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justimajin · 4 years ago

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Til Death Do Us Part♜Pt.11

➟ Pairing: Namjoon x Reader

➟ Genre: Angst & Fluff

↳ (6.8k), Arranged Marriage AU

➟ Summary: If someone told you that you’d be marrying the Kim Namjoon, you would think you were being lied to, or worse, that you were hallucinating. However, fate seems to have it’s own ways of making the impossible possible and before you even know it, the title of Mrs. Kim is bestowed onto you. There’s just one problem: you’re not sure if Kim Namjoon is the person he says he is and the truth of your own identity is dangling by the strength of a mere thread.

➟ Warnings: 18+ rating, graphic descriptions of violence, blood and death, character death

➟ A/N: This is the final part! Thank you all for reading this series and for giving it so much love <3

gif credit.

➟ Full Series: Part 1 Part 2 Part 3 Part 4 Part 5 Part 6 Part 7 Part 8 Part 9 Part 10[M] Part 11

“You saw someone outside the house last night?”

Seokjin’s arms are crossed, wide eyes swaying from you to Namjoon.

You nod in response, “The way they were dressed, it really blended them into their surroundings. I thought maybe the lack of sleep was playing with me, but then Namjoon saw it too…”

You peer over at your husband, who hums. “We couldn’t find them afterwards.”

Seokjin shakes his head, appearing to still be caught within bafflement. Jimin suddenly emerges, his eyes drinking in the distress in the room.

“I’m assuming there’s no good news?” He wonders, and Namjoon turns, raising an eyebrow in his direction.

“Nothing?”

“Nothing.” He sighs, roughly running a hand through his locks, “He keeps saying it over and over again, that we’re fools to think he’s pulling the strings…”

Namjoon lets out a deep exhale, back sinking against the wall. That’s when he catches it, a sharp glint residing behind Seokjin’s glasses.

“What?” He immediately asks as the man raises his head, shaking his head.

“He wasn’t too forthcoming with me either, but….” His eyes suddenly sway and Namjoon follows the gesture, “He seems to really hate you.”

You stare at Seokjin wide-eyed.

Before you have a chance to retaliate, he beats you to it. “I’m not saying that it’s because of you per say, but more so because of your lineage….”

“Being a L/N?” Jimin ponders, and Seokjin hums, furrowing his brows.

“It seems he wasn’t quite happy with your marriage to Namjoon and from the looks of it, Taehyung wasn’t either.”

Although you can somewhat grasp what Seokjin is implying, his next question catches you off guard.

“How was Yonghwa killed, Y/N?”

Your mouth opens and closes from the straightforwardness, but you can see Seokjin’s gears turning, so you ultimately decide not to hesitate.

The history of your families is known to many. Trade and manufacturing seeking to forge a union between their two sectors. Yonghwa and Namjung were supposed to go through with the deal, but all hell broke loose on the fateful day when Yonghwa was found on the ground in a pool of his own blood with Namjung being visibly shaken. Revenge was rampant between the two families, your marriage to Namjoon ultimately becoming the peace offering to end years of hatred.

“Yonghwa was murdered.” You state in a monotone voice, as if told the story numerous times, “The day he and Namjung seeked a union, Yonghwa found out that the Kim’s were building weapons they hadn’t agreed upon.”

“Yonghwa therefore decided not to go through with the union, but was murdered by Namjung who wanted to cover up his tracks.”

After you finish explaining, your eyes drift up. Namjoon is staring at you in disbelief, orbs oscillating.

“What is it?” You immediately ask.

Seokjin relaxes his narrowed eyes and clears his throat, “Yonghwa was killed...but not at the hands of Namjung.”

Namjoon continues, “The L/N’s were involved in illegal exchange through their trades, and Namjung found out during the time he was making a deal with Yonghwa. He attempted to reason with Yonghwa, but he was held at gunpoint.”

“Through the scuffle they had, Yonghwa ended up accidentally shooting himself.” Jimin finishes, confusion drawing from your eyes.

“W-What?” Your eyes glance at the two of them frantically, “But there’s no way, Yonghwa was found in a pool of his own blood.”

“And Namjung was left shaken.” Namjoon adds, “He meant to forge a union, not kill the head.”

“That’s‒….” You shake your head, utterly lost from the conclusion. It seems too foreign to you, like someone has erased years of history from your book and shoved something else in instead.

A thought lingers in your mind and your eyes snap up, gazing at Seokjin, “Why are you asking me about Yonghwa?”

Namjoon glances up at him as well, confused from the inquires. Seokjin smiles, crossing his arms.

“I have a hunch that I need to confirm,” He eyes you, “‒and what if I said that the two of you are telling the truth?”

You and Namjoon share a glance, the latter speaking, “How so?”

“Yonghwa was killed. This is the one point in your stories that stays constant,” He begins, “But the part where your stories diverge is the reasoning behind his demise.”

“Y/N said the Kim’s were building weapons that Yonghwa didn’t agree with, and Namjoon said that Namjung found out about the L/N’s illegal activities. This led to both parties disagreeing with each other, and it wouldn't be so surprising for a fight to ensue, with both taking rightful actions to prevent themselves any harm.”

“Yonghwa was prepared to kill Namjung at the cost of saving his business while Namjung needed to get rid of Yonghwa’s knowledge.”

Seokjin pauses for a moment as you and Namjoon nod in response. His smile widens, curling at the corner of his lips.

“Now the reason why I brought this up.” He clears his throat, a playful look in his eyes, “The moral of this story is that there seems to be no victor and no loser. Both families were involved in things they shouldn’t have been and were prepared to take lethal actions to protect that information, even to the extent of making the other family look historically bad in comparison.”

Your eyes widen and Seokjin asks the question that has you stumbling for an answer.

“So why the need for a union?” He wonders, “What was the point for such a union, when both families were already so against each other to the extent of making up false tales?”

“Why look for peace when there’s no room for it to begin with?” Namjoon replies, and Seokjin nods.

“Your company’s visible shareholders seem to despise the fact that you married Y/N, and I’m sure other members of the company weren’t thrilled from hearing about her lineage.” He honestly professes, “So why would they suddenly be okay with you marrying a L/N for the sake of a union?”

“It would have to do something other than their hatred for each other….” Namjoon mumbles, squinting his eyes, “Something important enough that they would purposely need a marriage between me and Y/N.”

Seokjin hums and Jimin abruptly sputters out an answer.

“Something like a liability!”

Namjoon glances at him appalled and he hurriedly rambles before he loses the thought, “Going based off of Seokjin’s theory, Namjoon would be wedded to a L/N, someone who would have created stained connections with her own family because of the marriage and be resented by members of the Kim family.”

Jimin huffs, “Essentially she would be nothing but a liability to Namjoon’s title as the next heir…..”

Three sets of eyes stare at him in bewilderment, and Jimin sheepishly smiles from the attention. Seokjin’s pupils light up again, a spark residing within them.

“But who would benefit from all this?” He mumbles, “Who would benefit most from seeing you fail, Namjoon?��

Namjoon stares at Seokjin as silence reigns heavy in the room, no clear answer forming within his mind.

Your lids slowly flutter open.

The entire room is dark and murky, night long having fallen within a couple of hours. You had long spent hours conversing with the others about Hoseok before ultimately deciding to question him more the next day, with Namjoon coaxing you that all of you weren’t far from understanding his intent.

Yet your eyes squint through the dark, peering around the room in confusion. There’s sounds of feet shuffling against the hardwood of the floors, faint voices growing louder and louder with their shouting, some tinged with urgency while others not being able to fathom disbelief.

It doesn’t take long for you to immediately reach for Namjoon, jostling him awake. Once he’s conscious, the two of you are scrambling out of the sheets in an instant, his hand wrapping around yours as you head towards the commotion.

His backside suddenly halts, freezing in place.

You catch onto the scent right away.

It’s putrid and familiar….too familiar.

Shifting forward, horror sinks into your eyes at the source.

Hoseok’s form is slumped against the front door, eyes lulled back and red soaking the outskirts of his clothes. A trail of scarlet follows him, leading up into the torn apart room he was residing in.

***

Silence lingers uncomfortably long in the room.

It’s stifling, tension feeling heavy on your shoulders and muting your words. Slightly fumbling with your hands, your eyes flicker up for the briefest of moments.

Seokjin is against the wall, arms crossed against the blood stains that litter his torso. He stands opposite from where you and Namjoon are seated, adjacent from where Jimin leans against a table, in a similar condition as his hand balances against his cheek.

Hoseok’s corpse has been removed, but you wrenched your eyes away from the multiple gash wounds that littered his torso, the overwhelming scent of blood bringing a rise of nausea to surface from your lips.

Jimin is the first to clear his throat, peering over at you and Namjoon. “You were right, there was someone roaming outside.”

“He was silenced.” Seokjin sighs, unraveling his arms and placing his hands in his pocket. You catch the slightest hint of remorse in his features, wondering if he was too late in arriving at the incident.

Jimin shakes his head, “But why….?”

“And why make it so brutal?” Namjoon’s deep voice cuts in, making Seokjin hum with a grimace.

“This just proves that he knew something important….” You whisper.

Seokjin hums, planting an exasperated hand against his temples. Although somewhat cruel, you understand his frustration.

Hoseok was the only link in finding out who wanted Namjoon killed and sought out for your marriage, and now that he’s gone, you’ve hit a complete dead end.

There’s a soft knock against the door that results in all of your eyes hiking up. Jimin steps forward, gesturing for you to be at ease as he answers.

As the door closes, Jimin abruptly blinks, before snapping his eyes up.

“Namjoon.”

He stands up right away and Seokjin curiously leans over, “What is it?”

“It’s a picture…” He states, “A picture of the weapon assumed to be used on Hoseok….”

Seokjin suddenly leans even closer, carefully plucking it out of Jimin’s fingers. He holds the same astonished expression, eyes flickering over in Namjoon’s direction.

“I think we know who was after you, Namjoon…”

The picture is passed over to him and you sweep your irises over it too. It’s a simple picture of a knife, but it’s one that has your eyes narrowing.

