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jj-babebank · 4 years ago

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Room 107 // chapter I // JJ Maybank (smut)

I have started my first JJ story, which will consist of several chapters that I will constantly be updating. The story picks up where season 2 leaves us. TW: Contains mentions of drugs, alcohol, cigarettes, sex and violence.

Chapter 1 can be found below. Oh, and - please feel free to submit requests, I tend to write a lot ;)

Enjoy xx

Chapter 1 - La Guardiana

Days had passed since the Pogues had last seen civilisation, maybe even weeks. The sun was hotter than ever, with close to no wind to mask the warmth. JJ was taking this particularly badly.

“I’m so done with eating bananas, man,” he moaned, kicking a pebble as he trotted a little behind the rest of his friends, “Can’t we just stumble across an oasis or something and end up in, like, an actual city?”

As if on command, his friends stopped in their tracks, the girls awing and the guys smiling happily.

“We just might, JJ,” said John B, looking at the city unfolding itself in front of them in the distance, “We just might.”

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

“I’m actually starving,” laughed Sarah, nudging John B’s arm, “Don’t tease!” “Hey, so am I,” he cooed, “First joint we find, we’re going in for food.” Kiara rolled her eyes, “As much as I would love to accept that offer, let me remind you that we have no money.” Sarah nodded, “Mhm, nothing at all.” “Nada,” John B looked at the two girls sternly, “And when has that ever stopped us exactly?” Kiara rolled her eyes once again, smirking at her friend, “Alright, I suppose a good meal would give me the energy I’d need to run a marathon after getting caught not paying.”

The group continued walking down a not too busy street, studying the buildings, looking for a restaurant, cafe, diner - anything, really. They hadn’t had a proper meal in God knows how long and they were famished. They couldn’t help but notice how all the buildings on the street were of the same height - no more than four storeys each, all painted in different colours. If they hadn’t known any better, they’d have thought that they had left the United States of America altogether, although one thing was certain - they were definitely not in the Outer Banks anymore.

The street wasn’t crowded at all, there were hardly any cars or people lurking about. JJ concluded that this was probably an unpopular area of whichever city they were in. This would also explain the lack of supermarkets and restaurants. He really wanted to ask his friends to stop for a little break - his throat was so dry and his legs could barely hold him up anymore, but he knew better. The longer they walk, the faster they’ll find what they are looking for. Having no indicator of the time on them wasn’t helping either, hell, they could have been walking for 12 hours for all he knew, and with no result.

“Maybe we should just ask someone,” Pope suggested, “Neither of us is a wanted criminal anymore, I’d say we have nothing to worry about.” John B smirked at his friend’s remark, but ultimately agreed to ask the first person they ran into where the nearest food joint was. Turns out, they were standing right in front of it.

“La Cubanita Hotel and Restaurant” it spelled out in bold, red letters. The building was narrow and a light shade of blue, totally contrasting the obnoxiously coloured sign planted in front of it. Much like the rest of the buildings on the street, it had no more than four floors, each consisting of a row of Spanish windows with brightly coloured frames. The Pogues looked at each other with a hint of uncertainty before John B lead the way into the building.

On the inside it looked like a typical diner - tiled floor, red and blue booths, a long bar accompanied by bar stools and, cheesily enough, a boombox. JJ guessed that the way to the hotel was through the back, but he didn’t put too much thought into it. The place seemed dead, with only one of the booths being busy. It was either an off-peak hour or this city was actually a ghost town.

The group sat at one of the booths on the other side of where the other people were and JJ took a second to observe them. A group of bikers, all wearing stereotypical biker outfits from leather jackets down to bandanas. They were in their mid 50s and were all smoking indoors, drinking what looked like whiskeys, despite of the blazing sun still very much being out. JJ had to give it to them though, they did look pretty darn cool if he did say so himself, and those cigarettes looked eerily appetising to him at this given moment. Oh, what he’d give to have a sip of whatever they were having and a long, much needed drag of one of their cigarettes. He was so lost in his daydream, he barely realised Kiara poking him in the arm.

“JJ,” she urged, “Waitress is here!” In this moment JJ turned his attention to the new subject in question, their waitress. She was standing at the foot of their booth, wearing her uniform, black and red, holding a pen and a notepad, chewing a piece of gum, waiting for his order. Could this place get any more stereotypical? JJ thought to himself. “So what’s it gonna be, handsome?” She said, not even bothering to look in his direction. “Uh…” JJ fumbled with the menu, “I’ll just have whatever they’re having.” He said, pointing at the bikers in the booth across from theirs. The woman rolled her eyes, popping her bubblegum. She took the rest of the Pogues’ orders before disappearing somewhere behind the bar. JJ followed her with his eyes, blocking out the conversation his friends were currently having. The waitress came back out of what he assumed to be the kitchen and handed the paper with their orders to another girl behind the bar. JJ guessed she was the barmaid, and boy was she a bit of him.

She was wearing the same uniform as her colleague, although JJ had to admit - it looked a whole lot better on her, at least from what he could see from above the bar. Her hair was long and brown, half of it tied up effortlessly, and slightly messily, although JJ didn’t mind one bit. He watched her as she took the paper from her colleague and went to fetch the drinks written on it. He couldn’t make out what exactly colour her eyes were, and quite frankly - he didn’t really care, she was gorgeous regardless of what her eyes looked like, and she looked around his age. Had the sun and heat gotten to his head, or was it just the fact that he hadn’t touched a female in so long, he didn’t know, but if there was one thing JJ Maybank was notorious for, it was his ability to pull any girl his heart desired effortlessly. This is why he excused himself from the table and, albeit his friends’ confused looks and comments, he made his way towards the bar, sliding into one of the stools directly across from the girl.

She looked up at him, “Can I help you?” “Brown…” JJ mumbled to himself. “Excuse me?” She said, this time sounding slightly annoyed. Her eyes were brown, JJ thought, brown and sexy. He coughed, trying to compose himself and gave her his signature Maybank stare. It worked wonders back home, surely it would work wonders now again. “Name’s JJ,” he said suavely, “I’m not from around here-“ “Clearly,” she muttered, picking up a bottle of whiskey. JJ assumed it was for him, “Aren’t you a little young to be drinking, JJ?”

JJ smirked, “What can I say, I have the face of a boy but the body and mind of a man.” The girl snickered under her nose, “Sure. Well since you’re here, make yourself useful and bring your drinks over to your friends,” she gave him a fake smile, placing a tray with their orders on it in front of him, after which she turned her back to him and walked towards the back of the bar. JJ was too busy observing her behind to notice the other waitress standing next to him, her arms crossed in front of her chest. “Should I take that or will you?” She said, waking JJ up from his everlasting daydream. “Oh, uh, don’t sweat it…” he said, picking up the tray and carrying it over to his friends’ booth. “So much for customer service,” Sarah laughed. “And to think my dad says I’m hostile to our customers,” Kiara muttered out. JJ took his seat next to her, his eyes never leaving the bar. “La Guardiana,” Pope read out loud, “This place is called La Guardiana, and apparently we’re somewhere in Florida.” “Florida?” John B said, confusion dripping through his words. Pope nodded, pointing at some text on the bottom of the menu.

La Cubanita Hotel & Restaurant **, 97 Diego’s Crescent, La Guardiana, FL

“Holy shit, we’re in Florida!” John B whisper yelled. Sarah laughed at his reaction, “Calm down now, Sancho, let’s not draw any attention to us,” “Yeah, you might wanna tell Casanova here that,” teased Pope, nodding his head in JJ’s direction, “Was it really worth it to potentially blow our cover just to talk to that girl?” JJ snapped at Pope, “Hey, man, just ‘cuz you don’t have the nuts to go over there and talk to her yourself,” “Yeah, I really want to attract the staff’s attention, you know, even more than we already are, seeing as we’re the only other busy table at this place.” “Your food,” the waitress from earlier was back with some of the Pogues’ orders. They waited for her to be out of earshot and JJ spoke up, “Relax, P, I bet you I can charm the pants off that girl and we won’t even need to sneak out without paying!” Pope gave JJ a fake smile, “Mhm, I’m sure she’s gonna be so deep under your spell she won’t even notice us leaving without paying a cent." JJ rolled his eyes, picking up a toothpick from the table and placing it between his teeth. “Might even offer us a place to crash, you know, because she’ll be so captivated by you.” Pope continued to tease. “Yeah, chicks totally dig this whole I’m homeless and I haven’t properly showered in like 15 days look you're going for,” Sarah joined in on the teasing. Kiara laughed and added, “Yeah, and the bit that’s gonna fully seal the deal for her is that you have literally nothing to offer her, like 0 dollars.” Everyone was laughing while JJ just crossed his arms in front of his chest and turned to look out the window, “Talk all you want, guys, but once we get that gold back, you’ll see who’ll dig what.” “The rest of your order,” he recognised the girl’s voice. It was her bringing their food over this time. She placed John B’s plate in front of him and then made her way around the table, next to where JJ was sat. She handed him his plate and bent down slightly, so that her lips were on the same level as JJ’s ear, “Next time you decide to share your criminal plans, you might wanna talk a bit more quietly.” She whispered, setting his cutlery down for him, “Oh, and, you might be charming wherever you come from, but your friend’s right. That shit doesn’t work around here.” She said, patting him on the shoulder before walking away. JJ didn’t waste time sitting around to listen to his friends pass comments about what had just happened, he downed his whiskey and practically chased after the girl. “I’m guessing you’ll want another one?” She said, not even turning around. JJ wondered how she knew that he was there. When she turned to face him, the bottle of whiskey was in her hand. “Let’s see… Do I pour you another one and close my eyes about you planning to leave without paying, or do I do what anyone else in my position would do and call the police on you? Hmm…” she pretended to think, her eyes never leaving JJ’s now panicking ones. “Please don’t call the cops,” he blurted out, the whiskey hitting his brain and making him stress out more than he wanted to admit to, “Look, we - we were in a boat accident, we don’t even know how we got here, hell - we didn’t even know where we were up until 10 minutes ago! And we - we don’t have any documents on us, we don’t have any sort of identification, what would you -“ “Relax, kid,” the girl smirked, picking up two glasses and pouring a generous amount of whiskey in both of them, “I won’t rat you out.” She said, handing JJ one of the glasses and raising hers for a toast. JJ clinked his glass with hers, a large smile growing on his face, his dimples becoming very prominent, “Thank you, really… That means a lot.” The girl took a moment to observe JJ, then to look at his friends having a heated conversation at their booth, all of them practically stuffing their faces with food in an almost animalistic sort of way. Could this boy really be telling the truth? Could these kids have been lost at sea with no place to go? She looked back at JJ who was also looking at her. Despite the smile plastered on his face, she could clearly see that he was extremely nervous still. “Hey,” she said, “I told you to relax, didn’t I. I won’t charge you for your food, in fact… I might even have a place for you to sleep and clean up tonight.” JJ’s eyes grew wider at her words, “You what?” She leaned in closer to him over the bar and lowered her voice so that he would be the only one to hear, “Hotel upstairs, my aunt owns it. She’s currently out of town with my cousin. Should be back next Thursday. I think I can fit you and your friends in. You just have to promise to be on your best behaviour.” She said, pulling away and taking another sip from her drink. JJ couldn’t believe what he was hearing. It was too good to be true. She was hot and she was willing to help? This must have been his lucky day. Sarah could suck it, and so could the others. Clearly this girl was into him. Why else would she be offering to help? “So, uh, what’s in it for me?” He asked, a hint of mischief in his voice. The girl opened her mouth, but before she could speak, the other waitress groaned from behind her. “Samara, how many times do I have to tell you?” Her croaky voice rang. The girl, who JJ had just learned was called Samara, rolled her eyes and repeated with her colleague, “No drinking on the job, yeah yeah, I know. But Heather’s gone and so is Conner, so who can tell me what to do, really?” She said, finishing what was left of her whiskey, “Besides, Georgia, as far as I’m concerned, since they’re both gone, that leaves me in charge, no? Now get back to work,” she said, making her colleague roll her eyes at her. Samara turned around to face JJ again, giving him a wink, before disappearing into the kitchen. JJ couldn’t believe his luck. He swung his arm over the bar and picked up the bottle of whiskey to pour himself one more drink before returning to his friends. “Guys-“ JJ tried getting their attention. “So what are we supposed to do now? We’re totally screwed!” “They’re gonna call the police on us, hell, they probably already have! The cops could be on their way!” “Guys!” JJ yelled, catching even the bikers’ attention. His friends looked up at him, worry filling all of their eyes. “You’ll never believe what I’m about to tell you, oh, and Sarah? You can eat your words.” He smirked before telling them what had just happened. “Hold on,” said Kiara, her face revealing her confusion, “So this random girl in this random place just randomly said that we can crash here until when?” “Next Thursday, or was it Tuesday? What day is it today?” JJ scratched his head. “JJ!” Kiara slapped his arm, “What if this is a trap? It sounds too good to be true doesn’t it? Like, what’s in it for her? We don’t even know her! What if she’s a murderer or something?” “She’s right, you know,” Cleo chimed in. “She is,” said John B, “But we have nothing to lose, literally.” Pope nodded, “I’d usually agree with Kie, but John B’s right. We have nothing to lose. And what if she calls the police? What could even happen then? We get put in jail for agreeing to sleep in a hotel for free? Come on, guys, I’m sure we can all agree that a bar of soap and a normal bathroom would do us good. I mean, we stink.” Everyone laughed at Pope’s remark before Kiara turned to JJ again, “So what’s the plan?” Realisation just struck JJ that he didn’t in fact know what the plan was. Samara had told him virtually nothing about how any of this would go down. Where were they supposed to meet? Was she going to take them to their rooms? Would they all be sharing one room? He was so busy thinking about how all of this would go down, he barely noticed Samara herself passing him a note. It was taken out of her colleague, who JJ now knew to be Georgia’s notepad. The note read in messy handwriting:

Bring your friends to the lobby. Straight down the hallway by the bathrooms.

JJ turned the piece of paper towards his friends and they all got up, rushing towards the hallway by the bathrooms.

#outer banks #jj maybank #obx #pope heyward #kiara carrera #jj one shot #jj smut #obx smut #sarah cameron #john b #jj x oc #netflix #love #smut

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multi-fandom-inserts · 5 years ago

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Show Me Going

Rosa Diaz x Female Reader (If this offends you, don’t read, simple as.)

This is set during the active shooter episode, I’ve changed a few details but just a warning if this subject is a trigger. ENJOY.

Masterlist.

XXX

“Come on Y/N, just a few more bits to fill in.” you mutter encouragingly to yourself, leaning back on your chair stretching out your back and fingers before rubbing your temples furiously in a desperate attempt to refocus on the computer screen in front of you but it was no luck, the new system the IT department had put in place took twice as long for warrants to be processed and approved as well as evidence to be categorised and assigned to cases which meant they take longer than average to fill out.

The atmosphere in the precinct was tense, the usually loud room with buzzing energy and laughter had fallen silent with nothing but the echoing noises of fingers tapping on keyboards, coffee being drunk and the constant noise of the printer working in overdrive to keep up with the demands drowned out the frustrated groans made by your co-workers.

Everyone had fallen into their own miniature slums, Amy had reverted back to “secret” smoking and chewing the ends of her pens violently – which has caused more than one ink explosion – Terry was working in overdrive to keep everyone in upbeats spirits, running himself into the ground in the process, whilst Charles focused all his energy into waiting hand-and-foot on Jake who had managed to hurt himself more times in the last few weeks than his entire career in the police force and had been ordered to desk duty sorting through old case files as well as the odd open case that crept up, the boredom of which had now caused him to become even more childish and irritating – something the Nine-Nine didn't know was possible – and was currently entertaining himself by creating paper-areoplanes and throwing them around the bullpen.

“Here you go, Y/N.” spoke a voice that snapped you out of your day dream and made the hairs on the back of your neck stand to attention.

Turning your head to the left, you see Rose Diaz, holding two brown take-out cups. She hands one over to you with a smile, you notice your name was written neatly on the side as you take the cup from her with a thank you; the detective watched you as you take a curious slip, she hadn't asked if you wanted a drink but as you let the delicious warm liquid of caramel Mocca fill your mouth, you hum intently.

It seemed like everyone was suffering except Rosa, and you could feel Jakes curious eyes settle on the pair of you as he listened and watched intently as the pair of you interacted. “When you've got a spare minute, could you help me search for some evidence on our case?” Rosa then asks, rather abruptly, also noticing Jakes eyes on the two of you, but from the side she manages to give you a half smile that wouldn't be seen by the prying detective.

You smiled back at her sweetly, “Yeah of course, let me just finish up the warrant requests and I'll be right with you.”

Rosa gave you a short nod and turned back to walk to her desk situated behind Charles who was sat in front of you typing away madly on his computer, from beside you, you could still feel Jakes hawk-like-eyes on you, one eyebrow raised and a stupid childish smile on his face.

“Is there something you wanted Peralta?” you ask in a short tone.

He snapped out of his trance and shook his head quickly, “Nope, Y/L/N. Nothing.” he stuttered, turning back to his computer; chuckling quietly to yourself, you turn back to your computer.

XXX

Twenty minutes later, you huff in annoyance and push yourself away from the desk, abandoning the warrant that won't process in a efficient amount of time and head for the Evidence Room, Rosa had disappeared from her desk ten minutes ago with a blue case file so you assumed she was in there but as you open the door; all the lights are turned off in the enclosed room; stepping in cautiously whilst attempting to feel for the light switch, the door shuts behind you, engulfing you in pitch black.

“Ah shit.” you hiss to yourself, turning swiftly to feel for the door handle but there was no luck, “I knew I should of listened to my mum when she said eat more carrots.”

Suddenly, a hand clamps down over your mouth from behind, muffling your squeak in surprise, instinctively you grab the wrist of your attacker, twisting your body and the arm around putting them into an arm-lock, pushing them against the chain link fence of the airlock.

“I taught you so well,” the familiar feminine voice whispers, immediately you let go of the figure in front of you allowing them to easily turn the main light on, sure enough, you were face-to-face with the beautiful chocolate brown eye of Rosa, who wore a huge shit-eating smirk on her face with pride. You roll your eyes and shove her playfully.

“You scared the shit out of me!” you whisper in fake annoyance, unable to stop the goofy smile creeping onto your face.

Rosa chuckles, taking your hand and pulling you closer, placing a gentle her lips on yours and lingering for a moment before separating, “We agreed we wouldn't do this at work,” you grumble, pulling her in for another kiss, this one more passionately as your tongue glides across her lower lip, asking for access as you deepen the kiss.

Rosa moans into the kiss before pulling your lips apart and hugging you tightly, “I know, but I couldn't sit there and watch you all stressed out and anxious anymore.”

Smiling, you rest your head on the front of her shoulder, inhaling deeply taking in the familiar smell of her perfume, motorbike oil and the leather jacket she wears religiously, “You know they'll figure out we are dating eventually, Jake seems to be on the trail.” you say to her.

You can feel her nod, “Yeah honey I know – but don't worry about that for now, we'll tell them when we are ready.” she assures you, squeezing you tightly before releasing you, “Why don't you get out of here for bit? Go get some food and fresh air.”

“But we are busy with this case?” you ask her.

The detective smiles, rolling her eyes gently as she cups your chin in her hand, “Go, get out of here... before I get my taser and chase you ouy.” she playfully threatens, kissing you one last time.

XXX

You would never tell her to her face – but Rosa was right, getting away from work and some fresh air is exactly what you needed.

A short drive from work was a small café hidden amongst the busseling city, taking a seat outside you sip on your tea in-between eating your chocolate croissant. Breathing a sign of relief as you watch the city move around you, strangers going about their daily lives, going to work, seeing family, spending the day with loved ones. It causes a sinking feeling in your stomach, Rosa and yourself weren't out in the open with your relationship, you both have witnessed Captain Holt receive abuse because of his sexuality and neither yourself or Rosa were ready to face that in the work place let alone in your personal life.

And sadly, the sinking feeling doesn't stop there, as your radio crackles to life with a message no one in law enforcement wants to hear.

XXX

After you left, Rosa stayed in the Evidence Locker for a while as she really did have some evidence to find relating to the case the two of you were working on, but thanks to the new filing system and the lack of Evidence Attendant workers, it took twice as long to fins what she needed and when Rosa entered back into the bull-pen, evidence in hand, she is greeted with the sight of everyone crowded around Gina's desk with their backs to her.

“What's going on?” Rosa asks but is responded to with sharp, loud hushes.

She's taken aback but then she hears the buzzing static noise of a radio, quickly Rosa joins the half circle around the radio and listens carefully, “There's an active shooter in a hotel in Brooklyn Heights.” Holt tells Rosa, her heart sinks and the rest of the team takes a sharp inhale at the confirmation from their Captain.

“Requesting additional units.” a female voice speaks over the radio.

“Multiple causalities, ESU is en-route and nearby officers are responding to the scene right now.” Holt tells the squad keeping them updated.

Rosa's hands ball into fists, whitening the knuckles as her hands begin to sweat. Jake bits his lip as Amy chews her pen.

“Multiple shots fires, please be aware civilians running from scene and are on the streets.” Dispatch informs.

Charles takes a deep breath and holds it until it hurts before breathing out slowly as Terry flares his nostrils.

“Johnson, 2938, show me going” a male voice speaks over the radio.

“2938, I have you going.” Dispatch confirms.

“Gilbert, 9825, show me going.” another male speaks.

“9823, I have you going.” Dispatch confirms.

“What are they saying?” Gina asks – who had begun to pick at her nail polish – looking up at Captain Holt from her desk.

“Show me going and their badge number, they are telling Dispatch that they are close by and responding.” Holt explains calmly.

“Y/L/N, 2103, show me going.”

Everyone around Gina's desk freezes, the one line was spoken so quickly no one wanted to believe they heard it, until Dispatch confirms.

“2103, I have you going.”

“Y/L/N! As in our Y/N!” Charles shrieks worriedly.

“That's her badge number.” Jake then confirms, looking up at Rosa who looked over to him, the colour in her face had drained, her jaw hung loose in disbelief as her balled up hands began to shake. The squads eyes dart from one person to the next, everyone slowly coming to terms with what they had just heard.

“She's there.” Amy said quietly to herself, but in the silence atmosphere it echoed loudly.

Rosa swallows thickly, her heart beating a million miles an hour, echoing in her head making it pound, palms sweating with an uneasy lump forming in her throat choking her. Without a word, the detective turned sharply on her heels and took off in a fast, brisk walk towards the bathroom down the corridor, bile climbed her throat as her vision starts to blur at the edges.

Locking the main door to the bathroom, Rosa breaks into a sprint for the toilet, barely making it in time before her lunch made a reappearance. For twenty minutes, she stares into the toilet bowl eventually gaining the strength to push herself back up, flushing the toilet and heading over to the sink, gripping the edge of the sink with all her strength, running the water to mask the thick and fast tears that fell from her eyes.

A million thoughts rushed through the detectives head, was Y/N safe? Where was she in the hotel? Is she hurt?

Just as Rosa begins to panic, a loud knock echoes on the bathroom door, followed by Jakes voice.

“Rosa? Are you okay?”

Taking a deep breath, the detective tries to calm herself enough to respond, “Yeah, I'm fine.” she manages before a wave of new tears form.

Jake doesn't believe her, through their training at the academy and multiple cases together, Jake has learnt to read the seemingly emotionally unavailable woman pretty well; and he knows better than to push her as he hears the unevenness of her voice and attempted hidden sniffles.

“Captain is holding an emergency meeting in the Briefing Room in five minutes,” Jake then speaks, not wanting to push her.

Rosa nods as if he can see her, looking at her blood shot eyes, blotchy skin and pale complexion, “Okay, I’ll be out in a minute.” she responds.

Jake doesn't respond, instead he waits. Rosa washes her face with cold water, tries her tears and swallows her emotions as best as she can, unlocking the door she steps out and Jake engulfs her in a bear hug – something they never do often – but as Jake waits for Rosa to shove him away, instead she wraps her arms around him and returns the hug gratefully.

“Thank you buddy.” she mumbles, letting go.

Jake smiles softly at her before turning to walk towards the Briefing Room.

Holt and Terry stand at the front of the room, Jake by Charles, Amy and Rosa on their own tables and Gina stood in the corner. The tension is the room was thick, worry and anxiousness radiated off everyone, even Captain Holt had a nervousness about himself.

“A Captain at the 9-7 has given us a brief update, there's two possible three shooters in Brooklyn Heights – ” Holt started but Jake swiftly interrupted.

“Any casualties?”

“Three head, many wounded – all civilians.” Holt speaks. “ESU is on scene and the area is being locked down, it's a zoo out there, we have been ordered to stay here on alert but not to respond.”

“That's crazy!” Amy yells.

