#again does not HAVE to happen but like. i think they’d sneak him into 21+ music venues for the experience but not let him drink alcohol. | Explore Tumblr posts and blogs

wylanvnneck · 4 years ago

Note

Hi!! I was wondering if you could write the angst prompt number 1 with jurdan??🥰

Angst Prompt #1: “The worst part is you didn’t even notice.”

Fandom: TFOTA

Ship: Jurdan

Masterlist | Prompt List

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

High pitched giggles peal through the air and the noise makes the 21 year old Cardan Greenbriar wince. He’d been away from his hometown of Elfhame for 2 years now, having happily left it and his controlling family behind after graduation to go live in his dorm room back at Insmire University with his crazy roommates. Yet here he was, back again for a week-long visit in honour of his old friend Locke’s engagement.

He and Locke had never been all that close to begin with, but he had been his oldest friend, and it did seem like a good idea to come back for a bit and see how much things had changed in the years since he’d be gone, which didn’t seem to be all that much.

Locke was still the same fox-faced wastrel that he had been, except that he was now engaged and the other member of their old gang, Valerian was still as snarky as usual, a perpetual sneer on his face whenever someone attempted to speak to him. Seated at a round outdoors table surrounded by his High School acquaintances, Cardan feels nothing but boredom.

He grips the neck of his wine glass even tighter when he sees the source of the giggling emerge from Locke’s house where his engagement party was being hosted. Taryn Duarte the Bride to Be and her posse of friends strut out into the garden from the inside of the house where they’d been gathered together doing goodness knows what for the past half hour. A glimpse of blue hair catches his eye and he recognises it as belonging to a girl named Nicasia that he used to be friends with back in High School, a million years ago.

Taryn’s six inch heels click against the asphalt of the garden path and the sight of her familiar icy brown eyes and dark hair brings up a volley of almost forgotten feelings within him. Not feelings for the rather cold female before him, but for who she reminded him of. Her twin.

Involuntarily he finds himself scanning the group of women for any sign of Taryn’s sister before coming up short and then chastising himself for looking in the first place. Jude belonged in the past where he had buried her. He takes another sip of the red wine in his hand before shifting his attention back to the conversations happening at his table, a politely unimpressed looking Garrett talked in low tones with his friend Van, both of them engrossed in whatever they were discussing, and a slightly inebriated Valerian was attempting to flirt with the disgusted woman seated next to him.

Resisting the urge to let out a growl he downs the contents of his glass in one go before standing up to re-enter the house and get a refill, needing some kind of distraction.

He’s just finished pouring some more Merlot into his glass from the otherwise empty bar table when a rustling sound travels from somewhere nearby. He glances up at the staircase by the other end of the room, catching sight of a silky white fabric and dark brown hair before whoever it was disappears from view. Stange, he’d thought all of the other guests were outside. Setting his glass down on the table he climbs up the stairs, curiosity getting the better of him.

Having reached the landing he searches for any sign of where the person might have gone, walking a little further down the hallway on the left before seeing the big French windows leading out to the balcony flung open, the cool night air drifting in.

Cautiously, he approaches, his body going on high alert when he notices who it is that’s standing out on the balcony, hands loosely clutching the metal rails and face turned up towards the starlit sky. Her chestnut hair is tied in an intricate braid hanging down her back and she’s wearing a slim fitting black top and flowy white pants which sway gently around her legs and she looks even more gorgeous than she had in their High School days. He takes a moment to catch his breath before slowly trudging forwards to join her.

She turns when she hears footsteps approaching, a slight frown marring her expression before she recognises him and it clears. Her gaze is as disarming as it used to be.

"Shit, man, don't just sneak up on people like that," a corner of her lip quirks.

He holds up his hands in mock surrender, "Oops, sorry."

“I didn’t know you were coming.” He catches the questioning lilt in her statement.

“It was a last minute kind of thing, I wasn’t sure if I’d be coming either, until yesterday.”

She nods and he positions himself next to her but at a safe distance, one hand coming to rest carelessly on the balcony rail next to hers.

He watches her let out a soft whoosh of breath, looking down at the garden where people were now dancing to the music that had started playing on the expensive speaker set under the bright fairy lights. There’s laughter and cigarette smoke wafting upwards, but from their little spot up above, everything seemed to be much farther away than it really was.

Eventually, he breaks the silence. “So, Taryn and Locke, huh?”

“Yep.” She replies. The look on her face is one he can’t quite decipher.

He clears his throat and speaks in a tight voice. “Are you...upset by that? I know you and Locke used to be close.”

He recalls the rumour that used to fly around during their senior year, people whispering about Jude and Locke having a thing. He also remembers the sharp pain that he’d felt when he’d heard that Locke had asked Jude to be his date to their Senior prom and that she’d accepted. Cardan vaguely remembers asking Nicasia to be his date to that very same prom, but the only thing that comes to mind when he thinks about that night is the haze of jealousy that had clouded his mind when he’d seen Locke twirling a grinning Jude around the dance floor.

“Me and Locke? God no. He was just a friend. Although, I think even that was only because he kept showing up and trying to talk to me in Senior Year for no apparent reason.”

Cardan feels a surprisingly strong sense of relief wash over him at the fact that Jude was never interested in Locke that way, before his eyebrows knit together a moment later. He’d drunkenly confessed his ginormous crush on Jude to Locke at the start of their senior year, and immediately regretted it the next day. It wouldn’t surprise him if Locke had been cozying up to Jude simply to get on his nerves. It definitely seemed like something the manipulative scoundrel would do.

Not that it mattered anymore. Years had passed and he’d probably lost his chance. If he’d ever had the chance in the first place.

“I heard you’ve been off at uni all this time. Insmire, huh?” Her words are light but he’s slightly astonished that she’d been keeping track of where he’d been for the past few years.

“Yeah, it was the break I needed.”

“What are you studying?”

“My dad wanted me to do Business for when I inherit his company, but I’m also doing a course on Classical and Ancient Languages, purely because I wanted to.”

“That’s great, Cardan.” Her sincerity is clear. “I remember how controlling your dad was. It’s great that you’re finally getting to be your own person.”

He’s sure that his astonishment at her words is blatantly obvious because a barely detectable flush travels up her neck and she averts her gaze. Not only had Jude Duarte been keeping track of where he’d been, she’d also noticed his strained relationship with his father all those years ago. A thrill rises up inside of him.

“Thank you.” He pauses. “So what have you been up to these days?” he asks, like he hasn’t been checking her social media pages at least once every few months, unwittingly grinning whenever he came across one of her rare posts with her and her few friends hanging out together outside of her own University in Nightfell.

“Oh, same as you actually, getting a taste of independence at Uni. Doing a course on Criminal Justice.”

“That sounds amazing. Tell me all about it.”

And she does, her eyes lighting up as she talks about a subject that she enjoys studying and half of his attention is taken up by what she’s saying and the other half is just focused on her, on the way the moon illuminates one half of her and how the breeze is playing with a few loose strands of her hair and the way her mouth is moving whilst she speaks. They chat for what feels like ages before the conversation eventually flows to a comfortable halt and they hear the clanging of plates and glasses below as the other guests start on dinner, and he knows they’ll have to leave this place of idyll at some point.

He hates that. That they’re on borrowed time and that they were separated by too many years and very separate lives for their situation to be anything different now. And yet, he needs to tell her, to let her know, even if it can’t change anything.

“You know, back in High School I used to daydream about this. You and I, just talking.” He knows that the tips of his ears are probably flaming red, just like the rest of his head, but he forces himself not to look down and to keep meeting her stare. Her eyes widen when she registers what he’d said.

“I-What?” Her shock is apparent.

He breaks eye contact with her, withdrawing his hand from the spot next to hers on the rail, the disappointment coursing through him undeniable. He’d known that she’d never noticed him, but it still hurt to see the bafflement in her reaction.

“I had a crush on you for ages, pathetic pining and all, and the worst part is you didn’t even notice.”

She flounders, mouth slightly agape, for once not having a response and the smile that curls his lips is one without mirth.

“Well, it’s been nice talking to you Jude,” he grits out, swiftly turning in an attempt to flee with what was left of his dignity.

He’d made it to the top of the staircase before hearing her voice calling after him.

“Cardan! Cardan wait, goddammit.”

Reluctantly, he stops, bracing himself for the awkwardness of the next few minutes. She’d look at him with pity, explain to him that she wasn’t interested, or maybe that she had someone else. That last thought lances through him like a punch to the gut. During his self-indulgent social media searches he had never seen any posts that indicated that there was someone special in her life, but that didn’t necessarily mean that there wasn’t anyone. After all, Jude Duarte was a special type of woman, the type of woman that you fought for.

Too bad that he’d figured that out too late.

The sound of her boots clacking on the floor gets closer and closer and he turns around just in time for her to throw her arms around his neck and drag his head down to connect their lips, their noses bumping together in the process. Time stops, and his every High School fantasy comes true when he feels her tangle her tongue with his and it’s a little sloppy at first, especially since she had caught him off guard, but they find their rhythm and flames lick through his entire being. Frantically, he grabs a hold of her waist and pushes her until she’s against the wall, her fingers coming up to tangle in his locks as he strokes her sides.

She pulls away to breathe and they’re both panting harshly as if they had run a marathon.

“I had a crush on you too. I hated it and I tried to fight it because you used to pick on me in middle school.”

Had he? It was so long ago that he really couldn’t remember, but he also knew that he was precisely the type of person who’d want to hurt the girl that got under his skin.

“Really?” He grins ruefully.

“Yes, really.” She reaches up and playfully smacks the back of his head before carding her fingers through his hair in the same spot to soothe it.

‘Well, my middle school self humbly begs for your forgiveness.” He leans forward and presses their foreheads together, locking his gaze with hers.

“Apology accepted.”

And then they’re kissing once more. He may not have been prepared for a moment like this, but he was sure as hell going to hold on to it and never let go.

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

Some soft boi Cardan for you lovely peeps. I hope you see this and that you enjoy, Anon. Thanks for the ask!

Tagging: @cupcakesandkittens , @aelinfeyreeleven945tbln, @thewickedkings , @kittkatandbooboo , @min-unicorn, @fangirlprincess09, @thefolkofthefic

Let me know if you’d like to be added to or taken off of the tag list🌻

126 notes · View notes

airis-paris14 · 3 years ago

Text

Starlight Chapter 13

Summary: Amani is an orphaned heiress who's spent most of her life raising her younger sister. T'Challa is a widowed King and Father. Neither of them is expecting much from their night at the Lotus. But the coming months have many milestones in store for these young adults. Will becoming a family be one of them?

Warnings: N/A

Masterlist

2 months later

“Amani, I’m about to head out,” Amare called, grabbing her house keys off of the hook. “Okay, hold on, I'll be right back Baby.” T’Challa nodded into the phone and muted himself to speak to someone off screen. Amani hurried down the stairs and smiled at her little sister. “Okay, passport, keys, tickets, wallet, and medicine in carryon?”

“Yes mother,” Amare smirked.

“I’m just trying to keep you safe kid,” the older Okeke smiled and pulled her in for a hug. “You’re 18, not 21, so please, no sneaking off without telling Shuri’s guards where you all are going. Limit your alcohol intake, I know it’s legal over there but the last thing I need is a call from a German hospital saying you have alcohol poisoning.”

“I promise I will limit the drinking, and the sneaking out.”

“Good. Have fun, be safe. I love you.” Amani smiled and pulled her sister in for another hug. “Love you too sis. I’ll only be gone for a week.”

“I know, but you know I hate saying goodbye. You’re all I have left kid. But I want to let you live, so go before you miss your flight. Hug Shuri for me.

“I’ll call you when I land.” Amare bounded down the front steps and into her already packed car. Amani sighed watching her wave one last time before pulling off down the street. She waved at the patrol car as it drove by on its hourly surveillance drive by, before locking her door and heading up the stairs into her office. “And I’m back,” she plopped into her seat, reopening her MacBook.

“Personally I don’t think it’s fair that our sisters see each other more than we do,” the king teased. Amani rolled her eyes, “This is their first time seeing each other since we came home, it’s only been two months,” Amani laughed. “Yes, and after having you here for three months, I’ve decided that 61 days is too long to be out of your presence.”

“Well you know I’m working to get the venue started up, I just can’t travel as much as usual. You know I would be there if I could,” Her voice began to tremble.

“I know my love,” T’Challa reassured, “I am just teasing,” he frowned, noticing her eyes tearing up. “I know but lately I’ve just been feeling like such a bad girlfriend,” she began to sob and the king panicked. “Hey no, you’re perfect. Nothing's wrong. It’s on both of us and I was gonna tell you that I was planning to surprise you with a visit.”

“Really?” Amani sniffled.

“Yes so please stop crying entle.” The heiress grabbed a tissue from the box she had begun to keep on her desk after noticing that even the little things made her tear up. “I’m sorry. I ruined the surprise again,” she chuckled, wiping the tears from her cheeks. “It is fine, now you have something to look forward to. You hate them anyway,” the king teased.

“Are you sure you’re alright though my love? You have been extra-sensitive lately.”

“In more ways than one,” the heiress murmured. “Have you been to the new doctor, did she run the tests the doctor here ordered?” The king grabbed a stack of papers and began signing them. “Yep,” Amani read over and responded to an email her contractor sent before turning her attention back to T’Challa. “I have an appointment with her tomorrow. She and Dr. Zabulie both sounded very excited so I’m hoping it's a positive result.”

The king smiled at the news, “Well then I’ll be expecting a full report as soon as you know.”

“Of course. I’ll call your mother as well, I wouldn’t even be in this position if you all hadn’t encouraged me to go see another doctor.”

“We both just want what is best for you,” the king smiled, “but unfortunately I have a meeting to attend to my love. I will call you later tonight, okay?”

“Of course, I’ll see you later.” She blew a kiss through the phone before the king had to hang up. After responding to more emails, she scheduled some property manager interviews for later in the week and a building walk through. Her phone caught her attention as it began to ring, “Hello?” She answered. “Hey, Kura and I finished those designs for different set ups and interiors, are you free to go over them?”

“Yeah,” Amani smiled. While in Wakanda she and her friends decided to go into the event business together. They’d bought an old hotel downtown in Atlanta and decided to turn it into a sleepover venue. With suites and rooms designed for different party sizes and moveable features to make the room age appropriate. A spa, boutique, and restaurant, would be located on the grounds as well. There was also a separate grand ballroom and garden that allowed them to market the place as an all in one wedding venue. They’d started work while in Wakanda and now two months later they were weeks away from opening the ballroom, gardens, and other non overnight amenities for event bookings. They would use the money from the rentals to help recover the costs of renovating the hotel rooms.

“Bet. We’ll be over in 30. Sakura has to pick up the pizza first.”

“Cool, don’t forget extra garlic butter sauce. Imma hop in the shower. Y’all can just use your keys to let yourselves in.”

After hanging up the phone Amani hopped in the shower and let the water soothe her muscles. She’d been working so hard to make sure everything came together and it finally was. She was more in love with T’Challa each day, she was starting a business with her friends, and Darius had been spotted in New York living with some family he had there. She still had nightly surveillance, but knowing that he’d move out of the state definitely calmed her nerves.

“Madiyson?” The heiress called as the sound of the front door caught her attention. When she didn’t receive a response she shrugged and figured she had her beats on. She quickly motioned with her coconut oil,slipped into some sweatpants, and pulled a sports bra over her head before a voice sent a chill down her spine. “You’ve been holding out on me Amani.”

Darius got up from his seat behind her on the bed and revealed the kitchen knife he was holding. “If I had known you could look like that, I would’ve made you work out more.”

“How the hell did you get in my house?”

“No Thank you? Darius frowned.

“What do I have to thank you for?”

“Giving you a second chance,” Darius smirked before lunging at the Okeke heiress. Amani, dodged his lunge as he ran into the dresser she was standing in front of. “ A second chance for what you bastard!” The heiress resisted the urge to search for her phone, she knew Darius, he watched her eyes always to anticipate her next move. “You ruined my life. You were supposed to be my wife, look pretty, give me kids. Instead your ass got me locked up for damn near life. Now my dad is all on my ass because he had to call in a favor with the DA and the governor in one sitting-”

“Well maybe your ass should’ve just stayed in jail then!” Amani ducked, expecting the lamp on the nightstand to fly towards her head. She took the moment she dodged the light fixture to locate her phone. It was too far and she knew that she’d never be able to reach it before Darius finished his spiel. She’d have to leave her friends a clue that something had gone wrong.

“Now,” Darius eyed Amani as she backed up against the wall, “as I was saying. Everyone is counting on me to not fuck up! Which means I need to get my old life back, starting with you Ms. Okeke, now heiress of the Okeke Industries Tech Conglomerate.”

“No one will ever believe that we are a happy couple once again Darius, they found me, clinging to life, hypothermic, and bleeding because you literally beat our child out of me. It was on the five o'clock news for weeks straight.” Amani risked eyeing her keys once more, hoping that the plan she was hatching would work.

“What better way to show them that I am a changed man, than by having you forgive me. A redeemed love, a true love,” Darius stepped up to Amani and caressed her cheeks and lips. The woman felt like crawling out of her skin but she held it together. “Why don’t you just find another woman?” Not that Amani wished Darius on any other woman, she’d prefer he’d be locked up in a cell, but she needed to get him to back up. “Does it really matter? I want you, and I’ve already invested a lot in you Amani. You got a little break to have fun and spend time with other men, but you are mine. You always were and you always will be, it’s time I got a return on my investment. “ Darius took a seat on Amani’s bed and she silently rejoiced.

“Okay, then what’s your plan?”

“You don’t need to know all of that. Just know that I’m not leaving you behind Amani.” Darius pointed the knife and Amani nodded, “I’m just gonna grab my keys,” she gestured. “If I go missing, the police will look at all of your father’s and friend’s properties, no one will think I was stupid enought to take you to one of our vacation homes.” At least the waitress hoped this wasn’t the stupidest idea she’d ever had.

“Nah, cause I’m sure your friends and man know all about those places. Not to mention your little sister.”

“Amare is out of the country at a science conference, won’t be home for two weeks, you’ll have time to move me before she can get back. As for the others, they don’t even know we own vacation properties.” Amani scoured through her keys and grabbed the one she knew her sister would recognize as missing first. “Here, we can go to the chateau in the mountains in North Carolina. It’s secluded. No one for miles around.”

Darius stood up, “Nah, there’s a reason you’re helping me. What is it?”

“You’re never gonna leave me alone otherwise. I don’t wanna die, and this is most likely the last time I’ll ever get a decision about something that happens to me. Think of it as my final words.” As soon as the excuse left her mouth Amani felt her mouth go dry and heavy, for some reason, it did feel like she’d sealed her own fate.

“Amani!” Madiyson called as she entered the apartment. Sakura followed in hot on her heels to place the heavy pizzas in the kitchen. “I still don’t know why you ordered four pizzas for 3 people,” Madiyson laughed, dropping all of her interior design sketches and renderings on the table. “As much of a perfectionist each of us is… We're gonna be here all night and y’all are gonna be glad I bought enough pizza.”

“Well if AMANI would BRING. HER. ASS. DOWN. THE. STAIRS we could get started and be done at a godly hour.” Madison yelled up the stairs into the continued silence. “You told her we were coming, right?”Sakura joined her friend at the base of Amani’s stairs and frowned. “Yeah, she said just let ourselves in.”

“Maybe she’s taking a nap, she’s been doing that more often than usual.”

“Oh god, if she’s taking a nap then she’ll be dead to the world right now. You wanna wake her up while I set up?” Madiyson shook her head and walked back over to the couch in the living room. “Sure, just throw me into the lion’s den. You know she hates being woken up by anyone but Amare and Ada.” Sakura whined. “You’ll be fine, she would never hate you. Just make it seem like she woke herself up. Throw a pillow or something.” Madiyson shrugged and opened her laptop.

“Always the sacrifice, never the beneficiary,” Sakura mumbled as she jogged up the stairs into Amani’s room. “Mani,” the afro-asian woman sang as she burst into the room, only to be greeted by a perfectly made bed. “Amani?'' She tried to calm her heartbeat as she checked her friend’s closet and bathroom. “Okay focus, details details,” Sakura chanted to herself. “7:47, no phone in the room, nothing messed up, somebody sat on the bed,” the waitress took note of the room as she backed her way out, down the stairs, and towards the garage. “Hey, did you- what’s wrong,” Madiyson frowned as her best friend opened the garage door and looked out. “Did she say she was gonna leave?” Sakura ignored Madiyson’s original question, feeling her stomach drop at the presence of Amani’s car, and the empty house. “No, she said she was gonna take a shower-”

“Madiyson, She’s not here.”

“Look, I already told you what happened. Madiyson called Amani at 6:30, she picked me up, we picked up the pizzas, let ourselves in, but she wasn’t here when i went to check on her. I went into the room at 7:47. The shower had been turned on and the room was steamy, and someone had sat on her bed but Amani hates that unless she’s about to go to sleep. Except she isn’t in her room sleeping!”

“Why are you all not taking this seriously! Her abusive ex is a known kidnapping threat. For God’s sake she’s had a 24/7 patrol for months because there was fear he would try to retaliate! Now that she’s missing, y’all aren’t doing a damn thing.” Madiyson butted in frustrated at the officers staring at them like they were aliens from outer space.

“Ma’am, we are just trying to get all the facts first-”

I’ve given them to you three times, if you can’t comprehend then we’ve got a bigger problem!” Sakura fumed and the officers stood. “We’ll call headquarters and see what we can do. Technically it has to be 48 hours before we can report and adult as missing-”

“Just get out please,” Madiyson sighed. She held open the door for the officers who hesitated, their feathers obviously ruffled.

“I’ll try calling Amare again.” Sakura stood and walked out after the officers left. Madiyson locked the door and stared up at the clock, realizing she should probably call T’Challa.

“Hello?” Madiyson breathed deeply as the call finally connected to the king, “T, she’s gone,” the woman’s voice warbled but her words shook the king all the same. “What do you mean she is gone?” He stood, immediately stumbling to slip on some shoes and race through the halls to his mother’s room. “Sakura and I came for a meeting, and she wasn’t here. Her car is here but she isn't and she assured us she’d be here taking a shower. Someone else was here because someone was sitting on her bed, at the bottom. You know she hates people ruffling her sheets.”

“Have you talked to Amare? Are you sure she didn’t take her to the airport?”

“We’ve been trying to reach her but she's still on the plane. She would have been back by now if she just went to the airport. She knew we were coming.” Madiyson broke, sobbing into the phone.

T’Challa’s heart dropped, his mind racing back to how he’d begged his lover not to go back until the rumors that her abuser had officially moved were confirmed. Now she was gone and the king felt he had failed to protect her. “Madiyson, Madiyson, I need you to breathe and keep breathing. Did you call the police?”

“Yes, but-“ Madiyson stumbled trying to regain her composure, “they said since it hasn’t been 48 hours it’s not technically a missing persons case.”

The king felt anger rush through his veins, “So they aren’t doing anything?”

“Not really,” Madiyson moved to grab tissue from Amani’s bathroom. “Have her call the detectives over these two imbeciles. She was on 24 hour surveillance due to risk of revenge from her abuser. Them sitting around doesn’t make any sense.”

“I know, I know, I’m heading downstairs right now-” Madison paused as she noticed Amani’s keys on her vanity. “Wait, one of her keys-” Madison trailed off flipping through the keys. “One of her keys is what?” T’Challa knocked on his mother’s door. “It’s missing. When her parents died, she kept keys to all of their properties. With them all labeled with numbers but I don’t know which one is which. Just number three is missing,” Madison ran a hand over her braids and huffed. T’Challa banged on his mother’s door again before taking a step back and pacing the hall. “Okay, You and Sakura just stay there, keep trying to reach Amare. I’m on my way and I’ll try to reach Shuri. See if you can figure out what key is missing.”

“Okay, call us when you land.”

T’Challa hung up the phone, “Umama!” He banged on the door before Ramonda yanked it open. “T’Challa, what in Bast’s name-”

“It’s Amani, she’s missing. We have to go now, can you try to reach Shuri? Her friends think they have a lead but we need to reach Amare.”

“How long has she been missing?” The queen mother rushed back in her room and started to get dressed and pack a bag. “We don’t know, I just got off the phone with Madiyson. They went to the house and she was missing.”

“Did they call the police?”

“They say they can’t report her absence until 48 hours has passed,” T’Challa opened his beads and messaged Okoye. I need you, Ayo, a plane, and five of your best warriors. Meet me on the tarmac in 30.”

“When do we leave?”

“In 30 minutes, I have to pack a bag. Ayo and Okoye will meet us at the tarmac with some back up, can you please try to reach Shuri while I get ready?”

“Yes, I will try calling her.”

The king nodded and turned to rush back to his room. “T’Challa,” Ramonda called out,”We will find her. She will be alright.” He offered his mother a sad smile before continuing down the hall.

“It’s the North Carolina key?”

“Yes. Number 3 it's her favorite number for her favorite house.” Amare insisted as Sakura flipped through the keys again.

“Do you know the address?” Madison interrupted.upiui

“Uh, number 3 Lodge Street Asheville, North Carolina.”

“And you’re sure that is the key that is missing?” T’Challa interrupted Madiyson and Amare. The teen looked at the king through the camera, the lights of the quinjet humming behind her as Shuri watched on. “Yes, I’m positive. Amani is heading to the North Carolina house.”

The king hit the table and turned to his guard, “We are heading to North Carolina. Now.”

“We’ll meet you there-”

“No,” T’Challa and his mother answered at the same time.``You two stay exactly where you are,'' Ramonda demanded. “All due respect, I am not staying over here in Germany when my sister has been kidnapped by her abuser!” Amare rebutted. “Yes, but for all we know he has men looking for you too. As well as Madiyson and Sakura. So until then, at least we know where you are. We are sending Dora Milaje to your hotel.” T’Challa finalized.

“No, I am not standing back when my sister is in danger. I wasn’t there the first time she was saved and opened her eyes, I want to be there this time.” Amare demanded while she teared up and T’Challa sighed. He walked around the desk to look at Okoye and his mother. “You all can head back to Wakanda, once the extra Dora arrive. Once we have her, we’ll bring her back to Shuri’s lab, there you guys can see her.” The king looked at everyone in the room, “Besides, I don’t think it is safe for any of you to be in the US alone right now.”

“So what are you saying?” Sakura sat up from her place on the couch. T’Challa nodded at the general of the Dora Milaje. Okoye tapped her staff and escorted the rest of the warriors out of the home. Once the door had shut the room turned to face T’Challa again. “I have been thinking, especially in light of what has happened to Amani, that you all should move to Wakanda. Stay in the palace of course. I know you two would have to travel for business and Amare we’d have to figure out your schooling, but it is obvious that this government has no vestment in keeping you all safe. I can do something about it and I will, if you all will let me.”

“I don’t know T-” Madiyson started.

“I had been thinking about transferring to study with Shuri, but I don’t know how Amani would take it.” Amare added. “She’s not just gonna give up her independence. She just got it back from Darius,” Sakura added. “I know but it is not safe here, at least for now. As well connected as that fugitive is, who knows what will happen to you all if he goes back to jail. I let Amani convince me she would be safe, and now two months later we are searching for her praying to Bast that she isn’t dead.”

“T’Challa this is not your fault,” Sakura interjected. “I know, but if I can keep you all safe, I have a responsibility to do so. You will have free will and autonomy, but at least inside Wakanda’s borders, I can guarantee your safety.

“I think this is a lovely conversation, but might I remind you all that this is a time sensitive case. Let’s table this discussion until we all make it back to Wakanda” Shuri interrupted the discussion that seemed to be heading towards an endless round table. “Shuri is right, time is of the essence.” Ramonda spoke standing, “everyone comes back to wakanda for the time being. Once we rescue Amani, we send our war dogs to clear any suspicions and make sure it is safe for you all to return. Then we make a decision. Until then-“

“We focus on the task at hand.” Madiyson finished and Ramonda agreed. “Shuri and Amare head back home once the Dora arrive. When we have Amani we’ll let you know.”

“Keep my sister safe T’Challa,” Amare asserted before hanging up. “She’s just nervous,” Sakura reassured. “We are all glad we have someone here to help us this time. But we should get on the road. Darius works fast.” The Afro-Asian waitress added solemnly. The king nodded, “Phambile,” he called and the guards opened the doors escorting everyone to the cars waiting to race to the airport.”

Fourteen Hours Ago

“Amani.” The heiress fumbled to wrap the stick back it s package and hide it on the sink before running out of her bathroom. “Hey,” she offered her younger sister a smile but only received a confused face in return. “Hey, you’re up early, I thought you’d be sleep,” Amare took a seat in one of the overstuffed arm chairs in her sisters bedroom. “I wasn’t feeling well. I got up to take some medicine no biggie,”Amani shrugged. “You go to the doctor again soon right? You should have her check it out.”

“She’s an OBGYN, but I’ll see what she might be able to recommend.”

“Cool, well I’d been thinking-“

“Oh that’s never good,” the heiress laughed as her sister shot daggers her way. “As I was saying. I’ve been thinking about transferring to study in Wakanda with Shuri. It’d make it easier for you to come see Tchalla and I could get accustomed to the culture before we move there-“

“Hey hey, who said we we’re moving to Wakanda?”

“Amani. I’m not dumb or a little girl anymore. I know how marriages and relationships work. I know you live tchalla. I know he loves you. And I know how monarchies work. I also know that T’Challa has asked you to move in or visit more often and that I’m probably the reason you’re hesitant about doing either.”

“You’re right, but I didn’t say anything cause I don’t want you thinking you have to move because of me and T’Challa. I want you to follow your dreams, and dtudying at MIT was one of those dreams.”

“And dreams change, Amare reminded. I used to any to be a ballerina, astronaut, actress, and hear I am studying at MIT. And now, I know that the university of Wakanda can offer me so much more. Plus I’ll get to spend more time with my best friend and take advantage of her lab. It’s a win win!” The young genius insisted. Amani sighed and settled on the chair next to her.

“How about we finish out this fall semester and pick up the conversation over Christmas break. I just don’t want you to regret anything.” The older sister explained.

“That’s fair.” Amare nodded and stood. “Back to you though, are you sure you’re feeling well enough for me to leave?”