“I’ve seen this knife before…” You whisper, mind scattering around for an answer. The intricate details and the curved edge seemed far too familiar, but you can’t wrap your finger on it.

Your eyes flicker, recognition suddenly dawning upon you.

“Taehyung!” You snap your fingers, recalling the time he attempted to take your life, “That’s the knife Taehyung had....”

“It’s a custom knife.” Namjoon states, his gaze steadily hardening, “Only a few were manufactured by the Kim’s.”

Your eyes threaten to fall out from their sockets. Your gaze oscillates from Namjoon to Jimin and then Seokjin, realizing they’ve already connected all the dots.

“H-How does this make sense?” You shake your head, “That would mean that someone from your family i-is trying to….”

Namjoon hums, gaze connecting with your own. There’s something unsettling brewing in his orbs, a fine line between anguish and pure rage.

“I now understand why Hoseok decided to keep quiet.” He grits, “And why we haven’t been safe here.”

***

Your footsteps are hectic, nearly sprinting through the walls. Your hands shove against your bedroom’s door, eyes falling upon your husband’s turned back right away.

The sound of a gun cocking has your eyes widening and you immediately scramble forward, hand wrapping around his shoulder.

“Namjoon.” You softly call out. His brows are still intensely furrowed and jaw tensed, his gaze focused on filling the cartilage to the handgun til it’s stuffed to the brim.

Concern drips from your stare, and you shake his shoulder again, voice firmer, “Namjoon.”

He spins around, rummaging through his bag for another gun. You huff, grasping onto him and knocking the weapon out of his hands.

You force him to look at you. “Namjoon!”

“What?!” He sharply snarls, but you are unfazed. It’s obvious to you ‒ the way his form is seething with anger, the way his hands tremble as he shoves bullets into his gun, the way there’s an inkling of pain residing within his irises, begging to release him from his torment.

You don’t say anything, simply softly shake your head in response. Namjoon lets out a scoff, a strained laugh escaping his throat.

Your arms loop around him, resting your head against his chest.

“I’m a tool, Y/N.” His shoulders crumble down, “Just a tool.”

“I know.” You whisper, noticing how his anger dissolves into anguish, his form no longer tensing underneath your hold. He raises his hands to embrace you back, breaths steadying.

With a deep sigh, he breaks away from you, an appreciative smile looping on his lips.

You return it, but a new voice draws your attention.

“You won’t accomplish anything going there like this, Namjoon.” Seokjin leans against the doorframe as Jimin draws closer behind him. You assume they must have followed after you when Namjoon suddenly left the room in a fit of anger, declaring that he was leaving to settle things once and for all with his father.

His father, who eventually decided that Namjoon wasn’t good enough to be the next heir, who wanted him to be wed to you, placing a heavy liability on his ties and waiting for him to crumble underneath the title so he could have a new heir.

But he wasn’t able to anticipate that you would turn out to be a spy, and that Namjoon would refuse to leave you, fed up with being used solely for the family business.

You sigh, keeping a gentle hand on his back.

“We need to think this through.” Seokjin reminds.

“But how?” Namjoon shakes his head, “I’ll constantly be in danger‒ all of you will be in danger.”

He glances between you and Seokjin, with the latter humming, “You’re not wrong about that, but we have to play our cards right.”

“So what‒” Namjoon jokes, “I should just wait to be killed first?”

There’s a twinkle in Seokjin’s eyes, a smile widening all the way to his cheeks.

The moon rises, casting a shadow against the isolated building’s walls.

You carefully thread through the empty hallway, pacing back and forth. A gun remains strapped to your waist, hidden underneath your clothing as your alert eyes sweep through the vicinity.

It’s a small building, one that is barely guarded and nearly hidden compared to the others. It carries two floors, one of which contains the norm of offices, only a mere handful of workers that rigorously work throughout the day, but the numbers dwell during the peak of the night, barely a hushed murmur coming across from the doors or walls.

Namjoon has informed his father that you and him will be temporarily staying in the building for safety reasons after Hoseok’s incident, and that tonight is the night that you’ll be staying in the reclusive area.

Prior to figuring out pieces of the puzzle, Seokjin had come up with the plan of making you and Namjoon come off as vulnerable, essentially luring his father into the building. Upon Namjoon’s slight persistence, he had suggested that the former confront him about the entire matter.

You had thought it was risky, too risky in fact ‒ but when Seokjin and Namjoon had abruptly shared a glance through your discussion, you knew there was more to the story than they were letting on.

Trusting them with the matter, you agreed with the notion and were assigned to guard the area under the pretense of Jimin’s suspicions. You couldn’t figure out who the woman was that Hoseok interacted with, so alongside with ensuring no one gets in, you have the task of keeping an eye out for any unwelcomed surprises.

It’s dead silent and pitch dark, the majority of the light sources cut off. Your footsteps make no sound against the soft wood, long having trained yourself to go unheard in case you were caught as a spy.

Your eyes continue to sweep around the area, looking around for movement.

You suddenly freeze.

Creak.

Head snapping up, you carefully press your ear against one of the doors in the hallway, listening in again.

Creak.

Your eyes widen.

Feet quietly gliding against the ground, you carefully peer into the room through the glass opening, noticing an open window and someone fumbling around with the walls. They seem to stumble as they do, almost seeming lost until you realize that the lack of light source makes it incredibly hard to see.

Biting your lower lip, you shuffle closer to the door, carefully waiting.

Light pours through the room.

Your pupils enlarge, mouth falling agape. A smile curve on her lips as she reaches for the door, but you’re close enough to reach out for her by the time it yanks open.

Your hand meets her shoulder.

She jolts, a gasp escaping her lips as she swivels, the light illuminating her fear-stricken features.

You innocently quirk your head to the side, brows knitting together.

“Geongmin?”

“Y-Y/N!” She stammers, swallowing hard as if she had seen a ghost.

“What are you doing here?”

Although naively surprised, there’s a cutting edge to your tone, taking advantage of her terror.

“I‒uh, my father!” She hastily says, as if nearly forgotten the answer, “H-He needed me to bring his forgotten briefcase back home.”

For the briefest of moments, you narrow your eyes.

You hum understandably, “I see….”

Granting her a small smile that she hesitantly returns, you take a clueless step back, whirling around.

You glance around, “I can offer you some help in finding it, if it’s somewhere nearby then‒”

The sound of a trigger cocking halts your steps.

Although your voice is laced with tender surprise, your expression says otherwise. “Geongmin?”

“W-Where is he?” She sputters. You casually swivel around to face her, barely flinching at the gun that is inches away from your eyes.

“Who is he?” You press forward.

“My brother!” She nearly yells, your blank expression drawing more unease from her, “Where is he?!”

A long exhale leaves your lips, “About that….”

It happens within a flash. Your fist slams into her arm, a cry slipping from her lips and the gun dropping from her hands. You swoop it up in an instant, pinning her against the wall as she’s distracted from the pain.

You tightly hold her hands within one of your hands, the other pointing the gun at the back of her head.

Your fingers curve around the trigger, “What has he promised you?”

“I-I don’t know what you’re talking about!”

You angle the gun so that it presses lightly against her scalp, her entire form jolting from the action.

Your voice is firm as you ask again, “What has your father promised you, Geongmin?”

Her breaths are ragged, “H-Heir! The title of h-heir!”

Tilting your head to the side, you listen to her intently, “M-My father said Namjoon was weak! That he couldn’t handle being the next heir, especially after being married to someone like you!”

Your shoulders slump down, a deep sigh leaving you. Although her declaration is vile, her words sound confusing, as if fear was taking over her mind completely.

There’s suddenly a flicker in your eyes, recognition filling you.

It’s a mere gamble, but you loosen your grip on her, taking a step back. She watches you in astonishment and you drop the gun to the ground, kicking it to the side and away from you.

The fear doesn’t leave her form in the slightest.

“Do you desire being the heir?” Your voice has become soft.

“W-What?” Your question seems to confuse her even more, her mind spinning, “What kind of question is that?!”

You pursue your lips, noticing how for someone that should desire to kill you, she doesn’t rush towards the fallen gun.

“Do you want to inherit the business?”

It’s almost like she wants to break into a fit, tell you that you’re wrong and that you’re merely some spy that’s in the way.

But the words don’t manage to leave her.

“What is it that you want to do, Geongmin?” You gently ponder.

“Why are you asking me all these questions?!” She repeats, sounding frustrated beyond belief. Streaks of tears are streaming down her eyes, her hands trembling.

A small smile tugs at the corner of your lips.

“Because I know obligation when I see it.”

The confusion doesn’t leave her as you step over to pick up the gun again, handing it to her.

“Here.” You merely say, looking at her puzzled gaze she sends at the weapon, “Finish the mission you were sent on.”

You stand back, right in her aim of fire. Although your expression is confident, you hope she doesn’t notice the faint tremble lodged within your hands, inches away from the gun submerged within your clothing.

Her eyes are completely blown out, still swimming with confusion. It’s not long before she points it right at you, rage consuming her features in an instant.

You stare right back at her.

The gun never fires.

It slips from her hands, crashing onto the ground as more tears pool from her eyes.

“I-I c-can’t….” She weakly mumbles, shaking her head. A low sigh of relief leaves you before you bend down, picking up the fallen gun.

Your eyes flicker, “You regret killing him….don’t you?”

She nods weakly, and a smile curls on your lips.

“I’m glad you made this choice on your own, Geongmin.”

You extend your hand towards her, granting her the chance to choose again. She stares at it for a moment, a million thoughts racing through her head.

She reaches out, clasping onto it.

Heavy footsteps pound into the room.

The door is securely locked, before he treads closer, eyes narrowing.

Namjoon sits in a large chair, his eyes focused onto the table before him. At the sound of footsteps he snaps up, a smirk curving on his lips.

“Father.” He remarks, “I’m surprised to see you here.”

His father doesn’t return his smile, simply humming in response.

