how to articulate. Saying stuff the right way was never really his strong suit.

“Hey, Jonah. I’m… I’m really sorry about all of this.”

Jonah Beck smiled at this. His famous, dazzling, ever-so-slightly-confused type of smile.

“What do you have to be sorry for?”

“I dunno. Wasting your time? Or maybe, just being a dick in general.”

Jonah just shrugged, and quipped, “Well, apology accepted, I guess?” and, TJ wondered how the boy could vacillate between saintly wisdom to entirely careless with such ease.

 --

When TJ walked into the gym, Buffy was preoccupying herself by shooting seemingly endless free throws. Foul throws are what you do when you get injured. They’re made to right some type of wrong done earlier in the game. Buffy explained this concept to Cyrus when she first started training to be on the boys’ basketball team. And, maybe she took the concept to heart, because whenever she felt bad about herself, she found herself shooting basket after basket, trying to even score for whatever mistake had been made.

She just couldn’t shake what happened from her mind. Andi hates her, TJ is in love with Cyrus, and she’s never felt so wrong about everything in her entire life: maybe TJ isn’t the only fuck up here.

 Her dribbling thoughts skidded to a halt when a tear-stained TJ Kippen pushed his way through the gym doors. She just looked at him, maybe for some kind of answer to the dozens of questions she’s been trying to solve since they’d last crossed paths.

 Instead, TJ said one word: “Horse?” A white flag of surrender, maybe. But, Buffy took it readily, and passed him the ball.

--

One game of horse turned into two, then three (Buffy beating TJ, 2-1), before they started to so much as speak words about anything other than basketball. After missing a three-point shot Buffy had sunk, TJ abruptly blurted.

“I’m sorry I have a crush on your best friend. I- I, uh didn’t mean to.”

Buffy let out a surprising laugh.

“What? TJ, no. Trust me, I’m not mad about that. Like, at all.”

A pause, then.

“You have great taste in boys, Kippen. Cyrus is the best there is.”

“He really is, isn’t he?” TJ said, smiling brightly at the mere mention of the boy. The way his eyes crinkled at the mention of him was just enough to let Buffy let her guard down, just for a second, enough to ask the question sitting uneasy with her for a week now.

“…Why did you have a gun TJ?”

There it was. And now, TJ had to own up to what happened.

“I didn’t know they would have a gun. Reed just knew I wanted to impress Cyrus, and I guess

Buffy arced her eyebrows.

“I’m still calling bullshit TJ. This isn’t the first time Reed snuck his dad’s gun, is it?”

TJ shifted uncomfortably, weighing the ball in his hands, trying to think of a way out of the question.

“It wasn’t.”

“Then why did you guys have the gun, TJ?”

“I don’t know Driscoll, OK? I Just-”

In. Hold. Out… Don’t panic; just breath.

He felt his shoulders soften, and his voice lose the cut as he tried to speak again. If there’s one thing he’s learned in the past week, it’s that being honest with his emotions has been better for everyone involved that lashing out.

“I really don’t know, Buffy. I just- sometimes I make bad decisions. Like, really bad ones. But, I swear to god that I’m trying to be better.” He managed to rasp out.

Buffy studied him, and TJ felt like he was standing at the gates of heaven awaiting judgement under the glare of dark brown eyes. She closed them for a second, and then started speaking.

“TJ, I’m not mad at you or anything. I’m just… I’m scared for Cyrus. I don’t want him to get hurt.”

“I know that. Neither do I.”

“I know.... Now pass me the ball.”

--

It was nearly a half-hour later before either said another non-basketball word. They’d exhausted their games of Horse, and were ambling in slightly uncomfortable silence on the bleachers, both waiting for the other to say something first.

“Hey TJ, what you said… About me ruining my friendships? That was out of line.”

“I know, I’m sorr-”

“Wait. I’m not done.” She interjected. Sharply cutting his apology short.

“It was out of line coming from you… But, I think I needed to hear it from someone.” Her voice wavered at the words, just slightly, “I know I tend to lash out when I’m let down by people. And, hell, when I was moving out of town I didn’t even say goodbye to my best friends! I… I know have a lot to work on when it comes to the ‘whole friendship thing.’”

If TJ could tell that Buffy was watching a flashback in her mind of every single time that she let her friends down, and every single time they’d forgiven her without question… he definitely didn’t show it. In fact, TJ just stared at the curly-haired girl before him, the one who was claiming to be Buffy Driscoll, but certainly didn’t sound like her. He blinked in stunned confusion, before realizing it was his turn to talk.

“So, uh, are you saying that… you forgive me?” He replied lamely.

Buffy huffed a bittersweet chuckled at that, like he had just made a joke at the expense of both of them.

“I don’t know if I can. Honestly, I don’t.” She shrugged her shoulders, almost apologetically.

“But… I do know that you’re trying to be better. And, I know that that’s hard as fuck. So, I’ll try too. At forgiveness.”

There was a weird moment between them, in the silence after her words, when Buffy offered a soft smile and TJ gave one back. Something that someone observing this situation from a distance would almost call a ‘tender moment;’ but, upon realizing that it was being shared between Buffy Discroll and TJ Kippen would most certainly not believe their eyes. Because certainly TJ and Buffy couldn’t possibly be pleasant in each other’s company for longer than a second, right?

That observer would be correct in their skepticism, because just a heartbeat after, a smirk flashed across TJ’s face.

“I bet I can be better better than you can.”

A stunned expression flashed across Buffy’s face, before a matching smirk mirrored his own. “Well, I bet I can beat you again at a one-on-one.”

And with a cocked eyebrow, and sneaky steal of the basketball in his hands, the pair was back to the court.

And, TJ Kippen felt approximately two thirds better.

[ertrunkenerwassergeist]

Born Into the Wilds - Chapter 9

*slams hands on the table* This chapter is finally done! Sorry for the long wait, in compensation this is extra long. I'm prepared to get screamed at. Also a big thank you towards @noctanotherone for helping to get my thoughts in order on this one.

Here’s a Link to AO3.

In which a battle happens and General Glauca appears.

Featuring: the absence of Captain Drautos, confusing military stuff the author made up on the fly, Nyx' usual planlessnes, Crowe ex machina, lightning and awkward dialogue.