“Now you sound like the older sister. I’ll be fine kid, you go have fun at your conference thing in Germany. Have you finished packing?”

“Nope, I wanted to get and early start at the stores so I can pack before my flight.”

“Okay, I’m headed back to sleep. But don’t crash the car and fill up the tank before you come back please.”

“I always do,” Amare smiled before kissing her sister's cheek and slipping out of the room. Once Amani heard the front door shut. She locked herself in the bathroom and unwrapped the third and final test. She sat them all in a row before flopping down on the toilet.

“Shit.”

Taglist: @almostpurelysmut @blackbypurpose @tchoking @sisterwifeudaku @wikiwakanda @royallyprincesslilly @90sinspiredgirl @thedelightfulone @autumn242 @purple-apricots @kumkaniudaku @queertrex @kaciidubs @halfrican-heat @skysynclair19 @dramaqueenamby @leahnicole1219 @kreolemami @mzbritt @derangedcupcake @chaneajoyyy @lalapalooza718 @ororowrites @leahnicole1219 @sarcastic-sunshines @sarahboseman @faatassbitch @lady-love-and-glitter-roses @cxnismajcr @tchallasbabymama

#tchalla fanfiction #tchalla #tchalla imagine #tchalla x reader #blackpantherimagines #apbpfics #tchalla x black! reader #tchalla x black!oc #tchalla x oc #tchalla x you #starlightfic #shuri black panther #tchalla black panther #t’challa x oc #t’challa x reader #t’challa udaku

17 notes · View notes

thequibblah · 4 years ago

Note

Would love directors cut on ch39? Your favorite moments OR Lily tripping in front of James LOL OR the scene Sirius is asking James what he'd do if Lily fancied him back :0 and how he's given up hope - but that might be too spoilery! Idk anything you deign to share I will love! <3___<3

ooOooOoOoOoh i'm gonna give this a reread and pull out any fave moments BUT u best believe we'll address the trip

it is my solemn belief that when a character realises they have feelings for another character, the BEST bit is when they're like OH noONoooOOnoooOOoOOoOOo oh NEOENOOOOOOO and obviously given the baggage it's even funnier when it's lily with james

the first part of this chapter i wrote was after the first section break, with lily in the office, and obviously i had myself a week-long laugh over this:

This pleasant state of tiredness meant she was not worried about how she looked, slumped on the sofa in the Head office with her legs dangling over one armrest, when he came into the room. Well, mostly not worried. For a brief, crazed moment Lily thought, my hair must be frightful. Then she thought, what is wrong with me?

this, to me, is lily realising her feelings in a nutshell. just a whole bucketload of convoluted and contradictory feelings all tangled up together, turning a normally put-together, sensible individual into a disaster. or so, of course, it seems to her, and that's what i love more than anything: when she's like oh my GFDOODOOD OH MY OGODODO he kNWOOWWOOWS and james is like damn . her balance is rly off these days .

anyway not to derail my own town-crier moment

another way this realising-feelings bit is so fun to explore is that i love bringing up things lily notices about james and has a little panic about — except we know she's noticed those things about him forever, and is only just starting to realise why she's been paying attention. the obvious thing is the hand in his hair, but my personal fave james-idiosyncrasies that lily has always been suspiciously attentive to are his restlessness and his way of walking

from ch. 4:

He leaned back, drumming his fingers on the chair’s armrests.

to this in 39:

Nor did she think anything of the funny little squeeze in her chest at the sight of him, splayed across the rug so carelessly, fingers drumming against his thighs as though he simply had to be in motion.

and also from ch. 4 (this is possibly my favourite james description of mine, i am so proud of it):

He always walked the same way, she noticed: hands in his pockets, head tipped back. As if he didn’t need to look where he was going. Tripping was for other people.

from ch. 25:

She could see it in her mind’s eye: James walking down the dark corridor, hands in his pockets, one corner of his mouth tipped into a half-smile.

from ch. 31:

He was standing in that very James way of his, hands in his pockets and chin tipped upwards like he was watching something a little bit higher than everyone else was.

and at last........ in 39:

Lily had already noted how very James he was that evening: hair perplexingly tousled, smile easy and ever-present, hands in pockets.

sidenote: i got some beautiful comments (FROM YOU TOO POSSIBLY????) about people theorising what their experiences with the patronus charm might mean — that lily is making progress because she's being emotionally honest, while james closing himself off is making him struggle. cannot confirm or deny, but it was really fun to read those!!!

oh and another thing: i love weaponising the patronus thing as a way to have them easily and casually compliment each other

“I know it’s difficult for you to cope with things not coming naturally—” He inclined his head to her in concession. “True.” “—but it’s quite normal for spells to require practice, not pure, blind instinct.” “Pure, blind instinct,” he repeated, “like you in Potions?” Lily felt herself flush, and frowned all the more reprovingly.

and they do so even when they're not arguing....

They’d propped each other up in their respective best subjects (“Evans leaves us in the dust in Potions, you know…” “Oh, hardly. That’s James in Transfiguration.”)

...though i'm sure lily would say she was just MAKING A POINT. ok girl

the more i reread the more i think my favourite bits are just. the conversations between them (of which there are a LOT here haha) and the drama i got to shamelessly sneak in.... HAVE YOU EVER BEEN IN LOVE

now. to the tripping.

it is a truth universally acknowledged that a key moment in any jily fic is when lily realises she actually like.... is into the messing-up-your-hair. (side note, for james himself this is less often a conscious attempt to impress someone [or her, like it is in swm], and more a nervous tic or a thoughtless gesture, like a filler word in an action. he does it a lot in chapter 27, when lily brings up the not-kiss, and also in chapter 21: He ran a hand through his hair. “If you need distracting, over Easter, owl me..." and in 22: He ran a hand through his hair. “Just, you know you can always write me, yeah?” and of course.... in case any of you forgot the latter is the only moment this absolute clown realises he does have feelings for her.)

this is a Deep Moment of Denial in 38, where she lists it off as a moment she was briefly attracted to him in fifth year:

When he had run his hand through his hair in the corridor, and she’d had the misfortune of looking right at him, and had felt, for a moment...distracted.

of course, i was not going to let the poor girl live this down, and the hair had to be a factor in her real, actual realisation. what made this so funny to me was how innocent the gesture is on james's part: they've just been talking about agathangelou, and who might be sneaking out of the castle. when he runs his hand through his hair, he's just...... frustrated.

and even though lily's the one throwing a wry smile at him — which he's crazy about — she's the one who's burned, because he wasn't really looking at her. so it goes, babey!

i am also overfond of the literally-falling-for-you trope, and you best believe it'll happen again! in fact i could probably write like.... five times lily evans "fell" for james potter (and one time she actually did)

wow

i should go do that right now

#this is so long djfkhgjkshkhsdg #ecthelionstrife #ask me #39 #director's cuts

11 notes · View notes

snowdice · 4 years ago

Text

Big Bang (Sort of) Editing Story [Day 60]

I started writing this fic while editing my Big Bang story, but am going to continue doing it for other things now that Kill Dear is out. I will write and publish 100 words of the story every time I finish doing whatever task I’m doing. If you’d like to block these proceedings, please feel free to block the tag proofread stories. I will reblog this post with the parts of the story I do today. Edited chapters are linked; everything else I’ve done so far is under the cut.

My Master Post Part 1 Part 2 Part 3 Part 4 Part 5 Part 6 Part 7 Part 8 Part 9 Part 10 Part 11 Part 12 Part 13 Part 14 Part 15 Part 16 Part 17 Part 18 Part 19 Part 20 Part 21 Part 22 Part 23 Part 24 Part 25 Part 26 Part 27

Okay. Not sure how long I’ll go today, but let’s work on this for a bit. Just gotta finish this side quest and then we can get back to the plot. ;)

Chapter 28

Thomas did not have to be told that something had gotten Helen Heart in a tizzy. He could tell just by the amount of food she had sent up on his dinner tray. She always made and pushed more food when she was stressed, and he couldn’t help but chuckle when he found both a hearty serving of roast beef and a mini chicken pot pie on his plate along with three vegetable side dishes and a side of macaroni and cheese.

He could also guess what had happened to illicit such a response. Thomas had caught up to Jeffers Deknis in his garden and they’d spoken at length about Logan and Patton’s new friend.

There was no way that after said discussion, Jeff had not mentioned Virgil (and more importantly his friendship with Patton) to Helen during their daily gossip sessions. There was also no way that Helen had heard the words “child” and “too small” in a sentence and hadn’t flipped. From there the inevitable sequence of events was clear: Patton went home, Helen talked his ear off until he agreed to bring Virgil to meet her, Helen met him and immediately committed herself to making sure he ate three square meals a day as well as multiple snacks.

Thomas had sussed all of that out before the kitchen worker bringing him his dinner had mentioned what had happened that day.

That in mind, he decided to wait until after dinner should have been cleaned up before walking his own dinner leftovers down to the kitchens.

Thomas was unsurprised to see Jeff already in the kitchen. He was sat at a small table off to the side where kitchen workers usually took their breaks. The only person other than Jeff and Helen left in the kitchen was a dishwasher who was finishing up. Helen usually spent a couple of hours after dinner in her kitchen or her office organizing for the next day and in case anyone needed food on an off hour, and then there was a night cook who would take over so she could go back to her set of rooms.

Helen took the tray of leftovers from Thomas herself and shooed the dishwasher out of the way. “I’ll handle the rest myself,” she told the girl. “You can leave.”

She nodded and started to take her apron off. Helen dumped the tray on the counter without care and turned back around to usher Thomas into one of the kitchen chairs. Thomas went willingly and she turned to fill the tea kettle with water and set it on the stove.

“It take it she met Virgil,” Thomas said to Jeff.

“She’s adopted Virgil,” Jeff replied, taking a bite out of a cookie.

“And what of it?” she asked. “Someone obviously needs to feed the boy. Speaking of, you’re grounding your son by the way.”

Thomas took one of the cookies for himself. “Why am I grounding Logan?” he asked.

“He was worried enough about his health to make him a nutrition potion, but still did not bring him to me,” she harrumphed.

“I see,” Thomas replied.

“In Logan’s defense,” Jeff interrupted. “the boy seems rather timid. He may have worried about you scaring him off.”

Helen slapped him with a dishtowel.

“Actually,” Jeff continued. “From what I’ve gathered he didn’t have contact with anyone since the time I saw him a couple of weeks ago until now.”

“Any adults,” Thomas corrected with a frown. “I’m pretty sure he, Patton, and Logan must have been around each other considering how close they already seem to be.” He paused, “Logan implied he wasn’t particularly… comfortable around adults.”

“I did get that impression, yes,” Helen said, pouring the hot water from the kettle into a tea pot and carrying it and some cups over to the table.

“He was incredibly jumpy,” Jeff confirmed. “I imagine he does not have good experiences with many people, but he seems to have grown attached to Logan and Patton. He defers to them in most things and seemed a bit protective.

“Where did he come from?” Thomas asked.

“I’m not sure,” Jeff said. “I found him hiding in the garden shed a couple of weeks ago.”

“Did he sneak in?” Thomas asked.

“That’s what I would have thought,” Jeff replied, “but when I asked, he said he wasn’t trying to steal anything and that he was supposed to be in the castle. So, I’d assumed that meant he was the child of someone living in the caste.”

“But neither of us could find anyone who knew him,” Helen said. “Of course, we didn’t even know his name until now.” She seemed to decide the tea leaves had sat long enough because she started to pour them each a cup of tea.

Thomas took a sip. “Earl Grey,” he commented. “I guess I’m not sleeping much tonight.” It was her ‘planning tea.’

“We need a plan,” she said, “but we’re going to have to be gentle.”

“At least with Virgil,” Jeff said.

Thomas laughed lightly, “and what do you plan to do with the other two?”

“I have my ways.”

Helen rolled her eyes. “You say that,” she said, “but you’re too soft. The two of them learned to run circles around you and your powers years ago.”

“We should talk to them though,” Thomas said. “Separately from Virgil.”

“We should,” Helen agreed. “I already spoke to Patton a bit yesterday, but I will again. We should see if we can ask around and find out why he’s in the castle. We don’t even know how long he’s lived here. Or who brought him here.” The look on her face told Thomas she wanted to have a talk with his guardians whoever and wherever they were.

Helen took a drink of tea, it seemed to calm herself. “We need to make sure whatever has been happening to him is not happening in these walls,” she said.

Thomas had honestly… not thought about that. He’d assumed whatever made Virgil so skittish was in the past, but it was possible that it was ongoing. The thought made him sick.

“Perhaps you should try to talk to him, Thomas,” Helen suggested.

Thomas winced. “I am not sure that is a good idea...”

“Why not?”

“We don’t have the best track record… I don’t think me being around him would be a good idea.”

“Oh, please, Thomas,” Helen said disbelievingly.

“No, you don’t understand,” Thomas said. “He seems disproportionately afraid of me. I think it’s a mix of me being king and how we met.”

“How did you meet?” Helen asked.

“I… gave him a bit of a fright,” Thomas admitted. “Logan and Patton weren’t in the room and I didn’t know who he was. He… ended up under the bed. Then… the second time I saw him he accidently ran into me. He freaked out again.” The memory still made Thomas feel gross. It also made him think there was a lot more to his backstory than the three of them understood.

43410

“Perhaps Jeff can try to talk to him then,” Helen said. “It sounds like he was calmest around you. I’ll push Patton towards taking him to the garden more often. I bet fresh air would do him some good anyway.”

Jeff nodded. “I will try to talk to him a bit more.”

“Great,” Helen said, but Thomas already knew the conversation wasn’t over. “Now we need to talk about strategic events to throw over the next few months that Patton and Logan to invite Virgil to. We’ll start slow, but we need to make sure he feels welcome in the castle.”

Thomas met Jeff’s eyes. Yeah, it was going to be a long night.

Chapter 29

Virgil finished eating the breakfast Patton’s mom had sent for him. It had been going on a week since she’d made the menu for him. She sent up little cards with each meal and he was supposed to rate each thing she sent on a scale from 1-5. Logan would read it to him before he ate, and Virgil mark the little box on the card. Usually, he would put a 4 for everything (he had tried to do 5, but Logan had told him 5 was reserved for things like chicken alfredo). Three was for things that he was neutral on, 2 was for things he didn’t like but could tolerate, and 1 was for things he didn’t like. So far, the only 3 was the unseasoned porridge she’d sent one day.

“Finished?” Logan asked.

“Yeah,” Virgil said.

“What would you like to do today?” Logan asked. “Patton is busy until after lunch, and then we thought you might like to go back to the garden again. It’s supposed to drop in temperature over the next few days, so it will be the last good day for it.”

“Sounds good,” Virgil said. “I don’t care what we do today though.”

“Well, there are a few options,” Logan said.

“What do you want to do?” Virgil asked.

Logan made an expression, and Virgil titled his head. “I’m don’t have anything in particular I want to do,” he said.

“You’re lying,” Virgil said immediately.

“You would not be interested in the activity I wish to partake in,” Logan said.

Virgil squinted at him. “I’d be interested in laying on the ground and staring at the ceiling.”

Logan chuckled. “No, truly. The activity I would do if you were not present would involve reading.”

“You can read to me,” Virgil suggested.

“…In Sanskrit.”

Virgil frowned at him. “Isn’t that, like, some sort of dead language?”

“It is,” Logan said. “I taught myself to read it to read a specific book called the Pragilium Text. It’s an encoded book that leads to a magical location that I have been trying to decode for years.”

“That’s fine,” Virgil said. “You can do that.”

“It would be in the library,” Logan said.

“Okay.”

“But…” Logan said. “It would in no way be interesting to you.”

Virgil shrugged. “Like I said. I’m content to lie on the floor for a few hours.”

Logan frowned. “I can’t make you do that.”

“You wouldn’t be making me,” Virgil said. “I want to go. Maybe you can find me an easy book I could try to read?”

“Are you certain?” he asked.

Virgil nodded, decisively.

“Very well, get dressed and I will show you the library.”

Virgil stood to do so and a few minutes later, Logan was leading him out of the royal wing.

Both of the guards greeted him kindly, and Virgil hunched his shoulders in a bit, but said a soft “hi.”

The library didn’t end up being too far away. It was through the small dining hall and to the left where the staircase to the kitchen was to the right.

“This is not the main library,” Logan said. “It is just a smaller one. The royal librarian comes here only about once a week to organize. Some other castle residents might come in too, but it is usually mostly empty.” Virgil could tell just by listening for a few seconds that the place was likely empty (unless someone was lying in wait).

“I’ll look and see if there is something simple for you in case you’d like to read. You can explore a bit if you’d like,” Logan said.

Virgil nodded and stalked off into the shelves to secure the area. There were many books, not that he could quite read any of the spines. The bookcases were mostly cramped into the space. There was the open area where they’d come in with a few comfy chairs and Virgil found a desk near one of the windows. It had stacks of books including one pretty large and old one. He looked at it curiously.

Virgil heard Logan’s footsteps approach from down an aisle. “That’s the Pragilium text,” he said.

“It’s pretty,” Virgil said, looking at the design etched into the cover.

“Yes,” Logan agreed. He reached forward to touch it and opened it carefully. The print was small and didn’t look like the letters Logan had taught him so far. There was a small map on the side that Virgil could at least guess at the meaning of.

“You can read that?” Virgil asked.

“I can,” Logan said. “Very few people can though.”

“Wow, you’re really smart.”

“Thank you,” Logan said with a smile.

“Now,” Logan continued. “I found you a book. I apologize as its subject matter is for younger children, but it has many pictures that can help give you context when you don’t know something. You don’t have to read it if you do not wish to, especially as we haven’t gotten very far in our lessons, but I thought you might like the challenge.

He handed him the book and Virgil took it with a smile. “I’ll try to read it,” he said.

“Well, you have free reign of the library. Feel free to continue to explore and to interrupt me if you need to.”

Virgil nodded and took the book before deciding to finish his sweep of the library. It turned out that appearances were not deceiving, and the library truly was empty. Once he was certain about that, he looked around for a comfortable place to settle down and try to read the book Logan had handed him. He found a sturdy looking bookshelf near where Logan was reading at his desk. He scaled it quickly. It was a little bit dusty at the top, but it wasn’t a bad place. It was close to the ceiling and kept him hidden pretty well, but still gave him enough room to pop up onto his elbows. If he looked left, he could see Logan down bellow with his head in the book, but if he looked right, he could see the entrance to the library.

He pulled the book in front of him and looked at the cover. It was covered in drawings of different colored flowers. One simple white flower was in the center and there were three words on the cover. He squinted at it and silently tried to sound it out based on what Logan had taught him so far. He could guess that the larger word was ‘flowers’ based on context. So, he was pretty sure it read How Flowers Grow.

He flipped open the book. Logan was right, there were many hand drawn beautiful pictures. He could pretty much understand what was happening just from them even if he couldn’t read all of the words.

It was an interesting book even if he couldn’t read it and it was obviously made for small children. Judging by the pictures it seemed to be detailing how plants, or at least, flowers grew through some kid planting and caring for a flower over the course of some amount of time.

Virgil had, of course, known flowers grew from seeds, but it was interesting to see things about how the stem would pop out of the seed in the ground and things about the roots growing.

He more looked through the pictures than read it the first time but had flipped back to the front to try to read the words when he heard the library door open.

Virgil perked up in awareness, but then settled when he recognized Patton’s footsteps. Virgil tilted his head to watch as he walk directly to Logan’s hideaway.

“Hi,” he said, gaining Logan’s attention.

“Hello, Patton,” Logan replied. He glanced at the window and must have seen that time had passed because he closed his book and shuffled his papers.

“The guards said you came here,” Patton said, glancing around. “Where’s Virgil?”

Instead of letting Logan answer that question, Virgil pulled himself forward, with the book in one hand and slid off the bookshelf to land lightly on his feet next to Patton.

Patton screamed before slapping a hand over his mouth.

Logan had placed his hand over his heart. “Where on Earth did you come from?” he asked.

Virgil blinked at him and then pointed to the bookshelf he’d been on top of.

“How long were you up there?” Logan asked.

“Pretty much the whole time,” Virgil answered.

“I…” Logan said. “I didn’t even know.”

Virgil squinted at him. “You need to learn to look up.”

Patton giggled.

Virgil turned on him. “You need to learn to case the area.”

“Oh honey, your shirt is all covered in dust,” Patton said instead of responding to his very valid criticism. Virgil frowned. “Let’s get you changed and then go grab some lunch.”

“Lunch?” Virgil asked.

Patton chuckled and grabbed his hand. “Yes, sweetie, lunch. Then garden.”

“Fine,” Virgil said. “But you do need to learn to be more observant.

“Yes, yes, whatever you say,” Patton said.

Logan just rolled his eyes.

Chapter 30

After lunch, Patton and Logan took Virgil out into the garden to walk around. They let Virgil lead them around wherever he wanted to in the garden. A bunch more flowers had died since the last time they’d been out here, and Patton felt sad despite having never felt very sad about that sort of thing before. But, Virgil seemed to really like the flower he’d found last time, so Patton thought he was probably sad on the boy’s behalf.

Of course, Patton thought, perking up, eventually it would be spring, and Virgil could get to not only see flowers but see all of the flowers grow. Patton couldn’t wait to see him amongst the garden then.

Virgil took them wandering through the orchard for a while, but most of the trees had been stripped of their fruits. They ended up in the food garden after a bit, and Virgil finally seemed to decide on the direction instead of just ambling about.

A few seconds after Patton noticed Virgil seemingly decide on a destination, Patton noticed Mr. Deknis kneeling on the ground a few feet away. Had… had Virgil been looking for him? Patton wondered. That was adorable.

Mr. Deknis looked up as they approached and smiled at them.

“Hello, Mr. Deknis,” Patton said as they came closer.

“Hello you three,” Mr. Deknis said. “Getting into trouble?”

“No,” Virgil said, shaking his head.

Mr. Deknis gave him a flash of a smile. “I know, I’m joking,” he said. “Especially since there isn’t much left in my gardens for certain princes to destroy with experiments.”

“Oh, okay,” Virgil said. He tilted his head. “What are you doing?”

“I’m getting the last of the acorn squash out,” Mr. Deknis replied. “It’s the last crop to get finished. Good thing too, it’s supposed to start snowing soon.”

Virgil looked down curiously at the dark green squash.

“Would you like to help me pick a couple?” Mr. Deknis asked.

“Sure,” Virgil said, sounding interested. Mr. Deknis patted the ground beside him and Virgil knelt down to watch him.

“They’re not too difficult to harvest,” he said. “You just cut the fruit off the stem. You want to leave about a hand’s width of the stem left over which will help preserve moisture. The earlier harvests, I left in the field to cure in the sun for a couple weeks, but the frost’ll ruin them so we’ll take them inside the green house and let them sit in the sun for a bit there. We also want to keep the leaves. You’ll probably be eating those for dinner tonight since they have to be cooked up within about 24 hours after they’re picked. Patton’s mom makes a good side dish with them and she’ll be making some curry tomorrow, probably. Maybe some stew if there are some leftover.”

“Put the squash in this wheelbarrow and the leaves into this pile, okay?” Virgil nodded and Mr. Deknis handed him the extra pair of gloves and shears he carried with him in case one set broke. “These might be a bit big on your, but they should work for now.”

Mr. Deknis looked up at Patton and Logan. “Would the two of you like to help?” he asked. “I can get some more equipment.”

“I can help out if you want, but you don’t need to stop and get more equipment just for me,” Patton said.

“The same for me,” Logan said.

“Well, if you’d like to help still, you can sort the leave. Give your mother a head start.”

“Sure,” Patton said. He and Logan went to do that while Mr. Deknis and Virgil worked on cutting the squashes from the vine.

“What do you do during the winter?” Virgil asked curiously. “If this is your last crop.”

“Well, at the beginning, I mostly will be working on making sure things are stored correctly along with some of the kitchen staff. There’s some drying to do and some canning. After that’s done, I’ll spend some time organizing and planning. Then, before the spring comes, I’ll start preparing seedlings in the green house.”

“Seedlings?” he asked.

“I let seeds start to grow in the greenhouse that I replant once it gets warm enough.”

“Why don’t you just plant them where they’re going?”

“I do for some,” he said, “but giving some a head start is good for them.”

Patton watched as Virgil continued to ask questions about gardening while working on harvesting the squash. Mr. Deknis continued to answer them in a calm, soft tone that Patton didn’t think he’d ever heard from the often gruff man before.

Patton wasn’t surprised when, after finishing getting most of the squash off of the vine, Mr. Deknis asked if Virgil wanted to help him with canning some pears in a couple of days. Virgil immediately looked over at Logan and Patton as though asking permission.

“Say yes if you want to Virgil,” Logan said.

“Yes,” Virgil said as soon as he was given permission. Mr. Deknis smiled at him softly and started loading the last of the squash into the wheelbarrow. Patton offered to run the squash leaves to the kitchen while Logan and Virgil helped Mr. Deknis take the actual squash to the green house.

He dropped the leaves off to a kitchen worker since Mama was busy and headed back out to the garden. By the time he returned, Logan was already back from the green house and sitting by one of the more decorative trees near the castle.

“He’s exploring,” Logan said, nodding at the large patch of bushes.

Patton chuckled. “I see.” He sat next to Logan. Every so often he’d hear the bushes rustle, but he couldn’t tell if it was actually Virgil or an animal.

“He’s adorable,” Patton commented, keeping an ear out.

Logan hummed.

“I’m glad we kept him.”

“He isn’t a pet, Patton.”

Patton rolled his eyes. “I know, but I’m still glad. I’m glad he’s making friends with Mr. Deknis. Once he knows how to read better, we should get him a book about gardening. He seems interested.”

Logan nodded. “Having a hobby would be good for him. Clearly he has a fascination with the garden.” He nodded to the blur of dark hair that could be seen through the bushes. It seemed Virgil had stopped his exploration and was now laying down in the bushes a few feet away.

“I’m going to go see what he’s doing,” Patton said. “I’ll be right back.”

Logan nodded and Patton got to his feet. The bushes were part of a small maze that was filled with flowers during the spring and summer months but were mostly just green and brown bushes for now. Despite the fact that Patton had been able to see him only a few feet away, it took him a while to wind through the path to where he was. When he finally turned the last corner and he came into view, Patton gasped softly.

“Ghost kitty!” he said, making sure to make his voice as quiet as possible.

Despite how soft he made his voice, two pairs of eyes shot over to him. The completely black kitten was perched on Virgil’s lap like she belonged there. Ghost Kitty hissed slightly, but Virgil reached forward to pet her head gently.

“This is Ghost Kitty?” Virgil asked. “I thought you said she was hard to pet.”

“She is,” Patton said. He lowered himself onto the ground from a few feet away from them. “How did you get her to come to you?”

Virgil glanced down at the cat and shrugged, scratching one of her ears. “She just came over to me and let me pet her.”

“Wow,” Patton said softly. He looked at the cat. “Could I pet you sweetie?” he asked, holding out a hand in her direction. She hissed again.

Virgil frowned down at her. “It’s Patton,” he said as though he expected to understand his words and the exasperation in the tone he said them in.

He pet the cat’s head to soothe her and then reached over to grab Patton’s hand. He pulled and Patton carefully leaned a bit closer until his hand was within sniffing distance. Ghost Kitty sniffed his fingers contemplatively and then bumped her head against it. He barely restrained a squeal, knowing that probably wouldn’t be taken well.

He carefully turned his hand over so he could stroke the top of her head. He gently scratched her ear, not daring to go for under her chin yet since she didn’t know him well. “Hi,” he said softly. After a moment, she started to purr softly. Virgil reached over and scratched under her chin and she purred louder. “Oh, you’re a good girl,” Patton breathed, letting a hand trail gently down her back once and then again. Patton settled himself carefully into a seating position continuing to pet her. After a few more moments of soft petting, she hesitantly stepped her front paws onto Patton’s thigh so she was sitting in both of their laps. Patton laughed softly. “Hi sweetie.” He glanced over at Virgil who had a wide smile on his face as he pet the cat. This. This was adorable. They continued to pet the cat for a very long time.

Chapter 31

Logan waited for a while after Patton left to check on Virgil, but the two never resurfaced. It was odd, Patton would usually remember to come back and get Logan or at least tell them where they were. With a sigh, Logan climbed to his feet to go find them. It took him a while to weave his way through the maze of bushes to them especially because they were suspiciously quiet (Well, suspicious for Patton. Virgil was often unnervingly quiet when alone.) Luckily, he knew the bushes enough after all of these years not to get lost and managed to find the two after a few minutes.

“Ah,” he said, immediately identifying the reason for Patton disappearing.

“Logan!” Patton said, his voice excited, but also quieter than normal. “We found a kitty!”

“I can see that,” Logan responded, taking a step closer. The cat hissed at him in response. The hissing was so intense and wild that he’d suspect the thing was feral if it wasn’t happily on Virgil’s lap having had it’s head in Patton’s lap before Logan had approached.

“No,” Virgil told the animal as though it could understand words. “That’s Logan. Be nice.”

The cat still glared at him and swished it’s tail back and forth threateningly. Virgil pet the top of it’s head and it broke eye contact with Logan to purr.

Patton seemed delighted by the purring, reaching to stroke under the thing’s chin carefully. “We should give her a name!” Patton said.

Virgil frowned. “I thought her name was Ghost Kitty.”

“That is ‘Ghost Kitty’?” Logan asked skeptically. From what Patton had said about that cat, it was terrified of people and no one could ever get near it, even him. Now it was in Virgil’s lap?

“But that was a temporary name,” Patton said, “for before we officially met her. Now we have to give her a real name.”

“Do not give it a name,” Logan said. “You will get attached.”

“How do you name a cat?” Virgil asked.

“Do not name it,” Logan said.

“You give them names based on their personalities, how they look, or even just because it’s a cute name,” Patton explained. “Like, remember Mittens? I named her Mittens because she has white fur and black paws!”

Virgil looked at the cat. “She’s completely black,” he said.

Patton hummed. “So, we could give her a name based on that like Midnight or Shadow.”

“Those are fine,” Virgil said.

“No, no,” Patton said. “I’m just giving you examples. You get to name her yourself.”

“This is a bad idea,” Logan said.

“Just throw out some names,” Patton said. “Anything you can think of.”

“Uh,” Virgil said. “Knife.”