“Hoseok was killed recently. You need to be more careful from now on.” He snides, standing across from him, “Especially with that pesky spy living in your quarters.”

“That is my wife you are speaking about.” Namjoon sharply interjects, voice no longer holding warmth. His father sends him a seething glare, reminding him of the time he declared he wasn’t going to get rid of you.

“How long do you expect to keep her around? She’s a L/N, for all you know she could have dug around all of our secrets and exploited the information.” He hisses, planting his hands against Namjoon’s table, “She’ll be nothing but a burden to you in the future, you’ll be mocked by her lineage and she’ll destroy your business.”

Namjoon furrows his brows, an amused smile wanting to etch onto his lips. He’s aching to spew his knowledge about how his sister was likely pressured into taking over his space as heir, her mind filled with twisted information about the two of you by the person standing directly in front of him.

But he keeps it together, intrigue swirling in his orbs instead, “Who would you think was attempting to take my life then? Y/N?”

“Of course it’s her!” His father roars, “She’s been feeding her family information about us, and now she wants to take over the business by having you killed!”

“Really?”

His father stares at him like the simple question in itself was ridiculous. “You should have listened to me before and gotten rid of her.”

“But my answer wouldn’t change.” He smiles, pressing his buttons further, “She was my wife then, and she is now. What will you do if I wish to stay married to her?”

His smile doesn’t waver. It seems to do the trick, his father’s face colouring into a shade of red at his son’s stubbornness and only serving to heighten his fear. The notion should fuel his need to get rid of Namjoon, to realize that the son sitting before him isn’t made out to be the tool that he’s always wanted.

Namjoon’s smile barely moves, even when a gun is pointed in his direction.

“Then this will be farewell.”

Two guns aim for him on either side.

In an instant, his father’s eyes widen. Namjoon continues to smile, watching Seokjin and Jimin step closer.

Rising from his seat, he clears his throat.

“I’m not a pawn, father.” He states, “I have my own wishes, and they won’t always line up with my role as heir.”

He shakes his head, “The hatred between us and the L/N’s is just two families blaming each other to cover up their own tracks, and should have ended ages ago, even before I married Y/N.”

He walks over to where his father glares at him, “Now it’s time you make a decision too.”

Namjoon raises his arm as Jimin hands him a computer and Seokjin brings a chair, planting his father down onto it. Opening the screen right in front of the man, his eyes are met with a list of endless codes, but what’s most prominent are the ones that would surely infiltrate into an extensive database.

His father’s eyes hold terror in them, “This is….”

“The company.” Namjoon finishes, pointing to the screen, “These codes are functional on many bases and can hack into anything, even something as highly secured as the company’s database.”

“You’re going to destroy everything.”

Namjoon’s eyes twinkle, “I’m going to destroy what’s left of it.”

“You’re insane.” His father snarls, “You’re going to ruin the Kim empire and throw away this goldmine for what?!”

“My freedom.” Namjoon simply replies, his dark eyes pushing the computer closer to him.

His father’s face is an angry shade of scarlet, but as metal presses further into his skull, his fingers press against the keys and allow the authorization. At the sight of the last code unlocking, Namjoon’s shoulders visibly relax, an exhale of relief leaving him.

Seokjin quickly takes it away, packing away the computer into a bag before peering at Namjoon.

They share the same thought, “We need to find Y/N.”

Namjoon hums, preparing to leave the area as fast as possible.

However, he doesn’t notice how his father’s face twitches at the mere mention of you, eyes boring daggers into his son’s skull.

Namjoon turns and it happens within a flash.

Jimin is on the ground, scarlet hands clutching onto his leg as a gun is pointed in Namjoon’s direction. Seokjin’s eyes widen in an instant, but he’s too late when multiple bullets are fired, all lodging into Namjoon’s chest.

There’s no way to describe the terror that strikes you.

Tears unconsciously roll down your features, a hard knot constricting around your throat. You can only watch in horror as a staggering Jimin and Seokjin huff, dragging Namjoon’s limp form onto a bed.

Streams of red are dripping down his black suit, three pieces of metal embedded within his chest. Your trembling hands come closer, noticing that he was luckily still breathing.

“His lungs haven’t been damaged.” Jimin doesn’t hesitate to speak as you peer up at him, “We’re going to need to take the bullets out.”

Seokjin quickly filters around the room, searching for supplies as Jimin leans against the bed. You notice the trail of blood beneath his legs, eyes widening.

“Jimin, you’re‒”

He simply shakes his head, gesturing towards Namjoon first. You hesitantly nod, taking a couple of steps back as Seokjin returns.

A shaky exhale leaves your lips when Seokjin opens up Namjoon’s shirt, your quivering hands coming up to cover your mouth as you spin away from the sight.

“Y/N…” Jimin’s gentle voice beckons, but you can’t seem to look behind you. “Y/N, why don’t you wait outside?”

Although concern is flooding through every fiber of your form, you solemnly nod without hesitation.

Exiting the room at once, you attempt to calm yourself down, eyes flickering up to see Geongmin staring at you with a troubled gaze.

She sits with you throughout the silence, your mind completely numbing from the recent events.

***

Over the course of the next few days, you are dangling between concern and worry.

You’ve been residing within the Kim household in the duration and haven’t spoken to yet even seen Namjoon during that time. Although relieved that his wounds weren’t fatal, you were told that he was still unconscious and that healing from them would take considerable time.

In the meanwhile, Seokjin and Jimin had informed you that the person responsible for his state was his father. After getting rid of the remains from the company, something Namjoon had always planned to do, his father had shot Jimin and intended to kill Namjoon.

In response, Seokjin was forced to take immediate action.

You took in the news with a bitter taste in your mouth, but were glad to see Jimin slowly recover from the incident.

Upon returning and being in the household that you and Namjoon had eventually abandoned, you were confronted with the presence of his mother. At first, you were unsure of what to say, not comprehending if she knew about the prior incidents, or if like Namjoon’s father, she held a deep scorn for the two of you.

However to your surprise, she hadn’t seemed taken aback, instead appearing fatigued, dark circles beginning to round her eyes and creases maring her forehead. It made you think back to the first time you had met the women, her elegance and straightforwardness towards you always catching you off guard.

She had asked you about how Namjoon was doing and you had given a simple direct response, but there was a sad smile on her lips, one that had made your chest tighten.

“I don’t hate you, Y/N. If that’s what you’re thinking.” At your perplexment, she continued, “I think it was for the best to let go of the company...at least now we can move on from holding up this Empire with our lives.”

She faintly chuckled as you remained next to her, silently listening.

A sigh leaves her, “I’m in pain not because of my husband’s death, but because I let it get to this point. To the point where I would have lost my entire family for a mere business.”

She softly shook her head, “I’m tired, Y/N. I’m very tired of all this.”

Her words had echoed in your mind. She hadn’t spoken to you after that, but Geongmin had soon informed you that she had never seen her mother express so much remorse before.

With the entire Kim Empire now gone, they were simply just a broken family left behind.

The breeze blows against your hair, the flowers underneath your toes brushing against your skin.

Night has fallen and for a considerable amount of tossing and turning, sleep hasn't welcomed you throughout the evening. You ultimately decided it would be best to get some fresh air, desperately needing to relieve some of the restlessness you were facing.

The pale moonlight shines down on the bed of flowers, the wind whisking past you more crisp during the night. A warm smile tugs on the corner of your lips as you kneel down, gently touching the array of white, lilac purple and petal pink flowers beneath your feet.

Running your fingers through the stems your hand halts, circling around a certain white flower. You pursue your lips, reaching out and cautiously wrapping your fingers around the base, squeezing it tightly for a moment.

“I don’t think my mother will be fond of the idea that you stole one of her flowers.”

You nearly jolt, breath hitching at the sudden voice behind you. That’s when your eyes enlarge, grip loosening immediately.

Swiveling around, the astonishment doesn’t leave your form as you rise up onto your feet.

Namjoon stands before you, leaning against a wall with a hand pressed against his chest. He sheepishly smiles when your eyes connect, briefly glancing at the ground for a moment before looking up.

“You know, these flowers have a history of blooming in the seasons of‒oof!”

He doesn’t get a chance to enlighten you about his knowledge of the plants, your form crashing right against his as you wrap your arms around him. Namjoon lightly chuckles, pushing your strands back and slowly circling his arm around you. Your grip on him only tightens, a fact that he’s quick to remind you of.

“Y/N.” He strains.

You suddenly realize your husband had recently suffered having multiple bullets penetrate through his chest cavity. Immediately stepping back, a string of apologies tumble from your lips.

“I-I’m so sorry!” He grimaces while holding onto the wounds, but still continues to smile at you. Your eyes are drawn to the thick strips of cloth wrapped around the area, tucked underneath the button-down shirt he had clumsily through on around his shoulders.

Your eyes suddenly narrow, “If I didn’t know any better, it would seem that you’re still healing‒…”

Namjoon sheepishly smiles and your eyes widen. Before you can say anything, Namjoon steps forward and places a finger against his lips.

“You need to go back.” You hurriedly coax, voice dropping down into a whisper. Namjoon continues to smile, not moving the slightest.

You press your hands against him, slowly pushing him, “Namjoon, you need rest and‒”

“I know.” He whispers, grasping onto your hands right away. “I came here to see you.”

“You were worried...weren’t you?” You flush underneath his gaze, averting your eyes. His smile widens for a brief second, before it drops down and he leans closer to you.

“Y/N.”

You look up, eyes connecting with his. You’re taken aback with the stern appearance they take on, narrowing with intent.

When he speaks, they’re of mere facts, “I’m conscious again, and I’m able to walk…..”

You hum, not quite understanding what he was intending to say to you. “The company...I’m sure Seokjin and Jimin told you what I did.”

“You destroyed it.” You state and he nods, “It’s gone now and the Kim’s don’t have any means of continuing on with their busine‒”

Life flickers into your eyes and at the sight of recognition in your eyes, Namjoon solemnly smiles.

“You want to leave….” You whisper and he hums.