The room is taken aback by her outburst but Holt doesn't seem fazed, “I know you're all worried about Y/N, but she is not alone, she is part of a massive NYPD response. I promise I will keep you updated as the situation develops, in the meantime, you all have jobs to do. Dismissed.”

The room clears out, Rosa lingers as Jake and Amy talk.

“She'll be okay, Ams.” Jake comforts her.

Amy smiles through gritted teeth, touching her boyfriends shoulder, “I know. I love you.” she says.

“I love you too.” Jake smiles happily.

That's when it hit Rosa like a bus.

A realisation she never thought she'd have.

A feeling she never thought she'd feel.

She loves you.

XXX

Three Hours Later...

The echoing sound of gunshots rung in your ears, sending glass sparing over you and the officer you are paired with. The heavy bulletproof vest you wear constricts your chest more than the heavy sinking feeling of anxiety that sits in the pit of your stomach, when suddenly an officer in the squad next to yours yells in pain, turning swiftly you see a brief sight of red blood.

“Move! Move! Move!” you yell to your team as more bullets fly through the air.

“Squad Beta-Nine to Dispatch, we are pinned down.” a male next to you speaks over the radio, “Multiple shooters on west side, seventh window up. Do you have a clear shot?”

Your heart beat echoes in your head, white noise takes over blurring out everything else, holding your gun close you check the bullets, secure your vest and helmet. As the bullets hit the wall you're all barricaded behind, you close your eyes and all you see is her – Rosa, with that stupid smirk she wears, her leather jacket she lets you wear when you get cold, the helmet she hands you when she forces you on the back of her bike.

Oh my god, you suddenly think, your eyes bursting open, “I love her.” you whisper to yourself.

XXX

“GUYS!” Charles screams – despite everyone in the squad being in a two metre radius of him.

“What is it?” Rosa asks, her voice strained.

Everyone gathers round Charles as he twitches from foot-to-foot, unable to stand still, “They just took three shooters into custody. Officers got injured in the action, they don't say how many or who they are.” he tells everyone, a small weight is lifted from everyone but tension still runs through them.

“Call Y/N.” Jake turns to Rosa, pointing at the phone in her pocket.

Amy raises her eyebrow, curious as to why Rosa would call Y/N when she was her best friend, but before the Sergeant had a chance to ask, Rosa already had her phone to her ear, the ring tone rhythmically humming away. “Her phone is off.” Rosa mutters.

“Fuck.” Holt lets slip.

Jakes eyes widen but now is not the time to react to the Captains potty mouth, no matter how incredible of a moment it was.

Forty-Five Minutes Later...

The bull-pen was silent. No one spoke. No one worked. Everyone sat at their desks, anxious, scared and on edge.

“Listen up,” Holt's voice shatters the void, “I don't have the names of the injured officers, but is Y/N is unharmed, she should be contacting us shortly. Or, if her phone is dead, she might be walking out of the elevator at any moment.”

And almost as if by magic, the elevator ping’s and the door slides open... revealing... Scully holding a meatball sub.

“AH COME ON!” Rosa screams so loud it causes Scully to jump out of his skin, throwing the meatball sub all over the floor spilling the sauce, meat and bread all over the floor.

From the corner, you let out a laugh, “Damn it Rosa, that looked like a good sandwich.” you speak.

The entire room jumped to attention, all smiling, calling your name but before you got a chance to respond to everyone who moved to hug you, Rosa barged through the crowd, sending Jake and Charles flying into the nearby desks as she grabbed your face tightly and kissed you.

The entire room erupted in gasps as you returned the kiss, wrapping your arms around her neck, and when you both pulled apart, everyone in the bull-pen was staring at you, you took Rosa's hand in yours as you faced your boss, co-workers and friends, Jake and Holt had a huge grin on their faces – as did Gina, who insisted on slow clapping – Amy and Terry looked shocked as Charles looked like he was about to faint.

“So I guess the cats out of the bag.” You said with a laugh.

“We are all very happy for you.” Holt said, a soft smile settled on his usually emotionless expression.

The entire squad nodded in confirmation. “I knew you'd been happier for a reason.” Terry winked, punching Rosa's shoulder playfully.

Everyone laughed, it felt incredible not to hide it, the weight from your chest disappeared and you felt out of this world. Rosa squeezed your hand gently. “Y/N why don't you head home and get some rest, it's been a long and stressful day for you.” Holt says, you nod with a small smile, and head over to your desk to collect your things, “Oh, Detective, Take Diaz with you. The two of you deserve a afternoon off.”

“Thank you, Captain.” Rosa says, grabbing your hand again as the pair of you say your goodbyes and leave the precinct.

As the two of you step out into the fresh air, Rosa pulls you into a tight hug, her shoulder quiver slightly, “Hey, babe, I'm okay, I'm back with you.” you assure her, rubbing her back gently.

Rosa pulls away, her arms still wrapped around your waist, resting her forehead on yours, “I love you.” she whispers.

A large grin breaks onto your face, “I love you too.”

#rosa diaz x reader #rosa diaz x female reader #brooklynn nine nine x reader #brooklyn nine nine #rosa diaz imagine #reader insert

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dat-town · 4 years ago

Text

poison like you

Characters: princess!you & guard!Xukun feat. king!Yixing

Genre: historical, fantasy, royalty, bit of enemies to lovers, bit of childhood sweetheart to lovers, bit of i’d die for you, angst with hopeful open ending

Warnings: blood, violence, murder, poisoning and death

Summary: If you wanted to kill the last son of the Dragon Clan, first you needed to get through his right hand man. Too bad he knew you too well but it felt like you didn’t know him at all.

Words: 11.1k

Author’s note: please note that even though this historical fantasy is inspired by ancient China, it is not historically accurate because it isn’t set in any certain era or even at any existing place. the governor structure and politics might be confusing but this is basically about a lot of small kingdoms (called clans) having a never ending war for more power over the area. Chinese mythical creatures exist in this world but have gone almost extinct during the wars. to know how i imagine this world, watch Lay’s Lit mv!

for the one&only @lily-blue 💕

As the only daughter of the Jade Clan's head, you had your responsibilities. To your father, his men and all the people under them. Most importantly, you had to do everything in order to protect the Clan. When the Dragon Clan started expanding its territory, winning over more and more land, becoming more and more powerful, you knew that no army could fight theirs, so you had to go to the war with wits instead of swords.

When your father proposed the idea of a reunion between the two Clans by marrying you to the son of the Dragon, you hated it. The other Clan was everything you despised: ruthless, brutal, selfish and while you knew arranged marriage was your future, you didn't want to rule next to a tyrant. But when your father said that this would be the perfect chance for you to kill their leader and rule over the united clans yourself, it suddenly wasn't that bad of a plan. Although you never wanted a huge empire and you didn't want the responsibility over so many people, freeing them from a bloody rule sounded like the best you could do. Especially now that the man needed an heir to secure his bloodline and power.

It took ridiculously few letters between your father and Zhang Yixing before you were off, on the road with only a chest of your belongings and another one full of gold and other jewels as marriage gifts. You had your most trusted maids and soldiers with you but otherwise you were alone, alone with your plan to poison your husband-to-be. Surely, you didn't think it was going to be easy while being surrounded by his people in a palace but getting there, the dark monstrum of a building wasn't like how you imagined your future to be. Everything wore the pattern of dragon scales, the city burned in the colours of fire and ash, even the waters were dark. People wore black clothes and wore their hair down without many accessories but despite the grayness of the place, the men and women you ran into didn't seem unhappy or living in fear. They must not have known any other life, so you felt sorry for them.

You were escorted to a chamber right away and compared to the light flowery room you were used to at home, this was very different but you didn't complain. Instead you inquired about Zhang Yixing's whereabouts and when you could meet him but the maid told you that he had a meeting with his generals, so you couldn't see him until the next day when you were supposed to have lunch together. You thanked her for enlightening you and after blaming your fatigue on the long voyage, you requested to be left alone. Opening your box of accessories, you pulled out a small glass bottle with yellow liquid inside. A few drops of it was enough to put a man to sleep, a whole spoon was surely death, so your only job was to get time alone with your fiance. Until then, you needed to play your cards well.

You were quite restless and maybe a bit paranoid but you couldn’t sleep during the night fearing that someone might attack you. Even though you knew you were now under the protection of the ruler of the Clan just by being Zhang Yixing’s fiancée, it didn’t calm your traitorous heart. You have seen enemies in every corner and yet, you raised your chin high, confident and proud when you were called to that lunch with your man to be.

Followed by a bunch of maids, you walked to the room on which Yixing decided and you took your seat on the opposite end of the long table full of delicious goods. The young king was already there, his pitch black hair falling into his almond-shaped dark eyes as he looked up at you sternly, eyes narrowing as if he wanted to see through you. His skin was pale against his black clothes that were simpler than you would have thought of a tyrant. You had never met him before but you heard stories of him and you heard descriptions of his looks. However, he was younger than you had expected, only a few years older than you, but with his defined jawline and rigid expression you could imagine him being the one behind the destruction of your neighbours.

He didn’t greet you but signalled that you should start eating and tentatively you reached out for the rice, chopsticks freezing in your hold as soon as he spoke up in a raspy voice.

"It's quite unexpected, your father's wish to join hands," he said calmly and it sounded like a challenge or a test, you couldn’t tell but you didn’t like the tone he was using to talk about your father. As if he was a weakling crawling to his feet.

"Is it?” you raised an eyebrow, daring to look straight into his cold eyes, watching his every move, every twitch. “I think it's a very reasonable timing. After all, you just reached our borders," you explained because he must have known there were not many choices you could take: it was either seeking peace or a war and your nation was a peaceful one, hence you would have done anything to keep it that way.

“Is your father afraid of me?” Yixing questioned and you bet he wanted to believe that, that he could scare the Jade Clan’s head. But your father was a born strategist, he always had a plan.

“Isn’t that why you’re doing this? You want other nations to fear you?” you counterattacked with a question, knowing the lesson yourself as well: If you cannot be loved, you must be feared.

You were well aware that it was a reckless thing to challenge the king. He might have been your fiance on paper but he could have just lifted his hand and have you killed and everybody you had with you to make it look like you were attacked on the road, never reaching his palace. However, for the first time since you had seen him, the man ahead of you looked amused, the corners of his mouth curling upwards.

"You have a sharp tongue for a princess," he said and it almost sounded like a compliment. You took pride in that with a raise of your chin.

"I'm the only child of the Jade Clan's head. I have learned how to wield any kind of weapon," you answered confidently. You might not have been an undefeated warrior but you had learned how to protect yourself and you knew too well that spoken words could cause just as harm as knives sometimes. But still, it seemed to make the young king interested as he bobbed his head towards you, leaning forward with his elbows balancing on the table.

"We could test that. Are you good at archery?" he asked, probably with the intention to invite you for a game. But his smugness irked you because he made it sound like he expected you to lose no matter what. So you did the least princess-like and least wise thing you could have done in that moment: you pulled your hairpin out, letting your long locks fall onto your shoulders before swinging your arm forward and letting the pin fly forward.

In the next moment two interestings things happened. Not only Yixing’s guards weren’t by your side, forcing you down or even killing you for your brazen act but he himself didn’t move. He looked into your eyes without fear and without anger. At the same time, you saw a shadow move so fast you didn’t think it was possible for a human and his sword hit you hairpin out of its path before it could have landed in the painting behind Yixing’s throne, hitting the dragon on it in the eye. The soldier, guard or whoever he was, wore black just like his ruler but there was a textil mask in front of his face, so he must have been a special kind of warrior. Not that you cared, your attention was back on Yixing immediately.

"You tell me... do you think I would be good at it?" you asked, finding the silence a bit unsettling, it was almost like the calm before the storm. But then the king laughed and you were baffled.

“What a bride you will make,” he tilted his head and then finally, you started eating.

You were aware that you were lucky that you hadn’t been executed for that bold move you had made but it only ensured you that Zhang Yixing needed you. Or at least what you represented: the peace deal with your nation and a secured future bloodline. He could have probably forgiven as much. Or was he really that sure that either you miss the target or his guard would save him? You weren't sure but since you needed to know about his most trusted men anyways, you asked your maids about the masked figure. They didn’t know much, so you gave them the task to ask around among the Dragon Clan’s servants. You needed to know who your enemies were and where they laid. You also needed to know the palace as best as you could in case you needed an escape route or a secret passage to get to Yixing faster than anyone.

Hence, your night escapades started: once night have fallen, you pulled out a dark, comfortable clothing usually men wore and tied your hair high to not get into your way as you climb out of your window, up to the roof from where you could see the U-shaped building complex, knowing exactly where you should go: towards the king’s quarters. Running from rooftop to rooftop reminded you of your childhood when you practiced hide and seek in the palace back home. Your father had taught you how important it was to remain invisible and his advice still stayed with you as you made sure to dissolve into the shadows as you jumped to the gardens: step lightly, breath lightly like air in the morning but listen well and open your eyes because the smallest sounds, the smallest movements can be your enemy’s.

There were two guards in front of what you thought was Yixing’s suite but you didn’t care about that. You were more interested in the room where he planned his strategies to see if he really wanted to march through your home and bring war there just to conquer your other neighbours too. But before you could reach for the wooden door, you heard a shush and you crouched down just in time for the dagger to land in the wood instead of you. You bolted immediately, making a run for it, stepping up on a barrel you jumped onto the roof, so you could find a hiding place. You were prepared for such a thing. If things went South, you just needed to sneak back to your room, under the blanket and act alarmed when they banged on your door. You might have been from another Clan but nobody would have disrespected a princess by checking what she wore while sleeping and none of your maids would have said anything against you.

But you didn’t reach your quarters. No matter how lightly and in the shadows you tried to step, the one who followed you must have been really good because from one moment to another you felt yourself being hauled down from the roof, onto the ground. You and the man (based on his build) fell down together and lucky for you, it was him whose back hit the grass first with you on top of him. It gave you a bit of advantage to get to your feet immediately but you didn’t get far away. Dodging the man’s attacks, you had to admit that his training was very good, no fighter made it so hard for you to get even one hit and you grunted in annoyance when your back hit the wall of the stable. It was a full moon, so it was dark, only some tinkling light illuminating the palace for which you were grateful but it also gave you disadvantage because unlike your attacker you didn’t know this place. You felt a sudden pressure on your chest as a strong arm was pressed against it, a blade close to your neck but you only saw a silhouette.

“Speak, are you just a thief or a spy?” he asked, his voice sounding younger, softer than you expected but there was something dangerous to it. You didn’t wait enough to find out what it was. You tightened your grip around the ceramic cup you had picked up earlier and smashed it against his head. You had indeed learned how to use everything as a weapon.

For a moment, it looked as if the guard’s eyes flashed gold in the moonlight but you were too busy running away, into the stable, scaring the horses and hiding behind a straw pile, controlling your breathing until the man who had come after you gave up and left.

You hissed when you touched the wound on your fair skinned neck. It wasn’t deep and didn’t hurt a lot but it was obviously a blade wound, one that a princess shouldn’t have. So to hide it, you brushed your head over your shoulders before you left for your archery practice with Zhang Yixing who wished to see your skills for real. He greeted you with an expectant smile to which you bobbed your head politely.

You didn’t talk much while taking turns, shooting arrows but you carefully and discreetly eyed his guards when it was the king’s turn, wondering if one of them was the one from the day before. Not that you could have told with their masks on.

After practice (you lost but only because you didn’t try too hard), you went to eat fruits in the gardens and you learned that Yixing was about to leave to check on his Eastern borders. He would be away for at least a week but promised to get the wedding preparations started with his servants. You knew that was why you came but still, it made you nervous as it meant you had less time.

“Princess!” A sudden, unexpected voice called after you when you were ready to leave with your maids. Nobody other than Yixing had initiated a conversation with you since you arrived, everyone waited for you to step first. So you were curious what this man, one of the king’s closest guards, could have wanted from you. Turning around, you saw him holding out your hairpin, the one you had thrown towards Yixing the first time you had seen him, the one someone dodged, could it be…

You looked up at the young man, his hair, somewhat ruffled in his forehead, mask covering his face under his eyes. He didn’t look at you, he casted his eyes down like a good servant would.

“Thank you,” you spoke up, a bit uncertain and there was a flicker in the guard’s eyes the moment he glanced up at you after his gaze lingered on your neck: something familiar yet scary but you blinked and it was over. You took the hairpin and left, your dress sweeping the floor behind you. That guard made you feel uneasy for some reason.

The next day Yixing indeed left and when you didn’t bump into the man from the other night for the next three days you were starting to think that he went with the ruler as well. It was only after you managed to sneak into the king’s room and out when you had to realize just how wrong you had been. You knew something was off the moment you stepped into your quarters. Your guards weren’t outside of your doors and the candle you left there lit up burnt out. It was already cold to touch when you lit it again which meant it must have blown out when your intruder opened the door earlier. You pulled out your sword and pointed it ahead of you, alarmed. Your shadow danced on the walls as the candle light flickered.

“It’s been a while… Princess,” the intruder spoke up much too calmly for someone who broke into a royal’s room. You could have gotten him killed for that but you froze. Not only because he must have known about your night adventures but because the playful tint of his voice was somewhat familiar.

The shadow stepped out from the corner, hands held up, defensive, revealing the guard from earlier. You furrowed your brows, not lowering the sword, not until the other pulled down his mask and the man you faced made you gasp.

“Xukun...” you whispered, almost whimpered, and you felt your knees weaken. But he– you thought he was dead.

“I think we have a lot to talk about,” he suggested with a hint of a smile and you couldn’t agree more.

You could still barely believe that it was Cai Xukun in front of you, alive and grown up unlike the boy you had last seen him as. The boy you practiced fighting with, the son of your father’s general, your childish first love. He had never known, of course, you never had a future to begin with but still. You remembered being sixteen and so in love, secretly gushing everytime he had brought you wild roses saying they reminded him of you. But then at eighteen, he had gone off to a battle and never came back. You remembered the crinkle around his eyes as he joked, telling you not to worry, he wasn’t that easy to kill. Apparently, he was right but you didn’t understand what he was doing in the Royal Palace of the Dragon Clan as one of the high rank guards when he was supposed to be back at your home. If his father still lived, what would he have said about his son becoming a traitor?

“I knew it was you,” he spoke up, eyes a mixed colour, mouth in a thin line. You looked at him questioningly. Then he pointed at your neck without a word and you reached for the now scar on your throat. “Obviously, I didn’t know then. Sorry.”

“Why didn’t you report me then?” you asked directly, looking straight into his eyes and you let your gaze linger on the slope of his nose, the corners of his mouth, the sharp line of his jaw. He had grown up, he was more handsome than ever. “Or why didn’t you kill me during the past two days when you were following me?”

“So you knew,” Xukun nodded at you, impressed but you just raised an eyebrow. You had a guess. Everything was too easy, too quiet. When you didn’t answer, the once boy now man standing in front of you sighed as if he carried the weight of the world with him. “You should know I would never hurt you.”

You scoffed at him. You would have been naive to believe him and you weren’t a child anymore. Hell, you came here to kill the king.

“How could I be sure? It’s been years, Xukun, and you were nowhere! You gave no signs that you were alive and here you are, in an enemy clan serving their ruthless ruler?!” you spat at him and you knew that your words were harsh, that your tone was cold but honestly, you knew a barely 18 years old boy and not the young man who was in front of you. You were conflicted to say the least.

“Zhang Yixing isn’t ruthless,” Xukun corrected you. Of all things you said, he found this the most obnoxious thing you had told him out of all, he decided to correct that. You wondered why. Why was he loyal to him? Why when you had only known him to be a murderer and someone who dared you to show him her best shot?

“Isn’t he? Then how does he keep destroying these nations around us? He burnt the Moon Clan to the ground for the deities’ sake!” your voice rose by the end and you had to remind yourself to stay quiet. It would have been a scandal if someone knew you had a man in your room while your fiance was away. Your whole plan would have gone down the gutter if your reputation was ruined just like that. But you heard all the stories: the massacre in the West, the burnt towns in the South, the sunk ships at the sea. They were his doing or so people said.

“That… that wasn’t him,” Xukun objected, so sure of himself that it almost made you feel sick. “And it’s a war either way. There are no saints here. Your father isn’t one either.”

You knew how wars were fought, you knew that everybody including you was a sinner, you had both grown up in a world where you knew nothing but neverending fights, losing loved ones and never knowing safety. Yet, when the boy who your father thought of fondly dared to call him out, anger flared in you.

“My father sent his only daughter to marry a tyrant to save his people from suffering, so don’t talk about him like you knew him!”

Maybe it wasn’t what you said but how you said it, the sword you still hadn’t let go of trembling in your hand but Xukun paused, licked his lip in consideration and his voice was softer when he continued:

“I can prove that Zhang Yixing isn’t as ruthless as you think he is,” he claimed but you didn’t really care about that. You wanted to know why he was there, in the Dragon Clan instead at what you had known as a home.

“Does it have something to do with why you never came back? Like you promised,” you reminded him, sounding bitter at the memory. Gosh, you had been such a child. But who could have blamed you? He smiled and it tipped your whole world back then. But he just visibly gulped now, so you must have been right.

“I owe him my life,” he said curtly and you sucked in a breath, wondering whether he meant it figuratively or literally. You didn’t have to ask, Xukun kept talking as if now that he started, a river flood. “When the Phoenix Clan attacked us 5 years ago, I was captured. They must have known that my father was a general and they wanted to get to him. When they took me in front of their leader, Yixing was also there, barely a boy not much older than me, caught while sneaking into the tent while stealing maps on a mission for his father. They confused him for someone from the Jade Clan and thought he came for me. They let him go to pass a message to my father and then they left me in the desert far enough from the battlefield with an open wound. I was so sure I would die.”

You had imagined before how it happened. How he died, or so you had thought. You’d had nightmares about it. Seeing his beautiful eyes wide open in shock and pain. You’d imagined it on the battlefield but his body was never found. The nearby river had been red though, so you thought maybe… But it was all wrong. He was never really there.

Xukun unconsciously touched his abdomen with a grimace on his face and you wondered whether he felt the phantom pain of the stab but he kept talking without addressing that.

“The next thing I remember is waking up to being carried on horseback and Yixing yelling for a medic. I wouldn’t have thought he would come back for me, we didn’t even know each other after all,” he stopped short at that as if he was still dumbfounded that the heir of the Dragon Clan saved him then. Honestly, in his place you had been too. Maybe Yixing hadn’t had his reputation back then but you were still enemies. “When the royal medic told him I’m a lost case, he took me to a shaman and they made me drink something that cured my wound by the next day.”

“Dragon blood,” you whispered in shock when Xukun gave you a meaningful look.

There was no other way but the magical powers of dragons. Although there were more rumours than credible sources on that, nobody denied that any essence of the heavenly, snake-like creature could save lives. But there were too few of them, maybe exactly because humans dared to hunt them down for either their scales, antlers or their blood, you wouldn’t have thought it was still possible. Yixing must have paid a fortune to save someone whom he barely knew.

“See why I can’t go back home?” Xukun asked and mouth open in agapé, you casted your eyes down.

Such medication… such witchcraft was illegal in Jade nation. He would have been branded as a monster and exiled even if he went back. Dragons and creatures like that were considered sacred in your home.

“Where did they even get dragon blood from? Nobody has seen a dragon in years,” you took a shallow breath, trying to work through your messy thoughts.

“What do you think caused the fire at Moon nation?” Xukun asked knowingly and with hope in his eyes resembled the boy you had once known. He hoped you would believe him and you did but it wasn’t easy to digest all this new information.

The two of you just looked at each other in silence, a heavy one, before the sounds of the midnight patrol startled you. Hushed, you blew out the candle light, leaving you in the dark, speaking in hushed voices.

“I don’t know what you’re trying to do but… please, don’t go against Yixing. I might not be able to save you then,” Xukun spoke up, his deep voice echoing in the room, you clenched your hands in fists. As if he was there to save you in the last years when you would have needed him.

“I don’t need you to save me,” you told him, hurt clear in your voice but he didn’t say anything. He left without saying a word, wind whizzing into your room as he became one with the shadows outside. His last words left you wondering. Would he have died for Yixing, even in his place even if the weapon was in your hands?

You told yourself it wasn’t because of Xukun but you didn’t sneak into the king’s quarters in the next few days. Instead you wrote a letter to your father telling him about recent events and what you have found out about the Dragon Clan’s plans based on what you had found in the strategy meeting room. You entrusted one of your best guards with the letter and sent him home.

Days had passed uneventfully then but only until Zhang Yixing and his men came back with news that knocked air out of your lungs: the Eagle Clan attacked the weakened eastern wing of your nation. You knew they had become daring lately no matter how your father wished to keep it a secret from you but it was still all too sudden. Your army wasn’t ready to not only stand guard in case you got attacked from the South but now from the sunrise side as well.

“You cannot tell me to just wait it out!” you rose from your chair at lunch when Yixing told you the news. You felt offended at how calm he was. It must have been just another attack for him, but for you, it was your home.