“…Just Knife?” Patton asked.

“Nightmare.” Virgil seemed to think about it. “No, that’s mean.”

“How about things you like?” Patton suggested.

“Alfredo?”

Oh no, Logan thought, he was worse than Patton at cat naming.

“Good start,” Patton said. “Logan, do you have any suggestions.”

“Cat,” Logan said.

“Real suggestions,” Patton scolded.

Logan sighed and thought for a moment. “Aphrodite.”

“Catphrodite!”

Logan glared at him. “Helena.”

“Helenpaw.”

“Claudia.”

“Clawdia.”

“Persephone.”

Patton smiled at him, cheerfully.

“…Damnit!”

Patton turned to Virgil again. “Like that! They don’t even have to be serious. Like, uh, you could name her Madam Fluffywuffykins the Great!”

“Do not name her that,” Logan said, scrunching up his nose.

Logan sat on the ground, the cat eyeing him, but no longer hissing. Logan gently guided them towards more sensible names despite Patton trying his hardest to drag them into stupidity.

Virgil still didn’t quite get it. He mostly tried to name it after foodstuff, and often not even appropriate foodstuff such as “Corn” and “Acorn Squash” and “Sandwich” and occasionally would drop in semi violent ones such as “Razor,” “Nightshade” and “Void.” Patton suggested names like “Fluffers,” “Bobette” and “Darling” as well as some that were puns. Logan tried to direct them towards more sensible ones like “Salem” and even went so low as to suggest the contrary “Snowball.”

It quickly seemed to become less about actually naming the cat and more of a game. Patton had taught Virgil about playing with cats and had even gotten out a ball of yarn he cared around for his crafts. Both Virgil and the cat seemed to find endless entertainment with that. Logan hoped Patton had another ball of yarn that color because, he was never going to get that ball back.

The barrage of names fizzled out into naming things around them like “Leaf” and “Bush” until they stopped suggesting names altogether. Patton and Logan sat back and watched Virgil play with the cat.

Logan watched as they stopped playing suddenly and Virgil and the cat squinted at each other. “Marisol,” Virgil said, pulling the name out of nowhere. “That’s her name.” He said it with a certainty that was surprising considering how he’d treated the naming process with confusion and caution earlier. If Logan did not know better, his tone of voice would indicate that the cat, or Marisol he guessed, had gotten bored of them coming up with stupid names and decided to tell him her actual name herself.

The cat made a sound and batted at Virgil’s face without claws to grab back his attention.

He turned back to it and bopped its face with a finger in kind. It attacked his finger, but in a clearly playful matter as it still did not extend it’s claws and its teeth did not draw blood.

“That’s a great name, Virgil,” Patton said.

“Much more pleasant than any that Patton suggested all afternoon,” Logan said. He received an elbow to the side for his quip.

“A pretty name for a pretty kitty,” Patton said, scooting over to where Virgil was sat and attempting to pet Marisol’s head. Marisol, however, was too keyed up and batted at the hand.

“I love you too!” Patton said.

Logan rolled his eyes, but he had long since resigned himself to watching the two of them play with and coo over the cat for the rest of the day.

Eventually, though, it started to get darker. Even after Logan pointed this out, it still took over an hour for them to relent and leave the bush maze to go to the door. The problem was of course, that the cat had managed to grow very attached to Virgil in the last few hours and she followed them all the way to the door with manipulatively heart breaking mews.

“You’ve got to stay out here,” Virgil said, when they got to the castle door. He pet her ear softly and she shoved her head into his hand. “I’m sorry. I don’t have anywhere to put you.” He sounded horribly sad about that fact and Logan felt himself shift uncomfortably. “I basically live in a closet and Logan doesn’t like cats in his room anyway.”

Logan immediately felt unreasonably guilty, probably more so because Logan did not think Virgil was trying to make him feel guilty. “…Bring the dammed thing inside.”

Virgil blinked up at him. “What?”

“It will get cold soon anyway,” Logan said.

He frowned at Logan from where he was crouched. “But you don’t like fur in your room…”

“I will have to find a potion that works,” he said with a sigh, “and we’ll have to say it’s mine to the guards and Father since it will be staying in my room, but it is yours in every other way. That means you are going to feed it, clean it, and clean up after it.”

Virgil nodded immediately and swooped Marisol up in his arms. The cat went without complaint. “Thank you!” he said. “I love her.”

“I know you do,” Logan said, already regretting it already. Yet, he couldn’t bring himself to even consider recanting the offer considering how happy Virgil seemed to be. They had a cat now, he guessed.

Chapter 32

“What are you doing?” Helen asked a few minutes after her son walked into the kitchen and started looking around as though he were trying to find something. It was a few hours into the afternoon, and she and a few workers were already prepping for dinner.

“Uh,” Patton said. “Have you seen Virgil?”

“No,” Helen said. “Why.”

“Er… Logan and I sorta, lost him,” Patton said. He was wringing his hands anxiously. Helen put down the knife in her hand.

“What do you mean you lost him?” she asked.

“Well, see, we were trying to teach him how to play hide and seek, um, but then we didn’t think to tell him that he eventually had to come out if we didn’t find him, and now we haven’t seen him since breakfast.”

“He didn’t know what tag is?” she asked. That was just one more thing to add to the list of why Helen worried about Virgil and where he came from. Every morsel of information she’d managed to wring from Patton despite his evasions made her lists of concerns grow larger, even little things like him not knowing about simple childhood games. Actually, thinking of concerning things having to do with Virgil. “Wait, so he hasn’t eaten lunch.”

“Um, we don’t know that,” Patton’s mouth said while his eyes said ‘no.’

“He needs to be on a consistent diet, especially when he’s still taking the malnutrition potion,” she scolded.

“I know, Mama, I know,” Patton said. “I’m trying to find him. I’d kinda hoped he’d gotten hungry and snuck down here. He probably wouldn’t want to risk being caught stealing food though.”

Helen grimaced. Yet another concerning thing.

“Wait! I have an idea, I’ll be right back.” Patton turned and ran out of the room. Helen frowned at the space he’d been and finished chopping the carrot on the cutting board in front of her. If it had been any other person in the castle missing, Helen wouldn’t have worried, but she had literally never seen Virgil without Patton and/or Logan by his side. Even when he’d gone to help Jeff can some fruit, Logan had reportedly hung around to read a book.

Considering that Logan had never exactly been clingy even with Patton, she imagined that either Virgil asked, or Logan thought he should stay with him for his comfort. So, she was surprised that he was apparently hidden away somewhere in the castle where neither of the other kids could find him.

Still thinking about this, she walked over to the entrance to the cellar below the kitchen where they stored most of the vegetables, planning to grab some more carrots. She was confused for a moment when she heard movement from deeper in the pantry. She reached over and touched the panel near the door that controlled the magic lights.

The newly illuminated figure startled as the lights came on, whipping around to stare at her with wide eyes.

“Virgil?” she asked.

“Sorry,” he said immediately, taking a step back.

“It’s fine,” she said immediately, “but what are you doing here?”

He considered her for a long moment, but apparently, she passed some sort of mental test, because he relaxed, at least as much as he’d ever relaxed in her presence. “Where are we?” he asked.

Her brow knit together. “The cellar under the kitchen,” she said, “You don’t know that?”

He shook his head.

“The only entrance is from the kitchen.” Now that she thought about it, she hadn’t seen him go through the kitchen at any point.

“No, it’s not,” Virgil said. “There’s a tunnel.”

“A-a tunnel?” she asked. Actually, taking a closer look at him, he seemed a bit grimy. He had dust all over his front and dirt on his nose. She thought he might even have a couple of cobwebs in his hair.

“Yep,” he said.

“Where’s the tunnel?” she asked.

“It’s right over here,” he said. He took a couple of steps and pointed to the ground. There was an open square hole there that clearly had been made a long time ago but which she had never noticed in all of her time working here.

“How did you find this?” she asked.

“We were playing hide and seek,” Virgil explained. “Logan said I could hide anywhere inside the castle. I hid on top of a dresser upstairs in some unused sitting room. There was a hole in the wall above it, so I climbed into it. Then, I crawled a little bit and it let out into a hidden passage in the walls. I wandered around in it until I found another hole in one of the walls. I thought it was a way out, so I squeezed into it, but it took me to a different hallway where I found an old room. There was a different hole in that room that had probably been covered by something because it was in the floor but whatever it was had rotted away. I crawled though it into a tunnel and came out here.”

She couldn’t help but laugh a bit at his explanation. “Well, it sounds like you went on an adventure,” she said, “but Patton and Logan have been trying to find you. You missed lunch.”

He tilted his head at her. “I know. I was supposed to hide.”

“Yes,” she explained, “but you are supposed to come out at some point if they can’t find you for things like food.”

“Oh,” he said.

“They probably should have explained,” she said. “For now, why don’t we get you something to eat? You must be hungry.”

Virgil frowned. “But I missed lunch.”

“You can still eat even though it’s not in normal hours,” she said. “You could even if you had made it to lunch.”

“Really?” he asked, he looked tragically confused by this offer.

“Of course, sweetie,” she said. “In fact, I insist you get something good to eat right now. How about I made you a grilled ham and cheese sandwich? Maybe some cookies too!”

Virgil titled his head. “You are Patton’s mother,” he stated.

Helen laughed softly. “He gets its all from me,” she said. “We should probably go find him and tell him you’re okay. He was worried.”

“I didn’t mean to worry him,” Virgil said with a frown.

“I know,” Helen said. “It’s okay. He’ll probably laugh when he figures out where you’ve been, and Logan will interrogate you all about the secret passageways.” He seemed happy about the prospect of seeing his friends. “Come on, let’s go upstairs for a bit,” she said.

Chapter 33

Patton’s mom had already made Virgil sit down at the small table in the corner of the kitchen and had handed him a sandwich by the time Patton barreled into the kitchen, Logan coming after him at a more sedate pace.

“Virgil!” he said, sounding surprised and relieved.

“Patton,” Patton’s mom scolded. “No cats in the kitchen.” Patton had brought Marisol in with him and had let her go as soon as he’d seen Virgil. She immediately plodded over to him and hoped onto the table to sniff at his face in greeting.

“But she’s the princess!” Patton argued.

“No,” Logan said.

“Yes, she is!” Patton said.

“The stupid cat is not a princess.”

“Don’t be mean to your little sister, Logan.”

“I regret every life decision that has led me to this point.”

While Logan and Patton were distracted squabbling and Patton’s mom was distracted watching them squabble, Virgil tore off a bit of the ham in his sandwich and offered it to Marisol. Marisol gracefully took it from his grip and ate it.

“So, this is Logan’s new cat I’ve been hearing about?” Patton’s mom asked.

“Indeed,” Logan said, his lips thinned. He and Marisol were mostly amicable when alone with just them and Virgil, but Patton had a habit of cooing over the kitten and needling Logan into being irritated.

“Mmm, yeah,” Patton’s mom said. She glanced over at Virgil right as Marisol basically slammed her face into his chin in a bid to get pets. “Your cat.” She shook her head. “But Princess Kitten or not, I do not want fur in dinner,” she said.

“Sorry,” Patton said, honestly not sounding sorry at all. Virgil was always a bit surprised when the insolent shrug garnered nothing more that a scowl that did not reach Patton’s mom’s eyes. “I thought she could help me find Virgil, but you already found him.” He turned to Virgil. “Where have you been all day?”

“Found a tunnel,” Virgil said. He had to use one hand to hold Marisol back from his sandwich as he took another bite, but then gave her a bite of cheese.

“You found what?” Logan asked.

“There’s a tunnel under the cellar,” Virgil said. “It goes to an old closed up room and also to a set of secret passageways.” It was a bit of a security risk honestly, though clearly no one had used it in years by how dirty it was. He did plan to go back into it and make sure the sprawling tunnels didn’t go to anywhere more dangerous like the royal wing.

“A closed-up room?” Logan said. He could see a bit of curiosity already building in his eyes.

“Yeah,” Virgil said. “Where the door used to be seemed like it had been bricked over.”

“Really? Can you show me.”

“Sure,” Virgil answered.

“Ah, perhaps we should be a bit more cautious about climbing through random tunnels we don’t know the stability of,” Patton’s mom said.

Logan’s frown edged on a pout.

“Talk to your father,” she said. “I’m sure he can get someone who understands these things so you can safely investigate.”

“It was safe enough for Virgil,” Logan pointed out.

“No, Logan.”

He sighed but seemed to concede. That was another strange thing about living here. By all rights Logan didn’t have to obey anyone except the king, but he often listened to those around him, not just the adults but Patton as well. It was interesting though it sometimes made the hierarchy hard to figure out. Virgil did sometimes stress out about the hypothetical situation where he got conflicting orders from two people, and he wouldn’t know which one to obey. So far it hadn’t been a problem luckily. They always seemed to work it out amongst themselves in some give and take social interaction that was a bit too complex for him to understand.

Patton walked over to where Virgil was sitting. “I’m glad your safe,” he said. “We should probably put a time limit on hide and seek in the future, so you know when to come out.”

“Did I win?” Virgil asked. He’d honestly forgotten they’d been playing a game until Patton’s mom had asked how he’d found his way into the cellar.

Patton laughed. “I’d say so, yeah,” he replied. He leaned over to kiss Virgil’s forehead, but drew back immediately with a pinched expression. “You are… very dirty,” he said, rubbing his mouth.

Virgil nodded. “Your mom made me sit on a tablecloth,” he said gesturing to the fabric she’d laid over the chair.

Patton snorted out a laugh. “We’ll get you into the bath when you’re done eating and you can tell us all about your little adventure.”

“I would also like to hear about your discoveries,” Logan said. “Though you are not allowed to sit on the bed until you do not have spider webs in your hair.”

Patton’s eyes widened and he jumped away from Virgil, startling both Virgil and Marisol. The latter hopped from the table onto Virgil’s lap. “Spiders?!”

Virgil tilted his head at him in confusion.

“He isn’t a fan of spiders,” Logan informed him, his voice amused at Patton’s reaction.

Apparently deciding that she was no longer startled, but more confused by the noises Patton had just made, Marisol jumped out of Virgil’s lap to investigate, wrapping her way around Patton’s legs. He bent down to pat her back, though he still looked a bit startled.

“Your cat, huh?” Patton’s mom asked Logan once again. Virgil studied her. She had apparently missed Logan mentioning that he allowed Virgil on the bed. Or perhaps Logan was correct in his insistence that it wasn’t actually that big of a deal here. Virgil would rather not test that assumption, however, so was glad that it had been distracted from by Patton’s outburst.

“Creepy, crawly death dealers,” Patton mumbled into Marisol’s fur, having picked her back up. Virgil made a note to not inform Patton of all of the different types of spiders he’d seen skittering around in the castle walls today. Maybe he’d talk about them with Logan once Patton left. He’d probably be interested. Virgil had seen some he’d never seen before! Logan probably could even help him figure out what their names were. “You’ll protect me, won’t you kitty?” Patton asked Marisol.

She made a little ‘burrrr’ sound in response, which Patton seemed to take a confirmation.

“Aw thank you, baby! Such a good baby.”

50234

Virgil popped the rest of the sandwich into his mouth. Patton’s mom turned away and grabbed a plate stacked with cookies. She handed it to Logan. “Take these, and please get the health hazards out of my kitchen,” she requested.

Logan took them without complaint. “Come on, Virgil,” he said. “Let’s go get you clean.”

“We’re going to need so much soap,” Patton said.

Virgil looked down at himself. “I can go outside and get most of it off if you get me a bucket of water,” he offered.

“Virgil, it’s below freezing,” Logan said as though that had a baring on what he’d just said. Logan sighed. “No. Bathtub.” Virgil shrugged. “Honestly,” Logan said. He turned with the plate of cookies in his hand, clearly expecting to be followed. “You’re not going to catch your death pouring a bucket of water over yourself in the cold when there are literally over a hundred perfectly good bathtubs in this castle. For goodness sakes.” And well, Virgil wasn’t going to complain.

Chapter 34

Patton, to be completely honest, was not all that interested in the room that Virgil had found. Beyond just the fact that it would definitely have creepy crawly death dealers in it, he really did not understand the intrigue. If it had just been him, he probably would have just let a castle worker deal with it, but it was not just him. Logan was ecstatic with the prospect of investigating a secret in the castle. People who didn’t know him well may not believe it considering he spent most of his time with his nose in a book, but he was an adventurer at heart.

Thomas had been easily swayed into finding someone to help tear down part of the wall into the secret tunnel near the room (so no one would have to crawl through the kitchen cellar like Virgil). It had taken a few days, however, and Logan was practically bouncing off the walls waiting. Virgil, despite having already seen the room before, also seemed excited, though if that was because of his own curiosity or because he was just excited that Logan seemed so exited remained to be seen.

“They are silly, aren’t they,” Patton asked Princess Marisol. He was laying on his stomach on Logan’s bed and Princess Marisol had just put her little paw on his nose.

“Yes, I agree,” he said. “Don’t they know that we’re literally going to be 2 feet away from the normal hallway?”

“It is not silly,” Logan defended himself. “Any number of things could go wrong.” He sounded far too excited about the prospect of something going terribly wrong. “The tunnels could cave in and block off the exit or there could be some unknown pathogen in the air.”

Patton did not ruin his fun by mentioning that Logan’s dad had definitely basically baby proofed the tunnels for them ahead of time. Instead, he just said, “Don’t let Virgil hear you say that sort of thing. It will just stress him out.”

“Yes, yes, of course,” he said, waving off Patton’s concerns as he mulled over two different weird green planty things (potion ingredients, Patton assumed) before setting one aside and sticking the other in his bag.

“So silly,” Patton cooed at the cat. Logan let out a huff but did not choose to say anything about it this time.

Speaking of silly, Virgil came back from Logan’s bathroom then, and Patton tried not to giggle. “Is this right?” Virgil asked, sounding and looking confused. Logan, in his overexcitement about adventure had commissioned Virgil an outfit that actually fit. Said outfit, however, very much made it look more like Virgil was going on a safari instead of a two-foot detour from the normal castle hallway.

“Almost,” Logan said, “Here, let me.” Logan started straightening everything out and flattening the collar, reminding Patton of an overbearing parent on picture day. Virgil accepted the fussing without protest. It was adorable. Well, the outfit was ridiculous, but still, adorable. “There,” Logan said. “I think we’re ready to go now.”

It was about time. Patton was sure people were already waiting for them downstairs. Patton got up and patted Princess Marisol on the head. She looked up at them with interest.

“You can stay here, sweetie,” Patton told here. She seemed to consider it and then hopped down from the bed to go rub up against Virgil.

Patton guessed she was coming. It didn’t matter too much since Logan had given her a magical collar that allowed her to open most doors in the castle and everyone knew she was the royal cat now, so if she decided she wanted to come back to the room and nap, she could. (She was very aware of the power she held.)

She pranced happily by Virgil’s side all the way down the steps to the first floor of the castle. She was such a good kitty.

Well, she did hiss angrily at everyone who came too close to them, but still, a very good kitty.

Patton did lean down and pick her up so they could actually talk to the man waiting for them at the large hole in the wall. Logan went to talk to the castle worker while Virgil half hid behind Patton. He was clearly listening very intently to the conversation however, at least more intently than Patton was. Patton was busy shaking his head fondly.

“Yes, yes, Princess,” he said to the cat. “I know we do not trust the strangers, but I promise this stranger is perfectly safe.”

“How do you know?” Virgil asked.

“His name is Chester and I’ve known him since I was 9.”

#proofread stories #not writing

19 notes · View notes

logsfm · 4 years ago

Text

hey my loves ! i’m mia , 21 from the east coast ! i have not roleplayed in sheeeesh ... like five or six months ? but i am so excited to be here for opening with all of y’all . i spent like all morning trying to weed out this gal logan right here ... she’s a trip , that’s the best overall description i have for ya . anywho , lets get to the actual thing you’re here for her lil intro . also if you wanna mssg on discord here ya go 𝐤𝐢𝐥𝐥𝐚𝐭𝐫𝐚𝐯𝐬 𝖜𝖍𝖔𝖗𝖊#7040 .

logan samara-de jaager was spotted in the fashion district adorning air force 1’s university blue , with some airpod pros on . they’re most likely listening to benz i know by kelvyn colt . you may know them as @delogan or as that bella hadid lookalike . their twenty fourth birthday just passed . while living in the upper east side , they’ve gained a bit of a reputation . they’re known to be querulous but on the other hand passionate . wonder if they’ll be the next person to hit the headlines . ( cisfemale / she/her + mia / twenty one / she/her ) + ( “ logan de jaager seen shoving ex in hotel footage during heated argument , not so sweet huh? ” / “ miss de jaager was spotted sneaking into ex beau’s apartment , what could she be up to? ” / “ sweet socialite or greedy trust fund baby ? milan de jaager publicly accuses daughter logan of stealing $1M … ” )

born into the true lap of luxury . the daughter of real estate magnate & high - profile attorney milan de jaager and his wife , british born socialite lana samara . the two of them held high favor within the 1% but were also able to find a perfect balance . they did a great job of separating personal life from the tabloids . it was rare to really know the happenings of their day to day . they had this particular kind of mystery to them , if you will .

it wasn’t long before lana began to instill the very same rhetoric she received as a child into her own . quality over quantity , was the motto . just not in the way you’d assume . the quality at which a de jaager presented themselves to you was much more important than than quantity of time you spent with them . looks ? they’re everything , in the de jaager household . time was simply a societal construct implemented to catch you on a bad day , for that very line of thinking they embodied being late . rushing out of the house to finish your make up in the car ? a literal sin in the eyes of her mother .

she was encouraged to take part in ballet and beauty pageants growing up . anything that could showcase how beautiful their daughter was lana and milan were on board for . personally logan hated ballet but she couldn’t deny she loved the applause the night of a showcase . she also couldn’t stand pageants but loved having all eyes on her as she went on stage .

it became quite clear as the years went on that her parents were much more like close friends to their daughter than like rule - instilling guardians . she would text them to dismiss her from school , get them to buy her & her friends alcohol for sleepovers / parties , was very much so that kid who got high with her parents . really anything you could do with your friends ? was fair game with logan & her folks .

at sixteen a friend of her moms who was going to be a designer for spring fashion week that year asked if logan would want to walk for him . she was quick to accept the offer and before she knew it she had multiple offers to walk in that years fall fashion weeks , because of how easy it came to her - though , she’s the first to admit she never really took modeling all that seriously .

it was just a year later that her way of life changed drastically , logan and her twin brother had been caught by paparazzi on a friends boat in the hamptons snorting a white substance , anyone with eyes knew exactly what the group of teenagers were doing . upon returning home the two received the crackdown of the century . their once friendly parents turned to strict jail like guardians . often reminded that they put the families reputation at stake . the pressure to be perfect was something logan had never had to deal with until now & she almost cracked under the pressure at every turn .

it wasn’t until she left for college that she was finally given some room to breathe , attending the university of florida was the best choice for what logan truly wanted to do with her life - become a sports analyst . growing up she was infatuated with sports & and would have been involved in much more than just cheerleading had her mom allowed for her to get so much as a speck of dirt on her . during her time in florida the paparazzi seemed to find her more often than not , something her parents often denounced both over the phone & in public . the longer she spent away from the upper east side the more she became america’s sweetheart & simultaneously a thorn in her parents side . she graduated from university in 2018 , only returning back to new york for the sake of work . she’d been offered a reporting job with espn , on top of taking up modeling gigs here & there when ever she felt necessary .

personality …

one thing is very true about the de jaager’s & is very much so the same for logan ; she is not to be trusted . she can be extremely charming when she wants to be . she could sell a bag of rocks to a beach & get a princess to sell her sole to sex work . she knows exactly what people want to hear & when they want to hear it and has no qualms about lying straight to someone’s face if it means she gets something out of it . in fact sometimes , she might lie to your face just for the sheer fun of being able to call you gullible .

she’s very much so a spoiled brat although she hates when anyone call her one , she feels like she has more layers to her than that broad term . hand in hand with that is her drama queen like tendencies , any situation were there is a simple solution she will find a way to blow vastly out of portion .

due to her mother’s heavy influence growing up , she can be rather vein & materialistic . catch her like “ i can’t date a garbage person ” to someone simply because they’re not as rich or known enough for her liking .

it’s rare that you’ll ever see her jump out of character . she’s very calculated & aware of who she is ( or who she needs to seem like ) so if you ever see her emotions getting the better of her , you’ve really broken her .

she’s the type to dabble in a little bit of anything ? she’s a rich nyc party girl who’s been partying well before anyone should have allowed her to so she’s done it all . you’d be kidding yourself to think you could surprise / scare logan on a wild night out .

she’s quick & creative with her sense of humor . she has both a crude / dry sense of humor , as well , and really just doesn’t find goofy things to be funny but more or less embarrassing ( so if she ever tells you you’re goofy , remember it’s not a compliment ) .

her upbringing & parents sentiment on tabloids once reflected massively on logan , but now she couldn’t quite care less about it all . after all she spends hours in front of cameras on a regular basis for work . although she does tend to shy away from people who she deems are hungry for fame or attention . she’s been used in the past for fame & will never let it happen again , plus she’s the type to lap up attention so she likes to have as little fame whores around her as possible , more shine for her .

when she isn’t being a total nightmare though she’s actually really fun to be around ? she’s playful & loves to keep the party alive . often can be found claiming “ i’m high on life ” although everyone saw the pictures , logan , we know what you’re really high on , girl .

very chatty girl , too . victim of foot - in - mouth syndrome , big time . she doesn’t try to be disloyal & spill people’s secrets ( or does she ? ) but she can’t help herself . if she has piping hot tea she’s gonna spill it because she doesn’t wanna burn herself .

very observant girl , who loves to people watch but her observations can sometimes get muddled when she starts judging people a little too hardcore .

she’s also a undercover couch potato & by that i mean if you give her an option to go out & do something she’ll never outwardly choose to stay home to watch netflix and snuggle up under the blankets but secretly she’s hoping & praying she gets a chance to do so .

plots ...

END THIS ( L.O.V.E ) / her first love . these two brought the absolute worst out of one another . they messed her up so much that she has a weird perspective on what love between two s/o’s should even feel like now . maybe they had another s/o at the same time as her & kinda just strung her on & when it came out were able to lie so much to her that she believed them . idk , in truth we could really plot something completely different as to what they did & inevitably what the breaking point was . maybe they broke up with her & had they not ended it maybe she would’ve still been okay with being in the relationship . idk i just feel like this one could be fun as hell . also they’d be the one whom she was caught arguing with in one of her headlines . ( 0 / 1 )

AFTER PARTY / this is a more reckless take of party buddies . im envisioning a group of people who when the parties over they all pull up to close by gulf course , indulge even more in their choices of substance , there is a naked gulf tournament going on , there are drunks driving golf carts , swerving and pouring bacardi all over the course . running from security when they pop up . it’s tradition at this point & if someone doesn’t come it’s almost disrespectful at this point . idk i just love the thought of this kinda vibe . ( 2 / ? )

SECRETS / okay so this one is messy . basically logan was very private for most of her life ( thanks mom & dad ) and during the early stages of highschool she lied to everyone saying she was a virgin . she told each one of these individuals that they were her first whether it be to make them fall for her “ innocence ” , want to chase after her , or whatever else we might be able to plot out . inevitably they compare notes at some point and find out that she’d been lying to them all . we can plot out how they confronted her i feel like we could make this real dramatic though . this would also be a backstory plot so , we can also plot out how things have transpired since for them . ( 0 / 3 or 4 )

BEST FRIEND / these two girls take best friends to the next level . they relate to one another on every level and are there for one another at all times . there is never a moment where they are competing with one another because they know that their #1 in there respective category . they are one another’s ultimate hype beasts . they truly embody chaotic goddess vibes . it’s like they were placed on this earth simply to be friends because they compliment one another that well . ( 0 / 1 )

LETS FALL IN LOVE FOR THE NIGHT / they are the one that’s there whenever she’s down . they have the ability to make her feel like they have some sort of old love whenever she’s around them . those feelings only last for the night though . they enjoy when she rambles on about sports or the novel she just recently read or really just anything she enjoys can put a smile on their face . they know better than to ever confuse what is going on between them though , they know that she’ll never be theirs . whether they’re okay with this or not we can definitely plot out . ( 0 / 1 )

MOANA / they are not a fan of logan . they see her for what she is : an attention seeking , spoiled brat and the fact that they don’t want anything to do with her makes her want them all the more . when they finally slept with her it was only to prove a point to her s/o at the time , to prove that she’s not the sweet girlfriend she claimed to be . basically they’re the person who outed her for being a ho ho ho but despite knowing that they outed her for that she still tries to hook up with them because they were the best she ever had . they often turn her down but after a while not even they can deny that they’re attracted to her . they still don’t fuck with her though . also i think it’d be cool if their were two of them & maybe they worked together to out her to her s/o that didn’t believe she was a cheater ( 0 / 2 ) also bring the s/o that they outed her to ( 0 / 1 )

ELEVEN / the type of relationship that is stuck in the grey area . they’re more than friends but they don’t necessarily admit to having feelings for one another . honestly they probably don’t even think they have feelings for one another . it’s a weird dynamic . they spend the most of their time together late at night . there meeting time ? 11pm . they go on wild joy rides to the beach . heads out of the sun roof as they let out a loud woo . the only thing accompanying them is a big bag of weed . sometimes they have deep talks , honestly they probably know more about one another than anyone else ? because of these adventurous of theirs . when they aren’t having deep talks they’re running across the beach aimlessly & rolling around in the sand with one another . it’s really just a very pure plot that i need in my life . ( 0 / 1 )

TRUST NOBODY / this is someone who used logan for fame / attention . they either became close friends or even started dating & they used everything they learned about her or what went on between them to relay back to a tabloid / would call paparazzi to come and take pictures of them together whenever they’d go out . ( 0 / 1 )

some other plot ideas i’d love to see : x , x , x , x , x , x , x , x , x , x , x .

#wealthyhq:intro #hellurrrr *

18 notes · View notes

ashintheairlikesnow · 4 years ago

Text

WIP Wednesday: Whumptober Previews, Take 2

I still have a few more to go, but I am in the final stretch for writing my @whumptober2020 pieces! I already posted one preview of what I have so far (you can see Days 1-12 here), so here are previews for the rest of what I have written - and sneak peeks at what’s planned out but not written yet!