Warnings: blood, injuries, death (this is a battle)

Words in Hadnissa:

makti-oir = war chief, commander-in-chief, warlord; lit.: leading hunter Galahkari = people of Galahd Ohlro ar fahl Eohsas = Eos' light be on you; a formal greeting kohna = swearword; along the lines of shit ohtahi triantafe = a type of rose native to Galahd with black petals, it's highly poisonous and even the smell can cause hallucinations thuir = father makuwid = hunting group, squad mates zehstir = foreigner, enemy; very strong insult namakar = huntress; lit.: she-hunter

09. A Complication

The attack couldn't have happened at a more unfortunate time. Nyx had been back from his two week medical leave for a few days now and had been in the middle of planning the second set of training exercises for the newly structured Kingsglaive with Libertus and Luche.

It was still a right mess. The members of the Kingsglaive took to the change with an enthusiasm tinged with relief that had surprised Nyx. The troops he had interacted with regularly had been mostly stable, with the most extreme exception being Troop Rani.

Captain Drautos wasn't happy about any of this. He had stood at the edge of the training field at the first day of training, with a dark scowl on his face and hadn't said a word as everybody made their best attempt at working together within their new groupings. When the first exercises had resulted in people screaming at each other, Nyx had thought he had seen a gleam of grim satisfaction in the Captain's eyes. But that couldn't have been correct. Right?

In the end, it had taken Libertus yelling at them to behave like professional hunters, to calm everybody down. His best friend and hunting-brother may have a temper and grouch about things he didn't like in above average volume more often than not, it took quite a bit, however, to actually get him to yell on the top of his lungs – and what powerful lungs they were. Everybody knew that.

At the end of the day, those training exercises could have gone worse and no one had been permanently maimed or killed. That could definitely be considered a victory in some cases. Nyx could understand the hiccups, he really could. All members of the Glaive had found ways to work around the problems of each Unit and Troop over the years. Even Troop Rani with its two feuding members. And now they had to get used to new people hunting at their sides.

It was Pelna who burst through the door of the tiny office Nyx had commandeered, since he, to his utter consternation, actually needed one now, his face a grim mask that grabbed the attention of all in attendance at once.

“Border Patrol just sent the message: Niflheim is on the move again. They say Glauca was sighted with them. The King wants us out there as soon as possible.”

For half a second no one said anything. Nyx jumped up from where he had sat down not a minute ago, nearly knocked a pile of papers off the desk and cursed. Libertus' face looked caught halfway between a snarl and an expression as if he had just smelled something unpleasant, while Luche's face could have been made out of stone.

Nyx took a deep breath, suddenly deathly calm. The smell of ozone started to creep through the air. “Luche, get the others moving and call as many as you can out of their vacation. With Glauca there we need every hunter we can get. Pelna, make sure everybody gets what they need from the inventory and I don't care if some idiot says 'Crownsguard only'. Take it, I'll deal with it once we're back again. Libertus, round up the trucks and tell those damned drivers to be there on time or we'll drive ourselves. We can't let that son of a she-devil any further into Lucis. Also tell Sonitus to get in touch with the Border Patrol, I want to know exactly where the Niffs are. You all have an hour. I'll-”

“You'll get ready and calm down your magic, Nyx. If you fry the truck you're in because you can't control yourself, or worse, blow it up, you won't be getting anywhere,” stated Libertus rather forcefully.

For a moment they stared at each other, both willing the other to back down with their gazes alone. But his hunting-brother was right. He himself may be rather calm, but his magic was a torrent beneath his skin.

“All right,” he conceded. “All right.”

Libertus looked at him a moment longer to make sure he actually meant it, before he nodded and stormed out of the room after the others that had already left the moment they had received their orders.

An hour wasn't a lot of time to prepare, and they hadn't done any exercises for it – Nyx put them on his ever growing to-do list – but they really needed to hurry.

He stayed in the office a few minutes longer, minutes that felt like an eternity, until the animal-deep jungle-instinct raging beneath his skin was reduced to a distant echo thrumming in his mind. But instead of going towards the locker room to get ready, he left the tiny room to get to the Captain's office.

Nyx had tried to stay out of the older man's hair for the last few days as much as possible. But now, makti-oir or not, the Kingsglaive needed their Captain.

In the hallways it was like somebody had poked a beehive. People were everywhere, trying to do whatever they were doing as fast as possible without actually running in the halls. A crowd was assembling around the Glaive's armoury, voices clamouring over each other in a bit to get what they wanted, and fast. Through a gab Nyx could see Tredd trying to keep order with a grim face, and continued on his way. People should know better than to question Tredd within the armoury. The Furias may be traditionally artisans, but if Tredd understood one thing best, it was weapons.

“Captain?” Nyx half asked, half yelled as he knocked on the man's door.

No answer came.

Nyx frowned. Should he open the door anyway? He could feel the gazes of the passing Glaives in his back and decided he could deal with the consequences, should the Captain be in his office. Settling his shoulders and chin in a stubbornly determined expression, he opened to door with one last unanswered knock.

“Captain, I'm coming in.”

The office was empty.

Nyx closed the door behind him to keep curious gazes out and started to search the room for a clue to where Captain Drautos could be. There were no new messages or notes pinned to the walls, no file on the desk that could tell him anything, and he didn't quite dare to actually rummage through the cabinets or the desk.

With a displeased frown Nyx gaze wandered one last time around the relatively spacious room before he whirled around and left. He had better things to do right now than to look for the Captain.

There was a crowd forming outside the headquarters. People stopped and gawked as the Glaive assembled outside in their new groups, while non-fighting members loaded the trucks with field packs, half of which Pelna had managed to wrestle from the Crownsguard's clutches somehow.

Nyx ignored the Insomnians as best as he could and tried to decide how to divide the Troops into Companies. He hadn't had the time to really do that until now, which was coming back to bite him into the ass. He hissed like a disgruntled cat, displeased with himself and those damned onlookers. They had ten minutes left before wheels up and still more Glaives arrived, those having been called in from their vacation.

All in all, Nyx estimated that there were around 200 Glaives assembled, which was less than he liked and more than he had expected. Their numbers had been dwindling steadily for years now. They needed new recruits, but that was a problem for another time. Nothing he could do about it now.

He looked for Libertus. His hunting-brother had the loudest voice he knew and could probably make himself be heard over the noise the easiest. The man stood at the edge of the plaza where the noise wasn't as prevalent and talked into a clunky military phone with a fierce scowl on his face. He hung up before Nyx could reach him.

He gave a lazy salute in greeting and hung the phone that could probably be used as a murder weapon, onto his belt.