“What else could a princess do?” he raised an eyebrow at you challengingly and you would have liked to sneer at him.

“I’m not the type of princess you think I am,” you claimed, hating that he probably thought you were used to letting other people fight your battles for you. Just because your father didn’t let you go into the war because you were the sole heir of the clan, it didn’t mean you couldn’t have. But now, as Yixing’s fiancée you didn’t even have much choice. You knew you shouldn’t go against his words or he might dance back on his agreement with your father. But you panicked, so you did the only thing you could possibly do in such a situation. “What do you want? Do you want to marry immediately, so you would help? Or would you let them destroy my home even then?”

You were desperate, so you would have agreed to anything only if he sent a handful of soldiers to help your people. Hell, if you had become the queen you could have commanded them yourself. But the king seemed to have different ideas.

“I will help. On one condition,” he said slowly, tasting every word and you were holding your breath, waiting for him to reveal what he wished from you. “Show me what type of princess you are then. Let’s not lie to each other about these things, Princess.”

Well, you certainly did not expect that.

“What do you mean?” you stuttered and your heart skipped a beat when the man slid an overly familiar envelope onto the table. You were smart enough to not be obvious about what you wanted to discuss with your father but there were still hints in your letter about things you shouldn’t have known if you were just picking flowers and practicing embroidery like an ordinary princess would have.

“You don’t want to marry me,” the man said and even though it was an accusation, he didn’t make it sound like one. And yet…

“You don’t want to marry me either but it hardly matters what we desire. We come from the bloodline of royals, we have our responsibilities to our people. And my people need me,” you slammed your hand on the table, spilled rice wine pouring like melted snow. You caught one of the masked guards - probably Xukun - turning his head towards you at that.

“You don’t want to be a princess,” Yixing continued and it baffled you. As if you had a choice! “You have the heart of a warrior.”

Well, you couldn’t argue that, so you just gulped, looking over the table, at the man who was a mystery to you. What did he want you to say? You couldn’t possibly admit that you planned to kill him.

“Come with me,” the king said as if it was his ultimatum and there was something knowing in his dark eyes when he explained: “Come with me to the front. Fight with me and then I’ll help the Jade Clan.”

His offer was an interesting one, you didn’t quite get his reason but you nodded anyway. You were ready to fight alongside your people but you didn’t even have to look at Xukun to know he was frowning.

You left the next day, at dawn. You took all your guards with you and Yixing added his own as you departed towards the North… your home. You wore your comfortable man clothes, hair swirling in the air around you as you galloped on your horse next to the others. It took about two days to reach the endangered border, so on the night when you had to set up a tent you could be finally alone a bit. Since you were the only woman you got a separate place and nobody should have bothered you but the tent wasn’t empty when you got in there. Gosh, were your guards so imcompetent or how?

“Reckless of you to sneak into my tent. What would your king say?” you asked, words a bit biting. You didn’t have a chance to talk with Xukun ever since that night in your room and you knew, it could have been indecent to exchange words in front of others even if you explained that you knew each other from before.

“I came exactly because of that,” the once boy explained, sitting near your small table as if you had invited him over for tea. Only because you had known him before you noticed his fidgety fingers as a sign of nervousness. “Did you write about me in the letter he got his hands on?”

Oh. So that was what he was worried about. Disappointment made you taste bile in your mouth. You hated this feeling.

“I’m not stupid,” you told him curtly and turned your back on him to indeed pour some boiled water over tea leaves to soothe your nerves. Honestly, you thought about telling your father about Xukun but then you realized you didn’t know what to write. You weren’t sure what you should have. It wasn’t your place to decide and maybe it was for the better if your father still thought that he was dead.

“He… he has a man watching you. He told me he can’t trust me with that,” Xukun who once had jumped to hover above you when a wooden house fell upon the two of you during a heavy storm sounded pained admitting that. You gulped hearing his words and the worry lacing through them. You didn’t want to think of him caring. He disappeared from your life years ago, he didn’t get to worry about you now.

“Why are you telling me this?” you asked, slowly, tentative as you sat by the table across him, putting cups of tea between you. Xukun waited until you looked up, into his deep brown eyes that had the most beautiful golden specks in them you had ever seen. Maybe it was just the lights’ doing but he still took your breath away, unfairly so.

“You need to be careful. He knows you’re up to something,” he pressed, desperate and you forced a smile, a charming, confident one. Oh, Zhang Yixing had no idea what was coming for him if he betrayed you.

“If he helped my people, our people, I wouldn’t have a reason to plot against him, would I?” you voiced out your thoughts, the decision you made on your own. If the king proved to be not as ruthless, just as your old friend claimed, maybe he deserved another chance. So you meant it but Xukun didn’t look convinced.

“Princess, I have something to discuss,” the cold, authoritative voice of the Dragon Clan’s head could be heard from outside and the pace of your heartbeats picked up, whipping your head towards the entrance of your tent then back to Xukun… or where he had been just before. Now, nothing but a smell of smoke lingered after him. You had no idea how he did that.

As it turned out Yixing wanted to discuss the reports he had gotten from the battle and if he had noticed the two cups of steamy tea, he didn’t make a comment on it. The situation was quite bad, the enemy had already gotten over the walls you had pulled up all those years ago. He had already had a man of his own let the Jade Clan general there know that Dragon soldiers were coming to rescue and not to attack, so if things worked out, you could crowd out the attackers from two sides. If you were lucky enough you could bait them towards the river where they were more vulnerable. It didn’t sound like a bad plan at all and hearing Yixing’s strategies, you understood why he had won so many battles but what surprised you was that he didn’t intend to drown everyone in the river or kill them on the spot, he sounded like he hoped they would give up and retreat. You wouldn’t have thought that of the ruthless Zhang Yixing.

Knowing how wars worked was different than being there, in the middle of a battle, sweaty, limbs tired, blood dripping from the end of your sword and a painful bruise blossoming on your left shoulder. You saw red and adrenaline carried you as you shouted and attacked the next man with mace in his hand coming at you.

“Princess!” Someone screamed and you dodged the sword aiming at you just in time but its owner stepped closer, pushing you backwards on the slippery ground. You weren’t strong enough to push him back.

“Princess, huh? How interesting,” the man, covered in dirt and blood not his own, grinned at you, a hand clasping his hand around your throat, squeezing hard. You gasped, clawing at his arm with your free hand because he pushed the one that held the sword close to your chest with his. For the first time in your life, you felt powerless even with a weapon in your hand. You tried to kick and get away from the soldier but you couldn’t and felt disgusted by the names this disgusting leech called you.

You didn’t know how long you had fought back but the noises of the battle started to fade out when suddenly the man was yanked away from you but you still felt his blood splatter across your cheek as a sword pierced through his chest. Panting, gasping for air, you stared at Xukun behind the fallen soldier and he stared back at you, eyes glowing dark and golden. You smelled something burning...

You heard the screams before you had seen the source of sudden panic and shock.

You looked up to where everybody was pointing while running and you had seen a huge dragon appearing above the walls of Jade. Its fur and scales were dark like the night sky except a few gilded ones that looked like burning fire from afar while his antlers were long and ivory. It was terrifying yet beautiful. Its honey-coloured eyes gazed down upon you mere humans and it seemed to have a concrete target in its mind as it flew above you rippling the water and air behind.

Xukun grabbed your arm, trying to pull you away but his touch felt burning too and you couldn’t take your eyes off the dragon that halted in the air, levitating just above the ground, its huge head merely an arm away from Zhang Yixing who stood there alone, unmoving. It reminded you of the day when you threw your hairpin at him, how calm he was and you still couldn’t believe what you saw when the Dragon Clan’s leader lifted a hand and put it on its head as if he was trying to discipline a dog.

Thunder roared above and Xukun managed to pull you away now that everyone had scattered all over hell's half-acre. He took you farther, inside the wall of your nation and you only noticed that he must have been hurt when he stumbled and you had to catch him before he fell.

“Kun!” you shrieked, scared, the old nickname slipping naturally as you put his arm around your shoulder and pulled him inside of a half-destroyed house nearby. Your hands trembled as you let him sit down and then looked around to look for a lantern to light it.

In the dim lit room you kneeled next to the guard, his clothing soaked with his blood and you could see sweat forming on his forehead. How did it happen, you questioned, but it wasn’t the important thing. With a shaky breath, you reached out to peel off the bloody material from his chest to see the sword cut across one shoulder. You hissed seeing the fresh wound and all that blood. You cursed in frustration.

“Shh… it’s okay,” the boy whispered with droopy eyes, taking your hand, weakly pushing it away from the cut.

“It’s not okay,” you argued and you could feel tears in the corner of your eyes. Did he get hurt while trying to get to you? Did he forget to pay attention to himself because he saw you? You felt guilty and you hated that, you didn’t want to be the reason why he was hurt.

“There’s something you should know…” Kun coughed and grunted at the pain flashing through him. He had his eyes shut, teeth clenched and it hurt to look at him. “I– I heal faster than normal… The dragon blood that saved me…”

“I know,” you cut him off, not wanting him to exhaust himself with speaking. You could see him struggle, his eyes bright gold when he opened them briefly. His blood was working its magic.

To be honest, you didn’t know, you just had a guess up until now. His golden flashing eyes, the warmth radiating off him, how fast and soundless he could move or disappear leaving only smoke behind… It was because of the dragon inside of him.

There were legends saying that if a person spared a dragon, it would be bound to him for life and the blood of an alive dragon in a human would create a connection between the two. A connection that could call the other half if one felt threatened. Although it was just a theory, with the intensity of Kun’s eyes on you, the beautiful burning fire in his pupils made you believe you were right, that the dragon appeared because he feared for you.

There was a short cut growl leaving the boy’s mouth and you grabbed his hand, letting him squeeze yours while you could see his skin basically knitting itself back together, the wound closing in as if it had never been there. It might have been only a few minutes but it felt too long with how much it seemed to hurt the boy you had just saved your life. When it was over and he opened his eyes, they were plain brown again – your favourite though – and he looked tired.

Oh, thank the deities, you let out a relieved choked sound and you didn’t even notice you had been crying until Xukun didn’t wipe your tears off your cheek. He looked at you as if he had seen you for the first time, properly at least and you felt your lips tremble. Heavens, you had mourned him once and now you almost lost him again. Suddenly, a rush of emotions rippled through your body, your fingers tentatively touching the freshly healed skin.

“You’re so warm,” you whispered in awe since his skin was hotter than expected and you knew it wasn’t fever caused by the wound.

“Princess...” he muttered oh so gently and his hand, wet with your tears, slipping from your cheek to your neck, caressed your skin just like his voice caressed your soul.

“No,” you stopped him firmly and when confusion flashed in his orbs you told him to call you by your own name. It was a command, a request, a plea. It was everything and a sweet little nothing at the same time.

Kun’s eyes widened at the permission but pushed himself away from the wall to lean closer and he sighed your name into the seam of your mouth. You closed your eyes feeling his hot breath tingling on your lips and when he kissed you, you melted against him like wax melted near fire.

Once the storm passed, you could still feel Kun’s touch on you. It was like a vivid memory and it tasted sweet on your tongue even if you knew you were being naive.

You didn’t talk about it. About what it meant because you both knew you couldn’t. But you were stupid enough to forget about your other problems when you had seen the retreating army. Your people could be a bit more safe at least for a little while.

“Cai Xukun!” Another guard called out when he caught sight of his comrade next to you. He looked panicked and it scared you. What now? The man walking up to your duo looked at you warily before answering the question about his worried expression. “The king is injured.”

Oh. Interesting how it was what you had wanted since you had left home but now that Zhang Yixing was bedridden, you found yourself worrying and by the looks of it Kun too. The two of you were escorted to the king who lay on a makeshift bed, chest wrapped with a cloth that he had already bled through.

“What happened?” you questioned, looking from one soldier to another. This didn’t look like something caused by the dragon’s claws or teeth, it was definitely a human-caused injury and your guess was confirmed when one of the men told you that while he was trying to calm the dragon, someone from afar shot an arrow through him. It made you anxious because what if they captured the dragon? What would that have meant to your people, to Kun?

“And the dragon?”

“It chased them away and is probably in the mountains,” the man said and that made you a bit relieved even though you weren’t sure you were allowed to feel that while your fiance was bleeding out only a few steps from you. You nodded in acknowledgement and made a hand movement to excuse the soldiers. Soon, you were left with only Xukun in the room.

“Why isn’t he healing? Doesn’t he...” you looked at the boy, not understanding why the injury took its toll on the king when Xukun healed within an hour. Was it some kind of special arrow damped in poisonous liquid? Was it...

“No,” The guard cut your words off but you could already tell by the look on his face that it wasn’t how you thought. “He saved the dragon and it now serves him but he never got its blood and I… I think the dragon is hurt, too.”

“What?” you were dumbfounded how he could tell something like that when you had left the field together, so he couldn’t have known about this. Not by seeing it happen. But as Xukun clenched his hand in front of his chest as if he was hurting, you started to understand. They were indeed connected after all.

“I can feel it. I can’t explain but its energy...”

A hurt dragon in the mountains. A hurt king in the desert. Gosh, things really weren’t on the path you hoped them to be. You suddenly weren't sure what worried you more.

“Do you think the dragon is in danger?” you turned to Kun, fingers fidgeting with the handle of your sword by your side. If those from before knew that they managed to wound the creature, were they looking for it? Anyone who got control over a dragon could have immense power, you didn’t even want to think about it. Especially the dragon that had this special connection with the boy beside you. “Go then. Help the dragon!”

He seemed surprised and conflicted at your nudging. He didn’t move, eyes flickering to the bed behind you.

“But Yixing...” His protest fell short when you quickly explained:

“I will stay with him and wait for the medic,” you promised but weren’t sure Xukun trusted you with something like this until he reached out to take your hands in his. His palm was warm like every other part of him too, his fingers felt nice against your dirtied, dry skin. He squeezed your hand gently in agreement.

“Call for a shaman, too,” he added and you nodded with a lump in your throat. You needed to get prepared for any kind of situation.

You could have been called a loyal fiancée based on how you spent day and night next to Yixing, watching over his recovery. However, he didn’t get much better over the course of days and you didn’t hear about Xukun either. The only reassuring thing was that you weren’t attacked there, at the border of three Clans. You couldn’t leave either way because the king wasn’t well enough for such a long voyage and you wanted to be as close as the mountains anyway.

The medic said the arrow hit Yixing so close to his heart that it was a miracle that he was still breathing and it scared you more than you had expected. You let him change the bandage and stayed by the unconscious man, putting fresh wet cloth over his feverish forehead.

That night, marking the third without Xukun, the king stirred awake.

You looked up from your place beside his bed, startled. It was the first time he seemed more conscious than just to drink a bit of water or ginger soup because his eyes looked alert. For the first time since you had met him, he seemed scared.

“The dragon...” he croaked out with a hoarse voice due to not speaking for days.

“Xukun is looking after it,” you told him reassuringly and held a metal cup to the king’s chin, urging him to drink a bit. He gulped down the fresh water as if it was healing potion and once he finished with the entire cup, he fell back onto the sheets with a painful sigh. Closing his eyes, he traced his ribs until he reached the bloody bandage over his wound and hissed. He must have suffered more than he showed.

“I would have never thought I would have my fiancée look after me after a battle,” the man whispered, deep voice weak and uncertain, a little playful though. Although his words were conveying the truth, it made you feel like someone who committed adultery. You knew you didn’t swear either loyalty nor love to each other with the king but after learning how he had saved your first love from certain death, you didn’t want to do something like this to him. You needed to come clean even if the timing was quite off.

“With all due respect, Zhang Yixing, I’m afraid I can't marry you,” you said quietly, expecting a frown or a scolding but none of it came. Maybe because he was injured but he didn’t react at all and for a moment you thought he had fallen back asleep but then he slowly opened his eyes again and turned his head to be able to look you in the eye.

“I had a feeling,” he nodded calmly. He didn’t seem angry nor disappointed. He had already said your father’s proposal was an odd one, one with interesting timing. There was nothing interesting about it, it was just a strategy, a plan you didn’t want to follow anymore. But before you could have spoken up, to apologize, to ask whether it meant your alliance was off, Yixing continued: “Xukun treasures you too much. He was the one who urged me to trust your father.”

“He… Did he tell you about me before we met?” Words stumbled out of your mouth before you could have stopped them. You were more than dumbfounded to know that. Had Xukun known about your father’s wish to marry you to Zhang Yixing even before he agreed? Was it him because of whom the king agreed at all? And here you thought that he had been just another guard, loyal to his king until death.

“He talked about you all the time,” the man reminisced with a faint smile on his lips as he stared at the ceiling. “He always says how I saved his life back then but with him here, not being able to return home, I feel like I have taken his life instead. Taking you from him would have been even worse.”

You cast your eyes down bashfully as you listen to him talk. Yixing’s side of the story was an interesting one as well. Learning how he didn’t save Xukun out of the kindness of his heart but because he wanted intelligence was something you could understand, something you could relate to as you lived in a world like that after all. You couldn’t even be angry, not when he told you how they had become friends over the years. As the king drifted back to sleep, you thought that maybe you could become friends as well, maybe you could still be allies. You didn’t necessarily have to be enemies.

But once being enemies, it was hard to forget and not everybody had the same insights as you.

You woke up to a small noise, only to open your eyes to see one of your own soldiers from Jade Clan stepping inside the tent. You had always felt safe next to your guards but this time, something was off.

“What are you doing here?” you questioned as you sprang to your feet from the seat you accidentally fell asleep in.

“Princess,” the guard bowed with respect. Though, he was clearly surprised to see you still there and you could see the hint of hesitation in his eyes before he answered. “I am here as per your father’s wish.”

You furrowed your brows. You hadn’t been notified of anything like this.

“My father’s wish?” you raised a brow, looking at the man expectantly but he didn’t reply, not with words at least. Instead he took out a small glass bottle with familiar yellow-ish liquid inside. It made the blood freeze in your veins.

“That wasn’t the plan,” you reminded the man even though you hadn’t even known your father told anybody else about it. Didn’t he trust you or…

“It wasn’t your plan but your father had doubts whether you could do it with a cold heart. That’s why he sent me,” your guard informed you dutifully and your brain kept coming up with reasons why this was a terrible idea. It would have been much easier if Zhang Yixing was indeed the tyrant you had imagined him but after learning about his personality and starting to form an amicable acquaintance with him, it just didn’t make sense.

“I’m not the queen yet,” you objected but the guard didn’t seem to care.

He explained how the public sentiment had changed in your favour just because you stayed with the injured king in the last few days and there was something in his explanation that was quite logical: if Yixing passed away now, nobody would have looked for a murderer because he was already on his deathbed. Nobody would have known he didn’t die from the arrow. Nobody needed to know. But… it wasn’t the plan. If he died then, without a queen or heir, the Dragon Clan would remain without a leader and neighbouring nations would all want their pieces of it. If they got to know about the dragon too…

“It’s a chance we can’t waste. We need to prioritize the safety of Jade Clan,” your guard reminded you and for a moment you were stuck. If it hadn’t been for Xukun, you might have done it within a heartbeat, not even considering other options because Zhang Yixing was a dangerous man but now… you were torn, unsure what to believe. Your uncertainty must have been written on your face because your guard pushed the bottle into your hands, encouraging you to make a move and you gulped, too busy with your internal turmoil to react fast enough when you got company.

Four of the masked guards of Yixing stepped into the tent, one of them immediately slicing the throat of your man which made you scream. Two guards held you back from behind, not letting you move, to get any weapon while another one walked up to you, his dark eyes trained on you, his bloody dagger aimed at your throat. He forced the little glass bottle out of your hands.

“There was always something off with you, Princess. You should have been hung the moment you dared to fling your hairpin at the king,” he said, disgusted and you couldn't quite blame him. You raised your chin though, proud because as a royal it was expected of you even when you looked into the eyes of death. You weren't afraid of dying, you had walked out to the battlefield earlier with that mindset too, it was just… you wished you could have said goodbye to Kun.

You knew that the only reason the guard didn't kill you off like he did with your man was because you were a royal. If you died by a hand of a guard of the Dragon Clan, you knew your father would have gone to war against them and you also knew he would have lost which broke your heart even more.

"So what now? Will you kill me too, in the name of justice because one of my men blabbered? You have no idea what we even talked about!" you accused the guard of making a scene over nothing because as of now prolonging the conversation was your best chance. Either Yixing could wake up and stop them, if he believed you didn't want to hurt him any more, or your other guards could show up as well.

"I have a good enough guess, Princess, but of course, you can prove your innocence by drinking this. If it isn't poison, you have nothing to lose, am I right?" the man turned the small glass bottle between his fingers. You didn't show reaction to that even though you knew you were going to die if you drank it all. But at least it was said to be a fast killer. You were contemplating whether you should have taken it and then spit it out saying it was bitter for your 'princess taste' because he wouldn't have been able to prove anything then. He could still kill you though but maybe it was worth a chance.

However, before you could have decided the tent's entrance flew open and a very dishevelled looking Xukun showed up. He looked like he was running and hadn't slept properly in days. The presence of guards, his comrades, seemed to surprise him, the dagger at your throat even more.

"What's going on here?" he asked in an authoritative voice even though you weren't sure he had a bigger rank just because he was friends with Yixing.

"The princess and her guard were caught trying to poison the king."

"That's not true!" You protested heavily looking for eye contact with Xukun, hoping he would believe you. It was all just a terrible misunderstanding. Once you might have wanted to cause harm but you had no reason anymore, not if you signed the Lotus pact with Yixing like you had agreed. When you met Kun's gaze, it was confused but not unkind.

"Then prove it, Princess," the older man said and pushed the blade closer to your neck where your earlier scar was still visible. The situation seemed to scare Xukun but you didn't want him to save you again, you only needed him to believe you. He seemed to think differently though.

"Let her go and lower your weapon, we don't have time for this," he stood in front of you pushing the man's hand away and flashing his golden eyes at the guards you kept you caged. Their hands immediately loosened their hold as Kun lifted his bag. "I have the dragon blood. Where is the shaman?"

One of the guards ran off with the bag to fetch the shaman but you could only breathe peacefully for a moment. Then the masked man with a slit across his eye crowded you and Xukun into a corner.

"My bad. Why would I have thought that you of all people can be rational? Do you think you were so discreet about disappearing, just the two of you? Are you maybe in it too? Did the two of you, Jade bastards, plan to get rid of our king to take over?" With each of his words, he poked Kun's chest with his index finger until the younger swatted his hand away. His voice didn't waver as he answered:

"If you really think that after all the fights we fought together, I feel very distraught," he said with his voice so cold like you never heard it before. Xukun's pride must have been on the line with his loyalty being questioned just because of his connection – maybe affection? – to you because the next thing you knew was him grabbing the glass bottle out of the other man's hand. "You know what? I'll prove it to you!"

“Kun, no!” You grabbed his hands in panic, closing your fingers around his, so he couldn't lift the poison to his lips. Was he crazy? Did he want to die just for you to follow?

Or oh… he believed you. He really believed you and that it wasn't poison in the first place or maybe he believed you had nothing to do with it and knew nothing of it because when his eyes locked with yours, he seemed surprised that you stopped him.

You were both startled when the shaman arrived with the finished potion but before he could have stepped to the injured king, the man in front of you lifted his hand. Although you couldn't see his mouth, you would have bet he pulled it into a malicious smirk.

"Ah look at that, trying to save him from harm, how touching," he tsked, mocking before he pointed at the potion in the shaman hands and then at the bottle in Xukun's. “How about this? One cup has dragon blood that could save the Dragon Clan’s last son. The other which you claim isn't poison was retrieved from your room by your own guard. Choose wisely, Princess, what to give our king because your hero will drink the other one.”

“Why are you doing this?” you shrieked, having enough of this mind game of his. You knew he was just a loyal guard of Yixing and you couldn't blame him for not trusting you but did he have to go this far to make you suffer?

“I cannot let the filthy Jade Clan take over the Dragon Clan. So you either save him or be executed for killing him which was your original plan, wasn’t it?”

"Save the king, Princess," Xukun told you, determined and maybe he had a plan, a better one than you or at least you hoped. You looked him in the eyes mouthing Please don't at him but he just smiled. How could he act so nonchalant? "Trust me," he whispered.

You let go of his hands and maybe it was a mistake because he had told you: he owed Yixing his life. You barely stepped to the bed of the king, lifting his head to help the shaman give him the potion when you heard glass breaking. When you lifted your head you saw Xukun swaying, barely grabbing on a chair to stop him from falling and the broken glass was by his feet. The liquid from inside was nowhere which meant…

"Kun!" you screamed trying to run up to him, to help, to do anything but the guards turned towards you with their sword out and you could only do one thing, listen to the boy who had once saved you when the stable's roof collapsed onto you, he hovered over your body with his to save you from the impacts of the falling pieces. He always did.