“It’s been on my mind ever since, I wanted to ask you in a better manner but given the circumstance…” He glances down at his injury.

“The moment I woke up, I needed to talk to you about it.”

“I see….” You mutter, staring down at the ground. Namjoon continues to gaze at you, concern in his eyes.

At your silence, he ponders, “What are you thinking?”

“I don’t know, truthfully.” You whisper, “It sounds….wonderful, incredible actually‒ but….” You stare at him, “Can we do that...? Have a fresh new start?”

For some reason, you almost want to laugh, “Are people like us even allowed to have something like that?”

“Maybe not.” Namjoon truthfully says, and you peer up, taken aback from the grim in his voice, “But I don’t see any harm in trying.”

You silently stare at him.

You’re not a spy anymore ‒ and Namjoon is no longer the heir.

You’re finally free, no longer someone else's tools to use. You can be whoever and decide to do whatever you want, no family history dictating it for you anymore.

The carefree thought brings a smile to your lips, and when you look up to see Namjoon softly smiling, you wonder if he’s pieced it together too.

Without hesitation, you take Namjoon’s hand.

Epilogue

The sun brightly shines in between the clouds, spreading across the expansive field.

It reaches your skin as you bend down, a small basket in your hand as you rummage around for the potatoes you recall planting somewhere.

There’s a faint rustle from behind you and you blink for a moment, turning around with narrowed eyes. You hear it again, but this time you can see two small legs running towards you.

A tender smile spread across your features.

The rustling abruptly cuts off, the sound of loud thud replacing it and low cries begin to echo out instead.

You rush forward, the basket in your hands long abandoned.

“Seokmin!”

The young boy continues to cry, large tears leaving his wide eyes until you bend down, scooping him up into your arms. His cries subside a little by the action and you muse at his clumsiness, acknowledging that it was a particular trait he surely hadn’t gotten from you.

Namjoon emerges seconds later, planting his hands against his knees as deeply heaves.

“I’m sorry, he was excited to see you and‒” He pants, drawing closer to see Seokmin tucked away in your embrace with dried streaks down his cheeks. “Is he alright?”

You nod, attempting to brush away the hair from the boy’s eyes. Namjoon reaches out and you hand him over, bending down to retrieve your basket.

You look up to see Namjoon playfully poking one of his cheeks, your son squirming around his arms as small giggles leaves him.

The display has a smile curving on your lips.

There was a time when you dreamed about being happy, to live a life on your terms without being at someone’s beck and call, every decision being fueled by your own conscious thought rather than programmed and ingrained obligation.

However, that’s all it ever was ‒ a dream, a mere fantasy tucked away in the corners of your mind that you had long forgotten about. Yet somehow in some way, you and Namjoon managed to fulfill it.

It didn’t come to you all at once, a normal life being far from the reality you were uncomfortably close to. That type of life was something that never quite suited the two of you and as a result, you had your fair share of struggles.

You can still remember the nights you had spent with vicious nightmares, old memories plaguing you and not letting you forget that you still had marks littering your body, your own two hands long having been tainted. It would make you question if you even deserved any of this, deserved to actually be content with what you have.

You would like to say that the adjusting process was easier for Namjoon, but there were a handful of times where he would wake up in a cold sweat, his whole form quivering next to you. It was those days you truly learned about Namjoon’s past for the first time, of the things he did or more so, was forced to do.

You started to wholeheartedly believe it, that this ‘life’ you wanted to build together could never be possible and that a part of you will always unconsciously remember times you wanted to forget.

That was until your son was born.

At first, it was a whirlwind. You hadn’t expected to get pregnant so soon and you weren’t sure of how Namjoon would react to the sudden news. Fortunately he was ecstatic once you told him and it granted you some sense of reassurance, but you could clearly see it within his warm eyes and you know he could see it reflected in yours.

Was it even possible for people like the two of you to bring another life into the world?

You had attempted to push that thought away as far as you could during the process and luckily when Seokmin was born, something had changed within you.

“Y/N?”

You blink, noticing Namjoon was staring at you with concern. Seokmin is looking over as well, appearing much better compared to when you found him.

You shake your head with a soft smile. Leaning down, you redirect your gaze towards your son.

It still astonishes you that aside from the eyes and the hair, he appears to be an exact replica of his father, “Are you feeling okay?”

Your son nods, a spark lighting in his eyes.

“Mom!” He excitedly says, “Dad said‒ Dad said you were a spy!”

You stare at Namjoon wide-eyed, who looks at his son with the same expression.

A low chuckle leaves you, “Um, he did…?”

Namjoon puts Seokmin on the ground and gestures for him to continue playing, turning around to you.

“Namjoon, we said we would wait.” You whisper.

“I know‒” He squeezes his eyes shut, “It was just a slip of the tongue.”

You stare at him for a moment, before letting out a sigh, “It’s alright...he’ll have to find out someday.”

“Are you referring to the time we’ll give him the chance to choose his own last name?”

Namjoon gazes at you amused and you share a smile with him.

“You know, Seokjin and Jimin have been wanting to see him.” He reminds you, “They still can’t believe we named our son after them.”

“Seokmin is a nice name.” Namjoon raises a brow like he doesn’t believe you and you laugh at his expression, “We should visit sometime soon, especially because….”

You lean closer to him and Namjoon can only stare in confusion when you whisper in his ear. Immediately, he jolts back from you, staring at you in astonishment.

“R-Really? Are you being serious?” You nod with a smile and Namjoon is brimming with ecstasy, “Y/N, that’s amazing!”

You point a finger towards him, “But I want to name this one.”

Namjoon chuckles, pulling you into his embrace, “Of course.”

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refuge-au · 3 years ago

Note

>Open the Doctor’s File

Doc: Receive an Invitation

The conference room was small and sparsely decorated, little more than a round table and a handful of chairs in an empty room. The walls were bare, the table empty, and the window that looked out into the hallways covered by blinds.

The window that looked out onto the street, to the east, may as well have been covered too. The only thing visible when you looked out was the greyish hue of smog.

Doc sat in the chair closest to the door on the east side of the table. His arms were crossed over his chest, and his feet were up on the table. He knew his attempt at nonchalance wasn’t fooling anybody, but it didn’t hurt to try.

Etho sat to his right, leaned over the table and absently spinning a rubix cube in his hands. Every so often he’d scramble it and then solve it quickly afterward, seeming slightly disappointed. His left eye was covered in a plain black eyepatch that wasn’t quite big enough to cover the extent of the scarring.

Bdubs sat on Etho’s other side, the drumming of his fingers on the table and the way his eyes flickered from one side of the room to the other every couple of seconds the only things betraying the amount of nervous energy contained inside him.

Beef sat in the last chair on their side of the table, staring at the covered interior window as if he could see through the blinds and into the hallways behind it. His face was expressionless, apparently lost in thought.

No one spoke.

It was the kind of silence they had sat in many times before- part comfort, of being around people who know you better than almost anyone else in the world, and part anxious anticipation. None of them knew exactly what was going to come next.

They had been contacted individually a week or two ago, letters that had no return address slipped under doors or through mail slots. What usually would have been some sort of threat or insult turned out to be a job interview opportunity.

Come to a certain building two weeks from now, the letters read. Tell the receptionist that you’re looking for refuge. Someone will be in to see you shortly.

The most paranoid of the group (Beef) had found out that it was sent by some sort of government official or organization before he contacted the rest of the group to see if they had received the same summons. After a brief discussion, a decision was reached. They would hear out whoever wanted to talk to them.

If things went down badly… as long as they were together they would be able to fight their way out.

Most of the invitation had been true. They found the correct address, and were taken to a room when they asked for refuge… but the person that they were waiting for had not come shortly. It felt like they had been waiting for an eternity- even though his internal clock told him it had only been about twenty minutes.

Ten more minutes, he decided, and then he would leave. If whoever the hell wanted to talk to them was going to be late, they should have told the receptionist to tell them or something. It was basic human decency- although admittedly that did seem to be in short supply these days.

The door handle turned with a click, and four pairs of eyes locked onto it immediately. There was a moment of nothing, and then the door swung open, letting a relatively tall brunette man into the room.

His hair was tied back in a neat ponytail, all brown except for a single streak of white from a large x-shaped scar that stretched across most of his face. It was an old scar, very faded, the chunks of white in his hair and his beard some of the only things left to prove that it was there.

He looked slightly winded as he smiled, shutting the door behind him. “Hello, gentlemen. Sorry about the wait. There was a bit of a… conflict. Downstairs, and I ended up having to sort it out.”

He walked over to the table pulling off his gloves and unwrapping his respirator from around his neck before sitting down across from Etho and folding his hands together. “So. You all actually came.”

“Did you expect us not to?” Beef asked, eyeing him warily, apparently not recognizing him.

“Of course not! A government official contacting you out of nowhere, asking you to come and meet them? The fact that you have enough faith in humanity to come here, despite everything, without knowing anything about why you’re being asked here… it’s amazing.” He grinned.

“Amazing is one word for it, sure.” Bdubs said, leaning forward in his chair. “But uh, who are you, and why exactly are we here?”

“If you’re going to try to kill us, we’ll give you a thirty second head start.” Doc added dryly. “But no more than that.”

The man chuckled. “We’re not trying to kill you, we’re trying to offer you a job.”

A job?

Before Doc could express his hesitation, the man continued, putting a hand to his chest:

“My name is Xisuma Void, Captain Void to most people, but you can call me X. I’m putting together a crew.”

“Like a boat crew?” Bdubs asked, brow furrowing slightly.

“A spaceship crew. I’ve been given a mission- go to uncharted territory, chart it, and start a colony on a planet outside the solar system.” He extended his hands in front of him, gesturing to the team. “I’d like you to come with me.”

For a moment, there was silence.

“…What’s the catch?” Etho asked slowly.

“Catch?” Xisuma asked.

“We’re not from here.” Etho said, and Beef chuckled. “There’s always a catch.”