“Bad news: only half the usual drivers are there. The other half is 'indisposed' because the call was too short notice,” he sneered.

Nyx suppressed the urge to growl. “Then we won't ask for their services anymore,” he said.

“I have nothing against that,” Libertus shrugged. “We could probably hire a few Galahkari that could use the job, as soon as Crowe figures out our budget. But we need to somehow arrive at the battle before the Niffs stand in front of Insomnia.”

“We can do that,” agreed Nyx. It was a good idea. “Could you do me a favour, big guy?”

At once Libertus eyed him suspiciously. Nyx just rolled his eyes at his best friend's behaviour. He wasn't that bad.

“Hey, it's nothing bad. I just need you to help me with organizing the Troops and getting everybody into the trucks. Oh, and ask for volunteers to drive them.”

Libertus still looked sceptical but nodded and followed Nyx back in front of the crowd.

For a moment Libertus took in the group in front of him, all in the individualized uniforms of the Kingsglaive, and took a deep breath.

“Okay people, listen up!” he yelled so loudly Nyx was tempted to cover his left ear. “Into your Units and Troops! Don't fall asleep people! Troop leaders to the front!”

To Nyx' satisfaction, it didn't even take half a minute for the whole Kingsglaive to stand in front of him in orderly lines. There were eleven Troops in total, ranging from a total strength of ten to thirty-one people.

The two Troops specializing in stealth and hit-and-run tactics would be grouped into one Company, three Troops could be grouped under heavy hitters and assault, he supposed, and a further two fell under demolition. The last four were a bit trickier. One specialized in ranged fighting, one in magic, another was the supply squad and the last could be called a rearguard, he supposed. In the end the mages were stuck with the ranged fighters.

Under the curious eyes of the growing Insomnian crowd and camera flashes, they piled into the trucks as to Libertus' yelled instructions, and departed with only a ten minute delay. The streets were empty of any traffic as they made their way towards the wall and Nyx realized that somebody must have told the City Watch that they were coming through. He sent a quiet blessing to the person who had thought of doing so. Probably either Pelna or Sonitus.

Nyx had absolutely forgotten about it.

Their long convoy passed through the gate and over the huge bridge connecting Cavaugh with Leide without any interruption.

It was shortly after nightfall when they neared the latest known position of the Niflheimr army. They were very close to the Taelpar Crag now. Until now Niflheim had not managed to bridge it and take Duscae. They had gotten close more than once, though, and it showed in the many natural stone and crystalline arches spanning the Crag, that had been fortified or destroyed in the fighting.

Secullam Pass was chosen as their base of operations. Within minutes near blinding floodlights were set up to keep the daemons away, a watch was set up and Unit Kresch, under Sonitus, was sent out to stake out the enemy.

Waiting for a battle to begin had always been the worst for Nyx. It made him restless with pent up energy and broody. It reminded him too much of his time with the resistance in Galahd.

To keep himself from crawling up the rocky walls surrounding their camp, he hunted down Pelna, the newly baked leader of the Gebo Unit. It was a part of the Ulnen Troop which was responsible for their supplies. Right now they were responsible for keeping their floodlights running and distributing the field packs.

“Ohlro ar fahl Eohsas, makti-ori,” greeted Pelna when he saw Nyx coming and crossed his wrists in a formal greeting.

Nyx stared at him and very pointedly rose a hand to his collar bone. Pelna actually rolled his eyes at that, but didn't comment on it. Instead he stepped up to his friend and said: “How can I help you, Nyx?”

“I know it's kind of late to ask, but how did you manage to convince the Crownsguard to part with their stuff? The last time the Captain tried, I heard it nearly ended with somebody dead.”

Pelna stared at Nyx with a raised eyebrow as if to say and this is why you keep me from working? “It's pretty simple. I kept to the tried and true method of 'better ask for forgiveness than permission'. Don't look at me like that, I learned that from you, you know? Damn idiot that you are. I bribed Hephaistos into helping, and he was the distraction while I and some of my new Unit mates got the stuff out.”

It took Nyx a few seconds to actually understand what Pelna had just said, but when he did, he couldn't help himself. He laughed. It was a roaring full belly laugh that made more than one head turn, but Nyx didn't care. This was just too good. Pelna cast him a sour look.

“What's so funny?” asked Libertus as he marched towards them along with Crowe.

Nyx wheezed as he tried to get his laughter under control, only for it to start up again as he opened his mouth to explain.

“It would be so embarrassing, if you died of laughter and took us with you because you guided the Niffs towards our base,” stated Crowe in that typical deadpan of hers, when she found something hilarious but refused to laugh herself for whatever reason.

“I- I'm sorry,” Nyx gasped, fighting to keep the laughter down. He pressed a hand over his mouth. His eyes started to tear up with the effort it took.

“Our dearest First Hunter seems to find it hilarious how I got us the supplies we desperately need,” grumbled Pelna, and got a sage nod from Libertus and an amused huff from Crowe as an answer.

“Don't get me wrong, this is funny and all, but Luche is looking for you. He wants to go over the attack plan with the rest of the lead hunters. Which you should actually organize since it's your job, Nyx,” said Crowe.

“Alright, alright. I'm coming,” Nyx answered as soon as his breathing was steady enough and he didn't fear to burst into laughter again.

They attacked at daybreak. As soon as the sun was high enough in the sky to ward the daemons away. As far as they had been able to tell this was the time the Niffs were most vulnerable since they couldn't depend on their growing mass of daemons. Until now, when it had come to open battle, the Captain had always insisted to wait for the Niffs to attack and defend from a stronger position.

Nyx had decided to do something different.

Units Kresch and Roh, who now belonged to the Tahrolin Troop, and were their stealth specialists, were to circle around the enemy force with a demolition Unit and attack the pens where they kept the beasts they used as an attack force. Hours ago, Luche had taken Roh Unit and had gone to join Sonitus to give him his orders. Simultaneously the heavy hitters would stage a full on frontal attack along with Senehrin Company to give them cover fire.

As soon as Luche's voice came over the comms, reporting that they were in position, Nyx gave the order to march over the wide stone arch spanning Tealpar Crag. Not far behind it, on the other side, was a wall the Niffs had hastily erected, and span their whole compound. It was barely more than a few slaps of concrete stacked onto each other.