Whumptober starts tomorrow - we’ll see how you feel about my work this go-round! Last year, Whumptober Day 1 introduced Daniel Michaelson. This year... it starts with Danny, too.

Day 13:

“Vanni, they thought he was you.”

“I know, Ridley!” Rossi never snapped at Ridley, but here it was, and Connor forced in a hitching, shaky inhale around the tremendous, inescapable weight pressing down on him, determined to keep breathing long enough to understand. “I know they did.”

“And they fucking poisoned him and then dumped him to fucking die-”

“I know!” The two men went silent for a second, Ridley staring with shock at Rossi and Rossi glaring furious towards the window without looking back. Connor’s breath, rattling in his struggling lungs, was the only sound in the room.

Day 14:

Peter glanced over his shoulder, back towards the house. The thermometer had climbed a little more, reading 98.5 degrees Farenheit now, and Peter blinked as he shivered again, swallowing without any saliva. His mouth felt dry, and strange. Why was he shivering - how did he have goosebumps - if it was almost one hundred degrees?

As if he’d heard Peter’s thoughts, the side door opened and Micheal came out, wearing his weekend outfit of slim black slacks and a pale heathered gray t-shirt, what Madam allowed him to wear. He was carrying a glass of water with ice and a little striped straw stuck in the top. The black shock collar he was never allowed to remove - not yet, Madam said, not until Micheal learned how to be silent without needing encouragement, to her satisfaction - cut a wide band across his neck, the black box small and nearly perfectly blended in at the back.

“Peter,” He said in a low voice - not quite a whisper, but just as quiet. “I brought you a drink, I-” He looked up, squinting towards the sky. “It’s hot. Should you be out here?”

Day 15:

He drops back to the ground, groaning, eyes fluttering open and shut, before he reaches out to grip onto Ora’s arm again. He turns to look at them, and his eyes are glowing so brightly he can see the reflected light on Ora’s face, the flicker of yellow against their irises. There are things that move beneath the light in Ryan Michaelson’s eyes, and he no longer feels them pushed back under the surface of his skin.

“I’m so fucking hungry,” He whispers, and his fingernails dig into Ora’s arm until they begin to bleed and whimper, but they don’t - can’t - pull away. Not until he lets them.

They will be lost in his eyes until he decides to let them go.

Day 16:

Count to ten, Tris! One… two...

Her voice is so loud he jumps, but when he looks to the left, nothing’s there. Just the white walls, plain and featureless, white tiles that were smooth under his fingertips back when he was allowed to touch them.

Everything is cold, and the boy has been shivering for so long that his muscles ache from the constant tense-and-release, tense-and-release, struggling to keep him warm.

Day 17:

She giggles a little, then glances over her shoulder, mouths something at the cameraman. Oliver can guess what. Edit that out.

Kelly Donahue doesn’t want the episode to be aired with her giggling like a schoolgirl at a bit of idle flattery. Well. Everyone has their things they like to hide, don’t they?

She has her giggle. Oliver has a teenage boy locked in his bedroom.

Day 18:

“Your mother,” Patrick interrupted, with gentle violence, “believes that you are squandering an opportunity.”

“An-... a what-”

“We respect your decision - and your brother’s - to refuse interviews, especially at his early date.” Patrick sounded like he’d rehearsed this answer, delivered with the same smooth cadence he had during his speeches before the Board of Directors. “But, considering the effort it took us to find you-”

“The effort it took Nate to find us,” Ryan corrected, ice growing along his veins at the same time it took over his voice. “Nate. It was Nate who watched the videos, it was Nate who talked Abraham into showing him the yard, it was Nate who spent fucking night after fucking night trolling fucking satellite photos to try and find us. Don’t act like the effort came from you. It came from my brother’s goddamn fiance.”

Day 19:

“If this is a trap, I’m going to owe Gavin fifty bucks.” Vera checked and rechecked her handgun, as though it would suddenly be less loaded than it was just a few minutes before. Her jaw was set in a grim line, eyes flashing a kind of damped-down fire, embers ready to spark. Her thick black hair, showing growing hints of gray, was pulled into a tight bun at the nape of her neck, and she wore a pair of black pants and a tucked-in t-shirt, ready for the fight she was definitely expecting. “I don’t want to owe Gavin money, Isaac.”

“It’s not a trap,” Isaac replied, making his own nervous check and recheck of the table and chairs. “I don’t think it is, anyway. My instincts are saying it isn’t.”

“Your instincts-”

“My instincts have been spot-on for a decade, Vera. Just trust me on this. She let us pick the day, the time, the location… she let us give her the location with less than four hours’ notice, even. If this is a trap, she’s piss-poor at setting it.”

Day 20:

He’d been flying, and the fall had been worse than the arrow, at first.

The sudden burst of white-hot pain had stunned him, caught him mid-spin enjoying an early-morning chill, and sent him tumbling to the ground below.

He’d heard his own frantic keens of panic and fear as if from a distance, and then they’d been drowned out when he slammed into the trees, feathers flying all around him as they were ripped free by the branches he smacked into one after another on the way down.

Day 21:

"Mmhmmm. Christopher. Stanton." Nat listens for a long time, then says quietly, "No known health problems. Autistic."

Jake looks up, and Nat calmly looks back at him, while speaking into the phone. "Yes. Yes, I'm confident. He is sensitive to fluorescent lights, scared of needles, and terrified of sedation. Yeah, I realize that I just described the exact environment we’re sending him into.” Chris whimpered, and Nat’s voice went ragged, her eyes closed tightly against the sight of his face pale, sweaty, twisted with pain. “Listen. Just-... just put on the fucking papers that Christopher Stanton is fucking autistic, because that's what my goddamn rescue is - I'll sell someone else's firstborn to fucking Satan if he isn't, mark my fucking words - and we're wasting time while he gets worse!"

Day 22:

Rossi picks the glass up and just as he tilts it up to his lips, Connor rears back and up on his knees and swings one of his hands, the black leather ‘paw’ smacking into the rim of the glass and spilling it in an arc across Rossi’s suit, onto the table, soaking his cards and hitting the next person at the table right in the eyes.

“Connor, what the fuck?!” Rossi’s voice isn’t furious, not yet - he’s too shocked to get beyond the simple surprise.

Day 23:

The drugs in his system weigh him down, he is too exhausted to understand what’s happening or how to begin to fight it. His eyes keep trying to close and stay closed, and he whimpers, forcing them back open.

“Pozhaluysta…” He groans, collapsing forward against the heavy solidity of the man, the soft tailored fabric of his expensive suitjacket, the scent of clove cigarettes that clings to him like a woman’s fingers clutching tightly. “Pozhaluysta, otpusti menya…”

Day 24:

“My name is Melody,” The girl said, nearly extending her hand, but then she realized the creature’s right hand was nothing but wickedly sharp talons, and it was bound in front of him to his left. “Oh, I’m sorry. What’s your name?”

The creature blinked once, twice. Watched her, tense and maybe suspicious, and then shook his head. “No… no name.” He spoke slowly, as though words came only with difficulty but a soft little trill sounded under one voice, layered it with another. “Pet.”

Day 25:

“Wh, where, where, where-where, where am, am I-”

“Sssshhhh.” The person in the dark blue uniform presses a plastic-gloved hand to his shoulder as he tries to sit up, pushing him back down. “Hey no, you gotta stay steady, there. Don’t move.”

“Please-... please, sir, h-hurts-”

“Not sir,” The person says, gently, a bit of auburn hair falling over their forehead. “Can you see?”

“K-Kind... kind of... hurts-”

“Sssshhhh. I know. I know it does. Just hang on. Tori’s going to help me get you some paperwork going. Don’t worry, kiddo.” The person pats him, lightly, and then looks up, brown eyes scanning the hallway outside. “You’re not the first we’ve pulled through this.”

Day 26:

Calon Nie hummed to himself, tapping talons on the floor, watching the boy sit so still, as though stillness could protect him from the dangers of the world. “Good. Failed, you, to keep new eyes. Costs a life, to give something new. Killan Josta, human boy, he fail Calon Nie. He fail the life given, when eyes don’t work. Did not respect sacrifice.”

“I’m… I’m sorry,” The boy said hoarsely, curling in on himself even more, his wings instinctively curling protectively around him. “I… I don’t want anyone to d-die for me. I didn’t mean to-... I didn’t mean to fail. I, I tried to p-pray for them, to stars, to-”

“Paugh! Mysteries do not hear you.”

Day 27:

Jake answers, and on the other side of the door, the old woman stands holding a large cardboard box in her arms, her grandson present, as nearly always, at her side. He holds a large box, too - so big, in fact, that only the top half of his face is visible.

“They’re sayin’ it could be a week before we get power back,” Ruth says, with a world-weary sigh. “A full-on week. We figured we’d bring you some supplies.”

Day 28:

Ora Collins is hungry.

Day 29:

Jake is a tall man, but the emergency room always made him feel so small. Even now, part of him rehearses the scripted stories. I fell while climbing a tree. I crashed my bike. I tripped going down the stairs.

He has lies to tell today, just like he always has, but today the lies are for Chris, not himself.

He’s my brother. No, different dads, that’s all. His mom lives a few states away, I handle all his medical stuff.

Day 30:

(AKA Possession, Part 2)

Ryan and Nate take down Abraham Denner.

Day 31:

Danny is left for dead.

#ash does whumptober #whumptober previews #whumptober prep #whump

47 notes · View notes

flowerslut · 4 years ago

Photo

BONUS DAY: Quarantine Rated: T for language. Words: 9,064

A/N: My favorite prompt, “suddenly human” was somehow NOT chosen for Jalice week. So I took some liberties here by combining a shitload of prompts together. Brace yourselves.

WHUMPTOBER CROSSOVER—No. 13: OXYGEN MASK & No. 21: INFECTION

Alice and Jasper face immortality together.

I’LL JUST LAY HERE WITH YOU

Twenty-nine days ago they were celebrating.

Birthdays weren’t something they acknowledged often. After Bella had been with them for a decade, their newest vampire had firmly put her foot down. She’d barely tolerated them as a human, but as an immortal being she’d loathed the parties.

Thankfully, there was still Renesmee and her milestones to keep track of. Of course, she hadn’t changed much since her eighth birthday, but apparently even human-vampire hybrids weren’t immune to the desire for a Sweet Sixteen.

Jasper had never seen Alice so elated to have someone so willing to plan a celebration with her. And she and Rosalie had once spent three years planning one of Rose and Emmett’s more elaborate weddings.

It started with a vision.

Turning the knob on the stove, Jasper cut the heat, ignoring the way his throat burned at the aroma that was wafting through the kitchen. It had been embarrassing, having to listen to Carlisle and Bella give him step by step instructions on how to light the gas stove over the phone, but if Alice had witnessed him struggle in a passing vision, she neglected to mention it to him.

He checked his phone then, knowing that no messages awaited him, but still hoping for a notification nonetheless. Someone would be dropping off more supplies today, and he needed to know where exactly to go in order to receive them.

He couldn’t risk interacting with any of his family directly. Not until they figured out what was going on.

It started with a vision.

Jasper reached forward, grabbing the canister from the boiling water, and began to wipe it dry. He knew it was warm enough due to smell alone. He hadn’t once used the food thermometer they’d stuck in their last delivery. While Alice’s condition had worsened, it hadn’t gotten so bad that she’d be at risk of being burnt.

He eyed a bag on the kitchen table, and at the assortment of crazy straws poking against the plastic, and rolled his eyes as he exited the room. Leave it to Emmett to try to find something to joke about with the situation.

He’d been pissed at the bonus items during that particular delivery—surely Edward and Rosalie hadn’t known Emmett was sneaking some extras into the package—but it had made Alice crack a real, genuine smile.

And those were so hard to come by now.

It started with a vision.

Twenty nine days ago they’d been celebrating Renesmee’s birthday. That included balloons and streamers and cake and human food and humans and an assortment of emotion that, by the party’s conclusion, had given Jasper whiplash. The headache he had that day didn’t ebb until late that night. Alice had been too preoccupied with clean-up to notice.

And Jasper had been too preoccupied with his headache to notice when Alice’s emotions caused the climate of the house to take a nosedive.

Walking through room after room Jasper eventually reached the stairs and began to slowly climb, focusing hard on the low buzz of the equipment running upstairs. With every step his misery intensified until he was struggling to keep the emotion at bay. Whether it was a good thing or not, Alice was too out of it most days to be able to tell.

Still, he didn’t want to slip up and accidentally physically share his current emotions with her.

“Jazz?” He heard her voice call when he was halfway up the stairs. And when her panic struck him he cleared the rest of the staircase in an instant.

“I’m right here,” he spoke, the canister already resting on the nightstand as he reached out for her, hyperaware of all the wires as he maneuvered her into an embrace. “Just wanted to get you something to drink.” Pulling back he focused intently on her face. Her eyes hadn’t been golden in days, despite the regular meals he supplied her with. Instead, her eyes were slowly darkening, a brown amber color taking over.

Her sigh of relief sounded more like a rasp, and when her face scrunched up in pain, Jasper felt his entire being ache. Reaching forward he readjusted the oxygen tube on her face, resting his hand firmly against her cheek as he watched her squeeze her eyes tight and focus on taking a few long, even breaths.

She felt just slightly warmer than she had the day before. The temporal thermometer that lay within the nightstand was suddenly at the forefront of his mind. Another one of the tools Carlisle had armed him with in their first supply drop off. Jasper had refused to grab the device until someone (Rosalie) explicitly and unkindly asked him what her temperature was that day.

He didn’t want to think about how she was warming every day.

“Let’s sit you up,” Jasper spoke quietly as he moved, pulling her fragile body into a sitting position against the headboard, tucking the blankets snuggly around her as she blinked herself into awareness.

“How long was I out?” She rasped again, wincing as she shifted. Lifting a hand she scratched at her ear. The hair had grown infinitesimally over the past several weeks, but it was one of Alice’s biggest complaints. After living a hundred years with her hair the exact same, the instant it began to grow she’d panicked.

And Jasper had added another thing to the list of symptoms she was experiencing.

“Only a couple of hours,” he moved back toward the night stand, retrieving the canister. “This is the last of it,” he commented as she accepted the stainless steel canister with her bare hands. Barely a second later she was wincing, the container falling to the blankets that were lying across her lap.

Jasper had grabbed it and returned it to the table in an instant. “Alice!”

“I’m fine,” Alice hissed, holding her shaking hands to her chest “It’s not hot, I swear. Seriously,” then, she showed him her palms. They didn’t appear to look any different than usual, but still, Jasper was mortified. Maybe he should’ve been using the culinary thermometer after all… “Jasper. It’s fine,” she assured him between hurried breaths. “I’m not burnt or anything. It just really hurts to grip things today.”

“I’m sorry,” he still apologized quietly, knowing how much she hated hearing the words from him. “I didn’t know.”

“Another symptom for Carlisle,” she half-smiled, and Jasper felt his heart clench at the sight. Those smiles never reached her eyes.

Twenty-nine days ago Alice had been putting stringed lights back into storage containers when the first vision struck. Jasper had been distracted, up in his study, re-reading one of his many comfort books to try and curb the pain in his skull.

Jasper never felt Alice’s initial shock. What he felt was Edward’s powerful fear, and acute mortification.

By the time Jasper was in the living room, Alice was screaming.

Picking the canister back up, Jasper moved to sit back on the bed besides Alice. But when she saw what he was about to do she lifted up a hand, placing it against his arm. “Jazz, no. It’s fine. Give me a few minutes and I can do it myself.”

“I can help,” he insisted, his words quiet as he prepared to hold his breath and twist the canister open.

The human blood was a new addition to her diet. One that Carlisle had suggested after her body had rejected animal blood for the second time. She’d been wholly unable to hunt since the beginning, but she’d still been able to drink from whatever animal Jasper could grab that day.

When her teeth began to, quite literally, lose their edge, their family had been forced to improvise. Jasper didn’t know how they’d attained the initial bags of animal blood, but he was thankful for their efforts. He’d ruined the carpet in the den attempting to exsanguinate a deer, and had only salvaged less than a pint for her. After that, Carlisle had figured something out.

The first time she’d been sick—the animal blood violently expelling itself from her tiny body from the way it came, and ruining the couch in his study—was the first night she slept. Jasper called Carlisle, hysterical and screaming, thinking that whatever was happening had finally killed her.

She’d woken up less than ten minutes later, disoriented but alive. That had been two weeks ago, and Jasper hadn’t left her side for more than ten minutes since, even for a supply pickup.

“You said it’s the last of it,” Alice spoke, her frown deepening when Jasper fully screwed the lid off the bottle, “does that mean it’s a supply day?”

He nodded as he pressed the edge of the container to her mouth and tipped it back, trying hard to look away as she gulped down the blood. His thirst had been killing him the past few days, but he knew that he’d rather starve than deprive Alice of even one drop of sustenance.

“Her body is trying to replenish itself,” Carlisle theorized to him just the day before over the phone, “try and pay attention to what blood type she favors. It might become useful information.”

Her eyes hadn’t changed to red the way he’d expected them to—the way he’d hoped—but instead, every day, they darkened slightly, more orange-ish brown than anything.

It was an almost-human color.

Twenty-nine days ago they’d been celebrating. And then Jasper was in the living room and Alice was shrieking, demanding that everyone get out and that no one come near her and that they get out now and leave.

“Alice,” Jasper had flickered to her side, terrified at the emotions coming from her. But she’d pushed him away so hard he put a dent in the wall, the wood and plaster crumbling beneath his back.

“No!” She’d sobbed, “Stay away! Edward! Get them out! Explain later! Go, now!”

But even Edward, who knew what she was thinking and who had seen what she’d seen, couldn’t bring his feet to move. “Alice, hold on a second.”

Jasper felt Alice’s emotions blank and then come back full-force; it was the tell-tale sign of another vision stealing her attention. And when Edward’s terror trumped Alice’s, Jasper found himself staring helplessly at the redhead.

“Go,” the boy turned toward the family and barked the orders, “everyone get out, now.”

“What is it?” Jasper demanded, his frustration mounting. He trusted Alice with his life, but he’d never felt a heartbreaking fear like this from her before. “What’s going on?”

“Jasper,” Edward yelled as Esme and Bella—who had come to see what the commotion was about—ran off with Renesmee. Emmett and Carlisle were on a hunt and wouldn’t be back for a few hours. “I’ll explain later, we have to go.”

But when Jasper tried to approach Alice again—he’d leave as long as she was by his side—she screamed at him, backing away like a frightened animal.

“NO! Don’t come near me!”

“Jasper! Stop! Let’s go!”

“I’m not leaving until someone tells me what’s going on!” His heart broke as Alice looked at him with fear in her eyes. But as an empath, he knew she wasn’t afraid of him as much as she was afraid at what she’d seen.

“Jazz, please, please, please don’t come near me,” Alice begged as he slowly approached anyways. And the closer he got to Alice the farther Edward inched toward the back doors, his terror permeating the room.

“Alice, please…”

“You have to go before it’s too late.”

“Jasper, stand back!”

“I’m not leaving you,” Jasper spoke directly to Alice, barely an arms-length away now. “Whatever is going on, I’m not leaving you here.” Whether the Volturi were coming for her, or whether some freak natural disaster was set to swallow their neighborhood whole, he didn’t care. He’d rather die than leave Alice to face whatever it was that she and Edward were so terrified of currently.

“I can’t let you,” she shook her head firmly, her expression full of devastation as she backed up against the far wall. “Jasper, please, I don’t want you to get sick.”

“Sick?”

And when thick, silver liquid began to stream down Alice’s face, venom pooling in her eyes, Jasper’s entire world shifted.

By the time Jasper reached forward, wiping the venom from her face and confirming that yes, this was real, and no, this was not good, Edward had vanished, running after their family into the dead of night.

“No,” Alice sobbed, shaking her head as Jasper gathered her up in his arms, “No, not you, too. I don’t want you to die, too.”

“Please hunt today,” Alice spoke after Jasper recapped the now-empty canister. “Please. When you go to get the next shipment. I can’t stand to see you like this.” Reaching out she rested her hand against his cheek, her thumb brushing the bruise-like shadows beneath his eyes as she gazed at him with love and concern.

Jasper shook his head. “Carlisle is sending some more animal blood with the next one, that way I don’t have to leave the house.”

“That’s not going to be enough to sustain you,” Alice frowned, pulling her hand back into her lap. Jasper didn’t miss the way she was lightly massaging her palm. Even the slight affections she showed him pained her now.

“I’ll make it work.”

“How are you supposed to take care of me if you can’t take care of yourself?” The words were gentle, but they struck Jasper like a physical blow.

“I’ll take care of you no matter what.”

Alice sighed, and then there was a pause. “I can’t see them.”

He stared at her blankly, waiting for her too elaborate. “Who?”

“Anyone. I can’t see Carlisle or Esme. Or Bella or,” her voice cracked, “or anyone. I’m even struggling to see you now.”

Jasper nodded calmly, not wanting any of his reactions to worry her further. He would have a moment to himself soon enough. “And your dreams?”

“They’re getting a little less fuzzy. But Jazz,” and her fear in that moment was very real, “if I can’t pull visions up the way I used to, I don’t know what I’m going to do.”

And truthfully, he didn’t know what they were going to do either.

They didn’t know what was eating away at Alice or what sickness she was afflicted with. They don’t know what caused it or how it had struck her. The only thing they knew—and only because of Alice’s first few visions—was that there was a chance it was contagious, and it would very likely kill her.

He’d kissed her through her tears after the third day, when she finally confessed that she very likely had sentenced him to death just with her proximity alone.

But Jasper would walk through the fires of hell day in and day out if it meant he wouldn’t be leaving Alice to face this sickness alone. Whether he lived or died he didn’t care. And if Alice did die… well… he could only hope it was as contagious as they feared…

Leaning forward he pressed a kiss to the side of her head. Alice tilted her head up, lifting a hand to hold his face still so she could plant her own kiss firmly on his lips.

“I love you,” he spoke softly against her lips before kissing her again, “and even if the visions go, you’ll still have me.”

“I’m scared,” she whispered, and when Jasper focused back on her expression, he realized her eyes were closed tight again. Setting the empty canister on the bed-side table, Jasper was careful as he climbed into the bed to lie alongside her. He didn’t want to unplug a single wire.

The electrocardiogram wasn’t registering anything—as it shouldn’t; Alice’s heart had been still for a century now—but Carlisle wanted her hooked up to the device regardless.

“Just in case,” the other man had said over the phone as Jasper had sorted through that delivery. “I know you don’t want to hear this, but if she continues to display more symptoms like this, she may be human before the new year.”

Jasper pushed the memory from his mind as he pulled Alice close, allowing her to snuggle closely, still wrapped tightly in layers of blankets. Even with the thermostat on 80, Alice shivered day in and out.

The wetness that dampened the collar of his shirt made his heart ache.

They remained like that, lying next to one another as Alice’s oxygen concentrator hummed. Jasper hated how he just knew she was warmer. Not as warm as humans were, but even through the layers separating them he could feel the warmth of her body.

She wasn’t indestructible anymore, and Jasper didn’t know how to handle that. Even with her body pressed tight against his, he worried. What if one day he kissed her and hurt her? Or if he squeezed her hand to comfort her and broke her fingers?

He could finally feel some measure of empathy for Edward while he’d been dating Bella all those years ago. The fear of hurting her was prominent in his every move.

Her cardiovascular system was still in limbo, and even as her body warmed and her cheeks slowly filled with color after every meal, her heart was still not beating. Against all odds though, her lungs were operating normally. No longer could Alice simply sit, not thinking about how her lungs didn’t require oxygen unless she needed to speak.

The day that symptom presented itself, she’d gasped for hours, uncomfortable and panicking. Jasper had been on the phone with Carlisle, desperate for guidance, and in hours they’d delivered the necessary equipment.

Hooking up the machine and wrapping the oxygen tube around his wife’s delicate face had made Jasper feel insane. As if this wasn’t real, and he was hallucinating this.

It had felt like the beginning of the end.

Eventually, he pressed a kiss to her head and left the room with the promise to return quickly.

He answered his buzzing phone as he flitted down the stairs.

“I’m on my way.” He spoke without looking to see who it was.

“Carlisle wants you to bring the empty oxygen canisters.”

It was Edward. Jasper shook his head at the request. “I have no way of cleaning them. And even if I do sanitize them I don’t want to risk it.”

Whatever it was that was warming Alice and that he potentially carried, Jasper didn’t want it transferring to any of his family.

“Just bring them. We can leave them to sit for a couple of weeks and then one of us will bring them back.” Edward commented.

Jasper sighed, already half-way out the front door, before turning back to the kitchen. “I don’t have time for this,” he growled impatiently into the phone. The tanks were unnecessary now that Alice was on a concentrator. Jasper thought it was a stupid risk but he’d been low on patience for days now and wasn’t about to argue now.

Grabbing a single empty tank he turned back and was out the door in an instant.

“Where are you?” Jasper spoke into the receiver.

“At the end of the driveway.”

Jasper paused at that, his feet grinding to a halt in the grass. He was suddenly reminded of the last time he’d met up one of them at the end of the driveway, two and a half weeks prior. “You better be alone.” It was dangerous enough for him to interact with any of his family members even at a distance, but whenever they showed up in groups it ignited his anger.

As far as Carlisle was aware, everyone else was either asymptomatic or simply wasn’t sick like Alice. But Jasper wasn’t about to be the one that passed… this on to their family.

“I am,” Edward snapped back, as if Jasper’s words, and not just his ability, could inspire a quick jump to irritation. “I couldn’t exactly carry everything in this shipment. Forgive me for bringing a car.”

Jasper hung up the phone then and made off quickly toward the end of their long driveway. It was a quick run, but Jasper was looking forward to getting this exchange over with. Edward was already wasting precious seconds by requesting an old oxygen tank. He wasn’t about to waste anymore time arguing with the younger vampire.

He saw the car before he saw Edward. It was a deep green color with a matte finish. Jasper could tell just by looking at it that this must’ve been the pet project Rosalie had taken up after they’d left for their Baltimore house back further east.

“She needs anything to focus on that’s not this,” Emmett’s words, like always, lacked proper tact, but while Jasper had glared at his brother over the FaceTime call, Alice had nodded understandably.

A car like this would surely stick out like a sore thumb in Martinsburg.

When the car door opened, Edward’s voice rang out. “She’s already moved on to another one. This one is going in storage after this drop off.”

Jasper didn’t nod, but he did watch carefully as his brother began to quietly empty the contents of the trunk of the car onto the pavement. A few large crates, and some smaller paper bags. When Jasper inhaled deeply, he furrowed his brow in confusion.

“Food?”

Edward closed the trunk and turned back toward Jasper, his expression grim. “Carlisle thinks it might help.”

“Help how?” It didn’t even matter that Jasper didn’t know the first damn thing about making and preparing human food. And it was irrelevant that oftentimes just the smell of human food left Jasper in a foul mood. What mattered was that having to feed his wife human food felt like another insane task he’d been given, and he didn’t know how the fuck he was supposed to just nod and go along with it all.

“I’m sure you can guess.” Even though they were standing quite far apart—at least ten meters—Jasper could clearly see the frustrated furrow of Edward’s brow. Jasper knew he hadn’t been the most pleasant person to interact with over the past month—it was one of the reasons Rosalie elected to tinker in her garage instead of sit on calls or volunteer for supply drop-offs, and it was why Esme had done one, and only one.

But Jasper wasn’t looking to snap at anyone today. He simply wanted to get what he needed (although today’s delivery would take a couple of trips) and go back home to his ailing wife.

“Are her visions still wavering?”

Jasper forced himself to swallow the lump in his throat. Looking away from Edward, he instead stared at the grocery bags piled beside the crates. “They’re nearly gone. She can only see me while awake, and others when she sleeps.”

Edward nodded, and Jasper hated how he knew the boy was digging through his thoughts, collecting images of Alice’s deteriorating, weakening body, and hearing the very real doubts Jasper had currently. Jasper gestured to the tank he was holding. “What do you want me to do with this? I’m not giving it to you.”

“Just toss it over there,” he gestured vaguely to a patch of bushes beside the driveway. “I or Emmett or whoever will pick it up in a couple of weeks.”

Jasper tossed the heavy item to the side without a second glance, his eyes still trained on the supplies. “Is there…?”

“Human and animal blood, yes.” Edward tapped the crate in the front with a foot.

Jasper nodded, swallowing the venom that pooled in his mouth, knowing that he’d be able to drink soon. When surprise and curiosity pulsated off of the boy, Jasper finally met his eyes. “What?”

“You seem fine.” Edward observed with half of a shrug. “I mean, physically. There’s a chance this actually isn’t contagious—”

“Stop,” Now. Jasper would turn and go straight back to the house without another word if Edward kept it up. With his fury just hiding beneath the surface, Jasper thought pointedly. Alice knew her visions would fail. Alice knew you guys would want to come help. But as long as we have those few, early visions of hers we need to be careful. I can handle things over here. When Carlisle finishes analyzing her venom and finds actual fucking answers, let me know. Until they, stay put. I’m fine, and I’m handling things. “Don’t you dare put yourselves in danger. Not until we figure this out.”

The two stared at each other for a few long seconds before Jasper felt himself start to get antsy. He’d only been away from the house for barely more than five minutes, but the more time passed the more afraid he was that Alice would fall asleep and wake again, scared and disoriented, with him nowhere in sight.

“I’ll go,” Edward finally nodded toward the house as he walked back toward the driver’s side and opened the door. “Please text Carlisle her temperature when you get back. And yesterday’s summary, too. Please, Jasper. We’re doing our best.”

And with that, he climbed into the car, started the quiet engine, and pulled off. Jasper waited until the car pulled around a bend in the distance, a thick patch of trees obscuring the vehicle from sight before he ran forward and grabbed the first crate, and in seconds he was rushing back toward the house.

He was still several hundred meters from the house when the sound of hacking reached his ears. Jasper nearly dropped the crate to the ground as he rushed through the front door and flickered up the stairs and into Alice’s bedroom, only to find her crumbled in a heap on the floor, wheezing and coughing.