So when Kun told you to run, you ran. Back to your own tent to get your sword to be able to fight off and it was ridiculous how only a few days ago you fought alongside these men but now they wanted to kill you. Oh, how fast the tables turn but maybe you deserved this, maybe you deserved to die for killing the boy you loved since you had been 16 and had given him your first kiss under the stars. You might not have a future but you wanted to believe nevertheless, but you ruined it all.

You felt tears running down on your cheeks as you dodged the daggers and swords coming your way, hissing when one managed to cut your arm. You ran, you didn't look where, you just wanted to get away. If you killed Yixing's men, peace wouldn't have been an option, so you needed to escape, that was the only way to stop another war.

You stumbled when a huge shadow overtowered you and heard the scared muffled sounds of the soldiers following you as well. Gulping, you looked up at the majestic dragon in front of you, its nostrils flaring and smoke coming out of its mouth as it huffed. It stood above you, staring at the soldiers behind you as if… as if it was protecting you. It made you feel safe, like Xukun, and gosh, you just cried harder because he was trying to save you even now. You fell onto your knees, not knowing what to do with this information and then…

"It isn't nice of you to chase my fiancée away from me, is it?" Yixing roared in a forever calm voice and through your tears you could barely believe your eyes when you saw him walk towards you. And not just him, it was Xukun who helped him move because he must have still been in pain. But how?

The masked guards seemed just as flabbergasted as you were. But Kun, oh the deities, Kun looked almost smug as he passed by them after Yixing pushed him towards you. Then he ran, ran until he knelt next to you, taking your face into his hands. You touched him as if you didn't believe he was real.

"I didn't want to…"

"I know," he assured you with a stupid smile on his stupid face like he did back in that ruined house where he kissed you like you were his life line.

"I can't believe you drank the poison! How could you be sure your blood would fight it off?" you whisper-yelled at him, hitting his chest all too weakly and he laughed, too. The nerve of him!

"I wasn't but Princess, I would drink poison over and over again if it tasted like you," he said with a smirk and you would have bet Yixing told him about your agreement because otherwise he wouldn't have been so daring. Or was it the near death experience? Or the thought of losing each other all over again? The wars might have been still messy, politics stressing, but in that moment, you didn't care, you just closed your eyes and kissed Kun back when he pressed his lips against yours, happily burning with him.

#cai xukun x reader #xukun x reader #cai xu kun x reader #stories #fantasy au #royalty au

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philliamwrites · 4 years ago

Text

The Dawn Will Come [Chpt.6]

Fandom: Fire Emblem Three Houses

Pairing: Dimitri x Reader, Claude x Reader, Edelgard x Reader, Yuri x Reader, Edelgard x Byleth, lots of minor pairings

Tags: #gn reader, # platonic love byleth & reader, #reader is a tactical unit, #angst, #slow burn, #subplots, #unreliable narrator, #pining, #remporary amnesia, #reluctant herp, #canon divergence, #lost twin au, #many chapters, #original content

Words: 5.1k

Summary: Waking up in a forest without any knowledge of your past and who you are, you join the house leaders of the Officers Academy to search for a way to return your memories. Unfortunately, the church has different plans for you, and Fate places you in the centre of a cruel game with deadly stakes. It certainly doesn’t help to fall in love with a house leader who is doomed to be your demise.

Notes: Chapter 5 | Chapter 7

Chapter 06: From The Beyond

Ah! It is well for the unfortunate to be resigned, but for the guilty there is no peace.

[Mary B. Shelley, Frankenstein]

Thinking back on it later, the events during Garland Moon were probably what set the hare running toward its demise. Not that any of you could have known that. Not the students who joyfully spend their days in cherished halls where daylight passes through coloured glass; not Byleth with her gift to correct past mistakes with a flick of her wrist and change the course of time; not you with your foresight to see what dangers await in the future and prepare a different path for those you care for to walk safely.

Thinking back on it later, everything that followed surely ascribed to and served Fate, and not even Sylvain could charm her with his silver tongue and golden wit, for Fate’s lover is Time and she does not look kindly upon those who enslave him.

Maybe that is why things turned out the way they did for Byleth and you.

But that future is still far away and every single one of you still believes the goddess has Fate tightly leashed to her side, her benevolence endless and spreading to every corner in Fódlan.

That is why you don’t think too much about it when one day, Seteth disturbs your seminar, a deep frown settled in his features as you explain how to turn an ambush to your advantage to the students.

“Apologies for the disturbance, Herald. Lady Rhea asks to see Ashe.”

The boy gives a pitiful squeal but is up on his feet nonetheless. “Me? Why?”

“You will see. Please come.” Seteth holds the classroom’s door open.

You nod, a little worried about the frightened glance Ashe sends your way like he hopes you can actually say no and decline Rhea’s command. An encouraging smile is everything you can give him on his way before the door shuts behind him. Its sound wakes everyone else from their slumber and it takes a few minutes to reclaim order and their attention. It certainly does help that the Blue Lion House isn’t as chaotic as a certain other, not to name any names.

Said house proves again to be more difficult to teach. Or tame. You didn’t have the courage to ask why they thought it was a good idea to see whose shoe would leave the darkest stain on Claude’s bedroom’s ceiling. Even days after their mischief students kept talking about how they have never seen Seteth this furious.

“Herald, please,” Hilda cries, tragically draped over the back of her chair, a maiden in bittersweet agony over her loss of free time. “It was all Claude’s fault.”

“Liars never prosper,” Claude calls from the far back of the room. He’s hunched over his papers, working vigorously on Seteth’s punishment. He ordered them to write hundred times I shall not throw footwear against any ceiling in the monastery. They’ve been at it for about twenty minutes and Claude’s quill hasn’t stopped its furious scratching against parchment at all.

“I won’t mess with Seteth,” you tell them and lean dangerously far back on your chair to place your feet on the teacher’s desk. “And you deserve it. Or do they not teach you proper manners in your noble homes?”

“Well, it’s not like anyone taught us not to do it,” Hilda chirps. You throw a glare her way and she quickly dugs her head and continues writing. Quills scratch on paper for about seven seconds before Hilda stops again.

“Herald,” she says. “What do you think about Lady Catherine’s Thunderbrand?”

You look up from your book titled Noticeable War Generals. Smile gone from her face, Hilda looks up at you with sharp curiosity. It’s eerily silent now, and a quick glance towards Claude shows he is listening as well.

Catherine’s Thunderbrand. Its sight is still burned into the back of your closed eyes: Golden ivory forged into a grotesque sword, a blood red Crest Stone in its middle that seemed to pulsate—as if it breathed. As if it was a living thing with a heart. You had simply stared at it in awe and thought What a mesmerising weapon.

“It’s … fascinating,” you manage. “A Hero’s Relic. There are more than just Thunderbrand, right?”

“Ten exist,” Claude calls from the back. “Bestowed by the goddess upon ten heroes, they are passed down to their descendants. House Riegan and House Goneril have one in their possession as well.”

“Then why don’t you use it?” You certainly wouldn’t miss a chance to own and wield a mighty weapon like that.

“Wield that?”Hilda shudders in disgust. “No thank you. It looks so weird, pulsating and moving like an insect.”

“And we’re way too inexperienced to use it in a real battle.” Claude puts his quill between his nose and upper lip and tries to hold it there. “They’re locked away anyway and hidden from those who might misuse their power.”

Claude has a point. Nonetheless, you’d gladly take a look at them. Maybe even hold one … Did the Herald own one as well? A special weapon only forged for the Herald. A slight shudder runs down your spine at the thought of using it in battle.

Ten minutes later, Claude jumps to his feet. He hurries towards you, slams his parchments on the table and leaves just as fast. “Bye Herald!”

“No way!” Hilda pales. “How is he so fast?”

You wonder as well and take a look at his papers. Instead of writing what Seteth has told them, Claude simply left poor drawings of their crime and promised with one sentence he wouldn’t do it again.

And we of House Riegan never break our promises, reads the last line.

You groan. Now it’s your turn to think about a good explanation to Seteth’s questions why you haven’t paid more attention.

Month three passed within the blink of an eye. Garland Moon brought the sweet smell of white roses to Garreg Mach, a tradition much anticipated by the students. Everywhere you went, garlands and gifts made of white roses were given to each other as a sign of friendship or budding love. Some found their way to your desk, though your admirers preferred to stay anonymous whereas Byleth was busy to stow them somewhere—not a day passed without her receiving something or a group of giggling students following her around.

“I really don’t know what to do with all those flowers,” she told you one day during a tea session, a deep frown on her face. “They wilt. Then I throw them away. It’s a waste.”

“Your students love it,” you replied but were glad not to be in her place.

Another good deed Garland Moon brought with it is longer days and shorter nights. Students lounged outside in their summer uniforms after class, enjoying those last warm days before raining season arrived with fierce gusts and heavy pouring, forcing them back inside where they spent their free time inside the library or the dining hall, playing little games to kill time.

For a change of pace, Byleth and Jeralt decided they’d hold a grilled fish dinner on every last day of each week and most of the invited either didn’t have the heart or the courage to tell them once every week was once every week too much.

Everything happened too fast after that. Rhea informed the teacher’s faculty and her Knights of Lord Lonato Gaspard’s planned rebellion against the church. With that, the mystery of why Seteth had demanded to speak with Ashe was solved; it also explained why he spent so much time inside the chapel, praying and wondering himself about his adoptive father’s reasoning.

“There is no question about it,” Rhea says in her cool, demanding voice once every teacher and Knight of Seiros gathered inside the War Room to discuss the matter. “We will send a troop to meet them halfway in Kingdom Territory. They will pay for mocking our goddess.”

“Allow me to lead the Knights, Lady Rhea,” Catherine says. Even now, you can’t take your eyes off Thunderbrand strapped on her back. “I know Gaspard and what he’s capable of.”

“We did not forget what you’ve done back when—” Seteth starts. Catherine silences him with one look, leaving no doubt she doesn’t wish to speak of it.

“And that is exactly why I have to go.”

Rhea nodded. “So be it. I know I leave this mission in your capable hands.”

“But why is he leading this rebellion?” you wonder. “I thought the Kingdom is strongly devoted to Seiros’ teachings.”

“Every flock has its black sheep,” Rhea says, sounding sad. “We will get our answers once we defeat and capture them.”

“What about the surrounding villages and those who support Gaspard’s rebellion but don’t fight?” Byleth asked. Until now, you haven’t really thought of those not directly involved in it, but she does make a good point.

Rhea squared her shoulders. “What about them?”

“They’re not directly involved but might try to get in our way.” Byleth glanced at the strategic map laid out before her. There is a way through the forest for your units to approach Lonato’s stronghold. Surrounding villages are marked with a red pin. They surround the forest in a loose circle, making an intrusion possible, though sending Knights of Seiros out to watch them and stop them could be quite easy—

“Everyone who supports this foolish rebellion should receive the rightful punishment,” Rhea says, her voice so cold it freezes your thoughts of how to make the villagers stay out of this. Your head snaps up as you stare at her. Byleth raises an eyebrow but remains silent just like everyone else. Something about that makes you shudder.

“But they’re civilians, right? If we can avoid having them interfere—”

“By joining Lonato Gaspard’s rebellion they pledge guilty to his cause.” Rhea looks up at you, scorn flashing briefly in her eyes. “I will not have them simply go if it opens the possibility for revenge one day.”

If you squinted really hard, there was reason behind her words. Still, your stomach turned at the thought of endangering civilians even though it could be prevented. Without any protests, that was the plan for the operation.

You sat this one out. There was much to prepare for the upcoming Rite of Rebirth, a ceremony when the Church of Seiros and its believers unite to pray for the return of the goddess. Even though you wouldn’t call yourself a believer—many find it strange that you remember the way of war but not the way of the Church as if you lived somewhere without Seiros’ teachings—your presence was of outmost importance as well. Though after you heard how the mission went, you really wished you had joined the Blue Lions fighting against Gaspard instead of sitting around and deciding which ceremonial robes fit better.

Loud voices drift through the closed door of a classroom, voices you immediately recognise belonging to Dimitri and Byleth.

“Are you insane?” You flinch back even though a heavy wooden door separates you from what is undoubtedly Dimitri’s wrath. “Those were civilians.”

A reply is lost, too quiet for you to hear, but whatever Byleth said, it wasn’t the right thing. A second later, Dimitri storms through the doors. The distress in his features stops you from asking what is wrong, a flash of betrayal lurking in his eyes seals your mouth shut. You look after him until he disappears around the corner, only slowly turning towards Byleth. She is propping herself up on the table, learning on her strong arms and staring at the opposite wall, her mouth a grim line—solid rock that stands against the raging waves summoned by Dimitri, her grip on the edge of the table hard enough to turn her knuckles white.

“Everything okay?” An unnecessary question answered by a simple shake of her head. You lean your hips against the table. “Do you want to talk about it?”

Byleth is silent. Only slowly, like a tight knot finally coming lose, the tension in her shoulders dissipates and she takes a long, deep breath.

“Dimitri told me about their mission. How they dealt with Lord Lonato’s revolt.” She finally steps away from the table and kneads the muscles in her shoulders. You imagine they’re hard like a rock. “They faced simple peasants who defended their Lord. Peasants who didn’t even know how to wield a sword without cutting their own thumbs off.”

“And Rhea made quite clear how to deal with them,” you finish, summoning unwanted imaginations about a gruesome butchery in your mind. Byleth nods.

“Dimitri asked for my advice,” she continues, her gaze drifting towards the door as if said young man might return like a bad haunting if his name is simply muttered. “If there was anything they could have done different. I told him there wasn’t.” She tears her eyes away from the door and fixes them on you. “I told him that is the way of war.”

She is right, a part of you insists. Such facts cannot be changed and claiming anything different is foolish, naive. Yet, something stirs, a tiny tiny voice, a feeling, that challenges that thought. A feeling you didn’t expect to be part of you.

“I don’t know about the details,” you say, shuffling from left to right, “but maybe it was avoidable. Lord Lonato must have known how his subjects felt about it. He didn’t need to involve them.”

“I think they joined on their own. The students gave them a chance to lay down their weapons.”

“Still—”

“Still they decided to follow their foolish Lord,” a voice from the door joins, cold and imperious, chilling you to the bone. Rhea enters the War Room, her expression void of any warmth or kindness. “There is no place for doubt. We must punish any sinner who may inflict harm upon believers, even if those sinners are civilians.”

“And you think to have the students punish them is right?” Byleth asks, earning a sharp glare from Rhea. She quickly, but somewhat begrudgingly adds, “Your Grace.”

“I have heard that some students struggled with completing the task,” Rhea acknowledges, doing her best to show how unaffected she is by Byleth’s criticism. “I pray they learnt a valuable lesson about the fate that awaits all who are foolish enough to point their blades towards the heavens.”

An icy shudder crawls up your spine, cold fingers tighten around your throat to keep you silent—a leash forged of obedience and intimidation, the mistress standing before you. It would be wise to keep your mouth shut, not draw unnecessary attention; keep your head low and nothing can slice it from your shoulders. But the words, burning hot on your tongue, demand freedom.

“Fearing the Church isn’t the same as respecting it.”

Something sharp flashes in Rhea’s eyes. “If fear is the only way to control them, then so be it. They are traitors to the holy teachings.”

“They are people. People with families.”

“People who would be wise to remember it was the progenitor god who gave them these lands and their life,” Rhea answers, growing impatient. She notices something in the way you look at her, for she takes a moment to collect herself by taking a deep breath. “I do not enjoy seeing those who wronged our holy teachings punished, Herald,” she continues, now much calmer. “But punish them we must before they hurt those who are dear to us.” Upon her last words, her eyes dart to Byleth, looking at her with so much fondness and care, a sting of jealousy in your chest forces you to avert your gaze to the ground. It isn’t the first time you notice Rhea’s palpable interest in Byleth’s wellbeing though no answer comes to mind why it is like that. If Byleth noticed the same, she doesn’t show it.

After that, the incident is quickly forgotten, making room for the new incident occupying everyone’s mind: an assassination plot on Rhea on the day of the Rite of Rebirth found in Lonato’s possession. You aren’t the only one wondering why he’d carry something like that around where it’s easy to find. Multiple theories go around, one more farfetched than the other. One particular makes sense, its source none other than sharp witted Claude who thinks this plot is a simple distraction for something much bigger.

“If security is focused on the Rite of Rebirth inside the Goddess’ Tower, pretty much anyone can simply stroll around the monastery and do who knows what,” he told you on the day Byleth and her class set out to discover what important places might become a target. Garreg Mach hides many secrets and treasures. Some of them even you are not allowed to see like relics passed down from archbishop to archbishop, guarded by the elite of the Knights of Seiros, tall and bulky men and women with grim mouths and determined eyes rooting them in place day and night in front of locked doors only Rhea knows what they hide.

With every passing day, tension hangs in the air like a thick blanket waiting to smother you all. But it isn’t simply the anticipation for whatever the Western Church has planned. It is also the holy ceremony of the Rite of Rebirth, one you’ve practised under the stern eyes of Seteth who doesn’t settle for anything less than perfect. Every word, every step is engraved in your mind.

On the day of the Rite of Rebirth the sun relentlessly blazes down at the monastery. Your ceremonial robes are heavy and woven from thick jacquard fabric lined with fine golden patterns that depict the Herald’s Crest on the back. You’ve barely finished preparing everything inside the round chamber inside the Goddess’ Tower but perspiration glues your hair to your forehead.

A whole feast is prepared; food offerings and gifts from the townsfolk and priests served on golden and silver plates on long tables covered with white table clothes. In the middle Seteth prepared a small platform for Rhea to stand and speak in honour of the goddess that she may return to Fódlan and show its people her infinite grace. In short, you’d do anything to join the students who are securing the locations lacking in defence right now instead of standing around and waving at pilgrims. The only joy lies in Flayn’s bright presence and her never ending optimism. She’s a sweet girl and has been looking forward to the ceremony since the beginning of Blue Sea Moon. Looking upon her, it is hard not to catch her excitement and joy when the ceremony finally begins.

Because of certain circumstances you couldn’t quite follow, the holy relic used for the ceremony, the Chalice of Beginnings, has been missing for a long time. Because of that, a mock chalice was prepared by the cardinals, a handful of high authority men and women who make it no secret they can’t quite decide if they like or dislike you and your position.

“You must excuse them,” one of the cardinals says after a group of them simply shook their heads at you happily scooping tons of food on a plate. His dark hair falls to his shoulders and unlike the other cardinals, his brown eyes are filled with kindness. “They simply think in old patterns and value their old traditions. You are quite young, Herald. They don’t know how to handle that.”

“But you do?” you wonder and notice too late how unfriendly that sounds. But he simply laughs.

“I do frequent with young folk, yes,” he says. “They are my flock and I will do anything to protect them.”

“That again, Aelfric?” Catherine joins you and slaps his shoulder just when he was about to drink from his cup. You pretend the pastries on your plate are far more interesting than watching him choke on wine. “You’re way too good for them, you know?”

“Who is ‘them?’” you ask but Catherine just sways her hand as if he wants to get rid of a nasty fly.

“Unimportant. You did a good job carrying the chalice to the podium.”

“I did almost trip over these.” You pluck at the heavy robes, already looking forward to getting out of them.

Catherine laughs but it is short lived. Out of nowhere, a knight hurriedly approaches and leans over to her, muttering, “They are after the tomb of Saint Seiros.”

Glass shatters as her grip tightens around the fragile stem but without so much as noticing it she storms towards Rhea, fury blazing in her eyes. Something happened. Something far more exciting than playing a believer in front of everyone, so you follow her to listen in more.

“Those dastards from the Western Church infiltrated the Holy Mausoleum,” she says. Rhea pales. “I will take some knights and go there at once.”

“Go and be swift, Catherine.” Rhea’s words are barely a puff of breath, those news shaking her but she remains stoic in front of everyone to prevent panic. Her voice drops dangerously low. “Punish those heathens.”

Catherine’s head dips in a slight bow. “I will, Your Grace.”

“I want to help too.”

Both turn around at your voice. Catherine narrows her eyes to sharp slits, but it is Rhea who says, “No. I need you here for the ceremony, Herald.”

“Please, let me,” you beg. Something inside you demands to follow, demands to see what is inside the Holy Mausoleum that causes so much bloodshed. “I can’t explain, but I need to be there.”

Rhea presses her lips into a thin line. Before she reopens her mouth to decline your wish, you whirl around and leave the ceremony room, Catherine in hot pursuit. You manage halfway down the hallway before she reaches you and grabs your arm hard.

“Even though you are the Herald, I won’t allow you to show this disrespect towards Her Grace,” she snarls. “If she tells you to stay, you listen.”

“I don’t expect you to understand,” you say, trying to free your arm from her bone breaking grip. “But something calls me to this place and I need to follow it.”

Catherine isn’t pleased but she knows better than do you any real harm. With a crude nod, she allows you to follow. Several knights wait for you and together you make your way through the warm evening air towards the Holy Mausoleum that lies behind the chapel.

You enter right before chaos erupts. At the end of the hall, its ceiling so high up it’s barely visible in the dark, Byleth stands tall and rises a sword that flashes in a bright red light. A throb goes through your body and brings you to your knees. It feels like an arrow drove into your chest, the stinging pain unlike anything you’ve felt before—no, it’s a pain you haven’t felt since the Crest appeared on your eye for the first time. And then that thrumming energy within you exploded, a sharp crimson that drenched every corner of your right vision, rushing through your veins.

“Kill them!” an enemy mage commands, fury fuelling him to a last desperate attack. With his remaining companions, they summon a giant fire spell you’ve only read about in books, a combination of spells into a group flame that covers a large area—the pre-stage to a much more fatal blaze that can scorch the land. Blaze or no, the effect watching the giant fire ball curling and sparking until it grows large enough to wipe out anything in its way is the same. Fear paralyses your body. Move, your mind screams, but you can’t. Your muscles have locked up; a high whine of terror fills your head and fizzes in your blood like poison, yet you do not understand where this fear of fire comes from.

“Take cover!” Catherine roars but it is too late. The blast hits the ground right before you, dispersing your small group of reinforcements like wind scattering leaves in all directions. A loud crack beneath you makes your heart skip a beat, a rumble shakes the hall and before you can fully comprehend what is happening, the ground gives way.

The last thing you hear is Byleth shouting, not Herald, but your name before you plunge into darkness.

Wake up.

You have to wake up.

This darkness is terrifying, so utterly black and choking, curling around you like a tight fist. Like someone is holding you in their dirty, tainted clutches, smelling of death and horror. Wake up, you tell yourself, more urgent now, your mind struggling to escape from claws digging into your consciousness, their goal unknown but you don’t want to stay here to find out what they are after. What they want to take from you.

Wake up, this time another voice, the voice, echoing like a sweet bell’s chime, the flicker of light in a darkness so black it hums. You have to wake up.

Your eyes snap open, the sudden white ceiling hurting like a sudden flash of light. Once you’re used to the brightness, you realise this isn’t a room, this is … this is your consciousness—no walls, no windows. It’s just a space, and yet you can clearly determine borders. Somewhere is an exit you’re free to use, nothing holds you captive. It’s your safe place. Your haven. Which doesn’t explain how you’ve gotten here.

All you know is it feels safe. It feels like a warm embrace, the feeling of hope, watching a budding flower embraced by soft, fragile hands—asteritrope, your mind provides out of nowhere, the flower always turning its head towards the Blue Star.

It is like breaking a spell. First, everything is simply white, empty, a second later, you stand in a vast field of asteritropes, an ocean of purple, gently swaying flowers at your feet. Everything smells of sweet innocence, of honey dipped fingers and bittersweet regret. It is a familiar scent, one your body remembers and reacts to with a shudder so strong it rattles deep in your bones; a chill so cold it freezes you on the spot, the slightest movement threatening to shatter you entirely.

What is this grief, this sadness? Is it your own or have you fallen into a sea of tears wept by someone else? Your chest is heavy with a burden, a pulling towards the unknown that is yet so familiar. It is homesickness towards a place you have never been but long to visit.

The flowers shaped like little stars stretch beyond what you think are the edges of this place. If this is a dream, you don’t want to wake up anytime soon, relishing in this peace and quiet.

A peace and quiet that lasts only a moment until you notice it. Not it, him. In the middle of the field, a boy sits, bent over something that demands his complete attention. Dark curls fall against pale skin, his brows pulled tightly together as his fingers work something in his lap. He is wearing a simple white robe, though it is unlike any of the religious wear you've seen on the priests and nuns; it seem ... too old for that. Only after you approach, you see he is folding purple flowers and green steams into a crown.

“Hello?” you say, only now entertaining the idea you might have died and this is the afterlife, the first point before returning to the goddess’ side. It is a strangely tranquil thought. “Can you hear me?”