A slight breeze ruffled Nyx' hair before the world grew still. Not even the distant calls of the birds could be heard. There was only the warmth of the early morning light, the sound of his own breathing and the feeling of animal-deep jungle-instinct crackling close beneath his skin. A rumbling growl resonated through his chest as his field of vision widened and narrowed down at the same time. Only the wall and what lay behind it were important now. New colours joined the old and some grew muted as his eyes grew more sensitive to light.

Then the crudely erected wall exploded as a combination of old Galahdian seal traps and Lucian fire spells crashed into it.

Nyx stood close enough to feel the hot air lick across his skin. His lips twisted into a snarl that could have been a bloodthirsty smile, as the sound of screeching metal and yelling voices reached him over the roaring fire and falling rubble.

All nervousness was gone as anticipation curled in his gut, and sparks of lightning travelled up and down his arms.

As soon as the rubble had settled, Nyx bounded into the thick oily smoke churning in the air and blocking out the light. Formless shapes tumbled through the thick smoke, and all within the reach of his kukri fell in gurgling screams and burbling whimpers.

The smell of burning metal and rubber, oil and blood clogged his nose, but still he found his way to the other side of the burning hell. Nyx jumped onto the nearest MA Veles and toppled it with a volley of lightning until nothing but a smoking husk of useless metal was left.

A roar echoed between that walls of this area in the base, as he wedged his blades free of the machine he had driven them into. It travelled over the twisted metal and MT and MA units attempting to form a defensive line. It made the air quiver and the hairs on his neck raise in anticipation. It took him a moment to realize that it was him who made that sound. A challenge and announcement of an assured victory at the same time.

Nyx clamped his mouth shut behind his face guard and shook his head. He needed to keep a clear mind. A shot cracked through the air, missing Nyx, who was still crouching on top of the smoking MA Veles, by a hair. Only years of training suppressed his initial instinct to flinch. Instead he threw one kukri into he direction the shot had some from.

The world around him dissolved into a nauseating display of shards of Lucian magic and then he was on top of an MT. His chest slammed into its front and made him groan as the air was knocked out of him. Even through his clothes and armour he could feel the icy cold the MT emitted. The thing couldn't react fast enough and fell lifeless to the floor as Nyx rammed a blade into the masked forehead.

He now stood on a metal catwalk spanning the Niflheimr compound overhead. His new vantage point let him see the Glaives who were now pouring through the opening that had been blown into the wall. A large part of the magitek had blown up along with it. Their fault for storing their shit along the outer wall. Nyx snorted and watched for a moment as the Glaive practically descended upon everything that was still able to move.

Satisfied, he turned away and looked where still a series of explosions shook the air, along with the resounding roars and snarls of furious behemoths and sabertusks. He couldn't really see anything that was going on over the other walls between him and the other Units, but he trusted in their ability to get the job done.

Out of the corner of his eyes he saw movement. It was a pair of MT, both of them snipers, aiming at the Glaives below. They hadn't seen him until now. Within seconds he was on them, tackling the first as he aimed a shot and drove a kukri into the knee of the second, who toppled over, off the catwalk and into the fray below. Snarling and eyes blazing, he slammed his now empty hand against the MT's face and sent lightning through it until its mask was nothing more than a warped mass of metal and its limbs stopped twitching uncontrollably.

Again he looked towards the closest inner wall which prevented them from getting further into the strangely improvised base. He had an idea. But as he reached up to activate the communication device, he ripped it off his ear with a foul curse as it fried with a painful pop-spark.

Shit. So much for that, he thought with a twist of his lips. I really should have practised more.

Nyx warped down towards the kukri still lodged into the now dead MT's leg and grabbed the nearest Glaive by the shoulder. It was Axis.

“I need you to relay some orders for me!” he yelled over the cacophony of screeching metal, gun shots, the dying roar of a furious behemoth and the sounds of discharging magic, as people cried and fought and died.

Thankfully Axis didn't bother to ask what had happened to his device and just raised his hand.

“Attention, all Glaives. I'm about to relay orders of the makti-oir in his stead.”

“The most talented warpers are to gather near the wall leading further into the base. We need to get past the gate to prevent the Niffs from organizing a counter attack, so we'll warp over the wall and open it from the inside. Luche is to do the same on his end as soon as those damn behemoths are dead. Oresch Unit is to secure the breached wall as soon as we're finished here.”

Nyx took a deep breath. His magic was pressing against his mind, urging him to hunt, to kill and feast on his prey. Another breath. Not now. Pack came first. Their safety was paramount, and to keep them safe he needed to be able to think.

Dutifully, Axis repeated every word.

With a thankful nod Nyx turned away and made his way towards the targeted wall. It wasn't very high, five metres at most, which was below average for a Niff base, but like in all bases, this one had an opening which was blocked by a series of red lasers that could melt flesh from bones, if someone was stupid enough to touch it.

Axis followed him. The man may specialize in magic based close combat, but his warping skills were above average. Not far from him, Nyx could see Libertus decapitate a MT with a kukri that looked more like a traditional Ostium battle axe than anything else.

Three others met them by the wall. Nyx grinned. Five. Five people for this was a good omen.

“Axis, you're to concentrate on shutting down those lasers, the rest of us will cover your ass. On my mark, we warp. Ready- go!”

In unison they threw their blades. Lucian magic burned like acid on Nyx' tongue as he appeared above the wall for a second before he warped down on the other side, the others following him in a protective formation around Axis in which Nyx was taking point.

His feet barely touched the ground, before he was swarmed by MT. They were those guys with the heavy serrated swords. Nyx cursed and dove out of the way. A sword whizzed past where his head had been not a second ago. Nyx managed to kick the thing in the hip as he evaded another horizontal swing of the sword. The kick caused the upper body of the MT to rotate just enough that it buried its blade into the machine next to it, caving its breastplate in with a high pitched metallic shriek and a sickening crunch.

Before his target could wedge its blade free, he severed the sword arm at the elbow and drove the other blade into its neck. His weight caused it to fall backwards and take another two MT with it. He made short work of them.

“I've got it!” cried Axis and with a hiss the lasers deactivated.

Suddenly the air was filled with the electric whirr of MA units activating. There were eight of them. Kohna. So they hadn't been fast enough.

With a snarl Nyx hurled himself over the last two MT in front of him, twisting the right one's neck and clipping the other in the shoulder. He knew his blades couldn't do much against the MA units, so he sheathed one and used his now free hand to fry the nearest one with a powerful bolt of lightning.