“Hey, hey,” he swept her up into his arms quickly, wondering why on Earth she’d decided to pluck all the electrodes off and find herself a spot on the floor, far from her oxygen. But before he could ask what she was doing, he felt the dampness that covered her thin flannel pajamas and his heart broke.

Her gasping came from her attempts at crying without her oxygen tube. Jasper maneuvered her back onto the bed—being aware to avoid the wet spot in the center of the bedding—and placed the tube around her head, shushing her.

Two hours, one bath, and a change of bedding later, Alice was fast asleep in the bed, her hand limply clinging to Jasper’s as he typed a long text with one hand.

Things are worse, he began the text. I don’t know what to do.

It started with a vision.

On day thirty-two, Alice ate her first human meal she could ever recall. It wasn’t much; a thin soup that he’d unpacked and warmed from the last shipment. She sipped it slowly, getting some of it down her front. It was hard, she admitted quietly to Jasper, to use a spoon when all she had ever known was biting down on flesh and sucking down blood with force.

She’d managed to eat a single cracker before breaking down in tears, broken up over the very fact that it didn’t taste entirely repulsive to her anymore.

On day thirty-four, Jasper picked up another shipment. Emmett was in a somber mood as he dropped the small delivery off. Groceries for Alice, mainly.

“Tell me you have any news at all.”

Jasper raised an eyebrow at that, watching from a distance as his adopted brother shuffled and frowned. Sadness never suited Emmett, who was one of the brightest personalities Jasper had ever known; the guy had radiated positivity ever since the former-solder had known him.

“I don’t.”

Emmett shrugged at that, and Jasper hated how the taller man’s mood dampened further at those words. “Well, they always say no news is good news.”

Jasper met his sad golden gaze with a severe one of his own. “If I had good news we wouldn’t be doing this, Emmett.”

On day thirty-five, while Jasper read aloud to her, Alice accidentally scratched herself. Much like her hair, her nails were also beginning to grow at a snail’s pace. Along with that, they were more brittle than she was used to. While reaching over and adjusting the zipper to Jasper’s jacket she’d broken a nail, chipping the edge slightly. Then, she’d reached up to tuck a strand of hair behind her head, scratching the now-delicate skin on her face.

It didn’t bleed, but Jasper could still smell the blood, resting idly beneath the surface.

On day thirty-seven they finally sat down and acknowledged what was happening. Jasper refused to say the word ‘human’ but Alice spoke it with a sad resignation, knowing that her body was somehow de-petrifying. “I don’t know if I’ll survive,” she whispered to him as he held her closely, tracing soothing shapes against her back. “In some visions it all ends here, in this bed. In others I can see myself all warm and pink, but the visions don’t go much farther than that, no matter what I do.

“I’m almost positive that I die, Jazz.” She whispered into the silent room. It remained silent for a while after that conversation, until Alice quietly informed Jasper that she needed to use the restroom, and he carried her out of the room, his mind still miles away.

On day forty-one, Alice’s temperature spiked. She slept seventeen hours that day, shivering for most of it, and crying out occasionally, with visions now only plaguing her in her sleep. Jasper held the thermometer against her head and when it registered 96.1 he threw the device, smashing it to pieces against the far wall of the bedroom. Alice didn’t budge.

On day forty-two, Alice woke up, her memory foggy. “Mom?” She called out, sitting up disoriented before Jasper could plant himself in her line of sight. When she flinched at the sight of him, gasping loudly, her shock smacked Jasper across the face. It took several long seconds for her to calm herself, recognition registering to Jasper before it showed on her face. “I’m sorry,” she gasped, hand against her chest as she struggled to regulate her breathing. “I’m sorry Jasper.”

On day forty-three Alice kissed him, harder than she’d kissed him in over a month. It was when her hands found the first button on his shirt that he stopped her, her name only a warning on his lips.

“Please,” she whispered as she kissed her way down his neck, her hands finding a different button as she pressed herself against him, “Jasper, please. I don’t know when we’ll ever be able to again.”

On day forty-three Alice and Jasper spent the entire day in bed. They’d pause in their lovemaking periodically for Alice to use the restroom, or eat a meal, or take a nap, and then resume in between. Jasper was used to handling her with care, but now it truly felt like his wife was made of glass. He was as careful as he dared, knowing that the second he hurt her in his passion would be the end of their physical relationship as far as either of them knew it.

It was early in the morning when Alice kissed him firmly and pulled away with a wince. “I think I need to stop,” and something akin to perspiration was beginning to gather on her forehead, her growing hair sticking to it firmly, “I’m… aching.”

And then, that was that.

On day forty-five she woke up with wide-eyes and was immediately unresponsive. Jasper spent several horrifically long minutes talking to her, checking her vitals, gently massaging and tapping her shoulders and limbs, trying to get her to come back to him, to speak, to do anything other than lie there, stare, and breathe.

He was seconds away from giving up and sending another hysterical phone call Carlisle’s way when she blinked twice and lifted her hand up, blindly reaching toward him.

“Alice, Alice, oh thank God,” Jasper pressed her warm hand against his cheek, inhaling slowly in order to collect himself and prevent his ability from affecting her. “It’s okay, it’s…”

But when Alice forced her eyes to look at him—warm, dark brown eyes—Jasper froze as he felt her wipe wetness from his cheeks.

“I’m so, so sorry,” she whispered as he jerked back, his hands wiping the venom from his face with a panic.

For two days, Jasper’s gift was hard to control. Meaning that now, to his complete and utter dismay, Alice was just as miserable as he was.

It wasn’t that he cared about being a vampire. Sure, the power it supplied him with to protect Alice and his family was something he wouldn’t trade for anything, and with Alice slowly reverting back into a human he felt comforted that at the very least he could keep her safe.

But how was he supposed to protect her from all the dangers that were out there when he, too, would be human in time?

Forty-seven days after their family ran and they barricaded themselves in the house, confined to their West Virginia property, Alice broke.

“I wanted you to run,” she sobbed with all her might, yanking wires and throwing anything she could get her hands on across the room. “I wanted you to go with them. I didn’t want you to die, too. It’s my fault this is happening, it’s all my fault.”

She wouldn’t let Jasper anywhere near her that day. Even when she slept, her emotions were a turbulent storm, making it difficult for Jasper to even sit at her bedside while she tossed and turned and shivered.

On day forty-eight Alice spent the day apologizing profusely. For everything and anything under the sun. Jasper simply shook his head, kissed away her tears, and held her close. All while assuring her that she had nothing to apologize for.

It wasn’t her fault they were dying, after all.

On day fifty-eight, Jasper had a sobering phone call with Carlisle and Edward.

“I reached out to Aro,” and Carlisle didn’t even pause in his sentence when Jasper hissed ferociously, “to see if he could provide any help, or any answers.”

“If anyone wants Alice alive as much as we do, it’s Aro, Jasper. Stop,” Edward spoke up loudly. And although the boy couldn’t hear Jasper’s thoughts he had decades of knowledge of his inner-thought process to know precisely where this conversation was heading. “It wasn’t anything we wanted to do, with Alice as weak as she is—”

“She said so herself,” Carlisle chimed in, not giving Jasper time to verbalize a response, “she doesn’t think she’ll make it out of this. And with you sick, too, we aren’t left with many other options.”

“The Volturi have far more resources than we could ever dream of having,” Edward spoke. “If this is something that’s ever been documented before, they’ll be able to find it.”

“But as far as Aro is aware, he’s never heard of anything like this happening before. Especially something that can be contracted by other vampires, too. We’re all in the dark here.”

Jasper refused to update them on his own state that day. It was bad enough that Alice had gone behind his back—quite literally—and texted Carlisle that Jasper’s first symptoms had begun to materialize the other day, but he didn’t want anyone’s attention on him. Alice was the priority. Alice would always be the priority, and Jasper refused to give any information to his family on his own state entirely.

But still, he knew that Alice was very likely texting Esme right now while he listened to Edward and Carlisle prattle on about their research and findings, and about how ultimately, they’d come up with no solutions.

If Alice died, Jasper knew he wouldn’t have to wait for this sickness to kill him in order to join her.

And with this thought it was as if Edward was truly there, in person. “Jasper. Hang in there. We’re going to figure something out,” the boy insisted after a length of silence had fallen across the line. “Don’t do anything foolish.”

On day sixty, she fell asleep and didn’t wake up.

Jasper sat by her bedside and waited. After the first day, he called Carlisle, only for Esme to pick up the phone and ask him what was wrong. The sound of her voice, so caring and full of love, caused him to finally break down. He found himself crying venomous tears for nearly an hour as he listened to her soothing words.

“The best thing you can do is stay with her,” she said eventually. “Talk to her maybe. If its anything like our transformations, she can likely hear you. Tell her you love her, and stay close.”

So that’s what he did. For the entirety of that second day, when he wasn’t on the phone with a member of their family, he sat at her bedside and talked. About her. About their relationship. About how devastated he was that this illness had struck her. He reminisced out loud about their first meeting, his many regrets, and about how even though now human blood had been introduced back into his diet (his body had begun to reject animal blood days ago) it felt completely and utterly ridiculous that it was what had driven him to madness time and time again.

He talked about how much he loved her. About how she was everything to him. The reason for his attempts at interacting with the public, the reason he abstained from human blood in the first place, and the reason he consistently pushed through his thirst. She was the reason he’d stopped hating his appearance, scars still prominent on every inch of his skin. She was the reason he’d given peace a chance, and the reason he now had a family to call his own.

She’d given him everything beyond what he could have ever hoped for in this cursed afterlife of his, and he told her such as she lay there, the only movement coming from her chest slowly and steadily rising and falling. He talked more that day than he’d spoken in a long, long time.

“I suppose all that ‘playing human’ should’ve helped us out better for this, huh?” He spoke out loud into an empty room sometime after midnight on the second day. “You’d think it would’ve prepared us for something crazy like this, instead of sending us to the brink of hopelessness.”

On the third day, Alice’s temperature skyrocketed, registering a fever that Jasper could do nothing to break. He cycled through damp rags, always keeping a cool, fresh one pressed against the burning skin of her forehead, being careful not to bump any of the wires, old and new.

Carlisle had to talk him through the insertion of the IV the night before. Now that her body required human food and water, Carlisle explained that it was vital in keeping her healthy and alive. Still, it had felt alien to poke at her skinny, fragile arm, looking around for a vein that hadn’t pumped blood in over a hundred years.

Eventually he placed it somewhere Carlisle—who’d been video called to assist—approved, but even still, Alice did not budge.

On the third day, Jasper climbed into bed with her and carefully pulled her close to him. His own temperature wasn’t as cool as it once was, but he hoped that even in her unconscious state it would help to soothe her somewhat. He closed his eyes and focused hard on her slow, even breaths, combined with the low buzz of her oxygen concentrator.

And in minutes Jasper was asleep for the first time since the nineteenth century.

He woke up with a start, mind immediately aware of Alice’s prone form beside him as he moved himself up and out of the bed. His entire body was shaking as his mind caught up with what was happening. His entire head felt foggy but despite not having slept in well over a century he knew that something had woken him up.

It started with a vision.

On day sixty-three Alice’s heart began to beat.

It was a slow, steady rhythm. With one hand Jasper quickly dialed Carlisle and with another he reached out, resting his fingers against her wrist as he counted the beats. Feeling a pulse flutter beneath his fingers didn’t help to combat the dizziness Jasper was still fighting, but he knew that he had to pay close attention. Alice’s life—Alice with her beating heart and blood-filled cheeks and her fragile skin and bones—now hung in the balance.

“It’s beating,” he spoke in lieu of a greeting, “her heart. It just started back up. About,” he focused for a few seconds, “seventeen beats per minute. She still isn’t awake, but she… there’s a pulse.”

“Oh my—hold on; Grandpa!” A familiar voice yelled in the background of the call, and Jasper’s dizziness increased as he realized Renesmee had answered Carlisle’s phone. “Mom! Aunt Rosie! Where’s Grandpa! It’s an emergency! Uncle Jasper says—”

“What’s going on?” Rosalie was on the phone immediately, and Jasper had to close his eyes and rest his head against the side of the bed as he focused, forcing himself to concentrate on counting Alice’s heart beats. “Jasper?”

“Her heart is beating, Rose,” he spoke miserably. “Not fast. And she’s not awake.”

“Ness is getting Carlisle now,” Jasper could hear how it felt like suddenly Rosalie was moving around quickly. “What’s her respiratory rate?”

Jasper looked up then, eyeing the silent machines with confusion. Horror fell over him when he realized that not only were they silent, not even registering Alice’s slow pulse, but they were completely shut off. It wasn’t something he’d noticed before he fell asleep. He’d been too preoccupied with fussing over her unconsciousness and babbling on about nothing to notice.

There was no way he’d unplugged anything, on accident or even on purpose. In fact, the last time he’d recalled the bright numbers and words being lit on either of the machines was—

“I hate that beeping,” Alice had commented the day before she’d lost consciousness, “it’s so disturbing. Can’t we set it up to only alarm when things are working, instead of when they’re not?”

In an instant he’d rounded the bed and lifted the chords attached to the machines, finding them unplugged from the wall. In seconds they were plugged back in and Jasper was quickly examining Alice, ensuring that everything was hooked up properly.

At the sound of Rosalie still demanding things through the phone that he’d abandoned on the bed, Jasper reached out and pressed the speaker button. “She unplugged everything. I just—give me a minute.”

And the instant the machines began to register her vitals, the alarms began to blare.

“Her blood pressure isn’t going to register normally, but you have to pay attention to her heart and respiratory rates. If she’s human now you can’t let either of them drop down below what they are now. Do you hear me Jasper? Jasper!”

“I hear you,” he spoke miserably as he watched Alice’s chest rise and fall.

“The instant they begin to dip you say something. Now, whatever you do now you’re not going to get off this phone, you hear me?”

“Yeah,” he rasped, feeling the sting of tears begin to pull to the surface, “I won’t.”

Then, there was shuffling in the background and Carlisle was on the line. “I heard the news. Just stay on the line Jasper. Is your thirst manageable?”

“I’m not going to fucking hurt her,” he snapped, his nerves wound up so tightly that he couldn’t even hold the words back before they were being spat. “Forget me, Carlisle, how do I keep her alive?”

“Keep her heart beating, and if anything at all changes, you say something. Now, go over her vitals for me please.”

The next hour felt like the longest period of time Jasper could recall in his entire existence. He swore that the minutes ticked by like hours. He didn’t touch the phone once. It sat just where he left it on the edge of the bed, and sat at Alice’s side, listening and watching her with an unstoppable focus. Of course he registered the sound of his family talking, even if he wasn’t registering their words half of the time. Knowing that they were connected was enough to calm him to the point where he could apply his single-minded concentration fully to Alice.

He would do damn near everything he could to keep her alive, her visions be damned.

At some point he acknowledged that her IV bag had been empty for a few hours, which prompted a nearly-ten minute long argument in which Rosalie was demanding—and Carlisle was pleading—for him to leave Alice for a few seconds and go into the next room and retrieve a new one. Eventually he gave in, but only after Rosalie yelled, “Don’t be fucking stupid, get it so she doesn’t die and throw your tantrum later.”

(No matter how angry it made him, deep down he knew she was right.)

“Alice,” he whispered to her as he reached out and caressed her warm face, “how did this happen?” But the only signs of life from her were the slight rise-and-fall of her chest and the beeping of the electrocardiograph. And that was exactly what they were now: signs of life.

Jasper himself had been ignoring the uncomfortable feeling that was beginning to plague him whenever he went more than a few seconds without taking a breath. After his first symptoms had appeared he had started forcing himself to breathe normally, timing his breaths along with Alice’s without her noticing. Practicing for the day when his respiratory system would start acting like a human’s again.

He couldn’t even waste time thinking about what it meant to be human again. He couldn’t care about his warming body or the fact that he was weakening more and more every day. The only thing that mattered was that Alice made it out of this alive. Everything else was an afterthought. It was all for her.

Jasper didn’t realize his phone had died until Alice’s started ringing. He almost ignored it until he realized it was Carlisle’s number, and when he looked toward his own phone, and the blank, empty screen, he felt foolish as he reached forward and plucked Alice’s phone from her side.

He quickly muttered an apology and an explanation before placing the phone back down on the bed, speaker activated so he could go back to ignoring that device, too. A part of him knew that he should’ve grabbed one of the chargers that was just barely out of arm’s reach, but he didn’t dare move too far from Alice’s side.

He held her hand firmly in his, and waited.

“How is she?” Carlisle asked the question the second that the tempo of one of her monitors changed.

“Twenty beats per minute. Her breathing is…”

There was a beat of silence where Jasper stared from Alice’s prone body to the face of the screens on the machines hooked up to her. Something wasn’t right.

And then Alice’s respiratory rate took a nose-dive, alarms started blaring, and all hell broke loose.

There was a flurry of panic on the other side of the phone while Jasper stood fully, hovering helplessly over Alice’s body. This was it, he knew instantly even without ever seeing the vision himself. This was what Alice had foreseen. Her body, pink and fragile and human, slowly deteriorating in this very bed in this very room.

Alice had been wrong. She hadn’t cursed Jasper to his own fate by transferring whatever illness was de-petrifying their stone bodies. The curse itself lay in the fact that Jasper had been foreseen to watch the deterioration and death of the woman he loved more than anything else in the universe.

She had only ever apologized to him for getting him sick, as if that was something that was her fault. As if that were worse than this.

Rosalie’s voice broke through the yelling on the other side.

“Jasper! Listen to me! Keep her breathing.”

He’d watched and read every piece of instruction material Carlisle and Edward had sent his way, so he knew exactly what to do. But performing rescue breathing and watching it be done were two entirely different things. Having to force air into Alice’s lungs was the most agonizing thing he’d done in months.

Please don’t die, please don’t die, he thought the phrase over and over again as he focused on counting through each breath, being careful to only give her lungs the air they needed and not a bit more. It was after about a minute when he pulled back and actually looked at her, when he began to panic. The color that had been so steadily restored to her face was slowly fading away.

“She’s turning blue,” he shouted at the phone before gently tilting her head back again, plugging her nose, and giving a few more slow breaths, “Carlisle!”

There was chaos across the line and for a moment Jasper was afraid that the call had dropped as silence hung in the air. Then, what sounded like someone picking up a fallen phone. “We’re almost there, just hold on,” Esme’s voice spoke quickly.

That’s when the noises behind her began to make sense. The low pur of a car’s engine, the tell-tale sound of a vehicle speeding down the road. Jasper didn’t know how he’d missed the signs.

“No,” he pleaded desperately when he realized what that meant. “You’ll die.”

“No we won’t, sweetheart.” The smile in her voice nearly brought tears to his eyes. “Focus on Alice. It’ll all be okay.”

But for several long agonizing minutes he forced air into Alice’s weak lungs, and the alarms still blared. And when her already-weak pulse began to drop, he was beginning to think he’d failed. That he wouldn’t be able to do it. That Alice would be dead and it was all because he couldn’t protect her and—

The noise of glass shattering registered with his senses just as he was mid-breath, his mouth placed around Alice’s as he futilely attempted to bring her back. Hands were on his shoulders and when he was pulled away firmly he could only look up and shudder with relief over the sight of Carlisle and Rosalie working over Alice’s tiny, fragile body.

“I’ve got you man,” it was Emmett, “it’s going to be okay now.”

Jasper shook his head as he stumbled. But Emmett’s arms wrapped were around him from behind and he was pulling the blond backward far enough to give Carlisle and Rosalie space.

“You can’t,” Jasper protested weakly, feeling the tears that he’d been keeping at bay finally begin to spill over, “Alice didn’t want you to come.”

Emmett gave him a good shake, still not releasing him. “Well, too damn bad. Come on.”

Jasper didn’t have the strength to fight him as he was dragged from the room. He was sure that if he did, he wouldn’t be able to. Each day he’d grown weaker and weaker as more and more symptoms presented themselves. But when Emmett tried to force him down the stairs Jasper dug his feet into the carpet as hard as he could. (The fact that it didn’t force the wood to buckle beneath his feet was enough evidence of his own illness.)

“I can’t be far, please, Em.”

The sound of tires screeching to a stop outside of the house bought both of their attention toward the foyer, and when Esme burst through the front door, flickering up the stairs before stopping in front of the men, Jasper felt his knees begin to shake.

They’d surely all die now, too. Carlisle and Rosalie, who were hard at work trying to hook Alice up to whatever new device they’d jumped out of the car to sprint to the house. And Emmett and Esme, who were looking at him as if he were the one made of glass, and the one that was seconds away from shattering.

He wasn’t the one who needed putting back together.

“You’ll die,” he spoke, his voice rough with emotion as Esme reached up and placed her hands on his face, her own expression absolutely broken at the sight of him. “You’re all going to get sick now, too.”

When Esme smiled up at him, he felt his knees buckle. Thankfully, Emmett’s arms still trapping him like a cage kept him standing. “Alice made her choice in trying to keep us safe. Now, we’re making our choice. We aren’t going to leave you two to suffer alone anymore.”

“Carlisle and Rose are going to do whatever they can, man.” Emmett tightened his grip, perhaps sensing that he was the only thing keeping Jasper from hitting the floor.

A loud noise caused their heads to turn back toward Alice’s room and suddenly, there was calm. The only noises now were from the machines that were beeping calmly. And just under all of it, they could all hear the noise of a heartbeat, steady and strong.

“It’s going to be okay,” Esme whispered again when Jasper’s tears started anew. Slowly, Emmett released his grip, lowering Jasper to the ground where Esme wrapped her arms around him. “She’ll be alright. We’ve got you now. It’s alright.”

And the sound of that steady heartbeat was all Jasper could focus on as he buried his face against Esme’s shoulder and cried.

It started with a vision. And now they were past it, and Alice was still alive.

Eventually they helped him walk back into the bedroom, and when he climbed into bed beside Alice—his warm, pink, human wife—they simply let him.

He pressed a kiss to her forehead before grabbing her hand in his and closing his eyes. There would be time to discuss things with his family later, and to acknowledge the weight of what had happened tonight and what had been done. But for now, he laid beside Alice, and Jasper slept.

#jaliceweek20 #Alice cullen #jasper hale #twilight fanfiction #jalice fanfiction #the twilight saga #this is my FAVORITE from this week even if it is what? almost two weeks later??#who cares my parents came to town and now the US it attempting to remove a fascist from office #my priorities have been SCATTERED lads

34 notes · View notes

mhdiaries · 4 years ago

Photo

Freaky Fusions Neighthan Rot Diary

6/14

I must be the clumsiest zombicorn in the entire monster world. Granted I’m the only one, at least the only I know of, as far as I can tell. My dad said if he would have had any idea I was going to be so clumsy, he would have named me “Trip”. Lucky for me, I have a built-in first aid kit in the form of my horn. It works great when it comes to healing physical bumps, bruises and scrapes, but no so much for emotional ones. I think that’s why I want to be a psychologist so that I can help monsters feel better from the inside out. Definitely have enough experience seeing how hard it is for a monster when they don’t have someone they trust that’ll listen to what they’re going through. I know it’s a lot more complicated than that, but it’s easy to feel alone when you don’t think you’re being heard.

6/17

I filled out my application for Monster High today and was surprised to find a section that asked me to talk about my family scaritage. I was hesitant at first, but when I talked to Mom and Dad, they told me “just tell the story.” Of course, they each have their own version of the story. Dad said to make sure I used his vision, which made Mom roll her eyes. Dad was an art major in college, and one of his class assignments required him to sketch illustrations of wild unlife. He says he was so stealthy that he was able to sneak up on any creature in the forest and draw for hours without ever being noticed. Mom says she always knew Dad was coming, because she could hear him tripping over, under and through every vine, branch and twig in the woods. She said that the only reason Dad was able to sketch “unnoticed” was because she told the woodland creatures that she sensed Dad’s heart was pure and kind, so they just ignored him. Dad said he always felt “watched” when he was there, so he started having “conversations” with his watcher. They were all one-sided, but Mom said Dad talked about his unlife, his hopes and screams, and he was funny. Mom started looking forward to Dad’s visits and debated about coming out of hiding, so he could see her, but always talked herself out of it. Then one day, when he sat down to draw, he said, “My class is ending, and I won’t be coming back. Thanks for keeping me company all this time, and I drew something for you.” The sketch that Dad held up was of a unicorn. Over time, and without realizing it, Mom’s shyness had been overcome by Dad’s kindness and good humor; so much so, that each time he visited, she hid less and less. Dad never let on that he could see her though because he was afraid she would run away and never come back. So Mom, who can transform into a two-legged creature at will, walked out and sat next to Dad. They have been at each other’s side ever since.

6/21

I got a text today from Sirena, asking if I would meet her at the Coffin Bean to talk about something. I think she purposely kept it vague, because she has many “somethings” floating around in her head, and she’s never sure which one it is she wants to discuss until she’s literally hovering in front of you. Not that it bothers me, it’s just who she is. Also, if she gets distracted, which happens, you’re not left on the hook worrying about a specific problem she might be having. While I was waiting for her, a group of high school ghouls came through the door. They were laughing and being silly, which caused me to look up from the book I was reading just in time to catch the eye of the most beautiful ghoul I have ever seen. She had black and white streaked hair pulled up in a pony tail – I love that look – pale mint green skin, and matching neck bolts. It was her eyes that I got caught in though, one blue, one green, and both totally electric. I think we both realized we were caught in each other’s sightline at the same time, and we quickly looked away. She was with a mummy and werewolf ghoul, but I don’t remember much about either one of them. It was like a music video, where everything slows down and fades into the background except the star. I couldn’t decide whether to introduce myself or run and hide. I though that I would wait until they sat down, but they grabbed their order to go. I had this moment of panic that made me feel like if I didn’t follow her out and get her name and number, I would never see her again. Only I didn’t follow her, I just sat there like a gargoyle on a wall and watched her leave. But as she was leaving, she turned and looked back like she had forgotten something, our eyes met briefly again, it may have been just my imagination or a trick of the light, but it looked like a little spark leapt off her neck bolts. Then she was gone, and I missed my chance. I don’t even know if she lives around here. Maybe, she was visiting or from another country, or if she does live here, I’m sure she must be dating some manster that’s the captain of the football team or something. How could a ghoul like that not be? I don’t know the answer to any of these questions, and now I probably never will but if I ever do see her again, I promise I will, find out. As for Sirena, she did show up, but whatever that “something” was she wanted to discuss I don’t remember a word of it.

7/10

I went to the movies with Avea and Bonita last night. Sirena was supposed to join us, but didn’t show until we got to the Die-ner after the show. I wasn’t that excited about the film, but I was hoping maybe I’d see the ghoul from the Coffin Bean at the theater, but I didn’t. I was thinking about going home after the movie instead of to the Die-ner, but the ghouls wanted to talk about MH. They don’t think we’re going to get in, but for some reason I do. Maybe, I’m just being naïve, or maybe I think we deserve something clawsome to happen to us.

7/12

I called Monster High today to see if I could meet with Headless Headmistress Bloodgood. I had a speech all memorized to try and talk my way past her secretary and onto her calendar. My speech was completely thrown off though, when the headmistress was the monster that actually answered the phone. I kind of panicked and said, “My name is Neighthan Chance and I would like a Rot to talk to you about… ummm…” There was silence on the other end of the line, and I thought I either heard a cough or a laugh, and she said, “Mr. Rot, my calendar is open for this afternoon, so why don’t you come in and see me at three.” I got there at two and paced back and forth in front of the school for about twenty minutes, when I heard someone calling my name, “Mr. Rot, do come in before you wear a moat into the front lawn.” I looked up to see Headless Headmistress Bloodgood standing at the top of the school steps. I went up the steps two at a time, and naturally, I tripped, landed hard and skinned my arm from wrist to elbow. HHB offered to take me to the nurse’s office, but I just used my horn and healed the scrape. If she was the least bit surprised, she didn’t show it. We sat in her office, and I talked while she mostly listened. First off, I told her that I was there of my own accord and that the ghouls didn’t know about it; that I just wanted to ask her to give Sirena, Bonita and Avea’s applications special consideration. I told her about their backgrounds and their friendship and their parents and that even though Sirena, Bonita and Avea had been to a bunch of different schools, it didn’t mean that they were troublemakers. I said they’d never gotten the chance to go to a school where the inner monster was more important than the outer one, and that I believed things could be different here. HHB took her head off and put it on the desk. “I’m curious to know why you think that,” she asked. I thought for a moment and finally said, “Because that’s the foundation of Monster High is built upon, isn’t it? That it doesn’t matter who your parents are, or what kind of monster you happen to be, and you don’t just say it. You unlive it.” HHB put her head back on and leaned back in her chair. She then said, “What about yourself then, Mr. Rot? Do you not wish to be a student at Monster High?” I told her that I did, but that I didn’t want to take a spot that could go to one of my friends. After I finished my plea, the headmistress furrowed her brow and leaned forward, “That’s very noble of you, Mr. Rot, but why do you assume that you’d be accepted, either?” I must have looked totally shocked at the thought of that possibility, then her eyes lit up and she smiled. “Relax, Mr. Rot, I was only teasing. You are a very earnest young manster with what appears to be a genuinely compassionate heart. That aside, you need not concern yourself with sacrificing your spot for one of your friends – at Monster High, space will be made when space is required.” I sat back in my chair and breathed a little sigh of relief. We talked a little while longer, and then, as she walked me out, I saw a picture on the wall of the MH Fear Squad. They were doing a pyramid, and at the top was the ghoul I saw at the Coffin Bean. My heart almost jumped out of my chest, and I asked, “Who is that?” HHB told me her name was Frankie Stein. “You two should meet someday,” she said. “I think you’d find you have much in common.” It was a nice thing for her to say, but how could I have anything in common with perfection?

7/30

I got my letter from Monster High today. By the time mine was delivered, Bonita, Sirena and Avea had all gotten theirs and called to give me the good news. I opened mine and stopped reading after “We are delighted to inform you…” I’m in. We’re all in. We made it… we made it.

#monster high #monster high diary #freaky fusion #neighthan rot

67 notes · View notes

overdrivels · 4 years ago

Text

The Way to a Heart (21)

<< Chapter 20

McCree knows there’s no such thing as a perfect mission—the fact that most everyone on the mission got put up in the medbay immediately after is more than indicative of that. Turns out they were found out when Zarya looked up the destination on her own device. (Sombra was kind enough to tip him off when she hacked into his earpiece during the mission). It made him roll his eyes so hard he saw stars. Doesn’t anyone follow proper sec-ops these days?