The boy’s head snaps up, his eyes wide as he momentarily forgets his work, and you take a step back, struck by how bright his steel grey eyes are. They roam over you, up and down, back up again, as he slowly raises to his feet.

“You’re here,” he says, awestruck. “You’re finally here. It is so nice to meet you after all this time.”

His voice is like a punch to your gut. You recognise it immediately, the voice who pulled you back from the darkness.

“You—” Nothing makes sense. “Who are you? What are you?”

“There is nothing to fear,” he says, offering you his hand. The tips of his fingers are purple from handling delicate petals. The crown lies at his bare feet, forgotten. He looks strangely vulnerable.

You take another step back, worry a steady, hard pulse against your neck. The air catches in your lungs. You feel like the ground is opening beneath your feet. “Are you … the goddess? A god?”

The boy blinks, then throws his head back and bursts out laughing, the sound like sweet bells chiming in the wind. “You people love to call everything you do not understand god.”

“Then what are you?” It comes out as a breath, and for a brief second you think it’s fear that seizes your body, but no. You should be afraid and yet instead of frenzy panic there is a calm spreading inside you as if you belong here. You can’t say if it’s the boy’s presence or the familiar scent of wildflowers.

The boy leans his head to the side, his smile as vibrant as early sunlight casting away leftover shadows from a dark night. “Hmmm … the End, perhaps? Or why not just … a friend?”

“The end? My end?”

“No, the end is never simply the end,” he says, shaking his head.

“Is that supposed to reassure me?”

“It may be a rebirth,” he continues. “Or the passing into a new era. Into a new dawn.”

“A new dawn,” you mumble. The realisation makes your knees weak. “Don’t tell me—” You suck in a sharp breath, unable to belief where your thoughts are hurling towards in lightning speed. You kneel onto the soft flowerbed, careful not to crush any flowers. “Why are we here … do you know me by chance?”

“I … cannot say for sure,” he starts slowly, uncertainty turning his features even younger. “I have been watching you since you awoke four moons ago. On that day, I as well awoke from a deep slumber. But I do not know why it is you that I am bound to.”

“Bound to?” Your head spins. “What do you mean?”

“You must have felt it by now, have you not? I am here because of this,” he says, and lifts his hand to point at your right eye. You flinch back as if he smacked you right across your face.

“So you are him,” you whisper, a shudder ripping through your body. “You’re the first Herald. You are Seiros’ Champion.”

The boy smiles.

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binwoo-knock-24 · 4 years ago

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A.C.E Favourite Boys (도깨비) K-pop theory

Album: HZJM: The Butterfly Fantasy

This took really long so please enjoy. I'm attempting to write one for higher because I think there two definitely have a clear link.

Mythological Background

The Korean title for Favourite Boys (I use British English and spell favourite with ou) is Dokkaebi {도깨비}, which roughly translates to Goblin. Korean folklore states that a Dokkaebi is an old spirit that takes form after possessing an inanimate object that has been previously stained with blood. Dokkaebi have always been portrayed as fear-inducing and powerful beings. They are the defenders against evil spirits and are capable of helping but some could also be the cause of the evil.

Symbolism in the concept photos

Junhee and Yuchan are underwater for their unit concept photos. They are connected by a red string of fate so it seems that they are meant to have met or a destined to be together (not in the romantic relationship sense). And that's why they are the only ones underwater and that has a meaning behind it that I will explain later on. The red string doesn't only appear in the concept photos but also the music video and I've also seen something resembling it in some stages. Junhee is wearing a blue hanbok (traditional Korean clothing) and Yuchan is wearing a red one. In the Korean dynasty blue was typically the colour used in maidens clothes and palace vessels. A brides dress and the thread decorations hind during marriages were also red and blue in colour.

Analysis of symbols

This comeback is, as I mentioned, heavily inspired by Korean folklore from the red string to the myth of Habaek and Haemosu (expanded on later). Butterflies (what's the album name again?) Have been used in a.c.es MVs very often and their meaning is leading a long life full of luck. They could be expressing their with to lead such a life or wishing us choices such a life. Each member also has symbolism in this mv.

Kim Byeongkwan

Byeongkwan is seen to be wearing two outfits in the mv. One is white in colour, associated with good mostly, and one in red, associated mostly with evil. Those two colours could be a reference to the duality of the Dokkaebi He is made to seem to have shape-shifting abilities which can be seen from the hair accessory behind his ear making it look like his ear was changing into a wing shape when the scene with his face starting to glow happens.

Lee Donghun

Rivers in folklore are viewed as a border between life and death, reflecting human perceptions of the divide between the human world and the world of the gods. Donghun seems to be sitting and walking around in front of the prop that looks like the flowing river.

He also seems to take on the role of a grim reaper, Jeoseung saja {저승 사자} in Korean. Grim reapers are most often portrayed as a person wearing black clothing and a traditional gat hat. This could also link to the belief about the river. Since grim reapers are known as the ones that takes souls to the afterlife, the Donghun that was sat in front of the river looking prop was a human that was waiting to get a visit from the grim reaper.

Kim Sehyoon

Sehyoon takes on the role of a shaman, which is given away by the prayer beads that he has. Shamans use trance inducing using techniques and an altered state of mind, kind of like hypnosis, to interact with the spirit world. Both of his outfits for his solo shots seem to be modernised versions of traditional shaman clothing. Laid back in a chair and shrouded in smoke, he gives off the impression of being in an altered state of mind. In my opinion, he could be trying to communicate with the now dead Donghun.

Kang Yuchan

I have two theories for Chan and Jin so we will go through them separately. In the music video we see a beautiful picture that depicts the Ilwol Obongdo, which is the traditional symbol of couriers kings. It is made up of the sun, the moon, 5 mountains, pine trees and waterfalls. When the king sat in front of it the positioning of the components showed that he was in the centre of it all. Yuchan wear's something that resembles a gonryongpo which is a Korean kings everyday outfit. Red is a colour that is reserved for the king while his first son, the crown prints, wore blue. Hear Chan depicts a king.

Park Junhee

Junhee and Yuchan have a much more important role in the second theory then being a king (Chan) and the crown prince (Junhee) which I will go through in the minute. Since Junhee is dressed in blue in the underwater concept photos, it makes me think that he is king Yuchans first son, making him the crown prince. Now this was a bit vague because I don't see how it would fit in the music video exactly but it's a theory. Now on to the second more interesting theory.

Habaek and Haemosu

After reading a ton of Korean myths and tales, I came to the conclusion that a large part of the music video is a retelling of the tale of Habaek and Haemosu. Habaek is the Korean river god while Haemosu is the Korean sun god. The tale states that Haemosu fell in love with one of Habaeks daughters and wanted to marry her. In order for Habaek to approve, Haemosu had to go through 3 trials against Habaek himself. The trials included shapeshifting into water common land and air creatures to prove himself worthy of Habaeks daughters hand.

BYEONGKWAN as the air creature

Before I moved to the main two characters, let me go through how the other three members also seem to fit in with the theory. Byeongkwan, I believe, is the embodiment of the air creature trial. When his ear changes shape it seems to resemble something like a wing as I mentioned before.

DONGHUN as the water creature

Because a lot of Donghun scenes are centred around The River, I think that he is the embodiment of the water creature trial.

SEHYOON as the land creature

Because in a few of his soloshot he is surrounded by trees and stuff that resemble land, I believe that he is the embodiment of the land creature trial. Also the general shrouded in mist concept of his solo shots just gives off land vibes.

YUCHAN as Haemosu

Yuchan seems to embody Haemosu, the Korean sun god. Haemosu is usually depicted as wearing a giant head dress made out of crows feathers. According to folktales a giant chrome managed to steal the sun so you had to kill it and bring it back. The whole vibe that Yuchan chosen this music video is very goodly and the red colour could be associated with the son. He has a few solo scenes and which he seems to be showing his skills as he would in the battle. And that could link to the three trials.

JUNHEE as Habaek

It would only make sense for Jun to embody the river god. The colour of his concept photo dressing. The proper behind him on his solo shoots also seems to depict a Riverside. His concert photos are taken under water full stop and in the concept photos it can be seen that Chan is closer to the surface of the water which could mean that he went to ask the river god for his daughter's hand in marriage. In the music video in his solo scenes, Junhee also seems to be showing of his abilities like in the battle which also could link to the three trials.

The last chorus scene

The background of the last chorus dancing shows a thunderstorm going on behind the members. And many old mates from many cultures, thunderstorms are a sign of god's wrath and anger. This could be linked to the battle that the two gods were undergoing. The lyrics of the song as well as multiple choreography movement also portrayed fighting as a theme.

A/N: god this took so long to write up. I had it all in note for on paper and hd to make sense of the notes and all. Also I didn't want to post this before but I believe that the new comeback could be linked to Goblin in the way that because of all the water concept photos and now underwater concepts and the whole siren theme, it could be that they are showing the water trial that Habaek and Haemosu took part in.

#a.c.e kpop #kpop theories #this took me longer than i'd like to admit #a.c.e jun #a.c.e #a.c.e: siren dawn #a.c.e byeongkwan #a.c.e sehyoon #a.c.e wow #a.c.e donghun #a.c.e chan #aa.c.e goblin #a.c.e favorite boys #a.c.e concept theory

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alpaca-writes · 4 years ago

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Mystics, Chapter 8

When Arch becomes hired on at Mystics by Lyrem, everything seems to be going well- their life nearly becomes perfection. Soon enough, however, Arch realizes that perhaps not everything is as perfect as they think...

Directory: [chapter one] [chapter two] [chapter three] [chapter four] [chapter five] [chapter six] [chapter seven]

Tag list: @myst-in-the-mirror

CW: car accident, misgendering, emotional whump, psychological whump, PTSD, manipulation, actually a bit fluffy before the real pain starts

CHAPTER EIGHT: A FULL MOON RISES

Arch spent the last afternoon they would have in their hospital bed writing a letter. It wasn’t much, and as they were writing they were feeling rather childish. The letter was sweet, for what it was worth, and they had to believe that it was worth all the effort they were putting into it.

They made sure to make note of the dinosaurs and how Arch enjoyed looking at them rather than thinking about the accident-

Well, they said ‘accident’ but it wasn’t an accident. The truth was that Arch would have rather been killed on the highway than in a creepy man’s cabin out in the middle of nowhere. They didn’t include the details. It probably would make everyone uncomfortable to reveal how close their family might have come to being in mortal peril because they had chosen to help.

Arch placed the folded paper in and licked the envelope before pressing it down to be sealed firmly. They heard through the grapevine that the woman who had saved them was working as a pediatrician in a connected unit, but she hadn’t been able to meet them properly. The front desk had the information from the family that called in the accident. They would see to it that the letter reached the right people.

“Time to get a move on, gi- sweety.”

Arch raised a brow to their mother who was standing adjacent to the wheelchair. A skinny male nurse stood nearby as well, to help Arch into it.

Arch challenged the idea needlessly. The nurse insisted. Without the energy to fight any further, they climbed from the bed and into the chair. The rest of their healing would be done at home. As they checked out, Arch made sure to request the letter be sent away.

“I made up the futon in the living room for you until you’re ready to climb the stairs again.” Their mother said. She furtively checked her phone, before tossing it into her large black purse.

“The futon’s just going to make my back worse. I’ll be able to get downstairs fine.”

“Only trying to help,” Charlotte huffed.

She thanked the nurse as he released them through the exit. She supported Arch by the arm as they stood on their own two feet on the way to their old silver minivan; easily identified by the distinguishing rust marks around the rims. Charlotte led them to the passenger side, intent on opening the door for them when Arch stopped her.

“I can open a door, mom.”

“I’m helping,” she countered with a turn of her head.

Arch swallowed. This was mom. This was the van. This was daylight in a busy parking lot. They were not alone, they were not in an alley, and they were not with…

Arch forced their way to the door, opened it and lifted themselves inside.

“So independent,” Charlotte chided as she started the van. She checked the rear-view mirror and continued to speak as she was driving. “I bet you’ll be running off the moment you graduate, won’t you? Leaving me and Maleficent to our own devices.”

Arch took a moment before responding. “I was thinking about Strathford Community College, actually. One of the nurses brought me some pamphlets yesterday. They offer business and finance courses”-

“Not with your grades they don’t,” Charlotte finalized condescendingly. “You should upgrade, but you know that you don’t have the attention span for that. It’ll just be a waste of money and time for you.”

Arch didn’t feel like saying much after that comment. What they would have followed up with was an explanation that they were quite inspired to start their own business. But what was the point in any of that, if their mother would be shooting down every idea Arch had like a trophy hunter on safari?

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

A couple days of needed recovery passed Arch by. To their dismay, the futon was much more welcoming than the stairs to the basement suite. Waiting on a call to the police station, Arch remained securely by their phone. The call never came, nor did any calls from friends or relatives to see how they had been coping. Everyone was too busy, they thought. It was better that others didn’t speculate much anyway and be disturbed by the gory truth.

In addition, due to the unfortunate experience they had endured and that no one wanted to mention, all of Arch’s final projects had been waived by their teachers. All in all, Arch was on the road to graduating with a C overall, which was more than was expected of them. All they needed to do was study for their finals and that would be the end of it.

Arch was focusing on their math’s portion when Charlotte entered the front door with an array of plastic bags, and dropped them down in the middle of the room, right beside the futon.

“You wanted a romper?”

Arch closed their textbook, studying their mom suspiciously.

“Yes…” they breathed out hesitantly.

“I wasn’t sure what colour you’d want so I picked out a few designs in all sorts. Some have sparkles, and it’s your graduation dance, so of course I had to”-

Arch knelt down beside the bags, wincing as they twinged their arm on feeling the fabric. Some satin, some chiffon, danced through their fingers.

“Mom…” Arch was left speechless. She had listened to them. For the first time ever. They were heard. “You didn’t have to”-

“Yes, I did. For goodness sakes’ it’s your prom. Put one on already. I’ll be returning everything you don’t choose so keep the tags intact!” Charlotte ran into the kitchen, intent on placing an order for Chinese food.

Arch pulled out the first one that met their fingers. A bright purple chiffon number, beaded around the neck in silver and flowy with a cold shoulder. The pant legs were wide enough that when walking, it was almost as though they were wearing a dress. Arch popped into the kitchen, and twirled, causing their mother to sputter.

“Oh god, not that one!” Charlotte corrected herself over the phone, “Oh, no, no, not you… Number 66 please. And one 14. For two. Thank you.”

She finished the order and hung up the phone as her child double over in laughter.

“Why did you pick this thing out!?” Arch interrogated.

“I thought it would be great for a giggle. There’s a cream and mocha coloured one in there somewhere, I thought it might suit you best.” Charlotte advised with a toothy grin.

Arch tried on a dozen rompers gauging many different reactions from their mom and themselves. Both of them did their best to ignore the many cuts and bruises that were still healing. In the end, Arch agreed, the cream and mocha coloured romper suited them best. It was simple in its elegance and matched their eyes fittingly.

“You look fantastic.” Charlotte said as she leaned over the kitchen table, unloading dinner from brown paper bags. “That one’s also floor length, so you don’t have to worry about finding the right shoes for it.”

“You know me too well!” Arch hollered as they posed in front of the bathroom mirror. There was a buzz from their phone, which sat on the edge of the vanity.

Store meeting. 8pm tonight.

It was Lyrem. Arch grimaced. It was 7:30 now.

“Seriously?” Arch muttered as they changed out of their romper and into some street clothes. They returned to the kitchen.

“Lyrem wants me at the store for a meeting… tonight.”

Charlotte stared at them disappointedly.

“Oh. Does it have to be tonight? He’s required to give you notice if he wants you to attend a meeting. You can tell him to reschedule. I swear, that man is getting on my nerves with what hours he’s asked of you.”

Arch brushed off the comment. “I should still go…” There was a strange feeling in the pit of their stomach telling them that it wouldn’t be a great idea to refuse.

Charlotte raised a brow. “Alright, I’ll drive you in a bit. I was hoping we could stay in and have a movie night like we used to. I picked out Music and Lyrics. Hugh Grant’s adorable in that one, and young Drew Barrymore; oh, Arch, you’ll love her.”

Arch smiled lightly as they tugged on their sneakers. “I’ll walk, mom. And I’ll text you when I arrive, and again when it’s done. I need to stretch my legs anyway.”

Charlotte stared at them with a worried façade, wondering if she should fight their child on this. Any mother would, but she also didn’t want to pick a fight. Not tonight.

“Here,” she rifled through her black bag. “Mace. It’s a single use canister,” She handed over the small tube to Arch as they stood by the door. “Take it and use it if you have to.”

Arch accepted it, nodding. After planting a kiss on their mom’s cheek, they started on their journey to Mystics.

Omw.

#writeblr #whumpblr #writing blog #mystics by alpaca #mystics #arch #OCs #Alpaca writes #whump blog #whump #whumpwriting #creative writing #writing #original work #urban fantasy

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clouds-of-wings · 4 years ago

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Drinking spiced cherry wine from the discounter and actually reading the lyrics of Beloved Antichrist for once - Part 2 (Act 1)

Narrator: At this point, Seth is still with his parish and has no idea he’s the Antichrist Seth, speaking for the first time: WOE TO YOU, EARTH AND SEA!

PArish not pErish! Learn English! The mistake comes twice in a row, so I know it’s not just a typo.

“Lift from me infant smiles”, wut? Does that mean that he’s being reborn into maturity? Huh... alright.

Actually if I’m going to comment every time they use an expression that’s like a square peg in a round hole I’ll be typing until 4am, so let’s just say WUT really loudly ONCE and let it cover the whole opera.

I’m gonna stop commenting on the bad English too. I say this with all the affection available to me (like 9 affections) but bad English is a job requirement if you’re gonna write lyrics for Therion. This is how it has always been. If you can reliably create a present tense verb form and remember the s behind the third person singular - don’t apply. And the singers always go along with it. I’ll drink some more wine and say it adds to the charm.

The opera passes the Bechdel test in the second song.

Cmon, “United States of Europe”? Is that the best name you guys could come up with? How bout Eurotopia? Eurotzania? Jesus Christ Superstate? Greater Berlin Area? European Union Rules Oll People Everywhere?

There’s actually a lot going on here story-wise. I wouldn’t have thought it since all the songs kiiinda sound very similar to me. I mean I like the opera very much, musically, but the songs kinda merge into one another. They could have been one 3 hour long song. Land of Canaan has more different styles in it to my ear, and that’s “only” 10 minutes. Actually it has more styles to my eyes. My synaesthesia sees all of BA very similarly. Same colours, same textures, same sense of space. How much so? Enough that I kept abbreviating the name of the opera to “BC” instead of “BA” because the colours of the letters fit better and I didn’t even realize my mistake for a while.

I REALLY have questions about the logistics. In a steampunk post-apocalyptic world they have a continent-wide election..? Just, how long does that take? How do they communicate the results? Did they lay new phone lines? Are the old ones still functional? Do they send letters or send a messenger to inform of the regional results? What are the ballots made of? Did they build new paper processing plants? How did they get mass production back on its feet anyway? Whom did they force into the mines?

More problems that the anime adaptation will sort out, I guess.

Johanna does her duty as big sister in warning Helena not to believe every random man who acts like he’s the second coming of Christ & God’s gift to the world, a touch of realism

Seth needs only the barest of friendly pokes to fall from faith, This is Most Concerning. And understandable if you read the notes to the piece in question, but in the actual text of the opera it isn’t even mentioned before that he can’t hear God anymore. A bit rushed. Maybe they cut out a song? IIRC the original version of the opera was half an hour longer.

Also I love how meta “The Solid Black Beyond” is. “Hey WHY do you worship Jesus, I made you, you’re my son, do what I want you to do instead and, uhhh trust me it will TOTALLY work out fine!” - spoken by Satan, who is voiced by - the composer.

The president of Europe reads a brilliant insightful book and immediately realizes how misguided he has been. Hahaha. Ohh bless your hearts, guys. If only.

Garden of Peace needs to be much MUCH longer. None of the stuff mentioned in the summary actually happens in the text. Helena tells Seth her life story? BITCH WHERE!

It really bothers me that the text - not just here - focuses almost exclusively on the emotional content of the scenes and doesn’t tell us much about the story, which is explained only in the summaries. This might work for an album, but watching an opera like this would be very confusing. If you don’t read along with the notes (which afaik the non-limited edition of the CD release doesn’t even have), you’ll be ??? the whole time. I tried to read the lyrics once on some lyrics site, without these summaries, and they made no sense to me without context. A lot goes on in the story summaries. Very little goes on in what the characters actually say. And with many of these things I can’t think of a nonverbal way to communicate them.

I remember Christofer saying in an interview that he can’t write recitatives. Maybe that’s the problem. It’s like reading a text with many nouns but too few verbs. I don’t know though. I’m not too much of an opera buff. I did try to get into them but I find them boring. The only ones I watched the whole way through were Mefistofele (largely a waste of time but with one VERY good scene), and Orlando, thanks to Marijana Mijanovic playing the main character. It made me question my sexuality when she had murder in her eyes and an axe in her hands, but I do remember the story making sense.

I feel like I need to listen to the entire opera WHILE reading the text WHILE high enough that I can hallucinate the stage production in order to really judge the quality of the writing tbh.

I like the amount of characterization the characters get (mostly in the summaries). Helena has a special star she always sees, that’s sweet. Also foreshadowing. She has always loved the morning star, and then she marries the Antichrist.

Also, do Johanna and Helena symbolize the duality of humankind? QUESTIONS! The Two Daughters of Wisdom.

“Lots of stylish guests are strolling around” 8)

The mortal enemies DANCE AT A PALACE BALL. Oh this is SO anime material!

Okay this one line in “The Palace Ball” pisses me off every time I listen to BA. It’s such a small detail but it irritates me to no end. “May I have the pleasure to offer you a dance.” An Old-fashioned Gentleman(TM) would never say this to an Old-fashioned Lady(TM). It implies that he’s doing her a favour. He should ASK her for a dance, not OFFER her one, because (the polite fiction is that) she’s doing him a favour by accepting. This is just basic etiquette! You penguins!

Narrator: Seth finds himself politely rebuffed by Johanna. Johanna: Your powers ain’t shit, plus you’re evil, now fuck off.

I do want to know Seth’s brilliant philosophy that makes the world a perfect place, but it was definitely smart of the people behind this work not to try to come up with one.

Wow this takes a lot longer than I thought. I have acid reflux from the alcohol, which I’m not used to, and it’s late. I’ll do the rest some other time.

#therion #symphonic metal #opera metal #rock opera #music stuff #beloved antichrist

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konohagakurekakashi · 5 years ago

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Rinne-Whoops: Who Died and Brought You Back Out?

Don’t even ask--Post continued from here

@minaa-munch

@senjutsunade

“Inōichi-senpai?” Izumo murmured as all four shinobi continued to stare at the Kage in contemplation, afore Kakashi nodded (in answer to both Izumo and his yellow-haired, former Sensei) the arm, rubbing at the nape of his neck venturing further upward to tug his forehead protector back into place over his left eyelid. “Hai, he will be the most qualified to help with, Yondaime-sama’s muddled memories.” The Iryō-nin whom had her palms clasped in front of her chest agreed with him in a low hum, dark hues shifting from the slumped Fire Shadow towards the Jōnin. Kotetsu seemed less convinced however, sharing a brief glance with his partner, before his digits came to rest on the juts of his hips. “Demo…would it be wise…to let someone from the Intelligence and Interrogation unit know…won’t they…catechize him, Kakashi-senpai? I get that we can’t exactly keep this type of thing a secret, but maybe just until Tsunade-sama wakes up? I mean…He already seems to be in pain…” The Chūnin trailed off lamely, his own orbs flittering over the shambolic cavern, the edge of his sandal toeing at a scroll fragment.

“…That is exactly why we need to enlist Inōichi-san’s help.” Kotetsu blinked, looking up to find the Hatake had yet to sever his gaze with the cerulean-eyed Shinobi. “It is as you said, we can’t keep this type of thing secret for long, but we can govern who gets to know of this /first/. Inōichi-san is a loyal shinobi, an avid believer in the Third’s Will of Fire…but he was also a good friend of the Yondaime. I don’t believe catechizing an old comrade would be something Inōichi would do right off the bat.” It was then that the Hatake shifted, a begloved palm landing heavily on the Chūnin’s shoulder. “…If he sorts through Lord Fourth’s memories and ends up putting them back into the right order, I doubt an official interrogation will be necessary. You both did good bringing me here, demo, you can leave now…” His single, visible hue curved in what he hoped to be a show of ‘encouragement’, before he let the other go, deft fingers coiling into the familiar signs of the Tiger Seal. “M-Matte, Kakashi-senpai! What do you mean? You can’t expect us to just do nothing.” Kakashi in turn cocked his head to the side as if ruminating over the other man’s words, mouth twitching underneath the fabric of his mask, though not enough to be considered as a smile.