Not far from him Axis was doing something similar, attacking a machine's weak spots with calculated shots of lightning. They needed more mages here. Again Nyx cursed himself for frying his comm. He couldn't distract the other four with him now, so he had no other choice but to retreat.

And nearly run into another Glaive right as he stepped through the gate. Blinking sweat from his eyes, he recognized Libertus. His facecloth had slipped off and revealed a bloody nose.

“Libs! I need you to comm Lesan Unit! Our blades won't do anything against those MA units!”

Without further ado, the man did just that. His voice was drowned out as something further into the base crumbled with a deafening blast. The ground shook.

It was only due to the fact that Nyx stood so close to the wall, that he didn't fall. Libertus didn't fare as well. He fell heavily onto his side and had to quickly roll away as a magitek spear buried itself into the ground where he had just lain. Nyx killed the thing with another blast of lightning.

“Come on, big guy. No time for a nap,” he said as he helped his hunting-brother to stand back up.

The fighting continued in that vein, until they met Luche's Troop in the heart of the base. It was here the officers were housed as well as logistics and communication. Or there should have been.

Instead there was nothing here but a large empty space.

Something was very, very wrong.

He could see the same thought echoed back at him from Luche's face. The man had discarded his hood and facecloth sometime during the fight. His normally slicked back blond hair hung into his forehead and was covered in soot and ash. Other than a few scrapes and a nasty bruise forming over his cheek bone, he seemed to be fine.

The sun beat down upon them, signalling the nearing midday. The air was hot and sticky and stank of ozone and molten metal and rubber. It left an oily film at the back of his throat with each breath Nyx took and made him wish he hadn't already used up all of his meagre water rations.

His muscles ached from the continued fighting and he could feel a stasis nearing. He had simply used up too much of his magic. He couldn't bring himself to regret it, however, as it had saved more than one life.

“Keep your eyes peeled,” he ordered. “This stinks of a trap.”

Next to him Libertus shifted his weight in anxiousness. “I've got a bad feeling about this,” he muttered just loud enough for Nyx to hear.

Suddenly Luche raised a hand and the growing mutterings between the Glaives stopped at once. He activated his comm, clearly listening to something. The longer he did so the paler his already fair complexion grew and a raw look of fear flittered through his eyes. It made Nyx' stomach plummet in dread. Luche looked him in the eye and suddenly Nyx knew.

Glauca.

Ruthlessly, Nyx shoved down the urge to order a full retreat. It had never been stated directly during the planning of this attack, but they would take this chance to kill the monster in the armour, one of the main reasons they had had to flee Galahd seven years ago.

With a resolute nod towards Luche, Nyx opened his mouth to issue new orders, but was interrupted by the sudden cry of “Dropships incoming!”.

“So this really is a trap,” someone behind him mumbled, despair lining the voice.

Nyx gritted his teeth. He knew the sensible thing to do was to order a retreat. At once. Before the trap napped shut.

“Libs, contact Crowe.”

“What? Nyx, we need to fucking go, right now!” his best friend hissed into his ear.

“No!” Nyx half yelled, half growled.

He refused. He refused to let Glauca slip through his fingers again. That man had collapsed the tunnels he, his sister and his mahir had been in, killing the last of his immediate family. He bared his teeth in a snarl.

All eyes were on him.

The high pitched whine of the air ships' engine ground against his sensitive ears.

“Contact Crowe,” he repeated, his voice a harsh rasp. “Ask her if she and her Unit managed to master that storm field spell they have been practising.”

Realization crossed Libertus' face like a ray of sunlight in a dark, cloudy sky and the tense atmosphere eased the tiniest bit.

“This plan is madness,” growled Luche as he came closer.

“I won't let Glauca slip through my fingers this time, if I don't have to, Luche,” Nyx growled back.

The blond man stared at him with hard eyes. Exhaustion was edged into his face, a testament to the overall state of the Glaives present. Damn it, he shouldn't have let all of their main attack force fight from the beginning. It must have been hours now that they had fought without much of a break, safe for a few moments they had been able to steal here and there.

MT didn't grow tired. Humans did.

“She says yes,” interrupted Libertus before Luche could respond.

“Good. Tell her to blast as many ships out of the sky as she can. Units Arl and Sevah, trap this place to Pitioss and back. Those tin cans aren't to take a single step without something going off. The rest of you, regain as much strength as you can before one of the ships make it through. Share any elixirs you might still have left over. I'll go after Glauca.”

“Have the ohtahi triantafe finally cooked your brain? This is madness, Nyx. No one has gone up against that man in a direct confrontation and lived,” Libertus practically yelled.

“Libertus is right. They say not even the Royal House dared to do it, back when Regis still deigned to leave Insomnia,” Luche cut in.

“I won't go alone,” defended Nyx.

“Oh, and who exactly will help you? Our strongest fighters will be here because of your hair brained scheme,” his hunting-brother growled.

“Oresch Unit,” answered Nyx before he could stop to think about what he was doing. “They are by the breached wall. Luche, where is Glauca now?”

Luche was clearly unwilling to answer, but after a few seconds he sighed. “Fine, you win. The Fathers must have blessed you, for your stupid ideas to work so often. He was seen outside the base, close to the Crag and to the north. Don't lose, Nyx. If you do, the whole Glaive is done for.”

Nyx nodded, eyes flashing in a silent promise, and ran out of the base as fast as he could, as the sky darkened with roiling clouds and lightning flashed.

Oresch Unit had not been idle during the fighting. Nyx' experienced eye could see the signs of traps half hidden in the rubble. Discreet lines were drawn into the dust and dirt, and he wondered who had sacrificed their water to make these. Most of them were old Galahdian scourge wardings that had been modified to work against Niflheimr magitek. Their presence read dangerously close to that of a daemon.

Their leader was a petite woman with shoulder length dark, brown hair that, at the right side of her head, was braided close to her head in a series of small braids forming a wave pattern. Her name was Ladone Najad, Tethys' aunt, and was approaching her fiftieth year. She had somehow mastered the art of startling even a behemoth with her presence alone, if she so desired, or she could make herself be completely overlooked.

That was exactly what he needed in this situation. Should he not be able to do it, she could use her talent to catch Glauca unawares and kill him.

Probably.

Hopefully.

Ladone listened to his plan with the gravitas of a person who had seen it all. She didn't say a word until he had ended and looked at her expectantly. One of her thin eyebrows rose the tiniest bit, as she thoughtfully chewed on one of those fireleaves she carried around everywhere.