Hanzo got knocked flat on his ass, having taken more pellets than anyone else. He hasn’t woken up yet but Angela doesn’t expect him to until tomorrow at the earliest. Genji got off lighter in a sense, but he was hit in areas that messed with his general ability to function. Non-fatal for regular people, but crippling for him until Angela and Torbjörn can make the proper repairs. He heard Genji is up and about but won’t be combat ready for a while and Hanzo is still knocked out.

And himself? He’s been laid up for the past day, nursing wounds that he got only because he was being hasty and juggling the looming possibility of a second knee replacement. He got what he needed from Sombra, and a little extra from ‘Reaper’. His business with them is done for now.

As for Lúcio and Zarya, they were slowly overwhelmed by the crowd who kept getting back up. Even a weightlifting champion will have trouble carrying the whole mission alone, so Ana gave Lúcio a boost after Talon retreated so they’d all have the energy to scrape the Shimada brothers off the ground and drive them all back in record time. Unfortunately for Lúcio, the nano-boost stuff Ana gave him is still experimental, and Angela raised hell.

“His muscles were ripped to shreds—!”

“To shreds, you say?” Ana tuts. “Now you’re being dramatic.”

McCree has to wince in sympathy when Angela splutters indignantly, the loss of her composure a rare and dangerous thing.

“How dare—his heart nearly collapsed! This technology, I never approved of it to be used in this way.”

“This technology is no longer yours to control. Just as a parent lets their child out in the world, you can’t dictate what happens to them forever.”

“And just what would you know about parenting—”

“Watch your mouth, Angela.”

The deep, underlying tensions that had been set aside reemerge and both of them have touched nerves that the other should have left alone. Let sleeping dogs lie, as it were. McCree chose to do the right thing and put the pillow over his face, drowning out the rest of the conversation.

After a few seconds, their ‘conversation’ abruptly stops. It’s made apparent why when you knock on his door and enter with a tray.

“Hey, Chef. Fancy seein’ you here.”

He does not miss the exact moment you lay eyes on him and wince.

“I don’t look that bad, do I?”

“No, no. You look...fine.”

You’re a terrible liar—no, correction—you’re an average liar lying to people who do it for a living. You clear your throat instead and try to change the topic.

“I brought you dinner.”

“Well, mighty kind of you.” For both the dinner and stopping what could have escalated in The Fall 2.0. “You bringin’ me food reminds me of old times.”

You roll your eyes, trying hard to suppress a smile. "Hurry up and eat, Jesse. It’s something special."

He rubs his hands together dramatically as you set down the tray on his overbed table.

In his heart of hearts, he hopes your ‘something special’ isn’t Reyes’s version of arroz con pollo—McCree liked to be able to practically slurp down the dish, and Reyes liked to visually differentiate between the rice and chicken and everything else on his plate.

Luckily, it isn’t and he can’t help the way his mouth drops open when you put down his tray.

Enchiladas smothered in a creamy red sauce that stretches when he picks it up with his fork, beaded with bits of meat and diced peppers and onions that he scoops together with his rice and beans. The plate is barely visible beneath all the stuff.

“What’s the occasion?”

Your lips are pressed together in a thin smile that don’t quite reach your eyes. Outlandish and out of character acts like this should make him nervous. They’re usually the signs of someone who is about to do something crazy. He wonders if it’s because you feel bad about their current condition or if you’re losing it.

He’s sure he’s not supposed to eat stuff like this, but it’s already cooked, it’s in his hands, and not even death itself can stop him from taking his first, goopy bite. He can think of the reasons later.

It’s the explosive taste of home that is able to awaken even the most dormant of taste buds—not the home where he fought tooth and nail for his freedom, not the one where he broke his abue’s heart when he told him he was leaving and got kicked out of instead, not the one where he routinely escaped to go to meet Ashe and just shoot things—no, this is home. Where his lita was still alive. Of winter days when the only heat available was body heat beneath blankets and the fire in his mouth from what was then too much spice.

It’s overflowing, it’s sloppy, and best of all, it’s perfect.

No words are exchanged between you both as he devours the dish. Each bite sticks to his ribs, filling in gaps he didn’t even know he had. It sits heavier and heavier in his stomach until he feels like bursting, but he wants to keep eating just to chase that gentle heat.

All good things have to end, and he manages to sneak two licks off his plate before you take it away from him. His tray is clear off and replaced with a stout glass with about a finger’s worth of amber liquid. With widening eyes, he looks at you and you smile back tentatively and almost sheepishly.

“Head Chef Richard won’t need it anymore.” Your jaw is tight and your voice is strained, but he pretends not to notice. (If he had heard those words from anyone else, he would think it was a confession of murder.) Regardless of what caused your change of heart, nothing can change the fact it’s already poured. He picks it up delicately and skips smelling it and goes straight for it.

Even with his diminished sense of taste and smell, the way the alcohol feels in his mouth is incredible—soft and full with that familiar bite that comes like a sharp nibble after a slow, smouldering kiss. It’s a taste that could make him believe in love.

He sighs lazily, letting the last of the sting evaporate from his throat and tongue. He entertains the idea of keeping this expensive secret to himself. He did make a deal with Hanzo, after all. But then again. He flashes a grin at you, tries to make it as unarming as possible.

“Do you mind terribly if I get a bit more? Couldn’t ‘ppreciate it properly.”

"Maybe another day.” Your voice goes quiet and conspiratory as you look around, “Dr. Ziegler would kill me if she found out."

"At least you're finally calling her 'doc'," he mumbled to himself.

"I'm sorry?"

"Nothin'.” He holds out his empty glass with a grin and a wink. "I won't tell if you won't. Our secret."

He didn’t expect you to acquiesce especially since you’ve probably broken more protocol in a single meal than you have in the past however many years. For all of his meddling, even he understands the importance of rationing and sticking to strict schedules. If Reyes didn’t beat it into him, the military-like lifestyle would’ve. When it looks like you might protest, you give an exaggerated sigh and raise a finger to your lips. “Our secret.”

He gives you the largest smile he could manage without re-splitting his lip, not the calculated one he uses when he wants to charm someone, but a genuine one he hopes you can tell comes from the heart. He’d like to think it was conveyed properly when you return the gesture, leaving with the entire tray.

The food in his stomach almost drags him into a comfortable sleep, but you’re back just as his eyes start to droop. It’s disappointing that you don’t return with the whole bottle, but he’ll take what he can get. This time, he takes it nice and slow, appreciating the few flavors he can taste.

“Hey, Chef. Y’got any more ‘secrets' you want airin’ out that I can help with?”

You laugh nervously, a sure sign there is. He waits, arms crossed as best he can and eyebrow raised, letting his silence speak for him and his expectations.

To his surprise though, you return the look instead of buckling under the pressure. For a moment, he feels like he’s staring at your predecessor. There’s a spark beneath your exterior, a fire that’s been lit. If he’s being honest, it makes him just a little proud.

But the standoff doesn’t last long, and all your posturing melts away.

“Well...I don’t know if you’d like it. We have a few forty-something year old wines stored away. I can’t exactly take it with us.”

“Ohh? So you’re not really tryin’ to cheer me up, you’re just gettin’ rid of old inventory. I see how it is.” You smile at him, exasperated, and he can’t feel too bad about it. “Well, guess if it ain’t going to good use, I don’t mind takin’ it off your hands, lighten the Orca’s load. Got a few good ideas for ‘em.”

He’ll have to evaluate their true value, but decades-old wine definitely has buyers and he knows a potential one who he might be able to goad into trading them for a favor or three. It’s not gentlemanly to let a favor like this go unpaid, and he’s already got a few ideas on how to do it.

---

Less than one week until the first of the Overwatch staff are to leave Gibraltar and everyone is as busy as ever. On your instructions, though vague, several members of Overwatch were sent to retrieve ingredients from strange locations: the backdoor of a local dive bar for some wagyu beef; vegetables from an accounting firm stuffed in steel briefcases; a fetch quest between the open market stalls who decided to load them up with miscellaneous ingredients on the way to the final destination, a dinghy full of expensive seafood.

But despite all this, Tracer smiles to herself every time she bursts in through the swinging kitchen doors—doors that were once forbidden now opening for her so easily—to show you her haul for the day.

“Chef, what’s for lunch?”

And instead of being rebuffed or met with the end of a ladle or spatula, she’s instead greeted with an awkward smile and open arms.

It’s more than she can ask for, and she thinks that whatever direction Overwatch is headed toward, it’d be nice if you could be there on that journey, too.

---

Snapping the lid on the last of your lunch boxes, you slide it right beside a large but neat stake of similar containers by the window where the word ‘lunch’ flashes on a sign overhead. Athena has been taking care of monitoring the shares that you can fulfill your order from Winston to limit your hours. Even after a few days of this it’s hard to get used to like it’s a ritual that’s been broken.

There are spots in the kitchen you need to wipe down, containers you have to clean out, areas and appliance temperatures you have to inspect. Even doing the bare minimum would take up more time than Winston allotted you.

Speaking of him, you haven’t given him your decision yet.

It’s hard to.

Ping.

Pin-ping-ping-ping.

The limited time you have to contemplate your choices is then interrupted by the increased influx of messages on your communicator.

Ever since you saw the revived garden, you were momentarily inspired to contact one of your former chef colleagues. It started off innocuously with a picture of the garden but then Patissiere Woo began to prod gently at the fragile bubble that was your self, and you began to divulge until it became an unstoppable stream—your restaurant, your decisions, the agents, the attack; it was all out in open.

She only listened, and in the end, she simply said, “Isn’t this what friends are for?”

After that, communications began flooding your phone as news of your return—albeit late news—made its way to your old coworkers. Offers of ingredients and labor came in one after another nestled in caps-locked insults and endless streams of emojis. There are updates, too. Pictures of your colleagues’ families, of their staff, of their restaurants, and news article links of their accomplishments as though to make up for the years you’ve been out of contact.

Today is no different, but nestled in all of that is a message from Patissiere Woo with an attached interview of Cœur d’Artichaut’s new CEO. You almost didn’t want to read it, unwilling to face the person who took over everything you’ve built and subsequently was forced to abandon.

But the headline seizes you by the throat.

‘Exclusive interview with legendary chef Richard Sauveterre,’ it read. Below it, its subheading blared out: ‘Former Overwatch and now charity restaurant, still doing good for the world?’

The beginning of the interview opens up like a fan letter with a photo of the subject in question. His hair is a little shorter than you remembered and he looks a bit older—more wrinkles—but that steely gaze and thinned mouth that looks ready to fire off commands like knives is still the same. Your heart races, your jaw slackens as you read on.

‘The very definition of tall, dark, and handsome, made more distinguished by thick cornrows that trace the sides of his skull like a crown. He is King Midas in a chamber of heat, steel, and raw ingredients that he spins into award winning meals capable of turning the stoniest of hearts into gold.

‘Now he is CEO of acclaimed charity restaurant, Cœur d’Artichaut, whose motto is an age-old French saying: the heart of an artichoke, a leaf for everyone. Previously, Cœur d’Artichaut was shaken by rumors of involvement in criminal activity but Chef Sauveterre refutes those rumors and intends to bring the restaurant’s fame to new heights.’

It goes on to explain the true meaning of the saying and other flowery language before it gets into the actual interview. There are questions about what the chef did before this job (he refused to answer and the writer speculates several possibilities: hermitage and jailtime being the most likely), what his inspirations are (his customers and a hearty defiance toward his father), and so on.

“Have you had a chance to speak with the previous CEO during the transition?”

“No.”

“And is there anything you’d like to say, any message you’d like to convey?”

“...[Y]es... ‘Do it your own way’...The menu...is subpar, but I can feel the thoughtfulness in the service and selections...maybe in a year’s time or so, come back here for a lesson. In the meantime, go out and discover new things...allez-y, allez-y what are you waiting for? Go forth, then come back with all you’ve learned.”

‘Do it your own way.’

His image glares at you and you can hear his voice barking in your ear.

Allez-y. Not allons-y.

‘Get going’ instead of ‘Let’s go’.

Your laugh is wet and ugly and the pot with your experimental miso soup is about to boil over, but you couldn’t bring yourself to care. That’s just like him to be to the point yet vague. This Joel Morricone must have had a hell of a time trying to get these answers out of him judging by the amount of ellipses. You can’t claim to understand him or know what he’s thinking, but you do get the message.

I’ve got this, so do what you have to do.

“Chef! Did you see?”

Tracer bursts in through the swinging doors of the kitchen with a holotablet in her hands and a mix of elation and shock on her face. She gasps. The tablet is thrown onto the nearest surface and she rushes to your side in a blur.

“Oh no, oh no, what’s wrong, Chef? Did you hurt yourself? Are you all right? Chin up, let me see.”

Amidst Tracer’s frantic worrying, you could only continue to laugh, choking on emotions and the sands of time that has been given permission to move again.

(Elation turns to terror when you later read the rest of the interview where Chef Richard says, “I am most looking forward to my collection of wines and alcohols that I have kept in my cellar.”)

---

Out of the blue, Elizabeth ‘Ashe’ Caledonia receives a box from someone claiming to be a representative of Cœur d’Artichaut. She knows the name from the lists of charities she has to curate every year. Although just about any charity would let her qualify for a tax deduction, she still has a social responsibility to donate intelligently.

The box itself is nondescript, but the contents had been meticulously wrapped to prevent breakage. There were four bottles of wines; their labels are old, but still in good condition. The oldest of them is at least twenty years. It’s out of character and not something that a charity would be able to give up without a guarantee in return.

There is a note for them, however, and immediately upon laying her eyes on the handwriting, she rips it up with a snarl. That no-good—!!

“Bob,” she snaps, “get me the market prices for all of these.”

The omnic acquiesces, carefully wrapping the wines back up and taking them away for appraisal.

When Bob is no longer within sight, she quickly puts the largest parts of the torn note together and reads it twice. It’s short and to the point and elusive in the sense that it is unsigned. She blows out a long, irritated sigh. If she isn’t able to rise to a challenge like this especially if it involves a charity then she’s disgracing her image.

Now then, how should she answer?

---

There was less than three days until the first evacuations, but Winston could not have predicted this turn of events. Money had always been a concern to him even before your scheme with Cœur d’Artichaut fell flat. The cost of labor aside, it’s the tooling that requires more upfront investments. Flying the Orca, maintaining people’s licenses and certifications, medical equipment, and so on are far from cheap. They’ve made do with connections and deferred payments, but that can only go so far.

He had fully prepared himself for what a new business model would look like with Hanzo’s help, setting up meetings with prominent figures who were once Overwatch’s staunchest allies and reassessing their priorities and strategy.

Yet it seems he cannot underestimate the kindness of others.

He’s cleaned his glasses on his shirt thrice and washed them, but the balance of the several Overwatch accounts only grew. There are no names associated with each transaction, only the wallet ID and the occasional message (some were cruder than others) wishing them luck or providing a contact code hinting at further cooperation. The numbers were arguably higher than when you were funneling the donations through your restaurant.

“Unbelievable. This amount of financial support is unprecedented, and from so many people.”

Athena, a smile in her voice, replies, “It seems the cavalry has arrived.”

It seems that kindness is not dead and there are still as many people who wish for Overwatch’s return as there are those who wish for their demise. Perhaps even more. Winston grins to himself and wonders just how he’ll break this news to Soldier and best rub it in his face.

---

Around this time, there is rarely anyone who drops by the cafeteria. It’s strange being on this side of the wall—the side where your customers usually sit. It’s much more open and much more terrifying, but Athena had barred you from entering your own place of employment.

Well, not for long.

It still doesn’t feel real.

By this time tomorrow, you’ll be leaving Gibraltar. Home to the first Watchpoint you’ve ever worked at, home to the restaurant you helped build, home to the place that gave you so much—a chance, a career, a future—friends, maybe?

You inhale in a stuttering breath. The vastness of the world around you suddenly bearing down yet tearing open a hole around you. In about 24 hours, your future won’t be the same and you will have nothing decided. Instead it’ll be filled with unknowns.

The fear of the unknown is almost paralyzing, overwhelmingly so.

It was so much easier with someone like the Head Chef who, although needlessly strict, guided you and provided a clear path, a structure. Even he says to go off and do whatever, no further instructions.

Holding your phone in your hands and flipping it around, you wonder what would happen if you call the restaurant now? Knowing Head Chef Richard, he’d still be there, either deciding tomorrow’s menu or reviewing documents or testing out adjustments to recipes that would no doubt be delicious. But if he were to pick up and you were to ask him what you should do next, he’d probably click his tongue and give you a one-sided tongue lashing before hanging up. He was always needlessly difficult that way, never giving a straight answer, telling you what to do but also to think for yourself. Contradictory, isn’t it?

The dial pad pops up beneath your thumb and you begin typing in the number of rhte restaurant, hovering over that final dial button. You don’t press it, switching to the photo gallery instead. You spend a few more minutes mindlessly switching back and forth between them, never finding the courage to press that button. Instead, the images of your time here by yourself, watching the agents—the heroes—from afar provide ample distraction.

Junkrat is a sight to see but he’s just a blur in many of your pictures, and Roadhog is difficult to capture for one reason or another, but his plates usually come back empty. Brigitte may be a new addition, but she is a delight, complimenting your food without hesitation even going so far as to suggest it may be better than her mother’s. (Agent Torbjörn rarely spoke of his wife even during his original time of service, but when he did, he spoke of her lovingly. It was little secret to the kitchen staff just how highly he regarded her and her cooking.) It makes you want to keep feeding her.

Between pictures of the other agents, there seemed to be more images of Hanzo than the others.

The way he eats and the faces he makes is refreshing. It’s intense and so thoroughly immersed that it’s hard not to watch. Hanzo would usually sit up straight and begin his eating like it’s a ritual but by the end of his eating becomes sloppy and hunched over like he’s shed all appearances to devour his meal. It brings a smile to your face.

Can you really give this up and leave Overwatch?

“Chef?”

You jump in your seat and turn to find Hanzo standing a short distance from you. How long has he been there?

“Good evening, Ag—Hanzo. Can I get you anything?”

“No. I was wondering who was foolhardy enough to be up at this hour.”

You splutter indignantly. It isn’t even that late. “I-I’m not foolhar—what about you?”

The flat and dismissive look he gives you is answer enough. You press your lips together and watch as he sits down beside you. He may be cleared to leave medbay some time ago, but he’s still not well enough to be neglecting his rest. You’ll have to inform Dr. Ziegler later.

"I thought I might be able to have a snack. I was hoping there would be leftovers?"

"We have some stuff from this afternoon but I don't think you'll like them."

"'Don't think'?" His voice turns teasing, something you had only learned recently was possible. "I thought you kept a record of what we liked."

You let out a groan, remembering the debacle that took place not too long ago and rub the heels of your hands into your eyes. “Agent Fareeha will be deleting all that information the moment we leave the Watchpoint. Something about cutting off 'attack surfaces'.” You sigh. “Years of data, wasted.”

“Does your notepad not have this information?”

“Oh, that. It got soaked with blood, so we had to throw it out.”

Hanzo winces and you can understand the disgust. No one wants to visualize sheets of bloodied paper like some macabre grimoire.

“I see." Tactfully, he changes subjects. "How is your wound?”

“Good. Dr. Ziegler says it’s mostly healed. How are yours?”

“I should be able to return to action before long.” He flexes his fingers and clenches them into a fist. It’s a strangely mesmerizing action, the chorded muscles straining and flexing beneath his bruised skin.

Head Chef Richard’s words echo in your head again unbidden. Their bodies are made of the food you cook. Love them with all our being.

In that case, are the relaxed expressions also because of it or is that just your wishful thinking?

“That’s good.” Being with Hanzo reminded you of something. “Oh! And I let Patissiere Woo know you liked her desserts. She’s very happy about it.”

She had gushed goodnaturedly about having handsome people like her food despite being an omnic. You wonder if she’s being sarcastic or if she truly means it. You choose to believe it’s the latter; it’s better that way.

He nods. “It’s generous of them to provide for us like this.”

“Yeah. They’re great.” Yes, they were great in many senses of the word. Even though you reached out to just one person, the word had spread until all your colleagues were contacting you in an unrelenting wave. The coordinated efforts of everyone despite being scattered around the world brought their efforts straight to your doorstep.

In a way, you feel a little guilty about not having involved them earlier. You had thought you could handle it on your own until everything was settled. Argus must have known that ‘settling’ may have meant a much longer time than expected. Longer dwell times means larger risks. Risks that many people wouldn’t be able to shoulder. It was part of the reason why you didn’t reach out in the first place, but you couldn’t have known this is how things would turn out.

It wasn’t just ingredients they offered, but their services, too. Some of them made it clear they’re willing to fly over and help out, Petras Act and its consequences be damned.

You repeat, “They’re great.”

There’s a moment of quiet before Hanzo speaks up again.

“Chef…” he starts off delicately, “have you decided?”

The question itself is vague, but you know what he’s talking about. You turn your face up to the ceiling for a moment and then look down at nothing in particular.

“Kind of. I’m still not sure.”

He grunts in acknowledgement. “If you were to leave Overwatch, where would you go?”

You’re sure he didn’t mean for it to come out cynically, but a small bolt of anxiety still struck you like lightning. There were several possibilities, but nothing was as appealing as staying here. But you can’t stay if there are no customers to serve and no kitchen to work from.

“Well,” you start slowly, buying time to allow an image to form in your head, “I think I would...leave Gibraltar, maybe? My old coworkers have openings in a few restaurants and said that they would recommend me to a position.”

You had choices, but that would mean starting over in a new place with people you may or may not get along with. It’s scary.

“And if you were to stay with us?” he asks slowly.

If you were to stay, what could you do? You would be moving from one Watchpoint to another with little time to pack, never knowing if you’ll have bought too much or too little ingredients, and the Orca isn’t exactly equipped to be a cold kitchen, much less a hot one. Logistics aside, you’d also be a deadweight if there were ever a fight. You’ve heard countless stories of non-agents or newbies getting in the way of skirmishes and causing more casualties than necessary and you’d be damned if you were to put Overwatch in that position.

You didn’t know which choice was more terrifying.

You let out a self-deprecating laugh that ends in a weary sigh. “I don’t know how useful I’d be if I did.”

Hanzo’s breath hitches and he falls quiet for a moment. That moment is enough to make you nervous—did you say something wrong?

“Chef. People are not tools to be measured by usefulness or uselessness.”

You smile wryly. “If you don’t work, you don’t eat.”

“And if you work too much, you’ll collapse and become a burden.”

Embarrassment and shame pours over you in a stinging wave, the words slamming you with more weight than the ease with which Hanzo says them. You fold your arms tightly against yourself. There’s nothing you can say.

Perhaps Hanzo knows he’s crossing a line because he clears his throat awkwardly.

"Allow me to tell you a story about a man who lost his way and the choices he had to make."

Maybe it was an attempt to cheer you up, but it’s the strangest segway into a story you’ve ever heard. You listen if only to not have to face the harsh truth he just spilled. Of course, you're sure it's about Hanzo’s life disguised as an innocent story about dragons and family. He spoke about the choices the dragon had to make between what his perceived responsibilities and his actual ones, about the pressure he felt from the people who worshipped it and the family he was meant to serve, about the meaning of freedom.

The lesson to be learned at the end, you guess, is that Hanzo is a pretty bad storyteller.

He probably realizes it himself because he feigns a cough at the end and says, “What I mean to say is you need not fear either choice where you have people who...are concerned for you.”

“And what do you think I should choose?”

With something between a smile and a smirk, he claims, “Your presence in Overwatch would be most assuring.”

You couldn’t help but laugh. He probably knows better than anyone else just how much of a liability you’d be if you were to go with them. “That means a lot.” You don’t know if you mean what you say or not, though.

Hanzo probably gets the sense that you don’t. Even for most agents, he’s fairly astute, you think.

“You’ve asked me what I want to eat before and make food for us everyday, but has anyone asked you what you want to eat?”

The question catches you off guard, bringing your thoughts to a halt.

The last few days you have been asked what you want to do with your life—a decision too tremendous to be made in such a short amount of time—but no one has asked you such a simple question. What would you like to eat? There’s so much you’d like to eat if it’s not made by your own hands.

Despite everything, you draw a blank.

“I can’t think of anything right now.”

“Could I make you something?”

“I can’t ask you to do that.”

“You are not asking. I am offering.”

“And if I say no?”

He huffs humorously before getting up. The sound of a door swinging open has you sitting up straighter.

“Hey—!”

“Do not think about it, Chef. You are not allowed in the kitchen; Commander’s orders,” Athena warns before you’re even able to stand up fully.

Scowling, you put your full weight back onto your seat. It only takes a few quiet moments before you grab a stool to sit at the window like your customers normally would. An agent cooking for a chef. It’s ridiculous.

Though Command Reyes would have no problems bursting into the kitchen like he owned the place, cooking whatever he felt like and sometimes feeding it to the staff on break. At least he had some kitchen etiquette, knowing when and what to yell—sometimes a little too loud—and staying out of the way of traffic. His special awareness was very good, you remembered, even if his presence was loud and needlessly all-consuming.

People sometimes said he was a horrible person for one reason or another, but in the kitchen, the only place you really knew him, he never treated you all with anything less than casual respect. He was probably the last non-kitchen personnel to have set foot in the kitchen up until Recall.

Even then, you would watch from inside. It’s especially strange, seeing someone maneuver the kitchen like this. Hanzo looks like a newborn deer, trying to navigate through an unfamiliar world, checking the label of everything carefully, measuring with lines instead of bowls or pitchers already known to hold a certain amount, and opening up every single lowboy and cabinet looking for things.

“Do you need help?”

“Just sit there and wait,” he insists.

He seems less like the heroes that you once revered and watched from afar, but more like a normal person. A very earnest but clumsy person. It’s a little cute, even?

You hide a smile behind your hand lest he sees you and thinks you’re laughing at him. His efforts are to be commended especially after you found him sitting on the kitchen floor, looking like it’s been hit with the aftermath of a hurricane. If you were left in that situation, would you have been able to get up and try again if it weren’t your job? It’s hard to say.

It takes him so long that you could have gone to sleep, but you keep watch as he works his way through his process until the finished product is put on a poor imitation of your plating in front of you. It’s a thick, yellow-ish soup with bits of messily chopped corn added.

“It’s corn potage,” he says. “If it’s not to your tastes, you may dispose of it. It’s nothing much anyway.”

He says it’s nothing much but you saw the amount of effort he put into it. Holding the bowl in your hands allows the warmth to travel through your palms, relaxing your muscles, and thawing the ice around your bones. It makes the anxiety of an unknown tomorrow settle like a crying baby that’s been hushed to sleep.

You take a sip and hold it in your mouth for a moment, savoring the feel.

If you were to nitpick as a chef, there would be a list of things that could be improved upon to make it restaurant worthy. However, this meal isn’t for judging, but for enjoying. And whatever imperfections there are, in a way, is perfection. It’s the earnest taste of something fresh and young and new and exciting with so much room for improvement that you can’t see the end result. It is the product of someone trying their best doing something unfamiliar for you—not because they have to or because they were forced to, but because they wanted to. It’s sweet and salty and chunky with unevenly mashed corn.

Just like the curry, it feels like the food is mending parts of you that you didn’t realize were already torn open and festering. The heat delves in the deepest crevices, warming up parts inside of you that you never even realized were devoid of warmth, sending goosebumps all over your body.

You put down the bowl and hold your hand over your mouth and close your eyes as though it will keep the flavor locked inside you, as though it will keep these feelings from escaping.

“How is it?”

“It’s delicious,” you whisper dazedly, picking up the bowl again and sealing your lips with another deep sip. Whatever comfort that could not be conveyed in mere words are now eaten and digested until they become a part of you.

You make the mistake of looking up from the bowl to see Hanzo at eye-level with the faintest but softest smile you’ve seen from him yet. It’s enough to make your heart jump from your chest to your throat.

It’s difficult to keep eating after that. If the meal was able to fill your stomach, then that look was more than enough to fill your heart.

---

With the morning sun comes your meeting with Winston.

“I won’t ask you if you’re sure as I am certain you gave this a lot of thought prior to coming.” Winston stands up and extends his hand to you. When you clasp it, it feels like you’ve cemented yourself in something far larger but the fear that should accompany it is not there. “Thank you. The world could always use more heroes.”

---

"How are preparations for dinner going?"

Hanzo doesn't need to see your face to know you're grimacing. The panicked fretting of Tracer behind you, rushing back and forth with a frying pan and Winston knocking down everything whenever he turns is proof enough.

“They’re fine.”

It probably pains you to have amateurs in the kitchen with you trying to prepare for this grand feast you’ve been planning.

"...do you think you could find Agent Genji and let him know dinner’s going to be delayed?”

“What, ahem, seems to be the problem?”

CRASH. KA-CRACK.

Lúcio shouts, "My bad!"

“We...accidentally packed away some stuff we needed for cooking, so…”

“Take it off the hob, take it off the hob, Winston!”

“Ri-right you are, Lena—AH HOT!”

The rising symphony of chaos makes your posture stiffer and stiffer and he watches as your hands wind up tighter with each accident.

Hanzo coughs politely. “I see. I should get going and deliver your message.”

He's sure your excuse is indeed true, but has a strong suspicion for some reason it is not the leading cause of the dinner delay. Call it intuition.

“Could you bring this, too?" From beneath the window, you pull out a large thermos and a box. "We made some snacks to share so you won’t get too hungry.”

“I will savor them, thank you. And good luck."

"...thank you," you grumble.

Another crash makes him glad it's not him in there. He's broken enough stuff in your presence and takes that as his cue to go lest a plate or something flies at him. Besides, if anyone asks, he’s still under doctor’s orders to not do anything strenuous. Cooking probably falls under that category.

You call after him, sticking your head out of the service window. “Remember! Share them with Agent Genji, too.” Then more teasingly, “Don’t be greedy now.”

He waves you off without turning back with an exasperated huff. What a meddlesome bunch.

He does not notice Zenyatta coming over beside you and bumping fists as he leaves.

Dr. Ziegler may have said climbing is not allowed, but surely going up ladders and stairs isn’t against the rules.

It takes him longer than usual to get to Genji.