Xisuma shook his head slowly. “I don’t think… well… how about I just tell you what the job would entail before we decide if there’s a catch or not?”

Doc looked across the table to the others. Bdubs nodded, Beef shrugged, and Etho set down the rubix cube for the first time since he had gotten into the room. X took that as permission to continue.

“Do you remember all those stories in the news about the government funneling money into a secret project?” X asked.

“And everybody was worried that it was gonna be another war.” Bdubs said. “We remember.”

“They were building a ship for this mission. It’s been in progress for years now, but they’ve ramped up construction in the past several months. The ship will be fully built in three months, and the mission will begin no sooner than six months from now.” Xisuma stood, either ignoring or not noticing the way that the rest of the group tensed when he moved, and began to pace up and down the length of the table. “The ship- the Refuge- will exit the solar system in about one and a half years, and then it’ll be four and a half to eight and a half years til we reach Haven.”

“Haven?” Doc interjected. “That’s the planet?”

X nodded.

“Bit on the nose, don’t you think?” Bdubs asked.

X shrugged, not pausing in his pacing. “I wasn’t the one that named it.”

“So what do you want us to do?” Beef asked. “None of us have ever been to space before. Sure, Etho may have been… built for it, but…”

“You don’t have to worry about the space stuff.” X said, stopping and leaning on the back of the chair he had been sitting in. “Just the landing part of the mission. The way that this is set up, there are two smaller groups within the crew as a whole- the ship crew and the colony crew. While the ship crew will transition into being a part of the colony crew once we land, the colony crew doesn’t have to be a part ship crew. It’s unnecessary, and most of the crew mates don’t have essential skills for the trip.”

“So what does the colony crew do during the flight?” Beef asked, his brow furrowed.

“Sleep.” X responded. “We have two cryogeneticists on the crew that will be maintaining and caring for frozen personnel and assets.”

“Which one would we be?” Doc asked.

X looked uncomfortable, as if he didn’t know whether the question was a joke or not. “Personnel… in total, if you decide to take me up on the offer, we’ll have nine people frozen out of a crew of thirty six. Most of the ship can be run mechanically, but we still need the ship crew to oversee everything.”

“And what would we be doing when we get planet-side? What’s our actual job going to be?” Bdubs asked.

“Building, scouting surrounding areas, neutralizing any potential threats, whatever needs to be done, really.” X sighed. “Unfortunately, since a mission like this has never been attempted before, I can’t tell you exactly what we’re going to need you to do. If you accept, I can give you the paperwork that runs through several potential scenarios, but… there’s a lot that we just don’t know.”

“I’m not going to ask you to sign on immediately, but I’d like your responses as soon as possible.” X concluded. “There’s a packet with the receptionist downstairs that has more information-“

“I’ll do it.” Bdubs said, cutting him off.

X blinked. “What?”

“I’ll do it.” He repeated, leaning back in his chair. “It sounds exciting, it’s a chance to travel somewhere without risking being carsick, it’s getting away from everything that’s going on here… and we’re probably not gonna get another chance at this for at least six years, right?”

X nodded.

“I can’t speak for the guys, obviously, but you’ve got one.”

“I’m in too.” Doc decided, taking his feet off the table and sitting up straight. “There’s not a whole hell of a lot for me to do here, not many people that want me here, and somebody’s gotta make sure you don’t get yourself killed.” He said, pointing a vaguel accusatory finger at Bdubs, who rolled his eyes. “I still want the packet, but I’m in.”

X grinned. “Wonderful! And… I suppose, do you want to make your decision now too?” He turned his attention to Beef and Etho.

“I’ll agree… but I reserve the right to change my mind if we start getting ready and things seem off.” Etho said, picking his rubix cube back up and spinning it on its corner. “I may have been made for space travel, but they kept me grounded for a reason.”

“I agree with Etho, minus the spaceman bit.” Beef said. “Also, can we have your phone number, or some way to contact you?”

Xisuma’s grin turned into a softer, warmer smile. “Everything that you’ll need is going to be in the packets. Welcome to the team, gentlemen.”

Computer: Input Command: Show Available Files:

> Open the Pilot’s File

> Open the Doctor’s File (New)

> Continue

#the peril the wind sings to in the wires // doc #doc #etho #bdubs #beef #xisuma #long post ((read more to be added later))#refuge au #refuge arg #hermitcraft refuge arg #hermitcraft refuge au #hermitcraft au #refuge update #hermitcraft arg #command input needed #NHO #prologue

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modernpace · 4 years ago

Text

Loki x Reader chapter 6

A/N: IMPORTANT AUTHORS NOTE AT END

Chapter 6: “She’s dangerous” “So am I”

You, Thor, Sif, Hogun, Volstagg, and Fandral in the banquet hall for dinner. You had gotten used to how rowdy it got in the evenings. You learned quickly it was an every-night thing to throw bangers for dinner.

Tomorrow was the day--you were going to go up against one of them.

You went to take another sip of your wine but widened your eyes when you realized your chalice was empty. Your anxiety was definitely overwhelming you a bit. You poured yourself another glass but promised yourself that was your last one. You couldn't risk getting hammered before a big fight.

You picked at meat in front of you as you all chatted and laughed.

Then Vostagg addressed you, "So, Lady Y/n, what did you learn from your training?" He raised a playful eyebrow as the rest of them looked intrigued.

You laughed to yourself when you pointed to Thor, "He's bigger than me," you shifted your finger to Fandral who was next to you, "taller than me." You moved your finger to Hogun, "And he's older than me." Then Sif, "and stronger than me." You finally pointed to Volstagg, "and his arm's a little bit longer than me." (Please tell me you get this reference).

They all looked at you with confused and concerned faces.

"If that's all she's learned, she's doomed," Hogun said concerned.

You giggled, "It's just a song, you guys." You tilted your head and smiled thankfully, "No, I learned a lot, I swear."

"She definitely has tricks up her sleeves, gentlemen," Sif said smirking. She placed a piece of fruit into her mouth and winked at you.

Thor nodded and rubbed his stomach, "Oh, believe me, I know." He lightly shivered as he remembered something. "I thought she stabbed me, but her clone went right through me."

Laughter echoed through the banquet hall as the six of you continued to chat and joke til late.

With your books in hand, you made your way to the dungeon. You hadn't seen him yet that week. You told yourself you needed to focus on your training for the fight, but you couldn't help finding yourself feeling guilty. Why? No fucking idea.

You slowed your pace as you approached his cell, finding him lying on his bed. You nodded curtly and turned to leave.

"Look who finally decided to show up."

You smoothly spun around with a cheeky smile, "Aww, did you miss me?"

He leaned up, letting his elbows rest on his knees, and chuckled, "Not you, per se."

You mouthed 'ah' as you moved closer. "Well it's not like you need company," you jabbed as you gestured to the other cells. He narrowed his eyes and smiled dryly. You chuckled as you sat down on the floor and reclined your legs. You were relieved to be wearing your regular clothes again... that's why you'd go to the dungeons so late; hardly anyone was awake to criticize you breaking the rules.

You opened your books to read and take notes from where you left off. You could feel his stare clawing at you for attention. "Can I help you?"

He shrugged.

You nodded and continued reading, but the goddamn fucker would not stop staring. "Okay," you said annoyed, "this is getting creepy, Loki. What do you want?"

He hesitated.

"Shouldn't you be sleeping?" You raised an eyebrow at him as he continued. "Your 'big day' is tomorrow. Isn't this...what did you call it... self-sabotage?"

You laughed, "Wow, look at you, picking up on the psychology I've been spewing." He rolled his eyes and you shook your head. "It's not like I'd actually get any sleep. And why exactly do you care, Troublemaker? Wouldn't that just be another thing for you to shit on me for?"

He smirked, "Oh, no, darling. You'll lose either way. I get that pleasure, regardless."

You scrunched your nose and shook your head. "Such a wise-ass," you mumbled. "Well, if it's any consolation, I caught your--Thor by surprise yesterday."

He raised an eyebrow curiously, "Is that so?"

You nodded proudly, "Yup. My clone stabbed him. Never thought I'd see the day where I scared the Almighty God of Thunder." You laughed to yourself as you thought about his expression--shock and betrayal. You furrowed your brows, "It was kinda unsettling. He looked genuinely traumatized."

Loki let out a laugh and you looked at him. He was reminiscing about something, "That, would be my fault." You leaned forward but he didn't continue. "Well done, though. Wouldn't have expected a Midgardian to pull that off."

I shrugged and leaned onto your arms' support, letting the backhanded compliment roll off your shoulders.

You looked around his cell. He had fresh fruit and pheasant from the banquet. You figured Frigga sent the food, and then diverted your gaze to his books. No new ones.

"What do you do when you're bored?"

Loki looked at you as you blankly stared back, but didn't answer.

"Is that the point of this?" You gestured to the cell, "To slowly get you to be silent with your own thoughts? So you can face what you've done, but internally?" You pulled your legs up to your chest and hugged them. "You'd definitely go insane at some point. I mean I just don't ge-"

"Enough."

You quickly shut your mouth at the harsh tone in his voice. You were trying to get him to open up, possibly let his guard down...just a little. He stared at you, his eyes now filled with disdain and something else you couldn't make out. "I...I'm sorry. I di-"

"Leave." He said quietly, but sternly. You went to respond but this time he yelled. "LEAVE!"

You flinched and gathered your books. You stood and made your leave. Quickly glancing back, you caught one last glimpse of him.

His back was turned to you as he stood, his hands were clenched, and his body was stiff.

The next morning you made your way to Thor. One of the guards told you he was still in his chambers. You picked at your fingernails as you contemplated knocking or just leaving.

You couldn't stop thinking about last night. You felt bad for pissing Loki off that bad. You never saw him that angry and you certainly weren't expecting it. Did you deserve to be snapped at like that? Probably. But it was still...

Just as you turned to leave his door swung open. Thor looked down at you with confusion, "Y/n? What are you doing here this early?"

You scratched at the back of your hand, "Can we talk? Privately?"