“You're worse than your thuir ever was,” she drawled and spit a reddish blob onto the ground. “My ancestors and the serpents in the water help me, I'll do it. But I want my makuwid to stay here, makti-oir. I won't let this wall be undefended should something happen, and if I've learned one thing with those zehstiris, it's that there's always something going on with them. I'll follow you, to death, if need be, but be aware that, if I get the chance, I'll take it. This isn't your kill alone.”

Her eyes were piercing and hard as flintstone as she looked at him. He nodded respectfully. Ladone Najad wasn't somebody he wanted mad at him. Ever.

“Of course, namakar,” he answered.

“Good. Then we shouldn't waste any more time. Iase, you're in charge until I get back,” she barked.

A woman in her late thirties and hair cut so short it was nothing more than fuzz on her head, gave a salute. Ladone nodded and turned her attention back towards Nyx.

“Before I forget, here.” She threw a flask at him. It contained a yellowish liquid flecked with blue. “My son-in-law made this. It's better than the dishwater the Lucians try to sell us as an ether. Take it. You look like shit.”

Nyx' only answer was a tired glare, but he emptied the small flask without another word. It tasted kind of like he imagined a swamp to taste like. The thick liquid travelled down into his stomach, leaving a warm and revitalizing trail in its wake. At the very least it worked gentler than the punch in the gut that was a Lucian ether.

“Well?” she said, her head cocked in a way that clearly communicated they should go now.

Without another word Nyx started walking north. They stepped into the shadows of the trees growing close to the edge of Tealpar Crag, and from one moment to the next Ladone seemed to vanish into thin air. Nyx breathed an exasperated huff that just covered how anxious he really was.

Around him nature was unnaturally still. The animals had probably all fled when the fighting had begun this morning. Storm clouds swallowed nearly all of the daylight and lightning shrieked in the sky as it hit a dropship. The combined magic of nine mages weaving the field spell, was a growing weight prickling against his senses. Wind howled through the trees and across naked rock. It reminded him uncomfortably of the first hints of a Galahdian autumn storm.

He snarled to chase away the dread pooling in his gut, making his hands slippery with sweat and his senses going haywire at the sensation of being watched. Which he was. By Ladone. An alley, he reminded himself firmly and stepped out of the thinning trees and into the open. The ground was bare rock with a few stubborn bushels of grass growing here and there, and behind him the enemy base loomed, smoking and wreathed in lightning.

Suddenly, there he was.

General Glauca.

He emerged from the shadows of an erratic boulder like he was a daemon himself.

Each step the mountain of a man took sounded with a dull thud over the lighting roaring in the sky, his very presence filled the air with dread. Nyx crouched down, muscles suddenly too tense as his instincts screamed at him to run, and bared his teeth in a warning snarl.

“Your attack on the base was surprisingly effective, Glaive. You have my compliments,” Glauca snarled in a warped voice that set Nyx' teeth on edge and made his hair stand on end. The decidedly mocking tone didn't make it any better. “But now you are exactly where I want you to be.”

Nyx crouched even lower, nearly on all fours now. The handles of his kukri dug into his palms and he readjusted his grip.

A bone-grinding laugh travelled through the air and suddenly Nyx realized that this... person in front of him couldn't be human. It radiated an energy uncomfortably close to a powerful daemon and through the crevices and seams of the armour shone a dark light that betrayed its true nature. That of absolute malice for malices sake.

Unbidden, an old adage of protection and warding tumbled from his lips.

Another unholy laugh.

“You think this will help you, little Glaive? Words for beings that are nothing more than hot air themselves? Let me tell you one thing: there are no Gods. There are only those strong enough to lord their power over those too weak to do anything about it.”

“I'm not interested in what you have to say, zehstir,” Nyx hissed.

His field of vision widened, and he could now hear the near silent whirr Glauca's armour emitted as he dragged the tip of his huge sword in an arch across the dirt in a mock salute.

“Ah, how long has it been since somebody called me that?” Glauca drawled each word, rolling them around his tongue as if they were a fine wine. “That name brings back memories.”

With a roar of sudden fury, Nyx threw the kukri in his right hand and pounced.

The warp was quick and instinctive. For a split second, he saw nothing but magical particles glowing a near blinding blue. His fingers closed around the grip of his kukri without hesitation as he twisted in the air to strike his prey where his neck met the shoulder.

An ice cold hand clamped around his wrist in an iron grip and tossed him away. Nyx rolled across the dirt, using the momentum to twist into a crouching position again. His breath came in quick bursts and his lungs burned. Damn it. He was too tired for this fight. It had made him a second too slow.

“How pathetic. I expected more of a challenge from an esteemed warrior like you,” mocked the thing masquerading as human.

Thundering steps drew slowly nearer, but this time Nyx wouldn't let himself be goaded into attacking too early.

He stayed still.

Waited.

Magic, free and wild and powerful like the coeurls of his home, thrummed beneath his skin, giving his tiring muscles the opportunity to react fast enough.

Glauca's blade rose and Nyx darted beneath his arm and behind him. He jumped onto the General's back as the man took a jerky step forward, his blade cutting nothing but air where he had without a doubt expected Nyx' head to be.

This tiny mistake gave him enough time to find a grip on the armour as he slammed one of his kukri into the left shoulder guard. Lightning shrieked, bright and deafening, as it travelled from his hand into the blade and then into the magitek armour.

Glauca roared. More in fury than in pain, but it was still loud enough to make Nyx' ears ring and his vision blur. The inhuman sound sent goosebumps up and down his spine.

The armour started to glow as too much energy travelled through it and began to melt away. With a triumphant growl, Nyx challenged even more lightning. Slowly, oh so slowly, he could feel the armour give away. But it wasn't fast enough.

His prey started to struggle, trying to get him off.

In response Nyx slung one arm around the helmet and watched as it started to light up as it was assaulted by bolts of lightning. With another roar of fury his prey stumble backwards. One step. Then another. Farther and farther until Nyx' back hit the erratic boulder. Hard.

Dark spots danced across his vision and the air was pressed out of his lungs. His grip slacked and the lightning stopped as his concentration broke.

Something hit him hard in the face. He could taste blood on his tongue and blinding pain exploded behind his eyes as the back of his head collided with the boulder at his back. Again he was thrown through the air. Only this time he landed painfully on his side.