“Iie…I never suggested that…Domo, a lot of time has passed. The two of you should return to Shizune, though stop by the Ikayaki tent on your way; maybe consider a side-order of fried rice, brown. When Shizune asks for Tsunade-sama’s files just confirm that you met me half-way and that I offered to get it in your place, as I was already on my way to the outer-rim. My chakra imprint is all over this cavern, but yours aren’t. Plus I’d be willing to wager my signed copies of Jiraiya-sama’s special anniversary addition of Icha Icha Paradise that neither Shizune nor Sakura have left Tsunade-sama’s side to eat something decent since she’s collapsed. Nothing quells ire or an array of unwelcomed questions quite like a nice, warm meal…ne?”

Kakashi’s leaden gaze flittered towards the Kunōichi. “As for Hakui-san…It’s best that you return to the medical tent before you’re missed. With skills like yours and with construction accidents on the rise, I’m certain that your chakra will be needed to do a lot more good.” Kakashi then proceeded to mould his own chakra, the mauve energies, bubbling and pitching, before divvying into half—an exact clone appearing at his side amidst a puff of smoke. “It’s a hassle…but my Raitōn Clone will look for the Godaime’s papers while I’ll make sure Minato-sensei gets to the Yamanaka Compound…luckily it’s not far from here…That’s the plan for now at least. I don’t need to stress that neither one of you were here. At all. Yes?”

The Chūnin chorused their accord, before slowly meandering their way toward the corridor, unable to find fault with the Jōnin’s nippy reasoning. Only Izumo hesitated for a beat longer, his visible hue skimming over the mess of wood-chips and paper. “Not gonna lie, Senpai, I feel bad about leaving you to deal with the dirty work, even just your clone…” Kakashi gave an evasive wave of his palm, sucking in a long, impassive breath. “..It’s fine…It’s fine…Though I could use your bandana…bandana yes…give it here, Izumo.” Izumo’s dark orb blinked, digits rising to fumble with the navy material, but found nothing but a mess of chocolaty strands as the Jōnin already nicked the accessory from off his head, shoving the man towards the corridor at the same time. “Arigato, Izumo-kun, your sacrifice was a very noble one, best not keep Shizune waiting any longer. Bye-bye.”

Turing on his heel Kakashi inclined his covered chin at his clone to get him to work, before his gaze settled on the form of the Kage once more. For the first time the two of them found themselves alone, Kakashi’s gaze assuaging at the soft echoes of ‘please’ and the sheer helplessness cleaving to the Kage’s form like a second shroud. Not wanting the man to suffer from the onslaught of his own thoughts and memories any longer, the Hatake moved to crouch in front of the rock lip. “I’m not ‘gonna put you under, Minato-sensei…but I am going get you some help….Just…” The Jōnin paused to peer at the pallid, pained features of the Yellow Flash, before he leaned forward to hide the distinguishing, yellow spikes with the Chūnin’s pilfered bandana, careful not to rub against the red, inflamed scrapes and nail indents visible along the sides of his temple. “….Trust me?” The Jōnin then lifted the Kage’s arm, wounding it about his neck, while his own limb curled about the man’s middle, heaving him upward and out of his sarcophagi.

Moving the former Leader was far from an easy task, the man practically a dead-weight, slanted into Kakashi’s side and still wrecked with uneven breaths and the occasional cough. But Kakashi expected as much as he maneuverer the both of them through the chamber towards the passageway the others disappeared through prior. The plus side was that they met no resistance along the snaking, narrow warren; nor did the Jōnin feel the flecks of any prying chakra signatures. Years of experience advised that in itself wasn’t enough of an indicator that they weren’t being watched and/or followed, so Kakashi remained alert, muscles starting to twinge with how tense he held himself—and as the dimness began to lift, the faint tinges of afternoon sunlight signalling the exit up ahead, Kakashi adjusted his hold on his former mentor, before urging forward once more, pace perpetually slow.

“The Exit is up ahead, it seems to be late afternoon still, so you might want to…shield your eyes.”

Kakashi didn’t check to see if Minato complied by fluttering his lids closed, choosing instead to alter his intent stare down the rough iron steps and into the crater where everyone was still bustling along like little, carpenter ants. Any minute now people would start to pack up their tools and wander towards their respective tents, the barracks, their homes; increasing the chances of being spotted by a weary individual or two (not to mention the receptive ANBU Platoons, as Kakashi has it on good authority that Ibiki upped the patrol roster in lieu of the Pain attack) As such Kakashi called on his chakra reserves (those violet swirls not tasked with keeping his clone within this plain of existence) to haul both of their forms from the Hokage Mountain in a concise body flicker to appear once more at the foot of the steps.

Sure, it might not be the best tactic when supporting a severely /disoriented/ resurrected, but the Hatake reasoned that cleaning chunky spew from his flak-jacket and standard-issue blues, would heavily outweigh the panic and outright bothersome questions he might have to consider answers for /if they were caught/ not to mention the datum of time, time which they did not have. The silver-haired shinobi could not put his finger on it, but there was a nagging feeling at the back of Kakashi’s skull that caused him to constantly shoot a narrowed hue over the swell of his shoulder. A feeling like he failed to take something important into account, that he /missed/ something, though re-examining his chosen actions thus far failed to provide further elucidations. It only urged the Jōnin forwards that much faster and placed a heavy hope on the shoulders of his Raitōn clone. Kakashi hoped that he would be thorough whereas Kakashi was heedless.

They made their way passed the off-turn which lead toward the Hattori Clan Ruins, the towering Hashirama and Ginkō trees passing by in blurs and blotches of green and brown, a tell-tale that they reached the boundary leading into the Nara Clan Forest. If Kakashi wasn’t certain that Shikakū was still in the presence of the old war-mongerer; he might have consider cutting through the deer forest towards its compound neighbour, but as the current Head was still indisposed, the Jōnin thought better of chancing his luck via trespassing. The two shinobi continued to travel along the borderline, Kakashi stopping only twice (once to avoid two Akimichi huddled around a cluster of brightly coloured mushrooms, the second to avoid the kids who were once Kurenai’s Genin team) afore they finally made it to the outskirts of the Yamanaka Clan Compound. The clan dwelling was the most centred of all of the Konohagakure Clans, a fact evident in the vast amounts of dirt and debris littering what used to be fields of wild Lavender and Tiger Lilies, the depository houses the Hatake knew to have contained many herbs and flowers of all shapes and usages, all but destroyed.

As Kami would have it, the main estate seemed to be mostly intact, save for a few missing roof-tiles and the windows on the west side of the house that were replaced by a see-through, green tarp. Kakashi ambled forward, praying that the elder Jōnin was home and in a particularly benevolent mood, while his digits flexed against his mentor’s side. Despite being an active shinobi since the tender age of five (many of said years spent within the sombre underbelly of the ANBU) Kakashi only ever worked with the Head of the Yamanaka clan once or twice where a mind-probe proved an ineffective interrogation method thanks to tricky conscious seals and the Sharingan was required as an alternative. As such Kakashi wasn’t as versed in the Clan Head’s habits and methods as he was in the ways of the man’s two teammates. Yet the Yondaime’s laboured breaths urged him to swallow any uncertainties (those he never dared voice to the three Chūnin) as soon as it dared to flicker into existence.

‘Maa, a shinobi should never second guess his actions, huh.’

The Hatake found himself uttering with some amount of discontentment, while calloused fingers rose to rap twice against the door. It took a moment, but soon Kakashi’s ears picked up the steady thuds of feet and the door opened to reveal a tired Ino still smudged with the sweat and grime of a hard day’s work. Periwinkle orbs widened as they fixed upon Kakashi’s hunched form, before they shifted briskly towards the other shinobi slumped against the Jōnin's side, his chin dipped toward his chest and obscuring any features from the girl’s keen inspection.

“Aa…Ino…Is your Tou-san home? I would really like to speak to him, it’s a bit of an emergency, you see…”

#konohagakurekakashi #Hatake Kakashi [The Scarecrow]#Namikaze Minato [Flake-sensei]#Senju Tsunade [Godaime Sake-sama]#Also known as: Sleeping Beauty #AU Verse: Rinne-whoops #Ressurection AU #Timeline: Kaka-Sensei/Part II #Well that experiment was a major Fuck-up #Here follows a string of profanities that requires the Censor no Jutsu #Censor #Censor Tumblr Censor Censor #u-u #Minaa-Munch #Senjutsunade

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marianhellequin · 5 years ago

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Nulogorsk.fm - 01: Pilot

[[Author's note: I'm not so great in translating into English. So dear native English-speaking readers, I'll be really very glad if you leave a comment if something’s wrong! Thank you.]]

A friendly northern town where nights are white, days are dark, sea is cold like the hearts of the ancient gods, and arctic lights in their beauty can compete with a mysterious shining, which we are all scared to even glance at.

You're listening to Nulogorsk.fm!

First of all, an important message from the municipal government.

Nulogorsk government reminds that the military community located after the nothern highway exit from A-800 is former, closed and left under the decree of the municipal government from February, 29th, 1993. Noone lives at the territory of the military community. Noone works there. There is no living or nonliving soul. The military community is abandoned, closed and sealed for eternity - they say in the decree. The municipal government reminds you: if you see servicemen without military rank insignia, they are just a phantom of your imagination. If not only you see them, it is a phantom of your collective imagination. Do not try to talk to these servicemen. Ignore these phantoms of your imagination.

It's a significant day here today in Nulogorsk - after many years of repairs, the Palace of Culture is finally re-opened. Surely, all the important citizens will come for the opening, also a short briefing will be held, as well as a concert on the occasion of opening. Concert-bill is still elaborating.I remind you that the Palace of Culture was closed for a few years due to major repairs. The reasons were leaking roof, wall cracks and stucco moldings falling down off the walls. All the rumours about some kind of a way to some kind of an abyss opened in the vaults of the Palace, that artists and workers who stayed late after the concerts heard horrifying, ghoulish howl, which was coming like from every wall and every dark corned, that on the long, dark November days all the building winced and shaked as if because of the panoptic terror - that's all of course just idle rumours, and shame on them who pass it.

Now all the repair works are finally finished, the newest sound and video equipment is already brought, and Nulogorsk cultural life is ready to play out in fresh colours!

So, now everyone's waiting for the complimentary speech from our Mayor Pavel Borovik, who will officialy cut the symbolic ribbon after this. Our Mayor's speeches are always unforgettable! We can just recall his congratulations on last New Year, when he traditionally but in his unique manner wished success, health and luck to all of us, using frozen bull-trout, his expensive shoes in the colour of sycamore and his whole vocal range of 3-5 octaves. For sure today we will all be impressed by his words.Sadly I can't be there now at this wonderful event, but who would then tell you of everything happening in the town, dear listeners?

But I'm sure our new intern Olga would help us! She's waving, you can't see it but believe me as usual. I'll send her to the place for the most precise report, she'll sure deal great with it. See you, Olya! I'll be waiting for your messages as soon as possible!

And while Olga is going to the place, a little bit about traffic.

Due to technical difficulties, the central bus station will be closed from Thursday, 7 a.m. until Sunday, 5 p.m. All the arrivals will overpass. That's what the bus station operator says.

Somewhere far away a giant lorry rips in the highways, and a small woman is driving it. The teeth of this lorry, enormous, can grind a diamond. The lorry snorts fire, and it seems like to be all made of pipes. We don't know where it's coming from. We don't know where it's going to. I don't know what it carries. They say museums explode on the way of this lorry.

A giant lorry rips in the highways far away. How far is it from us? How close? Where does it go?

The bus station operator notices that the station closing isn't connected with this message.

This was the traffic.

To other news.

This morning a group of servicemen with military rank insignia arrived to Nulogorsk. As their leader, a beautiful woman dressed in perfectly fitting field jacket with Major's stars, says, they came because of safety issues. There were no details, despite legitimate questions from the journalists, for whom a short and quick news conference was held. But still there are many questions. What happened to safety in our little, cosy, quiet town? Why now? Why Major's hairstyle is so perfect, and her eyes are looking so strikingly right into your soul?

We didn't get answers to those questions.

Last news, on-the-spot message from Olga! Our Mayor Pavel Borovik has just finished his inspiring speech. He recalled how many events took place in our Palace of Culture, how we celebrated Town Day here, New Year, Knowledge Day, Gnosis Day, Harvest Day... Oh, I remember those wonderful New Year nights! The fun that united everyone, young and old... on such nights, teenagers for the first time tried 16-kopek plombiere ice-cream and "Kaliningrad" champagne! How strongly I wanted then to come back into my childhood and feel what they were feeling: the delight of novelty, the expectancy of unpredictable future and existentialist horror of it's imminence!

By the way about imminence.

"Blacker than darkness" coffee and bake shop invites the people and visitors of the town to try something new, double cake with orange jam and candied peel! Wonderful for to go and to get out, ideal with coffee. If you order the cake and any coffee except espresso, you get vague anxiety until next morning for free! For strict vegans: coffee on soy milk, carrot cake and a feeling of grievous loss. Offer doesn't include orders to go.

Let's get back to the main topic of the day. Just now, our esteemed Mayor Pavel Borovik has officialy cut the lily-white ribbon into thousand of smallest pieces which flew away with the wind just like our young hopes and dreams. Local amateur orchestra played a solemn melody, and doors of the Palace of Culture were opened for the first visitors chaired by Palace manager, Mayor and a representative of the press service of the municipal government. As Olga says, everyone just passed the red carpet covering the entrance stairs and came into the spacious lobby decorated with flowers and flecks from the gorgeous crystal chandelier. The orchestra refused to come in, saying it can make them go out of tune, but as Olga says, their eyes were suspiciously shifty. I wonder, what's this all about? Sadly, I don't have music education, so I even can't suggest!

In the same way, I can't suggest why our humble radio station is interesting for the servicemen with military rank insignia, but I can assure that I was really glad to see Major Andreeva with her perfect hairstyle, expressive eyes and even more expressive body language within our walls. I asked if I could help somehow or buy her a cup of coffee with orange double cake this evening, but seems like Major didn't pay due attention to my words. I think their packed and tight schedule doesn't let them such freedom as coffee. Though, orange double pie...

Anyway, Major Andreeva and her crew were interested in our humble sound equipment and my desk, and also in our regular technician Alexander, which, at the sight of visitors, made a loud hiss, blended into surroundings and quickly left the studio by draining into the sewer system.

And now, the weather.

[Frank Pourcel "Manchester et Liverpool" playing in the background]

It was a tiny cupboard of a room about six paces in length. It had a poverty-stricken appearance with its dusty yellow paper peeling off the walls, and it was so low-pitched that a man of more than average height was ill at ease in it and felt every moment that he would knock his head against the ceiling.The furniture was in keeping with the room: there were three old chairs, rather rickety; a painted table in the corner on which lay a few manuscripts and books; the dust that lay thick upon them showed that they had been long untouched. A big clumsy sofa occupied almost the whole of one wall and half the floor space of the room; it was once covered with chintz, but was now in rags and served Raskolnikov as a bed. Often he went to sleep on it, as he was, without undressing, without sheets, wrapped in his old student's overcoat, with his head on one little pillow, under which he heaped up all the linen he had, clean and dirty, by way of a bolster. A little table stood in front of the sofa.It would have been difficult to sink to a lower ebb of disorder, but to Raskolnikov in his present state of mind this was positively agreeable. He had got completely away from everyone, like a tortoise in its shell, and even the sight of a servant girl who had to wait upon him and looked sometimes into his room made him writhe with nervous irritation. He was in the condition that overtakes some monomaniacs entirely concentrated upon one thing.

A message for car owners. Petrol station number two informs that since tomorrow it will be impossible to pay with deadheads, body parts, saplings and karma. Use cash and credit cards, loyalty points and your immortal soul.

Olga who's on scene tells me that the first visitors of renewed Palace of Culture just walked into the main music hall. She says that the very first step into the large wooden doors made her heart tremble with inexplicable fear of the abyss of the existence. Mayor Pavel Borovik is determined as always.Seems like not everything is ready for the festive program in the music hall. The orchestra pit is empty and has the form of the sinkhole into the primeval abyss. Splendid velvet curtain isn't as determined as the Mayor and in every way blocks artists' attempts to sneak onto the stage and thereby save themselves from something which makes ghoulish... one moment, looks like Olga gives some details... Yes, thanks, Olya. Save themselves from something which makes spine-tingling, paralysing, dreadful howl. We'll make a pause for a message from our sponsor while I'm clarifying the situation with my colleague, stay tuned.

Everything for home and garden in the "Bad Seed" shop! New arrivals of strings, ropes, strands, cables, and also chains made of women's beard and noise of cats' steps! Never out of stock: seeds, sprouts, fertilizers, everything most needed for your homesteading or window greenhouse. In the housewares - new bed-linen arrivals. By popular demand, we returned duvet covers with chase nightmares effect, pillow cases with the paranoid thoughts aroma and sheets spawning invisible worms. Double discount with your loyalty card after sunset on Saturdays, come for shopping to "Bad Seed"!

An important message from the municipal government.Right now the press service of the municipal government informed about Mayor's decree regarding the Nulogorsk Palace of Culture. Due to the decree, Palace of Culture is closed for indefinite term until all the small defects caused by face-lift will be eliminated. Citizens are asked not to come to the building closer than 20 meters, and to cover minors' eyes while passing by the Palace.

The press service pointed out that it isn't connected with an echo of inhuman howl coming from the nailed up windows of the Palace, ghoulish and spine-tingling. With regard to all these cases of revealed breaches, an examination will be held by an independent commission consisting of active concerned citizens, mediums, shaman and Father Evgeny of the Holy Virgin Protection church.

All the planned events are moved to Youth Activity Center and local drama theatre.

Small announcement.

Internship opportunity is opened at the Nulogorsk town radiostation! It's a chance to get invaluable experience, try yourself as a real reporter, and for sure, make a great contribution into the town's public life! We're waiting for your calls, just dial ten zeros on any telephone set or whisper into your mobile phone that you want to become our intern, and we'll immediately contact you! Good luck!

That's the end of our programme for today, but not of this day. A clear, moonlit evening is waiting for the town, and a clear, disturbing night. Don't forget to check if you still have some salt on your cill and if you turned off your kettle. And now, I say goodbye to you.

Until we meet again, Nulogorsk, until we meet again.

Proverb of the day: You are what you eat. You have to revise your vegeterianism ideas if you want to be a human.

#Welcome to Night Vale #wtnv #Nulogorsk #fanfic

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tebarambles · 6 years ago

Text

Day 4: Snow

Ao3

Serena sighs as she stares at the computer screen. It is only the middle of her shift, but she is tired. The days between Christmas and New Year’s are always particularly busy on AAU, and between the ward being short-staffed and having to deal with the usual additional influx of patients who got injured due to holidays- and alcohol-induced stupidity, her paperwork has accumulated to a rather impressive pile. In short: today has been hell so far and it doesn’t look like it’s going to get better anytime soon. She decides that a coffee-break is in order and is about to grab her wallet when she hears a knock on her office door.

“Come in,” she calls, not bothering to mask her annoyance.

“Am I disrupting you?”

It’s Bernie, hovering by the door, uncertain whether her presence is welcome or not. She is still dressed in her civilian clothes, Serena notes, so she has only just arrived for her shift.

Serena smiles apologetically at Bernie. “Don’t worry, it’s not your fault that I’m stressed. Please come in.” She points at Bernie’s attire, she is wearing a matching set of a scarf and a hat. “Is this new? I didn’t have you down as a bobble hat kind of woman, but it suits you. And I’m glad that you’re willing to learn, after all.”

Bernie blushes a pretty shade of pink and starts fiddling with her new winter wear. “Yes, well, I figured I could only hold your scarf hostage for so long before it got suspicious. In my defence, it is a very nice scarf,“ she grins sheepishly.

“Ah, and here I was thinking that you conveniently forgot it at home the other three times as an excuse to buy me more coffee.” Serena throws her a wink and is delighted to see Bernie’s blush intensifying. “...but maybe that was just wishful thinking?”

Bernie coughs awkwardly, not making eye contact. “Well, I did bring you coffee, actually.” She carefully places a paper tray that holds two steaming cups of coffee on Serena’s desk.

“You’re a lifesaver!” Serena exclaims and immediately picks up one of the cups to take a sip. “Mhh, just as I like it - strong and hot,” she smirks at Bernie, who unfortunately still isn’t looking, because she is pulling something from her bag.

“But I’m also here to give you this. Happy belated Christmas.”

Serena eyes the odd-shaped and poorly wrapped parcel suspiciously and takes it from Bernie’s hands. It feels like it contains something soft. A funny thought occurs to her and she has to laugh. “Bernie, did you wrap my own scarf in fancy paper to give it to me as a present?”

“Just open it,” Bernie huffs good-naturedly.

The misshapen parcel does indeed contain Serena’s scarf, clumsily wrapped around what turns out to be a thermal mug in Serena’s favourite colour, bordeaux.

“It’s um… it’s a thank-you for your kindness. I thought it might come in handy during a busy shift. To, you know, keep your coffee warm. And it’s also meant as a further invitation for coffee, of course. That is, if you want to…”

Serena leans forward and lays a reassuring hand on Bernie’s arm to stop her ramblings. “That’s very sweet and thoughtful of you, thank you.”

She gets up to pull her friend into an embrace when a loud beeping sound interrupts them.

“Oh, come on!” Serena groans in frustration as her pager goes off. She hastily pours the remnants of her coffee into her new thermal mug to keep it warm and turns apologetically towards Bernie. “I’m afraid my break is over. And you should probably get to Keller before they send a search unit down here.”

Hours later Serena arrives back at her office. It is way past the official end of her shift now and she is feeling tired and ready to call it a day. Her eyes immediately land on Bernie's present and she is pleased to find that the coffee inside is still drinkable. She sits down and picks up her scarf, haphazardly thrown on the filing cabinet next to her desk, wraps it around her neck, leans back, closes her eyes and inhales deeply - it still smells like Bernie. It might become her new favourite accessory, she thinks. Fighting against her fatigue and the lulling cosiness her scarf seems to emit, she wills herself to get up. No use in falling asleep in her office.

As chance would have it, Bernie’s shift has also just finished, and Serena finds her in line at Pulse’s, staring out of the window.

“Penny for your thoughts?”

Bernie startles visibly, then smiles at Serena. “Hello, you. I didn’t know you were still here. The emergency?”

“Don’t ask. Multiple trauma, severe blood loss. It was touch and go, but we got there in the end. Anyway, what were you daydreaming about just then?”

Bernie grins and points outside, clearly excited. “I wasn’t daydreaming. Look, it has started snowing again. Join me? I haven’t had snow around Christmas for a very long time.” With that, she takes Serena’s hand and hurries towards the hospital entrance, her need for coffee seemingly forgotten.

They walk towards the peace garden. Bernie takes off her - really rather adorable, Serena catches herself thinking - bobble hat and turns her face towards the sky, eyes closed, snowflakes whirling around her. Some get caught in her unruly hair and on her long lashes and Serena thinks she has never laid eyes on a more beautiful sight. She idly wonders what Bernie lips would feel like if she kissed her, right here where anyone could see. Almost on instinct she reaches out and tucks a loose curl behind Bernie’s ear.

Bernie opens her eyes at the gentle touch and offers her one of her shy smiles that Serena has become so fond of over the past few days. Time seems to stand still.

“Bernie?”

“Yes?”

“Correct me if I’m wrong, but…”

But Serena doesn’t get to finish her sentence because Bernie chooses this moment to lean forward and capture Serena’s lips with her own.

@berenaadvent

#Berena Advent 2019 #berena advent: snow #look it's more fluff #and it's a continuation for my other ficlet #i know i'm almost a week too late #life got in the way #again massive thanks to batnbreakfast for beta'ing this :)

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iffeelscouldkill · 6 years ago

Text

Any day breathing

“Captain Tripathi. You’re alive!”

He presents it as a joke, to mask the very real fear that lies underneath those words. The fear that someday, she won’t come back to him safe and whole.

–

A/N: I wrote another thing :3

To the folks in the Starship Iris Discord: I finished it! This started out as a little ficlet idea that I had a while back: a Sana/Campbell concept based on Campbell’s stock greeting of “Captain Tripathi. You’re alive!” I wrote half of it down (I got sidetracked partway through) and then let it sit in my Starship Iris ideas notes file (god, you do not want to see the length of that thing) for ages.

Then, a conversation in the TSCOSI Discord about Campbell, pining, and Campbell’s probable reaction to the Rumor reports being uploaded to the public net (which I had totally forgotten about asfdfgsgsdgsg) inspired me to pick it back up.

It was meant to be a short, whimsical, feels-filled ficlet about Sana and Campbell’s conversations through the years. It turned into something… much longer than that.

Enjoyyyyy~

–

“Captain Tripathi. You’re alive.”