He nodded, "I actually need to speak to you about something important."

He led you outside to a garden. It was empty as the two of you walked its grounds.

"Something's troubling you." He stated. You nodded, trying to find the right words.

"I don't think this is working."

He furrowed his brows and stopped walking. You halted as well. "What do you mean?"

You ran a hand through your locks and sighed. "He's not going to open up to me. I'm not helping. He's too...guarded." You looked up at the fluffy clouds and furrowed your brows, "And being locked up, definitely isn't helping my case or his."

"What are you getting at?"

"How bad of an idea do you think it would be for me to ask your father for some...leniency?"

His eyes widened, realizing what you meant. "Y/n," he started.

You looked at him seriously, "I know, I know it's unlikely... but every time I think I'm getting somewhere he pulls back and hides away in a shell of himself."

"My father doesn't even know the full extent as to why you're here."

You tilted your head while crossing your arms and raised an eyebrow suspiciously, "Oh, come on. You don't actually believe that do you? He's Odin, the All-Father."

He let out a sigh, "As much as I would love to see him out of there, it's not a good idea. Not now, at least."

"What do you mean?"

"Firstly, you've only talked to him five or six times, yes?"

You nodded reluctantly, "Well, yeah. But I doubt anything would change. You know your brother, Muscles. He's too guarded, and being put on display like an animal at the zoo isn't hel--"

"There's something else." You raised an eyebrow for him to continue. "I need to go back to Earth."

"What?"

You followed Thor at a fast pace to Heimdall. He filled you in on the way. Heimdall could no longer see Jane.

Looks like that fight was put on hold. Thank God, you thought.

You could tell he was worried and told him you were coming with him, no arguments. You argued it was cuz you were his responsibility both on Earth and in Asgard. He didn't have the time nor patience to argue so he silently agreed. You gave a quick hello to Heimdall and he made a quick conversation with Thor, before opening the Bifrost and sending you both to Jane's last location.

You arrived and looked around. There were several industrial shipping crates. Your eyes landed on two brunettes talking a few feet away from you.

Suddenly the sky opened up and it started pouring. "Great," you grumbled getting drenched.

Both brunettes looked in your direction, and one of them stormed over.

"Jane," Thor said. She reached a hand up to his face and then slaps him. Your mouth drops and you step back giving them safe.

The rain stopped and you looked around confused. It was no longer raining directly on you. You went to say something but stopped when Jane slapped him a second time, "Where were you?!"

Thor's face was full of concern, "Where were you? Heimdall could not see you."

As the two talked Darcy approached and you went up to her. "Hi," you said relieved to not be focusing on the awkward conversation between Jane and Thor.

She turned her head. "Hi?" She said confused. "Have we met?"

You shook your head, "Right, no. I'm Y/n. A friend of Thor's from...work?"

She nodded, "I'm Darcy, an intern for Jane." She pointed to a guy being detained at a car behind you, "And that's my intern." You nodded awkwardly and bounced on your heels. You glanced back at the two. They were about to kiss until Darcy interrupted about the weird phenomenon with the rain.

"Hey, is that you?" she asked Thor. The rain stopped as Thor looked up.

"Um," Darcy started, "I'm pretty sure we are getting arrested."

Jane gave a dry smile to Darcy and her eyes landed on you. "Um, hi." She turned back to Thor. "Hold that thought," she said before running toward the police.

Darcy and Thor greeted each other as you three made your way to Jane and the cops. Just as you're about to reach her, the cop reaches out to grab her. Suddenly a bright red light and a strong force burst out from them. Everyone gets pushed back and Thor screams out for Jane.

He runs to her and you help Darcy up. "Are you alright?" he asks.

The cops draw their weapons and slowly approach them, telling Jane to stand down and put her hands up. Thor tries to reason with them.

"Look, officers, you don't know what's happening, neither do we. But it's best if you all stepped back," You warned.

The cop shook his head, "She's dangerous." You rolled your eyes.

"So am I," Thor responded. "Y/n." You nodded and moved closer to them as Thor grabs Jane.

You could feel the wind pick up around you as the Bifrost opened. You noticed Jane tightened her eyes and you chuckled at her response. It was definitely something that took time getting used to, you would know.

You arrive back and sigh in relief that the brief rollercoaster ride is over. "We have to do that again," Jane said with an excited smile. She noticed Heimdall and greeted him with a shy smile.

"Welcome to Asgard," he said, smiling in return.

_______________________________________

A/N:

AHHHHH HIIIII Okay, so I know this doesn't entirely fit the canon storyline. But I figured the whole "bringing peace back to the 9 realms" happened before Y/n arrived in Asgard. Idk exactly lol, but that's what I'm going for

AlsoOoooOoo I'm finally ahead of my chapters! When you read this, both chapters 5 and 6 will be published this week.

I'm setting a schedule for new chapters: Two chapters a week, usually posted on the weekends.

AHHHHHH Things are finally picking up. I have a few other NON-CANON things planned so please try to understand that it's not gonna be exactly the same.

Love yall.

xx Izzy <3

QOTD: What is your favorite cartoon?

AOTD: Recently it's been Rapunzel's Tangled Adventures.

#loki #Loki Laufeyson #loki fanfic #loki x reader #loki x you #marvel #marvel cinematic universe #Self Insert #x reader #fanfic #avengers fanfiction #Avengers #The Avengers #avengers au #thor #Thor Odinson #MCU

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yuvon-writes-letters · 3 years ago

Note

[Right on the top of the letter is a sighing girl drawn]

I really thought I could rest a few days before leaving. Like last time, ya know? I could've been more prepared. Didn't even get the call yet.

But I guess you're right. Exactly when you figured it out Jake did, too. (With a little bit help of goldie. They sent him the Tumblr conversation. The whole conversation. Without any comment.)

So yeah, either the MWAF knows where I work or (and that is a scary thought) even is there somehow sometimes.

Jake wanted me to promise to not go back there, but I couldn't. At least not for now. I want to go back there once, for now I shouldn't be in danger. At least not if he goes the same way as last time.

I should get a call from him later that day. And tomorrow I should find the raven note on my desk (after my lunch break). Later that day I saw the first time a guy with a mask. Then again the morning after I took the picture I sent TSB.

And that same evening I started hiding.

So I thought I still had some time...But it seems that isn't the case.

I would love to take Max, even though he can be a real asshole sometimes, but I don't believe that is clever. [The writing becomes shaky, almost unreadable to the end of the sentence]

I don't know anything anymore, just that I don't want all of this to happen again...

[Here are many ink blots, as if a pen was thrown on the paper]

Sorry..Sorry about that. My door bell started ringing. Surprise surprise, my idiot of a cousin. (I still love him though. Even if I'll never forgive him that he stole designs of me. Urgh. Sorry, nervous.)

He thought I acted weird when we texted earlier and my boss wanted him to check up on me.

What does a nervous little fox Liska do? (Little fox is a nickname he gave me when we were little xD I somtimes start using it when we're both in a weird situation)

He almost called the police, thinking I was in some weird 'abusive relationship' with, and I quite, "this Jake asshole".

It seems someone wrote him a text. An unknown number.

I already texted Jake about that..Any my guess is that the MWAF realised that he couldn't hack Jake anymore. So he tries different ways.

But it's fine now, I think I could convince him that everyone was okay. Even though now I have to take vacation with him. He wants to go tomorrow afternoon if I don't want him to call my parents. Why? That if I'm lying I'm not in danger anymore.

I mean, he's not fully wrong. Just that he doesn't have the facts right. (Which he couldn't. I'm still surprised that me being a suspect of kidnapping Hannah or helping a wanted hacker didn't go beyond Duskwood. But that's good.)

Oh and also, Jake just answered, he thinks it's good if I just go with Max in the moment. I think he stalked his Facebook profile. (Max did taekwondo for many years. Facebook tells his story)

But yeah, I am very sorry if this is an unsorted letter, not much happened and still many unsaid thoughts crossed my mind.

Liska🐾🔥

Ps. Also Jake wants me to thank the both of you for taking care of me when he couldn't. And still doing it.

And that I say that he's still not pleased with my decision to go to work tomorrow.

Lis,

So, Goldie's really taking more of an active role, now. I sort of thought they were finished until we massively fuck up again, but I guess they just don't want us to ask them questions or something. Interesting.

I wonder if that means the TSB timeline is still continuing

So the raven note on your desk comes tomorrow? I really wouldn't assume you're safe 'til then, but I guess if your Jake can't convince you, no one can XD

Still. Maybe now-ish would be a good time to take a long trip somewhere sunny. And crowded. Preferably with as many people as possible, who will notice if you go missing.

This is not going to happen again. We have several Jakes and two fairly smart people plus me helping you, PLUS an entity on your side, PLUS the advantage of knowing AND HAVING DOCUMENTATION on exactly how the previous timeline went. All we have to do is figure out a place you'll be safe, and bam, we're done.

...That's a pretty good opportunity, honestly. I agree with your Jake, you should go with your cousin. Though I'm curious what exactly the MWAF said to your cousin that convinced him that you were in danger. You might want to make sure that, a., the MWAF didn't suggest a location and you're not going there, b., your cousin turns off GPS tracking on his phone or just leaves it at home, and c., that your cousin doesn't post pictures of you on social media wherever you go.

Don't worry about the letter not being neat and stuff, I don't care too much about that. As long as

One sec Jessys texting me

Nothing important, she's still trying to test if I've been kidnapped or not without saying it outright. I lost my train of thought from earlier. Oh well.

You're welcome, Jake :) And I definitely emphasize with you on that one -_-

Passing the letter over to my Jake now.

(The handwriting changes to Jake's.) Hello, Lis.

Your workplace is very clearly an unsafe environment, but upon reflection and having read ahead and read Max's offer, I believe you actually should go into work, at least for the day. It will give less of our cards away to the enemy. However, do be vigilant. We know that our actions have already changed the timeline to at least some extent, the breadth of which is still unclear.