He lay there as he struggled to pull air back into his lungs. Only luck had allowed him to not lose his grip on both kukri. Shit, he hoped he hadn't broken any ribs.

Harsh laboured breaths echoed mechanically through the magically charged air. It stank nauseatingly of ozone, hot metal and something putrid that made Nyx retch.

“Do you... really think that... something like this... will kill me, Glaive?”

I hoped it would, Nyx wanted to say but couldn't, too busy with just breathing and dragging himself up onto his feet again. He couldn't allow himself to stay down. To stay down was to die. And he couldn't die now when things were finally changing.

Finally he managed to clear his swimming vision enough to be able to focus on Glauca again. The monster in human skin still stood by the bolder. He did not quite lean on it, but it was clear that the melted armour on his shoulder was giving him trouble. The destroyed parts on his helmet were already regenerating, giving Nyx only the most fleeting of glances at a patch of pale skin at the temple.

He cursed quietly inside. He had nearly had him.

His limbs trembled as he forced himself to stand upright. Stasis was looming dangerously close. He had put nearly all of his newly regained magical strength into that attack.

Movement on top of the boulder caught his eye. Barely a moment later Glauca howled. Still eerie and hair raising and mechanical. But this time in pain as a long and thin kukri found the weakest spot of his destroyed shoulder guard.

Ladone twisted  the blade with a thundering war cry before ripping it out again. She was gone again within the blink of an eye. As if she had never been there in the first place.

A sword slammed into the boulder and nearly cut it in half.

“I will make sure there is nothing left of both of you to bury once I'm finished with you,” hissed Glauca through clenched teeth.

Nyx barked a laugh. An idea started to take form in his mind. It was madness, but it could work. He hoped Ladone would catch onto it. Otherwise he was pretty much dead.

“For that you need to catch me first,” he rasped with sharp grin full of teeth and retreated back the way he had come between the trees.

As he had hoped Glauca followed him, each step a tiny earthquake.

Wood splintered as his huge blade hit the trees Nyx duck behind, just dancing behind its reach like a cat playing keep-away.

A gust of wind that shouldn't have been. Metal rang against metal as Ladone struck again and vanished just as quickly as she had before. As Glauca made to follow her Nyx charged in a half hearted attack that missed its mark by an embarrassingly huge margin, to keep the man's attention focused on him.

Further and further Nyx lured Glauca between the trees. Closer and closer to the edge of the Crag. To an arch close to the one the Glaive had used to cross it, but still far enough away from the others. Hopefully.

Nyx' movements started to get sluggish. The burning in his lungs had exceeded uncomfortable and passed into painful a while ago. Each new breath he took was a struggle between his need for oxygen, to just keep moving a little further – nearly there, nearly there nearlytherenearlythere – and the instinctive need to avoid the pain it caused to suck in each new gulp of air.

His concentration had shifted from avoiding the sword chasing him to just keep moving. He knew, if he stopped, it would be over.

Suddenly the trees were gone and the Crag gaped at his back, beckoning the unwary to a horrifying death. A death Glauca had a scheduled meeting with, if Nyx had anything to say about it.

Oh so carefully he started to inch his way over the arch, concentrating only on Glauca and what his prey was doing. His steps had grown uneven and his left arm hung uselessly by his side. There were obvious chinks in his armour now. Nyx grinned a bloody grin. Ladone had gotten the bastard good.

Voices sounded from his left and behind him, but he ignored them in favour of Glauca. They were so close. So close to killing the second nightmare of Galahd.

Suddenly the man stopped right at the edgy of the arch. Nyx tensed.

“Do you think this cheap trick will work on me?”

Too late Nyx realized what Glauca meant. He flung himself forward in a futile attempt to stop it, but he knew he wouldn't be fast enough. Exhaustion ate away at him, both magical and physical.

A dark shadow slammed into Glauca's back with a defiant cry as the sword was driven into the arch, crumbling it with a nauseating wave of something that was neither magic nor scourge.

Nyx stumbled. One step, then another.

Then the ground beneath him fell away.

[71tenseventeen]

Take My Hand (Take My Whole Life Too)-9

Pt 1, Pt 2, Pt 3, Pt 4, Pt 5, Pt 6, Pt 7, Pt 8

Warnings for sexual content, male pregnancy, non-hockey Sid. Sid and Taylor’s ages have been altered to fit the story.

Perpetual credit to my betas, @queen-alia and @icosahedonist as well as the GC and @ljummen.

Sid’s having a rough day.

He was up half the night with the worst heartburn he’s ever experienced in his life. When he schlepped into the coffee shop at 5:30 this morning, he was already exhausted after getting less than three hours of sleep.

He’s sick and sore and exhausted all day but he pushes through because at this point he realizes this is just how he’s going to feel for the next seven months. He can’t afford to miss more work.

Even though his boss promised he’d get Sid out of there on time for his doctor’s appointment, Aubrey is late so he has to stay until she gets there. He only barely gets out with enough time to race to the appointment in his work clothes.

It really doesn’t get any better from there. Everything is rushed, as usual, and Sid spends more time with the nurse than with the actual doctor. She laughs when Sid brings up his nausea again and tuts at him. “That’s to be expected, kiddo. Pregnancy isn’t supposed to be easy.”

When he tells her his feet and ankles are already swelling and she distractedly tells him to drink more water, it takes everything Sid has not to snap at her. He leaves with no answers and gnawing frustration at their dismissal of him that, he’s sure, is because of his age.

He tries to schedule an ultrasound on the way out and is informed his meager student plan doesn’t cover that unless there are difficulties so he’ll have to pay out of pocket if he wants one.

By the time he gets back to his car he just wants to go home and crawl into bed but he can’t. He’s meeting Geno.

To make matters worse, Geno texted earlier and asked if they could meet at his place in Sewickley which means Sid has half an hour of driving ahead of him. He could have said no but this is important. Despite everything, Sid’s still afraid that Geno will change his mind, back out and leave him to deal with this alone. And maybe it’s pathetic but he just doesn’t want to be alone. Geno might be practically a stranger but he’s all Sid has.

So Sid does his best to pull himself together and makes the drive to Sewickley.

It’s harder than he expected. Besides being nauseated and sore, he’s just so tired. Twice on the drive he has to give himself a shake but he finally makes it.