The first time he says it, the surprise is genuine. It’s hard not to be surprised to hear from this woman again – someone whose name had been only a rumour to him until very recently. He’d heard about her from contacts of contacts, mentioned here and there, always with a reverent tone. She had some kind of revolutionary past, he’d heard: was jailed as a dissenter, or had taken part in an uprising. One version of that story said that she’d led an entire planet in an uprising. He also heard that she’d hijacked a high-level Regime starship – possibly in mid-flight.

Whatever he was expecting when they finally met face-to-face, the slender, wiry woman in the brightly-coloured shalwar kameez with a streak of engine grease near her hairline and elaborate floral tattoos adorning muscular arms is not it. Sana Tripathi walks straight into his base of operations – a network of winding corridors and tucked-away cubbyholes in what’s meant to be a confidential location – flanked by a younger woman with a murderous expression and more visible weapons than he can take in with one glance, and demands two full sets of new identification, impeccable and untraceable, to get the IGR off their tail.

“I heard you were the best,” she tells him, a challenge.

Campbell holds out for a full fifteen minutes, but by the end of it he’s agreed to everything she asks for and feels distinctly like he’s gone ten rounds in the sparring ring they used to blow off steam back in the military, verbally speaking. She agrees to pay half up-front, with the promise of the rest once they safely reach their destination.

It’s an hour-long job, and he doesn’t know where the two of them go to lie low while he’s working, but exactly an hour later the glowering, heavily-armed woman is back to pick up their documentation. He’s a little disappointed that it’s not the Captain who came to collect.

The other woman – who tells him shortly that her name is Patel; the name on the papers he’s made for her is Kay Grisham – pays and leaves. He later hears that the IGR is conducting randomised searches at every checkpoint, detaining anyone whose background doesn’t quite check out neatly enough, or whose personal or ship ID papers look a little too new.

Campbell is completely confident in the quality of his work, but he’s not sure that Tripathi could pass a visual check, if she’s been on an IGR watchlist – and that friend of hers didn’t really seem like the subtle type. After thirty-six hours with no word, he figures the rest of the money is lost, but chalks it up as an interesting story to tell.

Two hours later, he gets a call from an unknown number. After running the standard traces on it (the IGR aren’t as good at disguising themselves as they like to think), he accepts the call.

“Is this Ignatius Campbell?” asks the voice on the other end – brisk, but with the hint of warmth and humour lurking underneath.

“Captain Tripathi,” he says in surprise. “You’re alive.”

“Of course,” the Captain replies blithely. “We delayed our departure slightly in order to catch the shift changeover for the randomised checks. The outgoing agents are always tired and less likely to bother with a full database check, and the incoming agents have never been briefed properly. Then we had to make sure that we weren’t being tailed.”

“Of course,” Campbell echoes. This woman is no amateur, and he realises that he’d managed to underestimate her even after everything that she’d managed by tracking him down, coming to him and persuading him to work with her. He makes a mental note not to do that again.

“So, I assume this call is about payment,” he adds, when Captain Tripathi doesn’t volunteer anything further.

“How very astute of you,” the Captain replies, too good-humoured to be mocking, and then proceeds to brazenly haggle him down a further twenty-five percent.

Campbell doesn’t believe in love at first sight, and he never will. But he does believe that there are people whom, when you meet them, the universe demands you sit up and pay attention to.

–

“Captain Tripathi – you’re alive.”

Even after resolving not to underestimate Sana Tripathi, Campbell is still surprised when he hears from her again. It’s been eight months, and during that time, his best-placed informants hadn’t picked up a single trace of Captain Tripathi or her companion. Not under the names he’d created for them, and not under the names they’d given him when they met.

It’s unheard of for him to be unable to track an alias he’s created (he wouldn’t be able to stay ahead of any potential threats unless he had that advantage), but he knows that the Regime has ways of making people vanish completely. It’s a cold, unpleasant realisation, and he experiences an unusually strong pang of regret considering that he barely knows this woman. But he’s sure that somehow, they must have slipped up and got caught.

So when Captain Tripathi contacts him again like nothing has happened, he realises he might just have to get used to unexpected developments.

He’s somehow not even surprised to hear that since they last spoke, she’s picked up a Dwarnian and some kind of renegade translator who has a history with the mafia. “He’s an academic, so he won’t be seeing any action, but he needs to have papers that will hold up if the ship is inspected while we’re docked,” the Captain explains casually.

“…Naturally,” says Campbell. “And speaking of your ship – I suppose you have a full work-up of papers for that, too? You know they’ve tightened the regs on those a lot recently.”

He tells himself he’s only saying it so that he can squeeze an extra job out of a contact he’s fairly confident will be good for the money. Not because he’s concerned.

“Are you suggesting that my ship’s paperwork is less than completely impeccable?” Captain Tripathi asks him with mock indignation.

Campbell suppresses a smile as he replies, “Given that it was made by someone other than myself, I’m surprised it’s held up this long.”

Their conversation concludes with him agreeing to redo the ship’s paperwork – somehow at a much lower price than he would usually charge for a second-time client.

–

“Captain Tripathi. You’re alive!”

It’s already become a joke between them by this point, the fact that Campbell answers Sana’s calls this way, and he waits in anticipation of the sarcastic response that he knows will follow. They’ve been in relatively regular contact since Campbell started playing middleman for some of their cargo, using his network of contacts to move it on and taking a cut. He’s stopped bothering to deny to himself how much he looks forward to their conversations.

But this time, the voice that comes down the line is not Sana Tripathi’s, but Arkady Patel’s. “It’s First Mate Patel, actually,” she says brusquely, and Campbell sits up slowly. “I know you guys traditionally open with like, twenty minutes of banter, but we don’t have time for that right now. We’re in a bind.”

Campbell has a cast-iron policy of not offering any favours, offering help to contacts, or otherwise sticking his neck out any further than he needs to. He keeps his relationships strictly about business and nothing more. Much like his ability to track an alias, it’s what’s kept him off the IGR’s radar for so long.

There are one or two folks whom he goes way back with – like Theodore “Red” Gregor, who was in his unit and a fellow dishonourable discharge. Campbell helped him set up his business on Elion. There aren’t many who could manage to stay in business while avoiding both the mob and the Regime, but if anyone could, it was Red.

But they’re rare exceptions to a very strict rule. Anyone else is on their own, or had better be prepared to owe him for a long, long time.

Campbell thinks about all this before he says, “What do you need?”

–

Campbell is ashamed of how long it takes him to realise that Sana is a fellow Telemachian. He’s usually good at identifying fellow homeworlders, even ones who have lived elsewhere. Telemachians have this spark, this spirit, a distinctive culture that even the Regime couldn’t stamp out of them.

They’re diverse, sure, and numerous, but you can always spot a fellow Telemachian if you know what to look for. They’re the unruly planet on the edge of a solar system, a little too far away from any established IGR base to monitor closely; a little too big to be brought to heel. There’s a reason that most protest songs originate from Telemachus – and that there’s been periodic unrest every few years since the coup.

They’re making small talk at the end of a call (something Campbell indulges in far more than he should), and Campbell is talking about evading the IGR’s latest clampdown and how hard it’s becoming to operate underground. “It’s enough to make me want to give it all up and become a vegetable farmer somewhere.”

“Wouldn’t you get bored?” Sana asks, playfully but with a hint of curiosity lurking underneath.

“Yeah. Probably.” Campbell’s not sure. Maybe if he had the company of the right person, it wouldn’t be so bad. “Just, all this running in place… it feels so futile.” It comes out sounding more tired than he means it to.

“Well, you know what they say,” says Sana, seriously. “When their foot is on your throat-”

“-any day breathing is a victory,” Campbell finishes. “I didn’t know you were a homeworlder.”

There’s a pause, and he thinks that Sana is weighing up what to say next. She hadn’t meant to give so much away, he realises – for all that he’s got to know a fair bit about the smuggling business that she runs, and the odd detail about life on board the Rumor, Sana is very cautious about revealing anything about her own past, or that of her crew, beyond what is strictly required to do business. Campbell has never minded that – he can respect a person’s boundaries. He doesn’t need to pry into Sana’s past to be sure that she won’t screw him over.

“I’ve moved around a bit,” she says, finally. “I spent a few years off-planet in the late 70s. Since then I’ve been… transient. Well, you knew that.”

Campbell inclines his head, though he knows that Sana can’t see it. He’s still considering what to say when she carries on,

“I don’t go back to the homeworld much these days. Actually, when we first approached you to work with us-” Campbell gives a wry smile at how much of an understatement that is, “-it was the first time that I’d been back to Telemachus in years.”

“It’s still home, though, isn’t it?” he says, thinking of the time that he’d spent in deployment; the years that he was on the run, unable to get word to his sister or his nephews. “After everything.”

“Yeah, it is.”

–

Campbell doesn’t really think twice the first time he invites the crew of the Rumor to have dinner with him.

It’s late in the evening, and the crew has just touched down on Telemachus a full twelve hours later than they’d originally planned. First there’d been some unprecedented solar flare activity en route, forcing them to take a detour, and then they’d been boarded by Regime agents in a “random” check on entry to Telemachus. Krejjh had been quickly hidden away in one of the ship’s many nooks and crannies, and the paperwork had all checked out (of course), but the agents had been both suspicious and thorough. All in all, the crew is obviously exhausted and a little fractious by the time Campbell meets them to pick up the cargo. Sana is doing her best to keep things businesslike, but she wilts visibly and rubs her hand over her eyes when she thinks he isn’t looking.

“Hey. Listen, we can go over all this tomorrow,” Campbell says, as gently as he can. “You guys’ve had a rough journey – what d’you say we grab a bite to eat instead?”

Arkady’s frown deepens, of course – it’s her job to be suspicious, and Campbell doesn’t take it personally. More to the point, he knows that it’s just her way of trying to look out for the crew. Arkady Patel is a lot more caring than she tries to let on. She might show it with jibes in the background of calls, or with threats and occasional bodily harm in the direction of anyone who threatens her friends’ safety, but she shows it.

For her part, Sana looks extremely relieved at the idea of being able to put business off until the morning.

“That’s really kind of you, Campbell,” she says. “It’d be great to take a bit of a breather, but we don’t want to impose…”

“It’s no imposition,” says Campbell, shrugging. “I was planning to go out to eat tonight anyway – I’ve been cooped up indoors too much lately. There’s a great hole-in-the-wall two blocks away from here – it doesn’t look like much, but the food is something else. Krejjh can come, too – they get all kinds in there.”

Sana tells him they’ll consult Brian and Krejjh before coming to a decision, but Campbell has a feeling that the answer will be yes, despite Arkady’s clear misgivings. Sure enough, Sana is back minutes later with a mild-mannered translator and an excitable Dwarnian (disguised with a large pair of novelty sunglasses and a wide-brimmed hat) in tow.

Over the months – almost a year, now – that Campbell has been doing business with the Rumor crew, he has a sense of how they work together as a group: Krejjh piloting the ship and executing daring last-minute escapes; Brian joking and mediating and cooking slightly disastrous food; Arkady watching Sana’s back and intimidating obstacles into submission; and Sana alternately leading and mothering, driving ruthless bargains for the benefit of her crew.

But it doesn’t compare to the experience of eating at the same table, drinking the Rumor’s lethal home-brewed moonshine, listening to outrageous tales and laughing until his sides hurt.

The next day, Campbell is unsurprised when he doesn’t hear a word from the Rumor crew until nearly two o’clock in the afternoon. He himself only crawled out of bed at noon, and has since been avoiding light sources and slowly regaining his humanity over strong black coffee.

“Incoming call from Sana Tripathi.”

“Captain Tripathi,” Campbell says as he answers his comm. “You’re alive?”

“The jury’s definitely still out on that one,” Sana replies, her voice low and rough. Campbell chuckles, and then hopes the sound wasn’t too loud. “We’re at various stages of recuperation, but at a minimum, Arkady and I will be able to meet you with the cargo at our rendezvous point by three.”

“Make it four,” Campbell says, in deference to how utterly wrung-out she sounds. To cover this up, he adds, “I only joined the land of the living about half an hour ago myself. I’m going to need at least three more cups of coffee before I’m functional.”

“Four it is,” says Sana, businesslike, but with a clear undertone of relief. “We’ll see you there.”

“See you both soon. And, Sana –”

Campbell stops, wondering if he’s overstepping. Last night had been so easy, so fun – by the end of it, the Rumor crew felt like old friends. But it’s harder to recapture that feeling in the light of day, sober. What can he say – ‘Thanks for a great night’? ‘We should do this again sometime’?

(‘You have a beautiful laugh’?)

He clears his throat. “Don’t let Brian forget about that drink he owes me. And uh, you and the rest of the crew are always welcome to make a stop. To refuel, or…” He clears his throat again. “Or for whatever reason.”

“Thanks, Campbell,” says Sana, warm and genuine. “We’ll see you soon.”

–

Things start to get a lot tougher over the months that follow – on Telemachus and on every other planet that Campbell has contacts. Forgers and traders he’s worked with for years go silent, or are rarely heard from; he gets wind of abrupt crackdowns, the Regime imprisoning people who show the slightest bit of dissent, petty criminals being sent down with lengthy sentences.

Telemachus starts to stir. He hears murmurs on the streets. A leaflet is shoved into his hand by a hooded young person who is gone before he can blink. Campbell skims enough of it to know that he would probably be arrested if he were found with it on his person. He burns it, but he knows it’s only a matter of time before the protests start.

On his next call with the Captain to arrange a routine cargo drop-off, he can’t stop himself from urging her to be careful. Sounding amused, she promises him that she will.

“Are we still on for drinks at that bar you promised to take us to?”

“I don’t know what their house policy is on home-brewed moonshine,” Campbell warns her. “But of course we are.”

“Great. We’ll see you in a week, Campbell. Sana Tripathi out.”

He’s not expecting to get another call from her just three days later. Campbell is tense as he accepts the call, sure that something must be wrong.

“Captain Tripathi.” He hesitates over the second half of the greeting, and Sana speaks before he can say anything else.

“Campbell, hi.” She sounds well, but Campbell doesn’t relax, sensing bad news in her tone. “Listen, there’s no good way to say this, but… we’re going to have to miss our drop-off.”

“Oh.” Of all the things that Campbell might have thought were coming next, that wasn’t one of them. He knows he should be angry over being left in the lurch by a business partner, about how badly this will put him out, but instead he’s just… disappointed. And concerned. “What’s happening?”

“It’s – hard to go into too much detail right now, but… we’ve got to make an unexpected stop. Something’s come up, and… there’s no way we’re going to be in range of Telemachus for a while. I’m sorry.”

So, not just missing a drop-off, but possibly not making any stops for some time. Campbell is silent for a few moments, absorbing this.

“I know this will put you out in a major way, and I promise that we’ll make it up to you,” Sana says. “You’re our best customer, and we would never bail on you unless it was urgent.”

That’s what concerns me, Campbell thinks. “I… understand,” he says finally. “I’m not going to pretend I like it, but sometimes, that’s just how things are. I can find another supplier for the Scotch. They won’t be you, but…”

“Sorry, again, Campbell. We were… really looking forward to seeing you. Listen, we’ll give you half price on your next shipment. As an apology.”

Somehow, bartering isn’t as fun when Sana is just offering him a lower price – and when she’s doing it as an apology. “We’ll work something out,” he says. “I know you’ve got to keep Krejjh in hot sauce and Arkady in those elaborate hair products she denies using.”

Sana laughs. “Yeah, we might have to ration the hot sauce for a bit, but we’ll survive.” There’s a pause, and then she adds, “I’ll call as soon as I’m able. Let you know when we might be in the area again.”

“Do that. Good luck with… whatever it is that you have to do.”

“Thanks.” For a moment, Sana seems like she’s about to say something else, but then she closes with, “Speak to you soon. Sana Tripathi out.”

–

Campbell doesn’t hear from the Rumor crew for another three weeks after Sana’s call. All told, it’s been nearly four months since they last stopped by on Telemachus. Once upon a time, he would go much longer without seeing or hearing from the crew and not even think about it. But he’s got used to more regular contact – drop-offs every couple of months, and regular calls, sometimes not even about business. He enjoys finding out what the group has been up to, listening to the way that they joke together, the way Sana alternately cajoles and corrals them. How fond she sounds when talking to her crew, her found family.

He’s sure, sometimes, that he hears the same fondness in her voice directed at him. She’s never hesitated to match his banter, and he looks forward to the calls where they haggle over prices, exchanging insults that sound more affectionate than anything. Campbell would hate to cross a line too soon – he doesn’t want to ruin what is also a great business relationship and friendship. But on his calls with Sana, his catch-ups with the crew, their now-regular drinking escapades with ill-advised amounts of moonshine and ridiculous stories… he’s sure that there’s something more there.

He finds himself thinking about Sana at odd moments during the day: dwelling on her voice, her laugh; picturing her smile, her arms, her tattoos. He hopes that she’s safe, that whatever mystery errand took her away from Telemachus wasn’t dangerous. More than once, he’s tempted to put a call through and make sure she’s okay, but he stops himself. Sana said she would call as soon as she was able, and she’s always been a woman of her word.

He brightens when, in the middle of a slow evening, his terminal lights up and his computer intones, “Incoming call from… Sana Tripathi. Incoming call from…”

“Captain Tripathi,” he greets her cheerfully. “You’re alive!”

–

Then, Elion. A body turns up by the landfill. Sana’s accusation.

“In what universe would I turn on you for them?!”

Then they don’t speak for some time.

–

There’s a massive protest happening in the centre of Nestor, the district of Telemachus where Campbell is based. It’s loud enough and vehement enough that Campbell can hear it, just faintly, from where he sits in his cramped office, distractedly going through some accounts.

Normally, the Regime would have deployed riot police by now, violently suppressing the protest and arresting the instigators. But in contrast to how jumpy the IGR had been before, the machinery of the Regime has been oddly absent in recent weeks. As if all its resources are being focused elsewhere. This is the third protest in about ten days – and the largest. He also heard that there’s been some kind of major incident at a Regime lab in New Jupiter – a fire or an explosion or something. He’s willing to bet that it’s just the tip of the iceberg. Something big is going down.

Giving the accounts up as a bad job for now, Campbell dismisses the holographic screen with a wave of his hand and stands up. He needs some air.

Once he’s out of the house, it’s almost impossible to avoid the protest – it seems to be everywhere. Out of sheer morbid curiosity, Campbell walks towards the crowds, his coat collar turned up to obscure the bottom half of his face. Soon he’s close enough to hear some of what they’re shouting.

“THE RUMOR CREW DID NOTHING WRONG!” yells a man nearby, and Campbell’s heart almost stops. “JUSTICE FOR THASIA!”

“JUSTICE FOR EMILY CRADDOCK!” another voice yells back.

Someone stuffs a leaflet into Campbell’s hand. He looks down at it. It’s a cheap, quickly-printed thing, just black text on off-white paper, and it reads:

WE THE PEOPLE DEMAND A FULL AND TRANSPARENT STATEMENT FROM THE INTERGALACTIC REPUBLIC ABOUT THE DISCLOSURES IN THE RUMOR RECORDINGS OF THE WIDESPREAD USE OF SPY TECHNOLOGY IN PEACETIME ASSASSINATION, ABDUCTION, AND THE INSTIGATION OF AN INTER-SPECIES WAR THE RUMOR CREW DID NOTHING WRONG!

Campbell roughly grabs the shoulder of the man who was shouting nearby. “What are these Rumor recordings?” he demands, brandishing the leaflet.

The man looks alarmed, and Campbell forces his posture to become a bit less “military”. “I’m not one of them,” he says, quickly. “I just want to know what’s happening.”

“They’re all over the public net, man,” says the protestor. The ‘where the hell have you been?’ is strongly implied.

“You should start by listening to Report 1: Violet Liu,” another protestor supplies helpfully.

“Thank you,” says Campbell, and lets go of the man’s shoulder. The man shrugs and rejoins the crowd, chanting,

“JUSTICE FOR ALVY CONNORS! JUSTICE FOR THE CREW OF THE STARSHIP IRIS! YOU CAN’T MAKE A PERSON DISAPPEAR!”

Back at home, Campbell discovers the man was right: the files are all over the net. The IGR is clearly penalising anyone who shares them, and trying to shut down the websites hosting them – his search turns up a lot of dead links and mysteriously deactivated accounts. But there are far too many sources to eradicate them all, short of completely shutting down the public net. Before too long, Campbell has a complete set of the recordings, Reports 1 to 9.

He starts to listen.

The report starts, after the introduction from someone who is clearly an IGR drone, with the panicked voice of a woman who sounds vaguely familiar. Campbell has a good memory for both faces and voices, and he’s sure this woman is the new recruit he’d heard briefly on the call with Sana before the Rumor landed on Elion. It might explain her link to the Rumor crew.

Sure enough, a few minutes later he hears Arkady, using the Kay Grisham alias that he’d made for her, years ago. He recognises the con she’s pulling, a trick that Brian Jeeter grandly refers to as “the Carmen Gambit”. He wonders what was so important about this woman that the Rumor crew went so far out of their way to rescue her. He looks for a timestamp on the recording, but it only shows when the file was uploaded to the public net, which was a few days ago. But Campbell has a feeling this was the reason that the Rumor crew skipped their drop-off in Telemachus.

He wishes that Sana had told him what they were doing. God knows he wouldn’t have been angry about them going to save a person’s life. He wasn’t really angry about it to begin with.

Campbell keeps listening, and learns the real reason for the Rumor crew’s detour: a cryptic message from a friend he thinks Brian might have mentioned once – Alvy Connors, a gifted coder moonlighting as a bartender. Campbell’s sorry to learn about his death. He realises that the protesters had been chanting Alvy’s name – but why would they care so much about this man’s death? Where did these recordings come from?

Two more reports in, and Campbell is starting to put the pieces together to form a horrible picture: how the Regime had known that the Rumor was headed towards Elion. How the crew’s IDs had become compromised. They were listening to every word, he realises. But how?

Sana and Arkady discuss trading with the Fowleys – a particularly low breed of scum that Campbell avoids dealing with if at all possible, but he knows the Rumor crew can’t afford to be that picky – on Elion, and Campbell realises that he must be about to make an appearance in the recordings.

Sure enough, as the group realises that they need new IDs, Sana makes the call. It’s surreal to hear his own voice coming from the computer, and Campbell realises he needs to be very careful from now on. Whatever event caused all these files to be leaked onto the public net, he’s now clearly implicated in it, too. At least the Regime don’t have a visual description, but they have his voice and his location, as well as some details about his contacts. He’ll need to warn Red Gregor.

The exchange between Arkady and Sana in the elevator on Elion makes him cringe. “Did it seem like he was hitting on you?” Ridiculously, he finds himself hoping that Sana will give some indication of how she might feel about that, but instead she expertly turns the conversation around on Arkady. “If we wanna open that door, can I just say that you and—”

“No, that door is shut and locked.”

Campbell thinks about how Arkady talks to Violet Liu, her upbeat mood in response to the other woman’s admiration, and smiles.

Things go downhill quickly after that. Campbell is tense as he listens to the exchange with the guard, the Carmen Gambit once again coming into play. It almost works – until the fatal announcement over the comms that blows the crew’s cover. Campbell reflects that the Regime’s ridiculous, stifling bureaucracy was probably the only thing that kept them from getting caught sooner.

He cringes again as he hears his own call come through, and Sana immediately decline it. He’d been a bit over-eager, calling as soon as he’d got Red Gregor’s message to say that the job had gone off without a hitch – he was really just looking for an excuse to talk to Sana. Clearly, Campbell needs to get a grip.

The recording ends, and Campbell looks at his holo-screen, thinking about what the next recording will surely contain.

“Computer, outside call. Ignatius Campbell to Sana Tripathi.”

“Attempting connection…” the computer intones. “Attempting connection… Attempting connection… Attempting connection… Connection not available.”

He guesses he can’t blame Sana for declining his calls, after everything that he’d said to her before.

Reluctantly, he plays the next recording.

He listens to Violet’s attempts to speak to Arkady, Brian’s theories about the robot nanoswarm, and then Violet and Arkady’s conversation in the kitchen and Arkady’s gift of her mint plant. Campbell feels slightly indignant about the fact that Arkady never let on she was a fellow gardener. They could have exchanged tips!

Finally, he hears Sana accept his call in her room, and the friendly conversation quickly devolve into a tense exchange. He’s replayed that conversation endless times in his head, but it somehow sounds even worse than he remembers. Campbell wasn’t angry at Sana – he wishes he could have explained that somehow. But with everything that had happened, she was in no position to give him the benefit of the doubt. He wishes he could go back in time and…

He doesn’t know.

Then, something unexpected. Another call comes through to Sana’s comm, and she accepts it without waiting to hear the name – but Campbell knows that wasn’t him.