I am not entirely sure what the kidnapper would gain from having your cousin watching carefully over you in the window of time the kidnapper would have taken to track you down, however. Could it be possible that Goldie was the one to send your cousin the message, rather than the kidnapper?

I concur with Yuvon that the previous timeline's events will not repeat, however, for the exact same reasons she listed, though I will edit it slightly: we have three Jakes and three intelligent people working on the case, including Yuvon. I think I may need to speak with her about this.

Most of the advice I would have given about precautions for the vacation with your cousin has already been covered by Yuvon :)

You are welcome, Jake.

I noticed that in my agitation from your last letter, I accidentally skimmed over some key points. My apologies. I'll answer them now.

I will attempt to find a good point to bring up the matter with her, but she is busy enough trying to mitigate the concerns of the "Crow Crew" that I do not think that should be done at the current moment.

While I am... fond of the "underlying desire" theory, I do not, on reflection, believe it. The fact that she would subconsciously choose me, rather than a family member or a friend she has known longer than myself, seems unlikely. Especially not when she had been quite incensed at me very, very recently. It simply makes no sense.

Though, admittedly, if the situation was reversed, she would likely be

The stasis wavering is both good and bad news. It has been both a benefit and a detriment thus far. Ensure that the group does not draw the kidnapper's ire instead, without alerting them that you are in danger, should they break loose of the stasis alone. Until then, based on the results from Yuvon previously contacting them, I suggest you avoid contact unless they open communication first.

Good luck, Lis and Jake.

—Jake & Yuvon

(The letter tucks itself into the paper clip with the others.)

#duskwood letter game #yuvon writes letters #duskwood #duskwood game #duskwood everbyte #duskwood jake #lis

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quillsareswords · 5 years ago

Text

Clips of a Year

Damian Wayne

In which we explore highlights from a year of a funny relationship between a hero and a teen with a taste for trouble. Both Damian and reader are 17 in this one. (Also an apology for being inactive for so terribly long.)

Prompt List // Masterlist (both in bio)

You looked as if someone had kicked your puppy and smashed your favorite mug, all in the same instant.

Damian held very still. Very, very, still. His toothbrush was sill hanging loosely from his lips, comb still in hand.

What had he said? What did he do? He clicked through every action he’d even considered in the last three minutes that could have possibly triggered such an offended reaction.

You’d both gotten out of bed. You had shouted that both of you were twenty minutes late. You’d lunged for the shower, he’d gone for his clothes. You’d stumbled out in a rush, still yanking your shirt over your head. He was still fixing with his hair and finishing with brushing his teeth when you’d started scooping armfuls of things into your duffel bag. All he’d done after that was suggest that you leave it all there, as apposed to dragging it back and forth between your apartment and his father’s manor.

“Why?” Your voice is level, wary. Calculated. As if you aren’t entirely sure you want to hear the answer.

He arches an eyebrow. Reaches up and takes the toothbrush from his mouth, and spits the foamy remains of his toothpaste into the sink bowl. “Isn’t it bothersome to keep packing that bag back and forth?”

You loosen at that. Still, you squint suspiciously at him. You dump the last of your belongings into the bag. “No, not really.” You plop down on his king size bed and start yanking your boots on.

This (crashing at one another’s homes in some sloppy cycle, after patrols and nearby, late night activities) has been going on for the past eleven months. Nearly a year, still, you refuse to leave so much as a sweatshirt at his home. He couldn’t be sure exactly why, as he’d never prodded the subject. Though it did interest him a bit. At this point, he left things of his at your apartment all the time.

He saw it as an odd form of trust. Comfort, even. It seemed a strange form of intimacy, to leave his possessions in your space. It was the same kind of trust he felt every time he handed his phone to you before bolting after any of his brothers.

“Damian?”

He blinked dumbly at you once. “What?”

You stand at his bedroom door, propping it open with one hand, the other looped around the strap over your shoulder. “I said, are you coming?”

“Yes,” he finished lacing his boots quickly and met you in at the door. “Of course. No reason for you to get a cab.”

The music is loud, drifting up and out of the nonexistent roof of your car, only to be carried off by the far louder sound of the wind billowing your hair around. Either sound is enough to drown your joyous laughter, though. You howl, face half pressed into the leather headrest, and you’re still sitting sideways in the passenger seat.

He grins straight ahead at the road, suspiciously perfect teeth glimmering in the blurry neon lights.

The stars above you are muted by light pollution of a small town somewhere in western New Jersey. Parents are glaring your way, young couples are throwing you envious stares, and elders are reminiscing, wishing for that youthful flame burning at your core.

You’re sitting on top of the world, breathless with incandescent splendor and the rush of speeding down a highway at 95 miles an hour.

Damian knows this. He knows you’re reveling in the blurry colors and the way they light up his profile, and the incredible and indescribable sense of freedom you feel from the high of this speed. You live for it. And to be sharing it with him? You were so high off the pure happiness, you didn’t have room in your soul to worry about the crash when you came down.

He’d be lying to say he didn’t share every inch of raging enjoyment you held. He turns away from the road for only a moment, and locks those six frames of time away for later. You’re glowing with pleasure, red, blue, and pink neon lights from the bar you pass throw it into different shades, and the beaming grin splitting your lips apart is something he swears he’ll never forget.

You hit the county line only a few minutes later, and suddenly, you know exactly what you’ve always wanted out of life.

It’s midnight when you find him.

Your boots are heavy on the gravel of a building’s roof. You don’t know the address, or the building’s purpose, owner, or even a minute of its history. But you’re thankful to it all the same: for offering him a few hours of quiet sanctuary while you stuck your neck out on his behalf.

You’d never had any particular beef with Bruce. He annoyed you sometimes, but he had always been courteous to you and supported your relationship with his son (to an extent -- you are technically a criminal, in his defense). But you weren’t one to stand by idly when he decided it was necessary to to rip Damian a new one for something you both knew wasn’t his fault.

You expected a less supportive parent on Damian’s end.

You slowed your pace a few yards across the roof. You gave him enough time to tell you to leave, to decide if he was alright with your presence at the moment. He didn’t object to it.

You stopped beside him. He peered up at you. “Did Bruce send you?” he gritted.

You propped your hands on your hips. “If you think for one second Bruce could make me do anything, you’ve obviously had a clouded image of me in mind for way too long.” You dropped down to sit on the roof beside him, and knocked the rubber heels of your boots against the top of the brick wall, soles facing the nearly empty road beneath you. “Besides,” you breathed, “I don’t think your dad’s gonna be askin’ me any favors after that.”

He didn’t turn to face you. “After what?” He paused, as if a few pieces had clicked together. “What did you say?”

You leaned back on your hands, sagging your shoulders to recline yourself enough to stare up at a cloudy Gotham night sky. “Oh, nothing important.��

He didn’t seem like he wanted details. “What did he say?”

You rolled her eyes his way. “Not much, actually. Didn’t give him much of a chance, I guess, now that I think about it.”

He went silent for a little while. For that little while, you busied yourself with searching for stars among all the light pollution and dense clouds.

Then, “I didn’t kill those men.”

He doesn’t face you. He hunches his back and stares down at the scarce traffic.

You stare at the back of his head for a fleeting moment, before you shift your weight and lay a hand on his shoulder. “I know you didn’t,” you state firmly. “The thought never even crossed my mind, to be honest.” You were quick to correct yourself, “At least, not til Bruce brought it up, anyway. Never entertained the idea, though.”

He didn’t answer right away. But before you turn away again, he turns to face you fully at last, and you can’t miss the shiny wet streaks of tears marking his cheeks. “You might be the only one.”

You push your self up immediately, and wrap him in a tight embrace. He buries his nose in the crook of your neck, and sets his hand firmly on your shoulder blade to pull you closer. You thread fingers through his hair, and will back angry tears. “We’ll figure it out, Love. Don’t worry about a thing.”

“Do you know what time it is?”

You smile sheepishly at him from the drivers seat of your ‘75 mustang convertible. “Sorry.”

He lazily tugs the door open and drops into the seat next to you. “This had better be something,” he warns loosely, snapping his seat belt into place.

You wave your free hand as you pull away from Wayne Manor. “I know how much you hate losing beauty sleep, trust me.” You throw a wry grin his way. “Everybody suffers when Mr. Perfect misses his much needed beauty rest.”

He rolls his eyes at you, even turns away so you can’t see a smile, but he’s forgotten all the marvelous uses of side mirrors. “Where are we going, (L/N)?”

You flip the radio on, the warm wind blowing your hair back as you gain velocity going down the long stretch of driveway you’ve always cursed his home for. Lord, the number of times you’d had to walk up the beast-

“Don’t you worry about, Wayne. Just know that you’ll love it.” You slide on your favorite pair of sunglasses with one hand. “In fact, why don’t you get that pillow out of the back seat and doze for a bit, if you’re that tired.”

“Doze? How long far are we going-?” He looks behind the seat to find this mysterious pillow. Suddenly, he’s giving you the look. The one that closely resembles a tired thirty-something aunt and asks the gods why on Earth he had to be the one to fall for you. “(Y/N)?”

You bite back a smile. Don’t turn away from the road. “Yes, Love?”

“Why is my dog in the backseat of your car, with my suitcase?”

“Oh, is he?” you spin around dramatically to see. “Wha-?” You grin, turn back to the road, then to the dog again, as if you’re in some cheesy sitcom and this is the result of a prank you’d entirely predicted. “Titus! What are you doing in my backseat? And is that your daddy’s suitcase?”

Damian smacks you lightly on the arm as he leans all the way back into his seat, white pillow in the other hand. “Bruce is expecting me at the Enterprise tomorrow, you know. And what about patrol?” He fixes the pillow against the door. “And aren’t you supposed to be at your friend’s race Monday evening?”

You shook your head disappointingly. “I am truly offended that you think I’d whisk you off into the sunset-”

“Sunrise.”

“-to keep all to myself the first week of summer break.” You grin at him. “I got clearance from your dad, Tim and Dick agreed to split your shifts this week, and the race got cancelled because her garage almost got busted.”