Geno is waiting outside for him and waves as he pulls up. It’s a nice gesture but Sid hopes they don’t linger outside too long. Summer has hit hard in Pittsburgh and the oppressive heat is not doing anything good for his nausea. He feels his stomach lurch when he steps out of the car and is relieved when Geno immediately starts ushering him inside.

He thinks if he can get inside and cool down, he can hold it together.

Except apparently Geno cooked because as soon as they step inside, Sid is surrounded by the smell of freshly-cooked fish and that’s all it takes to send him racing to the bathroom.

Somewhere through the haze of sickness he registers Geno kneeling at his side, rubbing his back. It feels like it will never end but when he finally feels like he’s done, he slumps back against the cool wall as Geno wets a washcloth and wipes at his face gently.  It’s such a tender, caring thing, the type of thing he didn’t think he’d have anyone ever do for him and before he can stop it, tears are stinging at his eyes.

Geno stands first and then helps Sid up. At the sink he hands him a cup. “You okay to rinse?”

“I think so.” He really hopes Geno won’t notice the way his voice is wobbling.

“Okay. You rinse and I get you toothbrush, be right back.”

Sid follows Geno’s directions, trying so hard to pull himself together. He splashes water on his face and is trying to wipe at the gross spot on his shirt when Geno comes back with a new toothbrush and an old Pens tee and says, “Here, I bring you toothbrush and shirt to wear while I wash yours. Got rid of fish, too. We order out, anything you want, or I cook something for you.”

And that’s all it takes.

Sid looks at the shirt and toothbrush in Geno’s hands and bursts into tears.

Geno’s eyes widen with concern as he steps in close. “Hey, what going on? You okay? Why you cry?”

Sid shakes his head and sniffles hard. He’s not sure if he can explain even if he wasn’t weeping openly now.

“Okay, you not have to say but at least tell me, you okay?”

Sid nods with a hiccup.

“Not hurt anywhere?”  

Sid shakes his head and makes an embarrassing snorting attempt to sniffle. “I’m sorry, I’m so sorry,” he sobs and Geno pulls him close, loops an arm around his waist and starts guiding him in the direction of the living room.

“Nothing to be sorry for. It’s okay now. Whatever wrong, we find a way to fix. I promise.”

He didn’t know how badly he’d needed to hear words like that, to have someone comfort him but hearing it just makes him sob harder.

Geno eases him onto the couch and settles next to him, pulling him in close. He starts speaking in soothing tones and it helps even though Sid can’t understand anything he’s saying. He switches back to English long enough to say, “Going to be okay, Sid. I’m promise. I take care.” And Sid decides to take him at his word because he needs this so much right now so he lets himself slump into Geno’s arms and finally let out everything he’s been holding back.

It takes awhile but Geno sits with him until he’s relatively calm again. When he finally pulls away it’s to get tissues to offer to Sid. He disappears for a moment and reemerges with another wet washcloth and pauses just to make sure Sid’s okay with it before he gently wipes his face again. Once he’s done with that he settles in again and says quietly, “Will you tell me?”

Sid doesn’t have to ask what he means. “It’s just… It’s a lot of things.”

“I a have lot of time.” Geno’s soft smile sets Sid a little more at ease so he takes a sip of water and sighs before launching into the description of his day, the stress of being twenty one and pregnant, the issues he’s having with his doctor, the frustration of constant nausea and exhaustion— all of it. Once he starts it’s hard to stop and the only thing he holds back are his financial concerns because he doesn’t want Geno to think he’s asking for money.

Geno listens attentively, frowning here and there, nodding from time to time but he really listens and it means so much, Sid could almost cry again but he manages to hold it together.

When he’s finally finished dumping all his frustrations he looks up with wide eyes. “Oh god, Geno, I’m sorry.”

“Why you sorry? You not have to apologize for have feelings. This a lot to deal with! Lot of stress, lot of issues. I know we not together but not mean I’m not be here for you.”

Sid wants to protest but instead he nods and looks at Geno. “I don’t know what to say. It’s just been really hard and there’s no one really to talk to who gets it and just… Thank you.”

Geno offers him a soft smile. “Is how it should be, okay? You can always talk to me.”

Sid smiles and murmurs, “Thanks,” again and means it.

“You think you can eat something?”

“Probably. As long as it’s not fish.”

Geno laughs and shakes his head. “Okay.” He slips the long forgotten clean t-shirt into Sid’s hands with a smile. “You change, will feel better. I’m cook for you. Think you can handle chicken and noodle? Some veggie?”

Sid nods, feeling pitiful.

Geno’s right. Sid changes into the clean shirt and washes his face. After he brushes his teeth, he realizes he does feel better and he’s pretty sure it’s not just because he’s gotten a chance to clean up.

In the kitchen he finds Geno at the stove, stirring a large pot. “Is soup,” he says, smiling. “My Mama’s recipe. Always keep some in freezer. Best for making feel better.”

Sid feels a rush of affection at the sheer thoughtfulness of the gesture and he wishes he could do something, anything for Geno in return.

They watch TV as they eat together and it’s really nice. Geno doesn’t give Sid any crap for the amount of soup he inhales and waves him off when he tries to help clean up.

The last thing Sid remembers is Geno leaving the room to make tea. The next thing he’s aware of is Geno’s voice, low and deep, speaking softly. “Sid. Hey Sid.” He feels Geno’s hand, gentle on his arm and blinks his eyes open slowly.

“Geno?” he garbles out, struggling to keep his eyes open.

Geno smiles softly at him. “Got guest bed ready for you.”

“M’sorry. Didn’t mean to fall asleep. I should go.”

Geno frowns. “You too tired to drive, not safe. Stay here tonight. I get you up when you need to be, make sure you get to work on time.”

“M’off tomorrow.”

“Then you sleep in, I make you breakfast when you wake up.”  

Sid lets Geno help him to his feet and guide him up the stairs to the guest room where the covers are already turned down. “Sleep as long as need. I’m at end of hall if you need anything.”

“Are you sure this is okay?” Sid bites at his bottom lip. He’s so tired and all he wants right now is to lay down and sleep and sleep and sleep. But he doesn’t want to impose on Geno or overstep any boundaries.

Geno just smiles again and pats Sid’s arm. “Of course, okay. You sleep, I’m make best breakfast tomorrow, okay?”

“Thanks, Geno.”

“You always welcome here, Sid. Anytime, day or night. Mean that.”

Once he’s gone it takes Sid about ten seconds to shuck his pants before he melts into the fluffy bed. He’s asleep between one blink and the next.

Part 10