“Campbell, I agree it’s a bad idea for us to talk right now, but I just wanna say that if it was only me, I would probably risk it. The thing is, I can’t, I have to think about my crew, and you—”

Campbell’s heart stutters in his chest. “Computer, outside call,” he says, not bothering to pause the recording. “Ignatius Campbell to Sana Tripathi.”

“Attempting connection… Attempting connection… Attempting connection… Attempting connection… Connection not available.”

Campbell sighs and runs a hand over his face. He’s finally starting to get the picture, and he’s desperate to talk to Sana, to tell her that he understands now. He thinks about the way she’d spoken to ‘him’, the vulnerability in her voice. Damn it, he needs to talk to her. He has to make this right.

A man is speaking on the recording now, and Sana responds to him with anger. Campbell realises that he still has three reports left to go. He’s still far from understanding what has happened and where these recordings came from. The least that he can do is take the time to listen to them and understand what Sana has been going through.

He’s afraid of what the other reports might contain. But he would have known if Sana was hurt or worse – wouldn’t he? Surely Sana would still have come to him for help if she really needed it?

Nothing could have prepared him for the contents of the last three reports: the stunning revelations about Thasia, about why the war began; about the Regime’s use of a sentient swarm of nanobots to spy on dozens of its own people, indiscriminately, in every waking moment. His fists clench, hard enough that his nails dig into the palms of his hands, as he listens to Major General Frederick’s cold declaration that future strains of the nanoswarm will include a ‘kill-switch’. He listens to the sad story of Thasia and their doomed childhood friend, Emily Craddock. He understands now why the crowd had been chanting their names.

The crew’s hours of drunken singalongs and fake ‘confessions’ make him smile, but the smile is quickly wiped from his face as he hears the passage of time at the end of the report. “Two weeks have passed since our last update. As Major General Frederick said, we expect diminishing returns via this swarm of strain H.”

Then, the last few seconds. “Agent McCabe, look out the window!”

“Holy shit—”

Campbell can’t believe the recordings end there. He goes back to the site where he’d downloaded the files, to make sure he hadn’t missed one – but the website has already been taken offline. He scours discussion boards for any scrap of information. All of the commentators agree that there are only nine reports, but they have theories about what might have happened next – linked to the explosion (it definitely was an explosion) on New Jupiter. Odds are, it was the Rumor’s destination. But what happened?

He thinks about the words of the other Violet Liu. “If Plan B fails, not all of you will live long enough for Plan C.” He thinks about Violet coughing, Krejjh coughing, an inexorably deadly swarm of nanobots in the air. The Rumor crew taking one last, defiant, heroic stand because none of them could stand the alternative: to save their own lives at the expense of so many others.

“We have a saying on Telemachus, that when their foot is on your throat, any day breathing is a victory. So, I vote we push our luck.”

Campbell’s breathing is unsteady, and his throat feels tight and painful. He tries to fight down the rising panic in his chest, the voice in his head that fears the worst. Sana is alive. She has to be. He rubs at one eye with the heel of his hand, and it comes away wet.

“Computer,” he chokes out. “Outside call. Ignatius Campbell – to – Sana Tripathi.”

“Attempting connection… Attempting connection… Attempting connection… Attempting connection…”

“Campbell?”

Campbell is so stunned that for several long moments he stares at his computer, at the holo-screen displaying a successful connection, counting up the seconds on their call. “Campbell?” Sana says again. “Is that you?”

“Captain Tripathi,” he manages finally. “You’re…”

“Alive,” finishes Sana, with a smile in her voice.

#tscosi #the strange case of starship iris #sana tripathi #ignatius campbell #sana/campbell #arkady patel #campbell is a world champion piner #i got really into the telemachus headcanons as you can probably tell #i mean the details we're given in the show suggest that telemachus is pretty... rebellious? revolutionary? as a planet #and i thought that was cool #also i need to spend way more time developing headcanons about the fallout from the rumor recordings because wow #i had not even thought about that at all #also i would love if campbell reacts to season one becomes an actual trope #guys help me make it happen

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shachaai · 6 years ago

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[Fic] A River to Cross and No Boat to Get Me There

Pairings/Characters: America /& f!England Rating: Teen Summary: Brussels, Belgium, July 2018. Over drinks, England and America (do not) talk politics. Really.

Notes: Written for @aph-fanficchallenges’ Shipping & Platonic Week 2019, Day 1: Old-Fashioned. It’s late. orz The way I write these two always feels like it straddles a line somewhere between platonic and strangely romantic/sexual, and I think you can choose to read this as either shippy or not - either way, there’s a kind of (resigned, exasperated) love there. Also on AO3.

July, 2018 A bar in Haren, City of Brussels, in the Kingdom of Belgium

The bar is all suits and badges, but, as long as a guy knows what he’s looking for, the woman sitting nursing her drink at the bar - smart, dark grey skirt suit, name and face on her badge hidden by being tucked away behind the lapel of her blazer - stands out from the other people in the room.

She’s the only Nation in the room.

Well, she’s the only Nation in the room until America sidles in, quite proud of himself for his tracking abilities in an urban landscape without the use of spy satellites. He takes himself to the bar beside his quarry and leans over its polished top to nab the bartender’s attention, body angled towards his colleague.

“An Old-Fashioned for me, sir, and -” he begins, and eyes up the drink in front of his companion: a tumbler about a third full of booze and ice, deep brown with shimmering tones of gold - someone is hitting the spirits early (earlier than him) -, “another one for the lady too, I think?”

The bartender gives him a look and America is just about to repeat his order, a bit more clearly this time, when England sighs beside him, looking up from her one-woman stare-off with her drink and repeats his request for him. In French. (America assumes it’s French. There’s a L’Old-Fashioned in there anyway, rolling off England’s tongue in the way it never does in front of France, and a rather pointed s'il vous plaît.)

The bartender nods and gets to it, leaving England to give America her trademarked suspicious look. She’s foregone pretty hairclips today so has to sweep back some of the side-fall of her sharp bob to glower at him effectively, and that sort of effort usually means business.

“This place isn’t your usual. Why are you following me?”

Blunt.

“Everyone else was busy,” says America, and tries a charming smile that hopes England won’t point out how unlikely it is that all of the Nations involved in NATO apart from England and America have found something else to do with their lunchtimes. There’s always at least one Nation at loose ends for another to pounce upon.

England’s frown deepens and her eyebrows arch for the sky, so America lets his smile drop. There’s no real point lying, though the waste of his acting talents does make him pout. (In another life, Hollywood would be just eating this up. Begging for his time.)

“Alright , I came seeking refuge in audacity?”

“I’m audacity?” England asks, sounding undecided on whether she should be offended by that or not, only to swing her legs round hastily when America goes to pull out the barstool beside her and stomp down an unladylike heel on the foot rest, preventing its movement. “Oh - no, no, no, no, no, Jones. I think you’re a blithering idiot at the moment as well.”

“Oh, come on. ” America protests, and gives the barstool another halfhearted yank. (Not a serious yank, because if he did that he might break England’s ankle, and England and the British and Washington all of the rest of NATO would eviscerate him about him with their tongues and Russia would be a smug asshole about it again, and God, England would never let him forget it if he broke her leg. Ever. ) “I’m buying you a drink!”

“Caveat emptor,” says England snippily, and doesn’t let up on the barstool. Whoever said the English were civil, gracious and polite? “I came here for some peace and quiet, for a change.”

“Yeah, well, I came to join the club.”

America had figured England had someplace to go when she’d pretended she’d not noticed the way France was deliberately ignoring her and swanned out of the NATO headquarters like she had better things to do. Without talking to any of her own people either. It usually meant England was taking herself directly to the nearest source of both dimness and decent alcohol so she could bitch-text whoever wasn’t at the latest conference with her about how much she hated everything.

A drink and getting away from everyone glaring daggers into his back or offering gentle ‘suggestions’ about his boss had sounded pretty great to America, so he’d followed her. There isn’t enough time allotted for lunch for England to get totally wasted (something the world and certainly America must be very grateful for), but some mild inebriation for the both of them would probably make the afternoon’s meetings a lot easier to get through.

America toes one of the barstool’s feet, letting the dull thud shake up through England’s heel. “We can’t be social pariahs together?”

England still looks suspicious. “Alone, together?”

“With alcohol,” says America, right as the bartender slides their drinks over to them. The guy might hate English, but he has pretty good timing, so America digs out one of what he thinks is one of the more high-value pieces of rainbow paper most of Europe calls money out of his wallet and tells him to keep the change.

England huffs at him, but she withdraws her heel so America can finally pull the barstool out to sit, distracting herself by fishing the maraschino cherry out of her Old-Fashioned to pop it between her lips. “I swear: if you try to talk shop with me right now, I’ll stab you somewhere unpleasant.”

“Didn’t know there was somewhere pleasant to stab a guy,” America comments as he finally takes a seat, holding up both hands in the universal gesture for whoa there when England grins a grin that looks entirely too mean for an elaboration to be anything America wants to hear about in public. “I’ll take your word for it; I don’t wanna know!”

“Where did your spirit of adventure disappear to?” England teases him, and finishes her first drink in one long swallow before reaching out to her new cocktail.

America picks up his own, gesturing in the vague but not explicit of England beside him as his fingers slide in the condensation on the glass, “There’s adventure, and there’s…”

“Where angels fear to tread?” America takes a swallow of his Old-Fashioned so he doesn’t have to answer, the bitters heavy on his tongue under the whiskey burn, and England snorts at him. Flicks back her hair again, but thankfully doesn’t reach out to pat his cheek. “It’s been a long time since you were a cherub, darling.”

America squints at her, because he might have to recalculate just how quickly England can get herself shitfaced when the mood strikes. (He really needs to clean his glasses.) “How many drinks have you had? ”

“Not enough,” sighs England, which is a feeling America can definitely empathise with. At least as long as England isn’t sliding sideways off her barstool. “I keep hoping the alcohol will drown out all their squabbling.”

“S’it working?”

“Like fuck is it.” England toasts him idly, takes a sip of her drink, and then grumbles, “And you don’t help.”

“Thanks,” says America with the same amount of cheer. Maybe he can drown himself in whiskey.

“I’ve my own shit to deal with without my people harping on about your shit,” England continues unnecessarily, because America, of course, could not have possibly heard any of this same spiel from any of the other Nations or their people gathered in Brussels that day already. “If your tit of a boss could just not do what he did in Canada and leave one thing unfucked for the rest of us, that’d be smashing.”

“That’s the plan,” America sighs - and then hurries on before England can harangue him further, “but what’s your strategy?”

The element of surprise works - for once - in his favour, and England is distracted. “Hm?”

“For winning over Europe,” America clarifies - and then pauses with his glass against his mouth, sweet cherry bobbing against his lower lip, realising something. “Is that why you’re wearing a new suit?”

He’d thought England’s skirt suit had been smart: it’s all crisp lines with a nipped waist, dark grey herringbone blazer against the stiff white collar of her blouse, but the straight skirt is definitely showing off a lot of her legs.

America has heard far too many people compliment England’s legs in front of him over the years, and he groans at the mental images. “It is, ain’t it?”

England has the decency to blush - or at least allow all the booze she’s imbibed so far to do it on her behalf. The colour bleeds down her throat, and America groans again into his Old-Fashioned, taking a large swig from his tumbler and tucking the cherry into his cheek. “I -”

“I don’t wanna know,” America gripes, and hopes the whiskey will burn his revelation out of his head. Europe.

Still pink, England coughs, and takes another sip from her own cocktail. For a few moments, they have quiet.

“...Probably for the best,” England admits quietly, eventually, and then shifts enough over on her stool so she can nudge her knee up against America’s. “Thanks for the drink.”

The 2018 NATO summit was held in Brussels, Belgium, July 11-12. It took place in the (new) NATO headquarters found there, in a complex in Haren (part of the City of Brussels municipality). I don’t know if there are any good bars nearby the complex, but you’d think there would be with all the demand there must be.

The 44th G7 summit was held in La Malbaie, Quebec, Canada, in June 2018 - obviously, before the NATO summit. It received a lot of attention internationally because of (as others have more tactfully put it) ‘a significant decline of relations of members with the United States’, and was dubbed G6+1 by France and parts of the media as a result. The US withdrew in what seemed like a huff from several important international agreements, and was widely condemned by international politicians, climate change scientists, trade policy experts, foreign policy experts… etc. The US President left the summit early in order to travel to Singapore for the USA’s first summit with North Korean leader Kim Jong-un, and was dubbed ‘the democratic world’s worst nightmare’ - all of which, of course, led to a rather fraught political atmosphere for all nations going to the NATO summit the following month.

...Do I really need to make a note about Brexit?

All the titles for this ‘verse come from poetry/literature created around the time the fic is set. This one is taken from a few lines from the poem Running, by Joy Harjo, which was published in July 2018 in The New Yorker: Now I have to find my way, when there’s a river to cross and no Boat to get me there, when there appears to be no home at all.

#s&pweek2019 #Shacha fic #usuk #nyotalia #fem!England #Arthur Kirkland #Alfred F. Jones #hetalia

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artificialqueens · 6 years ago

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Free Falling, Chapter 8: Bring the Bitter Taste to a Halt (Branjie) - writworm42

A/N: Thank you holtzmanns for beta-ing! Title taken from Sweetener by Ariana Grande.

Last chapter: Brooke & Vanessa finally get together, thanks to some good old hijinks & tomfoolery from the others on the unit.

This chapter: Brooke & Vanessa go on their first date.

The Royale Diner was by no means the most romantic place in the city. Heck, it probably wasn’t the most romantic place in the intersection,not since that couple had gotten married in the McDonalds across the street last month. But if you asked Vanessa, it had the best comfort food in the world - and there was no better first date to her than sharing soul food with someone that very well could be her soulmate. And that night, when Vanessa caught a glimpse at Brooke’s face as she led her through the plexiglass doors, Vanessa knew that she had made the right choice.

It wasn’t every woman she took out who stared at the diner’s decor in awe before they were even through the plexiglass doors, mesmerized by their reflections the classic checkerboard floors and the glossy red finishes on the vinyl booth couches. It wasn’t every woman whose face lit up in admiration when the waitress came by and offered Vanessa her favourite table and a coffee on the house before they’d even finished saying hello. And it wasn’t every woman who ordered banana pancakes with such enthusiasm she almost broke the table when she slammed the menu shut determinately, blushing deeply when the waitress joked that she’d always known Vanessa liked women who knew what they wanted.

Nor was it every woman who stole pretty much all the fried chicken off of Vanessa’s plate without so much as a sheepish apology, but hey, it wasn’t every woman from whom Vanessa would allow it.

Vanessa wasn’t sure she could put her finger on it, but there was something different about their conversation as they ate. The topics were pretty much the same—their families, different dance competitions, how frustrating anti-vaxx campaigners were—but their tone was lighter, more cheerful, full of giggles and bashful pauses and looks stolen when they thought the other wasn’t looking. It was nice; for once, Vanessa didn’t have to wonder if Brooke’s lingering gaze was because she’d done something wrong, and there was no need for her own heart to quicken with anxiety every time Brooke caught her staring. For once, Vanessa didn’t feel pressure to draw out their contact for as long as possible, afraid to let the other woman go.

“You know, I’m really glad you’re gettin’ to know the kids.” Vanessa took advantage of a lull in conversation, thinking back to the card Brooke had given her. There was no way, thinking about it now, that Brooke had cut it herself, despite the cursive message scrawled there. Really, the jagged lines and safety scissor-crushed edges seemed much more characteristic of Monet, so much so that Vanessa wondered if Brooke had helped her make it. After all, Brooke had been spending more time with the families, trying to discern what they liked and didn’t like, what she could cut or move around or bring to the board to prove the unit was doing well. And Monet was exactly the kind of personality Brooke would love, confident and clever and eclectic, never anyone but herself.

In fact, in Vanessa’s opinion, Brooke probably needed to be around kids like Monet more often, to realize that she could be all those ways, too.

“Yeah, the focus groups have been going really well.” Brooke nodded enthusiastically. “I’m learning a lot.”

“I’m glad, but that’s not what I mean.” Vanessa chuckled, “I mean the rec programs–it’s really cool you sat in with Monet to help her cut the card you gave me.”

Brooke’s fork froze halfway to her mouth.

“Card?” her mouth dropped open mid-chew in disbelief, “I didn’t give you a card.”

“Well, your Valentine,” Vanessa rolled her eyes, “But it’s the same thing, really.”

“No, I–Vanessa, I didn’t get you a Valentine.” Brooke frowned. Realizing the implication of what she’d said, she looked back up at Vanessa in a panic, words tumbling from her mouth as she added, “That’s not to say I don’t like you! I like you so much, like, like you, that’s why I wanted to take you up on your offer of your date! I swear, I was so happy, it’s just that I didn’t think you’d be okay if I made the first–”

“Whoa, hold on, Mary!” Vanessa waved a hand to catch Brooke’s attention, confusion the only thing suppressing the laugh bubbling inside her throat. “What you mean, my offer of a date? You came to me .”

“But… Your card. The Valentine on my desk.” Brooke blinked, staring blankly at the woman across from her.

“Mama, there was no Valentine.” Vanessa shook her head.

There was a beat, the wheels turning in both of their heads, before the cogs finally clicked together.

“Oh my God, I’m gonna kill Nina.” Brooke laughed loudly, Vanessa unable to resist joining in.

“Well, I mean, all that shit they was tryin’ to pull finally worked, I guess.” Vanessa grinned, her heart swelling at the beaming smile that was still radiating off of Brooke, the blonde’s shoulders shaking with little chuckles as she tried and failed to calm down.

“I swear to God, it’s like elementary school again.” Brooke shook her head as the two finally settled, and Vanessa gave a little laugh, unable to do anything but agreed.

Those girls were all fucking nightmares, but God bless them for helping her experience such a wonderful dream as the woman sitting across from her, sipping her coffee over a wry, yet still giddy smile.

Unfortunately, dreams never did last, and so once the humour of the situation finally dissipated, the two were left in silence, the mention of the hospital and all it implied falling heavy over the air in the booth.

“Quarter’s coming up.” Vanessa prompted quietly.

“Yeah.” Brooke nodded, causing a twinge of remorse to sear through Vanessa’s chest when she noticed how suddenly the colour seemed to drain from the other woman’s face at the comment.

“You’re gonna be okay.” Vanessa reached across the table and gave Brooke’s hand a squeeze.

“Yeah.” Brooke’s face faltered briefly, her voice hollow, and Vanessa felt her heart crush. Their plates were empty now, and if Vanessa knew anything about Brooke, it was that the minute they left the restaurant, she’d be back en route into the hospital to try and do more work. She couldn’t let that happen; things couldn’t end that way. Not tonight.

Brooke deserved so much more than that.

“You wanna go see a movie?” the idea popped into Vanessa’s head at random, but she let it come out without hesitation; there was no time to think of another one, and anyway, there was a movie theatre not far from the diner that plays old family movies, and there was bound to be a romantic one playing for Valentine’s day.

“Yeah.” Brooke nodded, a reassured and grateful smile spreading across her face, and Vanessa breathed out a little, knowing she’d made the right choice.

—

As it turned out, there were no romantic movies playing at the Black Hole Cinema Club that night. Apparently the owner had just broken up with her girlfriend, meaning that the only movie playing was one chosen at random from the theatre’s Family Fun Night archives. As a result, less than thirty minutes later, Brooke and Vanessa sat munching on a large bag of popcorn as the opening credits of Daddy Daycare began to roll. Vanessa had never minded the movie; it was cute, and had some genuinely funny scenes. This time, though, she watched with a growing interest.

The second half of the movie involved the threat of cuts. The threat was responded to with a fundraiser, one that worked even better than needed for the daycare to succeed. A happy ending for all except the asshole trying to take the daycare down.

It was just a movie; real life didn’t work like that. But still, even after the movie had ended, the fundraiser scenes stuck in Vanessa’s mind.

It was crazy. It was foolish. It probably wouldn’t work.

But it also might, and for the unit, for Brooke , Vanessa was willing to take that chance.

The only snag in the plan was Brooke herself. After an hour or so of scheming and scribbling out plans on paper, exchanging texts with Silky, A’Keria, and the others, she realized with a jolt that she had never actually brought up the plan with Brooke, who was arguably the most important player in the whole operation. No, she had to get clearance first–it was only right, after all of Brooke’s hard work. She was about to pick up her phone and call the other woman, when suddenly, a thought froze her finger before she could dial.

If Vanessa’s plan did get put into action, it would take a tremendous amount of work, work that Brooke would no doubt try to take on almost entirely by herself. Vanessa could all too easily imagine Brooke losing entire nights of sleep applying for permits, calling vendors, and climbing into bed at 2 AM only to stay awake the rest of the night worrying.

The plan might keep the unit afloat, but Vanessa just couldn’t bring herself to drown Brooke in the process.

She put down the phone and continued planning, deciding that she would tell Brooke once things were more firmly in place.

–

If there’s one thing that Vanessa learned from her years as an occupational therapist, it was that whenever you’re getting ready to do something, you need to hope for the best but plan for the worst.

In this case, the worst came crashing through during rounds the next morning, and it was definitely something Vanessa hadn’t prepared for.

Everything started out normal; as planned, Vanessa told everyone to meet her a half-hour early for rounds so that they could talk fundraising. As planned, everyone showed up ready to get to work.

Unfortunately, what she hadn’t planned was for Brooke to see everyone going the same way into the meeting room, chattering excitedly. What she hadn’t planned was for Brooke to wonder what was going on, for the blonde to let herself think that maybe people were still talking about the date from yesterday. What she hadn’t planned was for Brooke to be in such a good mood that she thought she’d follow everyone in, catching them right in the middle of planning.

What she hadn’t planned was for Nina to have too much integrity to lie when Brooke asked what was going on.

And she certainly, definitely hadn’t planned for Brooke to be incredibly mad.

Vanessa had been on the receiving end of Brooke’s workplace-appropriate anger to know that when Brooke was upset, she didn’t yell or rage. Instead, she stood up even taller, let her smile fall flat, and made her voice go quietly, terrifyingly formal.

“Vanessa, may I please see you outside?” Brooke’s voice was quiet, but her gaze was pointed at Vanessa with a fire that Vanessa didn’t think she’d ever seen, one that made her shut up and follow Brooke out into the hallway without another word.

“Is this some kind of a joke to you?” The door had barely closed before Brooke turned on Vanessa, her rage now finally starting to spill out as she hissed, “I told you not to tell anyone!”

“It’s alright, though, they don’t blame you–”

“Shut up.” Brooke snapped, pure vitriol coating her voice. Vanessa blinked, the words taking a few moments to process before setting her crumbling.

Brooke had never spoken to her like that before. Even when she’d talked back, even when she’d been a bit of a jerk, Brooke had always been patient, at most putting up a hand and telling her to let her finish.

“You broke my trust.” Brooke continued, “I told you not to tell anyone, and you broke my trust. I told you I didn’t want people to worry, it was my business anyway–”

“Whoa whoa, slow down, Mary!” Vanessa snapped to, the comment bringing her back to her usual stubborn attention. “This ain’t just ‘your business’ here. Everyone could lose their job. You ain’t even care, you was gonna fire half of us a few months ago anyway–”

Now it was Brooke’s turn to be taken aback. “Fire… Oh, for God’s sake, Vanessa! That was different, and I wouldn’t even think of it now!”

“Well, if you’d just listen, you’d know that–”

“Hey, guys?” both of them stopped talking when Nina poked her head out of the meeting room, a worried frown on her face. “Listen, we couldn’t help but overhear, and we just wanted to let you know, Brooke, Vanjie only came to us because she had this idea for a fundraiser–”

“Go back inside, Nina.” Brooke put her face in her hands, her voice finally evening out. The calm was short-lived, though; once Nina had retreated back into the meeting room, Brooke turned back to Vanessa with a renewed fire, one that was even more intense than before.

“Brooke, listen–”

“No, Vanessa.” Brooke shook her head. “God, you’re really something else, you know that? Not only do you tell everyone something I told you not to, but you decide it’s perfectly fine to just undermine all my hard work–”

Her hard work?

Oh, no. Absolutely not.

“Now, listen, bitc–coin. Bitcoin. Listen. You ain’t the only one workin’ hard. Don’t you come up here actin’ like you ain’t the only one scared or the only one who cares! I ain’t do nothing but try to help, the least you could say is thank you!”

“You just don’t get it, do you?” Brooke gave a hollow laugh. “It’s not about the fundraiser, or about how this feels. It’s about the fact that I trusted you, Vanessa. And I shouldn’t have.”

Vanessa said nothing; deep down, she knew she should, but she couldn’t. Not just then, when she was this angry.

Besides, she didn’t really have the chance–a second had barely passed before Brooke was walking away.

#rpdr fanfiction #brooke lynn hytes #vanessa vanjie mateo #branjie #free falling #lesbian au #hospital au #writworm42

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