The air is brisk and soaked in the scent of an oncoming winter instead of seasalt. It’s refreshing and each deep breath he takes makes him feel like a new person.

Genji sits with his back to him, hands stuffed in his parka, the LEDs shining obnoxiously.

“Don’t you know the meaning of being discreet?”

“I am being discreet. You’re the one standing up and making a target of yourself.”

Hanzo gives the back of Genji’s head a look and continues standing a moment longer just so it doesn’t seem like he’s listening to Genji’s suggestion. When he finally sits, the LED in Genji’s clothes dim.

“Chef gave us these.”

He puts down the thermos and passes the box to Genji who wastes no time opening it.

“Ah. Til ke laddu and khapse.” Genji picks one of the stiff pieces of twisted dough, waving it in the air. “I usually only see these around New Years when the Shambali would get visitors from Tibet,” he muses.

Hanzo takes his time deciding between the sesame ball and fried dough. Neither of them like they’d be sweet at all. In the end, he picks out the sesame ball, taking a tentative bite out of it in case it turns out to be bitter or something unpleasant.

Instead, he’s surprised at the mild sweetness. The sesame seeds give it a savory flavor, but it does little to mask the taste of sugar. From the corner of his eye, he can see Genji watching him. Seeing his bare face is not as surprising anymore. In some strange way, it was more comforting to see the scars that he has left on Genji’s face than the metallic visage that hides his wounds. It feels more real, and in that, Hanzo can take comfort facing what he has done.

“I’m surprised you can still eat. I suppose that means I need to tune my arms more.”

In a petty attempt to make his brother feel guilty, Hanzo says loudly, “My mouth still hurts.”

“Liar. Angela gave you extra strong stuff for it.” Genji then adds fondly, “I haven’t been yelled at like that in a long time.”

“Do not start.” While it may have been a ‘long time’ for Genji, Hanzo still remembers scolding him for some mistake or another like it was yesterday and knows that the instinctive lecture is still lying dormant within him, just waiting for Genji to do something stupid. He doesn’t know to what extent Dr. Ziegler goes, but Hanzo does not doubt her lectures are any less fearsome.

Hanzo shoves the rest of the ball into his mouth and pours himself a cup of tea. It’s not really a lie that his mouth hurt, but it’s akin to a dull toothache that only happens when he stretches his jaw too wide, but he still wants to make a fuss about it regardless.

Genji makes a noise similar to an aborted laugh. “You remember the song mother used to sing?”

“Which one?” She sang dozens of songs. Hanzo would look each of them up and secretly learn most of them by heart, keeping them locked up in there when she died. He rubs his hand across his mouth and leaves it there to hide the tiny smile on his face, carefully unfurling a precious memory—his favorite—of his mother singing to herself about seeking freedom on a stolen motorbike at age fifteen “You’re not speaking of ‘The Night’, are you?”

“I don’t even know that one. I’m talking about the one she sings with father sometimes—” Genji cuts himself off to hum a few off-key bars. It took Hanzo a few seconds to catch on, and he tugs down his hand to reveal his scowl.

“The one you sang at the Somei group’s wedding and embarrassed the clan?”

“No, it was the Miyama group’s wedding. And I didn’t embarrass anyone. The bride came up and started singing with the Kuroda family’s granddaughter.”

Hanzo throws up his hands with a roll of his eyes. “The Miyama group was marrying into the Somei group—”

“Who cares, do you remember it?”

Of course he remembers. Genji was still young and precocious so everyone humored him when he hopped onto the makeshift stage to sing. The bride, getting emotional, joined him on stage and also began to sing alongside the granddaughter of the Kuroda group. Then the bride dragged his mother to the front and she sang, too. It was the first and last time Hanzo would see his mother perform in front of an audience outside of the holovideos that were kept of her youth prior to her marriage into the clan.

No one dared say anything because their husbands—the head of the Shimada clan, a yakuza lawyer, and the head of another clan—said nothing either. (It was simultaneously nerve-wracking and cheerful depending on where one sat in that room.)

It was even worse when the song was suddenly changed to ‘Lion and Peony’ and the whole venue erupted into song. ‘Embarrassing’ doesn’t even begin to describe the scene. He can safely say he’s never seen so many adults in formalwear make such fools of themselves or weep while singing.

He’s surprised the Genji actually remembers the singing rather than what happened after.

“‘Shima no uta’, was it.”

“Yeah. Remember sometimes father would join whenever he thought no one was around?”

“It’s the only time we ever saw him do anything other than work.”

Hanzo smirks. “It was the only thing he was bad at.”

“Bet we’re better than him.” Without further prompting, Genji begins to sing. Loudly and off-key. Not to be shown up, Hanzo joins in.

Birds fly off at the sounds of their voices and the wind picks up around them, carrying their voices off the ledge.

“You suck at this,” Genji says between lines.

“Not as bad as you.”

Neither of them seem to have inherited their mother’s talents, but that’s all right. For once, it’s something he doesn’t want to be perfect at. They could at least boast they sing better than their father, and maybe that’s good enough.

They talk and eat until the sun goes down. They talk about their father. They talk less about their mother. They argue about their recollection of mediocre events. They laugh over the trouble each of them caused by leaving the clan (though it’s more of Hanzo airing out his grievances).

By the time Athena calls them down for dinner, they’re arguing and nearly at blows over a century-old argument: which chocolate-cookie product is superior, mushrooms or bamboo shoots.

---

The cafeteria is transformed. Most of the furniture has been folded and moved toward the back walls, leaving a large space near the service window where Satya already has the table set. Everyone is assigned a spot with a little nametag tent where identical utensils are already laid out. In the middle of the table is a smorgasbord of dishes, each labeled with the name of the food and color coded for dietary needs.

He’s silently relieved he didn’t have to cook and contend with everyone in the kitchen. Judging by the state of some of the dishes, he has to assume you were either dragged from the kitchen kicking and screaming or you’ve just given up on everything.

This time, there’s a space for himself and Genji. The conversation takes a noticeable lull as everyone tries not to look in their direction, but the anticipation is palpable. Hanzo looks at Genji who shrugs a shoulder at him and begins to walk toward the table. Bracing himself for what would be an awkward stretch of time, he follows and takes his seat beside Genji, ignoring the looks that everyone is trying so hard to hide.

This is expected. This is fine. This will surely go better than last time.

“Oh finally. Thought we were all gonna starve to death ‘ere!” Junkrat shouts, breaking any and all tension instantly. “Now can we get started?”

Roadhog slaps one large hand over Junkrat’s mouth. “Chef.”

Fareeha clicks her tongue. “Oh, that workaholic.” She turns around in her seat, yelling at the window. “Chef! Everyone else is here, come on! Don’t make us come in there!” Everyone else exchanges a knowing look; pot and kettle.

The attention is then shifted away from them. It’s a relief because it gives him a chance to collect himself as he grabs some water.

“Don’t worry, I’ve got it.” McCree limps his way into the kitchen and shouts something that has you shouting back. It takes a moment for McCree to reappear looking like he’s just gotten a kick in the buttocks with you following not far behind.

“Sorry, I lost track of time.”

In your hands was a tray full of bowls. It takes a few moments for him to register the scent over the food on the table, but he jumps to his feet with his hands stretched out.

“Allow me.”

Before you can even protest, Tracer snatches the tray from you and passes it to him with a cheery ‘Here you go, mate’ and D.Va has her hands on your shoulders, forcing you to sit down.

“You’ve worked hard, it’s our turn.”

Reinhardt laughs, raising his glass.

“Finally! The guest of honor. Relax, Chef!”

“But—”

“Here, here.” Ana shoves an empty bowl into your hands. “What do you want to eat first? Chef’s choice.”

“No! Chef, you have to have something to drink first,” Brigitte cries, trying desperately to pour a can of beer into a stein in a hurry over Reinhardt’s hulking arms. “Pass this over!”

Mei also tries to reach over, rushing to pour a cup of tea from the pot closest to her. “Wait, have some tea first.”

“No! BobaAH—Roadie!”

“Water.” Roadhog firmly places a glass of water before you, shoving Junkrat back by the face.

Hanzo had to smile watching everyone fuss over you.

“Hey, brother. Stop hogging that stuff and pass it around.”

He clicks his tongue and grabs the first bowl and hands it over to Genji who sends it down the table. Bowl after bowl is passed from hand to hand. It creates a flowing chain between them, linking everyone together. Here, there are war heroes, super stars, people still seeking their place in life sitting together and sharing a meal.

This scene is only possible because of you. With you here, he only hopes this cafeteria is no longer your jail but has again become a sanctuary where you can be at ease.

Maybe he’s getting old having to think of other people in such a way or maybe Ana is right and he’s changed.

If he’s changed, it’s because of you.

Coming to Overwatch, having a chance to share a meal with everyone like this—with his brother like this—is no mistake.

When he is left with only his own, he tucks the tray beneath the table and can barely contain the saliva gushing from beneath his tongue when he brings his own bowl to his nose. The smell is tantalizing.

Miso soup.

The soup is fragrant, miso blooming beneath the steam like fireworks among the seaweed and tofu and paper-thin slices of daikon radish.

It brings him back to his first day at the Watchpoint and the lackluster soup he had then. He’s sure that you’ve worked hard to improve it. Even though you never usually took requests, you probably never stopped thinking about everyone, trying to hone your skills to please your customers. The bowl in his hands is the ultimate proof.

He takes the first sip.

Immediately, his mouth is flooded with flavor. It’s savory and bursting with life, the faintest bit of sweetness rounding out the soup.When he swallows, he sighs, an unwitting smile creeping onto his face. It settles into his stomach, the simple pleasure resonates in his body, having become all the more complete than before. It warms him from head to toe, lingering in his chest.

It’s the taste of home.

He puts the bowl to his lips and takes a long, deep drink until he nearly chokes, chasing after that warm and gentle feeling with a particular brand of desperation he couldn’t name.

When he has nothing but dregs, he uses his chopsticks to force that into his mouth, too. The daikon is sweet, and tofu is still firm and silky, the seaweed is chewy, and the scallion is so cleansing.

This is satisfaction, this is bliss.

And when he puts down his bowl finally, he immediately catches sight of you staring at him with a smile so wide and a gaze so warm and sparkly, he thinks stars might actually spill from your eyes.

It’s Ana who nudges him out of his stupor, a mischievous grin on her face. “Well, how is it?”

He looks down at his empty bowl and raises it, holding it out toward you. Knowing that the meaning may be lost, he still declares to you, "I would like this soup every day for the rest of my life."

Genji chokes on an inhale and begins to cough violently, spitting out whatever he had in his mouth. It’s the one time he can ignore the sounds of his brother dying, if only just to see you take in the question innocently.

You answer with a smile. “Of course.”

He will lie to anyone who thinks your answer gave him hope and made his stomach twist and flutter. It’s an unfair victory, but it’s a victory nonetheless.

"Wow," Hana says dryly, pouring and passing out glass after glass of soju while maintaining a deadpan stare at Hanzo. "What a cassanova. GG. Get out of here, old man. Who even says that anymore?"

Genji mirrors her look.

"Yeah, get out of here, riajuu. Disgusting. So old-fashioned."

"You tell him, Genji."

Hana and Genji clink their shot glasses. It doesn’t matter if a decade has passed or two, Genji might never make a very, very miniscule part of Hanzo stop regretting he hadn't put him into the ground. (He also has to wonder if someone as young as Hana would know the meaning behind his words, but decides he doesn’t want to know.)

But that thought is short lived when you hand him another bowl as though you’ve anticipated it.

“Thank you,” he says as he grasps the bowl. It takes him a moment to realize that he’s holding your fingers, too, and he freezes. You both lock eyes, unsure what to do and all of his brain functions halt, torn between fully committing to holding your hand in full and pushing the bowl back into your hand so you can take it instead.

“Oh come on, Chef. No serving other people.” Ana picks the bowl from both your hands and thrusts it at him. This time he doesn’t embarrass himself. “Here, Hanzo. Learn how to hold your own food.”

You sputter your protests, but it’s ineffective.

He can feel the judgmental gazes of his brother and several others on him, and his desire for fratricide is reignited. Correction: he doesn’t wish death on Genji. He just wishes for his permanent silence and non-existence. Hana and whoever is snickering can join Genji, too.

Surprisingly, it’s Dr. Ziegler who drops a small selection of food onto your plate.

“Eat up before it gets cold now.”

You give her a look as though accusing her, but you acquiesce amidst some grumbling.

Hanzo did not miss the way people eye you when you take your first tentative bite or the tension in the air hiding just beneath the thin veil of conversation. He’d be lying if he said he did not feel the same way, however, as he watches you chew.

Your face and entire being lights up as you go for another bite. “Oh, this is good.”

The tension breaks like a bubble popping and relief rushes out and everyone begins their conversations and feasting in earnest. Soon, the table is alight with chatter and laughter and the sounds of cutlery.

Between the dishes and the agents, every bit of table space is utilized. Where there may be an opening or gap, it is quickly filled with crumbs or spilled sauce. The fight for real estate for his elbows is fierce, but amidst the jostling and the cajoling, it is not as overwhelming or unpleasant as he might have once thought. Some dishes run out faster than others—apple pie and strawberry cake—but any empty plates are quickly replaced with another from the kitchen.

He and Satya engage in quieter conversation while the table is regaled by stories from Reinhardt, accompanied by the musical beats of Lúcio’s latest album. The musician himself seems to be having his own troubles eating, hands trembling a little too much to feed himself reliably. Zenyatta, though, seems to enjoy helping Lucio by loading his plate with finger food and easy to eat morsels that don’t require utensils. You have no shortage of conversation partners. Whenever one conversation drops off, someone else is there to pick it back up again.

He catches snippets here and there.

Mei exclaims, “We need to do this again soon. Maybe have hotpot or barbeque.”

“If we’re able to get back together again.”

“We will,” she says cheerfully. “I believe in us.”

Then it’s Brigitte who waves at you. “Chef, what did you think of this?”

“I haven’t tried it yet, could you…?”

“Here, here! Give me your plate. Papa, have some, too.”

“Hey—wait, Jesse! Get your own.”

“Yours looked better, Chef.”

“Jesse!”

“Now, now, children. Behave.”

He never does find an opening to talk to you, but when he isn’t engaged himself, he just watches quietly as you eat and talk. The awkwardness leaves your shoulders and you begin asking for people to pass food and drink that they are too happy to give. Without realizing it, you’ve become a part of the table, another member of Overwatch.

An unfamiliar click of something mechanical catches his attention. Ana smiles at him from behind the lens of a camera that looks like it was dug out from an antique shop from the last century.

Torbjörn clicks his tongue at her. “Bah, you still have that old hunk of junk?”

“It’s an antique.”

“You’re an antique,” Torbjörn mutters under his breath.

“What was that, Lindholm? This antique’s hearing isn’t so good, you know?”

Soldier: 76 laughs into his beer. “You never change.”

“Oh shut up, Jack. What’s this about old dogs and new tricks?”

“At least I can still learn ‘em.”

“You wish, old man!” D.Va yells across the table, ending with a good-natured cackle. “Want to redeem yourself in Hearthstone?”

“Fine idea, Ana! Come, my friends. We must pose!” Reinhardt strikes a few, jostling Satya who shoots him a displeased look.

None too quietly, Junkrat whispers at Roadhog, pointing at Ana’s camera. “Hey, Roadie. How much y’think that’ll go for?” Luckily, Roadhog does not deign to answer, quietly shoving food beneath the raised section of his mask.

“When I develop these, everyone gets a copy. You, too, Chef.”

“Me? Oh, thank you?”

The good-natured ribbing between the veterans goes on and on, bringing laughter and teasing to the table. Ana goes around, forcing groups of people together and taking their pictures. At some point, she has you and himself leaning across the table for a picture of you both (with extra people interfering in the background, likely making fools of them). Seeing you laugh so freely and eat while shedding the last of your reservations makes any bit of humiliation worth it.

An elbow digs into his side.「Isn’t it nice?」

Hanzo sounds a touch annoyed when he asks,「What is?」

Genji’s eyes crinkle just around the corner and he points to the large pan in the middle of the table with his chopsticks.「Eating meals from the same iron pot.」

He scowls at Genji’s poor manners and is about to tell him off when a moment of clarity dawns upon him as he realizes how profound that expression might actually be for their situation: people and omnics of different age groups, countries, talents, and ideologies coming together and eating without killing each other. Even their moral compasses all pointed in different directions. They are people who would, under normal circumstances, kill each other, but are now joined by a table of food—one of the most basic of human needs.

But that thought is fleeting and he swats at Genji’s hand.「Don’t point with those.」

「Sure, sure. Whatever you say, sister-in-law.」

「Cheeky brat.」

「Loosen up, enjoy yourself. Look.」

「Good drinks」—glass steins and bottles knock against each other and they all cheer.

「Good food」—Reinhardt sets down the latest tray he’s received from the kitchen before them, Lena already swiping up a few of the treats for herself, shouting with victory.

「Good company」—Genji sweeps his hand, presenting the room of merry agents. Hanzo’s eyes follow his hand, but stop when they land on you, laughing too hard to put any food in your mouth.

「What more could you ask for, brother?」

He hesitates, protests alive and stomping against his tongue, but he holds them in.

He cannot deny what you have done, what food has done. It was because of you that they could all eat like this, talk like this, exchange smiles and sorrows like this. Even though you never saw yourself as important, you and your meals are the glue that held everything together. Where there was only bad blood, people may have found the love they needed to overcome it from your food.

Hanzo heard somewhere that the way to the heart is through one’s stomach, and your food has built you a solid road into his heart. He can only hope one day he can repay the favor and build his way to yours.

Winston stands and clears his throat, raising his glass. “Everyone, I would like to make a toast.”

The table quiets down and all eyes turn on him. To Winston’s credit, he does not balk or fluster.

“Everyone. I would like to make a toast. The circumstances have been difficult, but when have they not? Those very circumstances brought us together to fight for a better world, and now we will be apart for a short while to accomplish what we cannot do alone. They call us ‘fools’ for dreaming and hoping, but we cannot stand by and do nothing as the world plunges into further chaos. I want everyone here to know I am proud to be your friend and grateful for your presence and wisdom and efforts.”

There’s a polite round of applause before Winston continues.

“And a special message to our resident chef.”

Everyone turns to you and Hanzo can see your eyes widen—surprise, embarrassment, and panic pass by your features—and your cup trembles, threatening to fall.

“Chef. There's a saying that an army marches on its stomach. You have sacrificed so much for us and have worked so hard without reward. You may think you don’t deserve it or that your work is meaningless, but heroes come in all shapes and forms.

“Without you, Overwatch would not be where we are today. Without you, we would not have the strength to keep going. Without you, we would not have been able to come together like this. You have supported us quietly in the shadows. No matter what anyone says, we all acknowledge you are our hero. Words cannot express our gratitude to you. Thank you, Chef.”

“Thanks, Chef!”

“Thank you!”

“We love you, Chef!”

“To the chef!”

“‘To Chef!’”

The people around you all begin to cheer and even Hanzo reaches a hand over and pat your shaking back as you hide your face in your hands. As embarrassing as it may be, there is no one here who could ever deny your contributions. You have been acknowledged as one of those heroes you have separated yourself from.

Winston smiles and raises his glass higher, voice booming. “And to Overwatch!”

“‘To Overwatch!’”

“To us!”

“‘To us!’”

Glasses and cups clink together, a cacophony of chimes signalling in a new beginning for everyone.

Epilogue>>

#my writing #the way to a heart #twtah #holy fuck #we're here #i literally have the epilogue ready to go #i just a need or two to go over it and make sure it's fine #i never thought we'd get here #*need a day or two #good god i can't even spell anymore

12 notes · View notes

raayllum · 4 years ago

Text

21 days

summary: They say it takes 21 days to form a habit. // Rayllum from 1x03-3x05. ao3 link in the title

ch20: 3x04 — THE MIDNIGHT DESERT

They have to wait out the night. There's no point in trying to go back to sleep, although Rayla figures they're likely actually safer now with Nyx gone than they were when she was around. They're too worried about Zym and simultaneously hyped up and exhausted on adrenaline. Can't they just have one day, she thinks bitterly, where they don't almost die or have nothing bad happen? Just one?

Rayla thinks it would be a sleepless night for her anyway, with what just happened. Maybe it's stupid to think about it at all, but it's not like there's anything else to do, and Callum is sitting right over there a few logs away, sneaking glances whenever he thinks she isn't looking like he's ever been successfully discreet about anything, and—

She'd kissed him. Like a total idiot, she'd kissed him. She'd been doing just fine at keeping her feelings under wraps, and then letting herself hope she didn't have to, because she was sure she'd caught him staring and blushing at her when they'd been dancing, and then a few hours ago... How else was she supposed to take his speech? But she'd read it all wrong and even worse, he knew...

Perhaps it's petty, but Rayla finds a shred of thankfulness at the fact that Callum looks as miserable and embarrassed as she feels whenever she manages to work up the nerve to glance back at him. What he has to be so miserable and embarrassed about, she doesn't know. Zym is the obvious, but her brain won't let herself consider any other paths other than success, and Callum is almost as stubborn as she is. Of course they're going to get their baby dragon back. Anything else is awful and unthinkable. Even if it's part of the reason for her misery and could be the sole reason behind his own.

But embarrassed? She thinks of the shame and tears on her cheeks that had caused her to run away in the first place. I don't want you to see me like this, she'd cried, her hood drawn up over her head. But then he'd tucked it away and called her beautiful. She's the one who kissed him and although Callum had—almost per usual—left some tact to be desired, he'd overall let her down gently when she looked back on it. She thinks of the way he'd followed her out of the safety of the Oasis even though he didn't have to, the gut instinct that made her yank the Soulfang serpent away from him with her bare hand.

If they never talk about the kiss again, the embarrassment will fade and they can go back to being best friends, nice and easy. Rayla has no doubt she can do that, even if it'll understandably hurt, having feelings for him the way she does when he explicitly doesn't feel the same way, but she can manage. Callum on the other hand... She glances over to his spot on a rock two logs over and finds it empty and her heart rises to his throat. What? When did he move? Was he stupid enough to think he could go ofter Zym himself—

"Hey." Callum plops down onto her log beside on the opposite side and Rayla jumps. Glares at him for worrying her, and then looks away from his face, because maybe that's too hard now too. (Maybe just being friends will be harder than she thought.)

She stares at her shoes instead. "Hey."

Callum purses his lips and sighs, and for a second Rayla thinks he's going to leave—but he just braces one hand on either side of his legs and sticks his ground. "I know things are—" He blanches, eyes widening when she shoots him a glower. Didn't she make it clear they weren't going to talk about this? "—Uh, not how we want to it be. Right now. But—" He settles as he focuses on her and Rayla has to work to not automatically soften. Really, the hold he has over her is absolutely unfair. "I don't want you to close up again like you did before, okay? It's not healthy to keep things bottled up. And I'm here. No matter what happens."

It's the same sort of sweet, sappy promise that made her want to kiss him in the first place, and Rayla's heart both melts and twists. "I know," she assures him, because it's true.

"And a lot of stuff might happen," he continues, more noticeably meandering. Sometimes Rayla wishes he would just get to the point. "Some good and some bad, like uh, some stuff that happened, may have happened earlier, which was decidedly not—"

She grits her teeth and turns away from him. "Callum." She rubs at her temples. "Please."

She can't take one more disaster. One more rejection.

Even his sigh doesn't sound happy about it. "Okay," he agrees reluctantly, and she dreads the moment he'll try and bring it up again, eventually. That's always been his way. She can't get away with anything around him—for better or for worse. "I just... We're friends," he says. "And friends are able to tell each other anything. So it's not... bad, what you, uh, told me. And I still stand by everything I said. You really are the most amazing person I've ever met."

Rayla rests her head on top of crossed arms, her knees drawn up. She doesn't dare look at him. "I don't feel like it right now." There's still the same gaping wound at before, at the loss of her home and family. Nothing can fill that.

When she works up the nerve to look at him, Callum seems at a loss for words too, and there's a hint of satisfaction in that, too. At least she's not the only one who's lost. Zym. Her, Callum.

"Well, no matter what, you're my best friend," he reminds her. "And we can figure this out together."

As friends. They'll always be friends. It's in this moment that Rayla knows her confession hasn't ruined everything. They still have each other. They're still a team. She raises her head and smiles a little for the first time since everything went wrong. "Thanks, Callum."

"Of course," he replies. The sparse serenity on his face gives way to a nervous chuckle. "And uh, about the uh—"

"Not talking about it."

"Right, of course, shutting up now."

This heartfelt prince is going to be the death of her—and maybe she'll survive it anyway.

#rayllum #tdp fic #ficlet #fic #fic: 21 days #s3 #3x04 #my fic

36 notes · View notes

ilovemybarricadebabies · 4 years ago

Text

another fanfic ask game post! enjoy!

This time I’m doing these questions!

Inspiration and Reading Questions:

1. How long ago did you start reading fanfiction? Writing fanfiction?

Reading: I’m not sure. Maybe 2011/2012

Writing: 2013

2. How do you spend your time when it comes to fanfiction? Are you primarily fic reader, writer, or a perfect 50/50 split of both?

It’s definitely both, but I wouldn’t call it a perfect 50/50 split. It varies. Sometimes I read more, but write less or vice versa.

3. Are there any fics that inspired you to write what you do.

Not really. I usually just write fics for whatever I want to.

4. Link your three favorite fics right now.

Current favorite WIPs.

All That’s Left by @doriangrayscale

flowers for your grave by @grantairesbottle

Lover of the Light by @areyoumiserableyet

Favorite (four) all-time fics

Ask me no question (and I’ll tell you no lies) by Signe_chan

If you offer salvation, I will run (into your arms) by mornmeril

this is fact not fiction by Rianne

Oh, It’s What You Do To Me by captainskellington

5. What are your fanfic pet peeves? Do they have a huge effect on whether or not you decide to read something.

I have a love-hate relationship with slow burn fics. Like I love them because give me the pining, give me the obliviousness, give me the amazing, sweeping first kiss, give me the angst, just give me all the delicious development that comes with finding common ground and falling in love. That being said, however, and I realize that I’m in the minority here, the hate part comes in when the story is really long, let’s 50+ chapters, and the story gets to chapter 50, but the romance still hasn’t started coming into play and I’m starting to just get sick of it because nothing has progressed to romance. Like there gets to be a time where too much is too much and usually, when that happens, it’s time for me to say adios! to the story.

6. How do you find new fic to read? Where do you primarily read fanfiction.

I primarily read fics on Ao3. I loathe FFN.net with every fiber of my being.

I usually just leave the Enjolras/Grantaire category open on and refresh it like three to four times a day for new stories to read.

7. Do you prefer to read short fics or long fics?

It depends on the ship, but I mostly like long fics.

8. How often do you reblog/comment on fics that you like?

I’m absolutely horrid at commenting (I’m working on getting better), but if it’s a story that I really like (ex. the three WIPs mentioned in question 4), I will comment every time there is a new chapter.

9. Tag 3 fic writers you think are underrated/unknown in the fandom/fanfiction community.

I have no idea. In my opinion, I think all writers are underrated and unknown.

10. What’s your favorite fandom, pairing, or character to read fic for?

Enjolras and Grantaire (Enjoltaire) from Les Mis.

Fanfiction Writing Asks:

11. How do you come up with your fic titles?

Through music or quotes. Sometimes one just comes to me, but mostly through music or quotes.

12. Tell the author your favorite fics title of theirs (not the fics, stricktly the title). Author: what’s your favorite title you’ve come up with and why?

I love all the titles of my fics, I can’t possibly pick a favorite.

13. Do you outline your fics? How much of a headache would someone get if they just look at an outline of yours without reading the fic?

I make some sort of outline, but I don’t think they’d really get much of a headache since it’s pretty much just a basic plot, maybe sometimes a little more than that.

14. Do you have personal word minimum that you hold yourself too? Why or why not?

Absolutely not! I write until I think I’ve found a good quitting spot. That can be 500 words or 20k words. It all depends on how I’m feeling and where my motivation is at.

15. Tell the author your favorite fics of theirs. What’s your (the author’s) favorite fic you’ve written?

Forever Was In His Eyes is my favorite with Begin Again as a close second.

Honorable mention because it pushed me out of my comfort zone: Beating of Our One Heart.

16. Do you research your fics? If so, how deep of a rabbit hole have you down by accident while researching?

I only research if the fic absolutely calls for it.

17. How obsessively do you sit and stare at your fic after you’ve just posted and wait for feedback?

On a scale of 1-100, 100. I’m not motivated by feedback like some writers are, but I do love to know if someone is enjoying my fic or not.

18. Do you have WIP that you keep telling yourself that you’ll eventually get back to, but deep down you know that’s probably lie?

Nope. Any WIPs that are unfinished, will probably stay unfinished.

19. Do you edit your fics after you write them, or do you prefer to just post and run (because it’s someone else’s problem now)?

I edit, and then, I’m constantly editing after it’s posted. If I re-read one of my fics and spot a spelling mistake, I can’t just let it sit there, I HAVE to fix it. I am also currently in the middle of long and giant editing project to make sure all my stories are the best stories that they can.

20. What’s your favorite part about the fanfiction writing process?

Um...I, for some strange reason, love outlining. I love coming up with the sequence of events. How do the characters get from point A to point B. How does the story end.

21. What’s your least favorite part about the fanfiction writing process?

Editing and revising. Always.

22. Do you take fic requests? If so, for what characters and why?

Nope. I don’t get enough attention in my inbox to do that.

23. What’s your absolute favorite trope to write?

Forbidden love. I’ve always been such a sucker for this trope.

24. What’s a trope that you’d like to never hear about as long as you live, let alone write?

I’m sure that there are some tropes that I would never touch in a million years, but I can’t think of any write now.

25. Do you listen to music as your write? If possible, link your writing playlist.

I listen to music, but I don’t have a playlist. Most of time it’s just Taylor Swift.

26. What’s your biggest distraction when writing?

Um...if I’m watching a brand new TV show or one I haven’t watched in a long time, I’ll pay more attention to the screen then what I’m supposed to be writing. This goes for movies too.

27, Do you like to give your readers some warning of what might be coming or just slap them in the face with content at random?

I keep my fics under lock and key until they are finished. No one knows any details about them except me. The one exception to this rule was Beating of Our One Heart. I warned that that fic would feature a polyamorous relationship (something I have never written before) while I was working on the outline.

28. How do you deal with writing pressure (ie: pressure to update, negative comments, deadlines, etc)?

Well, the only pressure I usually feel is worry that people won’t like my story, but I think that’s normal for every writer.

29. Have you ever written for an exchange or event of some kind? Which one(s)?

I don’t write for events.

30. Post a snippet from your current WIP without context - no more than 300 words.

R (11:46 P.M.): I’m not sorry.

31. Of the characters your write for, which is your favorite? Has that choice been swayed at all by your followers/readers’ reactions to certain one?

I love writing Enjolras. I’m sure people who have read my fanfics find him to be OOC, but I don’t care. When I write him, he’s half me projecting and the other half is him being the righteous revolutionary that we know him as.

32. Copy and paste your top three favorite lines/jokes/sentences you’ve ever written. What fics do they come from?

I can’t pick three, I have too many favorites.

33. What do you like writing better: one shots or multi-chapter stuff?

It depends. I like writing both. I also really like writing one shots that are 30k+ and multi-chapter fics that are under 10k. It all just depends on my mood and what the fic calls for.

34. How much of yourself and your life experience do you put into your writing? What do you think your readers’ image of you is?

As stated above, I project onto Enjolras. How much, I’m not saying. I do put my likes and dislikes as the characters’. When I write children, I draw inspiration from my nephews. I use my high school class schedule as the characters’ schedule when I write high school AU’s. The jest of what I’m saying is that I have no idea what my readers’ image of me is.

35. How much has writing fic changed your life?

It’s become my escape when things get too difficult or stressful.

36. Are they any fics or fandoms you’re embarrassed to have written or been apart of?

I’m not embarrassed by it, and I never finished or posted it, but I started writing a Sound of Music fic. I don’t remember what it was about, though.

37. Give an update on your current WIP - if you have one, give a sneak peek to a title or idea that you have and would like to write.

My current WIP is almost done. I just have to finish writing more scene.

38. What does your writing process look like? How chaotic is it on a scale of 1 (very tame) to 10 (you can’t handle this kind of chaos)?

It’s very tame, so 1. I write my stories in order of events, if I don’t I get confused on what’s happen. I start by writing an outline, and then I write and I edit (multiple times) before I post.

39. What’s something about your writing that you pride yourself on?

That I write what I want to. No comments can really influence the story (unless it’s a consistency thing) because I write the whole thing out before it’s posted.

40. How did you come up with the idea for [x fic]?

You can see this answer right here!

41. What’s your most popular fic (with the most notes on Tumblr, most hits/kudos on Ao3)?

My most popular fic based on hits: Somethings Are Meant to Be.

My most popular fic based on kudos: The Enjolras Guide to Weddings and Love.

42. Asker: pick three of the author’s works. Author: rank them 1 (the best) - 3 (the worst) based on whatever criteria you want - this could be something totally random that isn’t quality related ( like simply ranking fics based on how many trains appear in them) have fun!

I’m skipping this question!

43. Talk about a positive experience with fanfiction or the fanfiction community that you will always remember.

Every comment that I get, especially if I get it when I’m having a bad day, is like a little ray of sunshine for me. Again I’m not motivated by comments or feedback, but I can’t deny that receiving it is like a cherry on top of a delicious hot fudge sundae.

44. Ran about something writing related.

How long it takes to write. I wish I could just connect some sort of machine to my brain, and it would just churn out the words for my fics and they could be done a lot sooner. And that fanfiction could come before homework and life, but alas it can’t.

45. Fic specific questions - if you have any weird questions about specific works, here’s your shot to ask them!

Skipping this one, but if you have a question about any of my fics, my ask box is currently closed, but my DM’s are always open.

#fanfic asks #personal post #ask game #long post #fic writing

2 notes · View notes

chickensarentcheap · 5 years ago

Text

I Found -Chapter 21

Warnings: nothing really. Mentions of blood and gun violence I guess

Tagging: @valkyrie-of-the-light @c-a-v-a-l-r-y @alievans007

She arrives in Dhaka shortly before ten in the morning and takes a taxi to the hustle and bustle of the downtown market area. Her escape from the Mahajan home had gone much easier than she'd anticipated; the challenging part having to somehow slip from underneath the weight of Tyler's arm in an effort to sneak out of the bed. When he did manage to rest, he was a notoriously light sleeper; awakening at the slightest of noises or the smallest hint of trouble. That morning he'd been resting heavier than normal. On his stomach with his arm draped over her, snoring louder than she'd ever heard him. And her heart had nearly leapt clear out of his chest when he stirred, mumbling incoherently but never awakening.

From there on out, things had been simple. Catching the overnight guards on a joint coffee break out by the pool; laughing and chatting and paying absolutely no attention to what was going on around them. She'd been able to pinch the keys to the rental off the kitchen counter where her husband had left them the night before, along with an extra loaded Glock revolver he kept store in a lock box on a shelf in the master bedroom closet; freshly cleaned and holding a full magazine.

She once again considered telling him; shaking him awake and announcing that she was heading to Dhaka. That if he wanted to come along so be it, but she wasn't going to let him stop her. His resistance would have been legendary, especially now that they knew she was indeed pregnant. And she knew his already overwhelming need to protect her would become even more so. He saw it in the same way as he did the job; she and Amelia were his priorities and responsibility and failure was simply not an option.

So she let him sleep.

The market is just as she remembers; sights, smells, sounds. The dirty streets and derelict buildings, the scent of diesel gas and strong coffee hanging in the air, the chatter and laughter of pedestrians and the blaring of horns and humming of engines. She stands across the street from the hotel that they had stayed at a year ago; run down and in disarray, faded paint and cracked mortar, crumbling balconies with missing railings. She can see the patio that had belonged to them; on the third floor, a heavy wool rung over over the wrought iron balcony railing and two simple plastic patio chairs tipped on their sides. Every morning they'd sit out there. Sipping strong coffee and filling their bellies with whatever Tyler had been able to grab that morning. Sometimes they'd simply people watch and make commentary on what was happening on the street below. Other mornings they'd be painstakingly surveying the crowds and sharing notes on anything and anyone that seemed even remotely suspicious.

Most of the time however, they would just engage in small talk. Those little yet entirely eye opening conversations that take place between couples when they're just in the 'getting to know you' stage. Sure, they had quickly come realize what they both liked and enjoyed in bed, but they still very much needed to see if they clicked outside of a tangled mess of sweaty limbs and rumpled sheets.

Her feelings are mixed. It is both enlightening and disheartening to be back in Dhaka, where she'd fallen in love with the man she now called her husband. Where she'd been made to feel alive again; deserving of love and adoration, respect and worship. She had long ago forgotten what it had felt like to be in love; the butterflies in your stomach, the way your heart began to race when they so as much smiled at you, those jolts of electricity that passed between the two of you every time you touched or kissed.

She had thought she'd never experience those again; she had a failed marriage, an abusive narcissistic ex under her belt, a job that she enjoyed and could not see herself walking away from. She had no more trust left. No faith.

And then she'd walked into that shack in the Australian outback.

It is bittersweet. The good memories and the horribly bad co-mingling. And she forces herself to walk away, not allowing her emotions to get the better of her. She needed to keep her head on straight. She needed clear thinking and her instincts to steer her through those busy and often violent streets. And she needed to hold onto that overwhelming need to revenge. To see things through to the end of the line. Nik hadn't been able to finish things off a year ago. But she was determined to.

She grabs a herbal tea in hopes of soothing her queasy stomach; nerves and anticipation not mixing well with ferocious morning sickness. She'd had to take three Dramamine tablets just to make it through the short flight. She promises herself that when this is all over, she'll go back to the things that helped her get through the first pregnancy: proper diet and sleep, a psychologically healthy way of coping with stress. If she could get through the first one despite all of the angst surrounding her, she could get through anything.

She wanders the market to kill time. Talking to the vendors and browsing their wares, attempting to drive away any suspicion as to why someone like her would be in a place like that. Especially alone. She hides her eyes under the brim of a baseball cap but they are always watching. Casually observing the people around her. Some of the locals watch her intently; perhaps recognizing her face yet unable to place where and how they actually know it. And she gets friendly smiles and pleasant hellos, readily welcomed into the area.

It is so easy. It always has been. Blending in in order to to garner valuable information had been her specialty when she was still on the job. Able to gain peoples' trust, casually asking all the right questions without seeming overly interested. The people in the market had taken to her. Taken to them. A young, attractive newlywed couple who'd forgone a traditional honeymoon in favour of outreach work. The premise had seemed wild and far fetched when Nik had pitched it. But it had worked.

A little too well.

Her cell phone vibrates in the front pocket of her shorts. Another frantic and downright furious text message sent on Tyler's behalf. He's been calling and texting non stop since he'd woken up and found out that not only she was missing, but also the keys to the rental and one of his weapons. He's worried. Pissed off. The texts a and voicemails a mixture of of him worrying about if she's okay and demanding to know where she is, and angry please for her to just call him back. She feels guilty as she stands there, staring down at the last message he'd sent. Knowing the rage that he must be in; anger and worry are powerful combination. And her fingers linger on the screen, attempting to come up with a suitable reply. She should at least tell him that she's okay. That she'll be home by night fall and he doesn't need to worry. But when the phone rings in her and his cell number pops up on the screen, she hesitates. Thumb over the green talk icon.

She opts to send it to voicemail instead.

***

He knew something was wrong the moment he awoke. Torn from an unusually deep and peaceful sleep by the baby's shrill, incessant crying and one of the maids pounding on the door and asking if everything was okay. He hadn't had a sound sleep like that in years; his senses and instincts always running on high.

Esme would never leave the baby to cry; believing that you could never spoil a child, especially an infant, with too much attention and cuddles. So when he'd bolted up in bed and saw that her place beside him was empty, he lost it. A combination of rage and worry driving him through the roof. Attempting to stay calm for his daughter that so desperately needed him and failing miserably; relinquishing all care to the now visibly frazzled nanny.

His brain immediately switches to auto pilot; propelling him through the room, searching for clues as to where she's wandered off to. Her purse is missing. The pyjamas she'd worn to bed discarded in the hamper in the en-suite bathroom. And then he sees it: the closet door ajar. He knows. He just knows. Storming across the room and throwing the door open and grabbing the lock box on the shelf.

It's empty. The lock picked.

His first reaction is absolute rage. At her, at the guards for completely fucking up and being so oblivious to what was going around them that they didn't even her sneak out. How does someone get away that fast? Stealing both a gun and a car without anyone noticing? And he's pissed that she won't return any of his calls or texts. Rage and frustration growing with each passing second.

Worry comes next. That maybe the first anniversary of his near death experience has pushed her over the edge. And it's then that he begins to slowly piece if all together: the freak out that she'd had back home when she'd seen Farhad's picture. Her incessant, almost obsessive need for revenge. How she'd talked about wanting to go back to the bridge. The one place she felt as if she could finally let go of the past and move on.

He calls the one person he knows can help.

“Where the fuck is my wife, Nik?” he doesn't even give her a chance to say hello of give her trademark 'talk to me'.

“Your wife? What are you talking about? What...?”

“I woke up and she was gone. You were worried that I'd be the one taking off? My wife is missing, Nik. She's gone. And she stole my gun and my car and I have no fucking clue where she is.”

Silence from the other end.

“Don't even try and bullshit me, Nik. I know that you know. There's no way she thought of this all on her own and the only other person she trusts other than me, is you. Where is she?”

“I honestly never thought it would come to this,” she admits. “I thought she'd just move on. Let it go.”

“What are you talking about? What...?”

“She wanted me to find the kid that shot you. Farhad. She wanted me to track him down and arrange a meeting with him. At first I went along with it...”

“What the fuck, Nik...” he closes his eyes and releasing a long, shaky sigh. “Why? Why the hell would you agree to that?”

“I changed my mind. I started dragging my heels. Making excuses. Hoping she'd just let it go.”

“Well obviously she hasn't. And she's obviously got someone else helping her.”

“I think it's Jason. He asked for some personal time. I became suspicious and had Yaz track his cell . It says he's somewhere in Bangladesh. We have no idea of his exact location.”

There's the rage again. Accompanied by so much more. Worry. Frustration. The burn of bile in his throat.

“Tyler?”

“I need to you to get me a flight to Dhaka. Right now.”

“Tyler, I don't think...”

“I don't give a shit what you think. I don't care what strings you have to pull or how many asses you have to kiss. Get me a flight.”

“I need a little time. I...”

'Now Nik,” he orders, and disconnects the call.

****

“Hey, I remember you!” a cheerful voice calls from across the street. “The wife!”

Esme is surprised to see him after all this time, still tucked away on a small side street away from the hustle and bustle of the main market. The vendor that that sold Tyler the bracelet that she'd wandered away to admire. A simple piece of jewellery becoming the catalyst for so much more.

“I'm surprised you even remember me,” she says. “What with wearing a hat and all.”

“I never forget a pretty face. Or such a sweet smile. It's been a long time, friend.”

“A whole year,” she confirms, returning the hug that he offers. “You've been well?”

“I have. Things have been busy, busy. You still have the bracelet?” he nods down at her left wrist, a prideful smile spreading from ear to ear. “Looks as good as new!”

“The clasp broke and my husband fixed it for me.”

“Ahhh...the husband...nice guy..very tall...very strong...where is he? He here?”

“Off doing his own thing,” she lies, and immediately feels guilty for it. “We have a baby now. A little girl. Amelia,” she produces her cell phone from the pocket on her shorts, once again ignoring the dozens of text messages that she's received in the past ten minutes alone. Instead, she brings up a photo on the phone and holds it out to out to him. Their first ever family picture; Amelia a mere ten days old, in her father's arm in a white eyelet sundress, the three of them sitting in the sand. Barefoot. Tanned. Smiling.

It seems like a lifetime ago.

“She's beautiful!” he gushes. “Like her mother. But definitely looks like her father. How have you been? Good? Everyone is fine? You just disappeared last year. Out of thin air. I just stopped seeing you one day. We had some trouble here. Right after you left. Between those drug people that we talked about last time you were here. And some white fellow. There was a big shoot out out on the Sultana Kamal Bridge. Did you hear about it?”

“I heard a few things,” she says. Not feeling the need to tell him that she'd been right in the damn middle of it. “Do you still have your ear to the ground? Is there anything new going on?”

“Trouble,” he throws up his hands in exasperation. “Always trouble.”

She browses his various items as she speaks. “What kind?”

“Some white fellow is in town. Not your white fellow, though. He's been asking a lot of questions. Wanting to know about one of the street kids.”

Jason.

“I thought maybe he was here to cause trouble. Or take the kid away. But they already seemed to know each other. Like they weren't strangers when they met. They were on a first name basis.”

She arches an eyebrow. “Are you sure? You don't think this white guy was just playing nice to get something he wanted?”

“Perhaps. But it didn't seem that way. I'm very good at reading people. And I could read him well. They knew each other. No doubt in my mind. Very casual when they spoke. Not angry. Or in a hurry. Just like old friends.”

Her stomach clenches. And she has to force the vomit down.

“Why you ask?”

She manages a smile. “Just curious. Is there anything else? Did you see anything? Hear what they were talking about?”

“Just that they left together. Yesterday. From the hotel up the street. The one you stayed at last year. I never saw them again. You know them?”

“The white fellow is a colleague of mine. Or at least I thought he was.”

She selects a child's size bracelet for the baby and produces her wallet from her bag; removing two twenties and holding them out in offering. Too much money for the jewellery, yet not enough for the information he'd given her.

That was invaluable.

“Thank you,” she says, as she drops the wallet and bracelet into her bag. “I honestly can't thank you enough. I have to go. There's some things I need to do.”

“It was nice seeing you!” he calls after her. “Tell your husband to stop by. Nice guy he is!”

Esme gives a small wave in farewell, then disappears into the crowd.

****

The hotel manager gives her an extra key with little more than twenty bucks and a brief description of who she is looking for. And she waits outside of the door, straining her ears for any kind of life inside. The creak of footsteps on the rickety, bowed floor, the sound of the shower running through this ancient pipes.

Silence.

She lets herself into the room, leaving the door slightly ajar. In case a quick getaway is needed and there's no fumbling with knobs and hinges. The room is tiny; much smaller than the one that she and Tyler had shared a year ago in this very building. Sunlight streams through the window, highlighting the particles of dust that hang and float in the air. Like the rest of the hotel's rooms and the building itself, it is a complete dive: the hardwood floors scuffed and decaying, various stains marring the walls, water marks on the once white stucco ceiling; crude patches of plaster covering where work had been done to fix a leak.

Like the room she'd stayed in, the linens on the bed are fresh and new. A crisp white that makes the damage and filth around it even more noticeable.

She snoops. Going through cupboards in the tiny kitchenette. Rummaging through silverware drawers, cupboards full of chipped mugs and plates. Not knowing exactly what is she's looking for, but letting her logic and instincts guide her; the old aspects of the job quickly returning and filling her with much needed confidence and courage. There's a coffee cup in the sink; water and soon to dissolved dish soap filling it to the brim, a sponge floating in the midst.

He's been gone a while.

She moves into the combined bedroom and living area next. Leafing through pamphlets, two days worth of newspapers, and discarded sheets of writing paper. Still nothing. Placing her hands on her hips she takes a step back to get a look at the room. It is surprisingly tidy considering the actual state of the building. The patio door has been left open a crack; allowing the dirt and debris from the busy street below to trickle into the room. The air is hot and heavy. Suffocating. And the sweat has already begun to gather at her hairline and across her brow.

The bed is made, sheets pulled tight, and she moves towards it. Pausing long enough to pull open the drawers on the nightstand. Empty. Frowning, she moves along. Running her hand along the top of the sheet in hopes of feeling something hidden underneath them. Then drops to her knees and slides her hand in between the mattress and the box spring; blindly feeling her way along the smooth surface until her fingers come in contact with something smooth.

It's a file folder. Brand new. The colour still fresh and vibrant, the corners unbent and still sharp. And she perches herself on the edge of the bed, preparing herself for what she may find inside. It could be nothing; just some paperwork that included sensitive information and names that preying eyes weren't privy too.

Photographs. Some black in white. Others in colour. The bile rises in her throat once again and the nausea kicks into high gear. Her heart pounds within her chest; hands shaking, the sweat trickling down now.

Tyler. Her. Their baby. Dating as far back to his release from the hospital, when Esme was still pregnant and they'd been struggling to keep things together but were optimistic about the future. One of the moment they were leaving the medical facility with their three day old infant. There's more. So many more. Outside of their apartment, on the street, at the beach. Snapshots of private and personal moments. Where they're smiling and laughing and completely oblivious to the fact someone was watching them.

Her cell phone rings and she nearly jumps clear out of her skin.

Nik.

She would have just let it go to voicemail. Ignoring it and the text messages that would start pouring in. But she needs to tell someone. Anyone.

“Where the hell are you?” Nik hisses, before Esme even has a chance to offer a greeting.

“I'm in Dhaka.”

“What is wrong with you? All hell is breaking loose. Why would you do this? I told you to just drop it. To let it go.”

“You said you would help me. Where are you, Nik? Why didn't you follow through? You promised you'd help.”

“I was hoping you'd change your mind. This is insane. You're insane. What...?”

“I'm in Jason's room,” she announces.

“Excuse me? What? What the hell are you doing in there? Are you...?”

“No. I'm not having an affair. It's not what you think. I sent Jason to Dhaka. To find out more about that kid Fahrad. Only he already knows him. He's in on it, Nik. All the bullshit that's been happening to Ovi. All the threats, all the letters, all the dead animals. He's involved in it. Somehow.”

“You're crazy. I'm sending Yaz to come and get you and Tyler.”

“Tyler? What...?”

“He left for Dhaka four hours ago. He's freaking out, Esme. He's pissed and he's worried and he's on his way to you. I had to tell him. I had to. He's your husband. The father of your child. He loves you. And he has a right to know what the hell is going on and if you're okay.”

“There's pictures,” she says. “A whole folder of them. Of Tyler and I. And of the baby. Taken back in Australia. As far back as when he was still in the hospital.”

“What are you talking about? Esme...did you break into his hotel room? What the hell are you doing? You need to get out of there. Before he comes back. Just get the hell out of there and don't look back.”

“I've gotta go, Nik.”

“Esme, listen to me. Just get out of there and go somewhere safe. In public. Tell Tyler where you are and he'll find you. Don't make this any worse than it has to be.”

“I've got to,” she insists, and disconnecting the call, drops both her cell and the folder into her bag.

****

She returns the key and gives the manager another ten for his troubles. He's grateful; business has been slow and the owner is two weeks late with his pay.

“Did you find everything you were looking for?” he curiously inquires, and she smiles and slips her sunglasses onto her face.

“More than I expected to.”

Her stomach churns. The sweat comes in rivers. Yet she violently shivers as she steps out onto the busy street. Head down to avoid any unnecessary eye contact. Keeping a casual pace, wanting to avoid drawing any suspicious towards her.

She's half a block from the main part of the market when it happens. A hand roughly snatching her by the top of the arm and yanking her into the alley. A second hand coming down over her mouth to stifle the startled yelp. Someone big and strong using their power to pin her up against the brick wall.

“Don't fucking bite me.”

The voice is low. Savage almost. Accompanied by furious blue eyes. And instead of sinking her teeth into the flesh of his palm, she shakes her head vigorously to get him to release his grip.

“Tyler, what the hell?! You scared the shit out me!”

“I scared the shit out of you? That's fucking rich. What the hell are you doing here? I wake up and you're gone and I find out you're here? In Dhaka? What the fuck?”

“I told you I needed to come back here,” she feebly attempts an explanation. He's too livid; nothing will get through to him when he's in this kind of state. “I told you and you refused to listen.”

“Because I thought it was fucking insane. But if you'd just asked me to come with you, I would have. You know that. What the fuck, Esme? Why were you in the hotel?”

“You've been following me?”

“Since the market. Since you talked to that vendor from last year. He's the one who told me you were looking for some colleague of yours.”

“I broke into Jason's room,” she admits.

“What the...”

“He isn't who he says he is, Tyler. He isn't who anyone thinks he is. He even fooled Nik.”

He frowns. “What are you talking about?”

“He's one of them. One of Asif's people. And I know this sounds insane and I would probably think so too if I just hadn't gone through quite possibly the most messed up year in my entire life.”

“Considering the shit I've seen and done, nothing is crazy any more.”

“The vendor told me that he saw Jason and that Fahrad kid together. Which would make sense at first because I'm the one who told him to come here and track him down. But he said they acted as if they knew each other. And that they left together. So I decided to go to the hotel and...”

“Commit break and enter,” he finishes for her.

“Well technically it wasn't B and E because I had a key. But I found these...” she reaches into her bag and pulls out the file folder. “Pictures. Of us. Of Millie. Going back to when you were still in the hospital. This is fucked, Tyler. He's fucked.”

He takes the folder from her and flips through it. She sees the way his jaw clenches and the way the vein in his throat begins to throb, making that thick, jagged scar even more noticeable. Those blue eyes growing darker with each photo.

“What are we going to do?” she asks.

“We're going to the bridge,” he tucks the folder back into her bag. “We're going to give him what he wants.”

“Tyler...no...we can't...you can't.”

“Do you trust me? I need you to trust me.”

She nods. “With my life.”

He takes hold of her hand, pulling her out onto the sidewalk. “Let's go.”

****

“I've done all that I can,” Nik announces. “Pulled every string and called in every favour I could. I can have the bridge closed for twenty minutes. That's it.”

“I won't need that long,” Tyler informs her, cell phone pressed to his ear as he and Esme sit in a stolen car on the west side of the bridge. It's all coming together now: alarmingly vivid recollections of the last time he'd been there.

The sights and the sounds; boots crunching against pavement as he stepped over the sea of bodies that Saju had already collected on his own. The rapid pops of gunfire further down the bridge, terrified bystanders fleeing from the area, the moans of those that lay dying in the roadway. He'd already been injured; shrapnel from bullets, shards of glass embedded in his skin, combining with the wounds that he'd suffered the day before. Shoulder in agony; every movement causing pain like a white hot poker to shoot from the nape of his neck to the tips of his fingers. He'd been vaguely aware of the fact he was bleeding; remembering the way it softly trickled down the left side of his face and both arms. He was weary; panting and out of breath.

But he kept going. With each bullet he fired and each life he took, he counted down the steps...the seconds...until freedom. Until he'd see her again. Thinking of the plans they'd made while tangled up in bed, naked and sweaty bodies pressed up against one another. His fingers tangled in her hair and her head resting on his chest, their voices sleepy as they talked about all the things they would do as they got to know each other in all the ways that didn't involve. Not that the sex wasn't going. It was incredible. But there'd been so much more to discover about one another and he'd been looking forward to it. They'd travel; that was their final decision. Taking some of the money they'd be paid and taking nothing more than their passports and a few change of clothes and just seeing where they'd end up. Colorado was first on the list. He wanted to see the mountains. Where she lived. Maybe even meet her family.

And that..along with seeing Ovi's safe return home...had been what had kept him going. Despite the blood and the pain and the mounting injuries. The thought that someone was waiting for him on the other side of that bridge.

“Don't kill him,” Nik implores.

“I will if I have to.” He is expecting to have to make the decision. Whether to take the younger man's life or just beating him within inches of his demise and then letting him live.

“If you can find cover afterwards, I'll send Yaz to get you. An hour. Two at the most.”

“We'll manage,” he says.

“Be careful, Tyler. I know you're angry. I know you want revenge.”

He's not sure if she means against Jason or the kid who'd nearly taken his life. He choose the former. “He put my wife in danger, Nik. Who knows what he was going to do to her once he got a hold of her. It wouldn't have been good. You and I both know that.”

“You don't know how many other people are involved in this. He can't be working alone. It's too much work for just one person. Don't let your guard down. Make sure you come back in one piece. Both of you.”

He disconnects the call and slips his phone into the pocket on the leg of his cargo pants. Reaching for Esme's bag that sits at her feet, he takes out the Glock; removing the magazine and one in the chamber.

“Are you sure this is going to work?” she nervously inquires.

“It'll work,” he assures her, and drops the gun back into the satchel before placing it in her lap.

“I wasn't going to kill him, you know. That kid. Scare him. But not kill him.”

He wants to believe her. But he knows the power of revenge. How loving something and someone so much can cloud your judgment. There was a time where he wanted what she did: Farhad lying cold and dead in the street. But with the physical healing came some mental repair as well. Revenge only dragged you down. Hardened you. Made you just as bad as the person who caused your harm. You'd never be able to fully go on with your life and enjoy your future with that kind of baggage weighing you down.

“I'm sorry,” she's staring out the window as she talks; voice low, eyes glassy. No doubt filled with her own memories of the last time they'd been there. “I know you're pissed.”

He snorts. “You think just a little bit?”

“I know this isn't where you want to be. In Dhaka. Back on this bridge.”

“You really think that that's what I'm upset about? That I had to come back here?” he shakes his head incredulously, and placing his elbow on the window ledge, places the side of his head in his palm and closes his eyes. His head feels as if will explode. So many emotions. All of them too powerful and all consuming. And the memories...come back with the force of a tsunami. “How can you know so well one minute and then know fuck all the next?”

She shifts uncomfortably beside him, knee brushing up against his, her hands nervously twisting at the strap on her bag.

He cracks open an eye and casts a sidelong glance at her. This woman that he was wildly and crazily head over heels for. Who had walked into his life and filled the enormous hole inside of him in the way no amount of drugs, pills, and self loathing could ever do. Who had so willingly and unselfishly given up her life in order to improve his. Who'd give him a child. Two now, if you considered the one currently growing inside of her. He lays a hand on her thigh; stilling the anxious twitches. Then closes his eyes once more.

“That's not why I'm pissed,” he says. “I'm not pissed I had to come here. I'm pissed that you did what you did. You were the one that was worried about me sneaking off. I never thought you'd be the one doing it. All you had to do was tell me. I would have given you a hard time about it, but I would have come here with you. But you didn't give me that chance, did you.”

“I thought it would easier just to do it on my own,” she confesses. “I didn't want to put this on you.”

“You're not putting anything on me. The second we put rings on each other's fingers, we said we'd bear the weight of each other's burdens. That we wouldn't have to deal with things alone. And the fact you just went ahead and left...”

“I'm sorry,” he can hear the tears in her voice. Can see the image in his head: those dark eyes filling to the brim, the way her lower lip always trembles. Even when she's crying she's beautiful.

“And you just didn't leave me. You left the baby. My baby. And she needs her mother. What if you'd never come home? She'd spent the rest of her life wondering about you and I'd spent the rest of my life trying to make sure she never forgets you. And what about the other baby? The one that's inside of right now. Did you even stop to think about them? What could have happened? Not just to you but that baby too? You didn't make these kids on your own. They're mine too. You're not the only one that loves them and would die for them.”

“I know...” her voice cracks, and he can feel her hand as it settles on top of his. And he laces their fingers together, squeezing tightly. “I know you hate right now.”

“I could never hate you. Ever. There's times where you piss me off and I don't like you very much. But I could never hate you. I love you too much. With everything I am. With everything I have.”

She raises their hands to her lips and presses a kiss to the inside of his wrist. “I love you. I don't think you'll ever realize how much. And I am sorry. I didn't do this to hurt you. Or make you mad. I did it so that I could finally move on. Because it's been so hard...so fucking hard.”

She cries in earnest now, and he opens his eyes and reaches across the car; a hand on the back of her head as he pulls her into him. Her face tucking into the hallow of his throat. His face in her hair as he takes in the scent in that lingers on those dark tresses.

“It's time to go,” he says, and presses a kiss to her temple.

“Tell me it's going to be okay.”

“It's going to be okay,” he promises, and places a kiss to her forehead. “Trust me.”

“I do,” she assures him and then gives her bravest smile as she pushes his hair off his forehead. “I'd sort of miss you if you weren't around.”

“I'd sort of miss you too. Even if you do do stupid shit sometimes.”

She kisses him. Her lips soft and warm against his. Then pulls away and opening the car door, slings her bag over her shoulder and steps out.

All he can do is sit there and watch her walk away.

#tyler rake #tyler rake fan fic #tyler rake fan fiction #extraction #i found

10 notes · View notes