He shakes his head at you.

“What?”

“I swear you’ll be the death of me,” he breathes, just loud enough to hear over the wind.

You beam at him again as he settles on the pillow. “Then it’ll be a damn good death!”

Saturday mornings have always been a favorite of yours. Especially when they were spent laying in bed with your favorite person.

“Would you rather: kiss a grizzly bear or a cockroach?”

He wrinkles his nose in distaste. “Neither, I’d rather avoid both altogether.” This earns a laugh.

You’re laying in your queen sized bed together, strips of mid-morning sunlight streaming in through the open window at the foot of your bed, beneath a comforter and Damian’s arm, and not specifically in that order. He isn’t wearing a shirt, you aren’t wearing pants, so you’ve agreed you’re even and both immune to any quips about being lazy or having manners.

He didn’t understand why you had wanted your bed backwards, so the footboard was against the wall and the headboard faced the opposing wall, but now, with a warm crisp fall breeze swirling over you both and around the room, bathed in sunlight, he saw your reasoning with perfect clarity.

“Alright, alright, my turn.” He paused to think up your two options. “Would you rather: have learned to paint, or learned to cook?”

You didn’t hesitate for a moment. “Cook.” You smiled warmly at him. “I wouldn’t trade your little lessons for the world.” You looked past him, the the easel set up in the far corner of your bedroom.

They weren’t really lessons, just little things he tells you while he works. He’s laughed before about needed another easel so you could paint with him, but you always replied that you liked sketching more.

His lips pulled at the edges, and a certain warmth filled him that he could only ever seem to find with you.

Yes, Saturday mornings were the best mornings.

“I don’t know if I like this,” you hummed absently, more to yourself than to him.

He peered down at your sketchpad from her perch on his stool. He hums. “Try a sharper profile,” he suggests.

You take your eraser to the paper, and he turns again to the blank canvas in front of him. He stares at it blankly for a few minutes more, before he gives up and looks back down at you, sprawled across your comforter on the floor beside his easel. “Let me see your book.”

You finish the line you were working at, then hand the whole thing up to him. Your gaze remains on him, while he flips through your most recent off-white and graphite works.

He seems to find one he likes. He turns the paper for you to see. “May i use this one?”

It’s one you had worked at a few days prior, when you had found yourself in the park that afternoon. It depicts a woman and a man, sitting on the same bench, though at opposite ends, yet they share what appears to be a longing gaze. Behind them, leaves fall from the trees framing the scene, and before them, the sidewalk.

You nodded and offered an encouraging smile. “Mhmm. Go ahead and tear it out, if you want.”

He does, and clips it to the top corner of the canvas. “Thank you.”

It’s getting late when you find him again, still sitting up on that stool you’d found for three dollars at a flea market last summer.

You all but draped yourself over his shoulders from behind, minding the painting pallet balanced on one hand, and the shiny blotch of yellow on his shirt. “How’s it coming along?” You let your eyes roam over the beautiful swirl of colors.

“I should be asking you that,” he replies. You watch in subdued wonder as he takes yellows and dull oranges to create beautiful leaves.

You remember the first sketchbook of his you’d seen. It was far back when you were first growing to trust each other. You’d come up to him from behind, without any warning. You’d seen the gory, angry, hand-drawn pictures. To most, they’d, have warded them off. Sure, they were a bit disturbing, but you’d seen worse. The crowd you ran with back then wasn’t any better than a handful of murderous street rats without a care in the world or any regard for anyone else: so you didn’t think much of it, at the time.

But now, you get to look at this beautiful image he’s had a huge part in creating. One of vibrant color and peace and sunnier outlook on things. You get to see it firsthand. You get to see him firsthand, and you find yourself bursting with pride, because look at how far he’s come. How far you’ve both come.

You smile tenderly at the artwork as he lowers his paintbrush to observe it himself. “It’s possibly the most beautiful thing I’ve ever seen, Dearest.”

#damian wayne x reader #damian wayne imagine #Damian Wayne #damian wayne blurb

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thedarksideofriverdale · 5 years ago

Text

In Unity There is Strength

Chapter 15: The Banshee

Masterlist // Playlist // Character Guide // Face-Claim

A/N: I really can’t excuse my absence. School has bogged me down since it’s my final year at university, but some of my motivation has come back to continue this fic. I never realized how popular it had gotten, and it was never my Intention to keep you all hanging.

XXXX

Zara felt her body being shaken and heard what sounded like “Wake up,” but she was too sleepy to be sure. She cracked her eyes open, and the blurry shape of Kurtz came Into view. “What?” she muttered, closing her eyes again and nestling Into her pillow.

Meanwhile Kurtz was panicking, trying to awake Zara after hearing his emissary’s words. “…a red headed girl…” Who else could that be other than the banshee of the Red Circle. “Zara, wake up!” he shouted, shaking the girl harder now. “It’s urgent!”

After the third or fourth shake, Zara become more coherent and asked, “What’s going on? What’s urgent?” She sat up quickly, blinking as a slight wave of dizziness overcame her. Looking out the window, she sighed. “It’s the middle of the night, Kurtz. Couldn’t it have wait ’til morning?”

“No!” he yelled lowly, remembering Zara’s mother sleeping down the hall. “Your banshee friend is in danger.”

Zara looked up at him with worried eyes. “W-what do you mean? How do you know?”

“My emissary, he saw a vision. The next attack would be on a red headed girl. Do you know that many red heads in Riverdale, let alone those who were taken In by the Sisters?”

“Oh my god, Cheryl,” Zara whispered, getting up from her sleeping bag. Straightening out her shirt, she said, “We have to warn Archie!”

Leaving the house quickly, the two entered the car in the woods, and Kurtz sped down the empty 3 am streets of the town until Archie’s suburban home came Into sight. Zara unbuckled her seat belt quickly, but before she could open the door, Kurtz wrapped his hand around her other wrist. “Doesn’t Archie live with his father?” Kurtz asked, turning off the ignition. “I’ll climb up to Archie’s room-“

“Oh, that’s rich. You think Archie wants to see you right now?” Zara asked angrily. “There’s a thing called a cellphone, smart one,” she said, raising her phone up to her ear. “Archie, it’s me. Come outside, it’s urgent… Yes, I’ll explain.”

The pair In the car watched as the alpha climbed out of his bedroom window and jump down onto the side lawn. Then, he broke out into a run towards the car. Zara exited the car and went up to hug Archie, but stopped herself, remembering the events from two days ago. “Hey,” she said meekly. “Uh, Kurtz found out something.”

“Did he now?” Archie replied, acid dripping from his tone. “Go ahead; what is it?”

“Your banshee’s life is In peril,” Kurtz chimed In as he stood near the car door, his elbows folded on top of the roof of the vehicle. “We came to warn you.”

“And, why should I believe anything you say?” Archie asked, crossing his arms across his chest. “It’s not like you want to help my pack, lone wolf.”

“I have a duty to make a new, sustainable pack In this town, and In order to do so, I have to play nice with the only other alpha here. Excuse me if I want peace for a change.”

Archie let out a dark chuckle. “Let’s say you are telling me the truth, why Cheryl? She’s one of the most powerful creatures in this world. Her magic is hard to come by, let alone able to be absorbed by dark powers.”

“I have no idea, Andrews. My emissary saw the vision; I’m just relaying it back to you, but if you’re too much of a thick-headed fool to understand-“

“Kurtz,” Zara said sternly before looking back at Archie. “It’s not that far fetched to see her on the hit list, seeing as she was admitted to the Sisters of Quiet Mercy. Maybe, our killer is getting bold.” She looked back at Kurtz, who was scanning the surroundings. “Regardless of what you think of him, even if his story is false, we still should protect Cheryl. She doesn’t even know the full extent of her powers; she’s practically defenseless.”

Archie looked at her pensively, which Zara understood. In all honesty, it was a wonder why he even agreed to see her after the events that transpired between the three of them. But, Zara hoped that, despite all of the bad blood, Archie would get passed that and understand that he needed to protect Cheryl.

Cheryl may be a friend, but she was an unique chess piece no other pack had on their side of the board. She was an emissary, but better. And, it was still a shock to most that she received those powers when she should’ve transformed Into a wolf when her brother Jason attacked her under the full moon and was subsequently shot by Hiram Lodge. She was unconscious for three days, and when Zara checked her wounds, none of them had healed. Cheryl was allowed to be a human despite her brush with lycanthropy, and she was gifted on top of that.

At first, she hated being able to find dead bodies around the town, namely because Hiram’s handy work with omegas was rather gruesome to see. But, she never backed down. Day by day, her powers grew, but they weren’t fully fleshed out for her to be able to protect herself during an attack from a magic-hungry dark wizard.

Archie’s expression was unreadable, but finally, he nodded. “Okay, I’ll call her. But, I still don’t trust him.”

“Neither do I,” Zara replied to which Kurtz winced slightly. “However, if she’s truly In danger-“

“I have to protect her, I know.” Archie pursed his lips while the line rang. “Yes, Cheryl, I realize you need your beauty sleep, but you’re In danger… Uh, I can’t exactly tell you how I know, just that you are… Please, Cheryl, try to understand. I’m coming over to yours In a bit. Stay safe until then. Use your senses.” He hung up and looked at Zara. “Well, let’s go. I definitely need you when she starts throwing a fit.”

XXXX

“Why is the circus rat here?” Cheryl promptly asked, looking at the three visitors. Kurtz snarled, but Zara put a hand on his wrist, and he calmed down. Archie noticed the exchange and clenched his jaw.

“Are you okay?” Zara asked, stepping into to the foyer of Thornhill.

“I’m fine. I have still yet not received an answer as to why you think I might be. Well?”

“Kurtz said-“

“Ah, so Kurtz said, and I’m just supposed to believe him. I’m meant to hate him after the stunt he pulled with Archie a mere days ago. But, I’m just supposed to take that you three are buddies again?” She cross her arms across her chest and tapped her foot impatiently.

“You don’t need to believe me, but rather in the supernatural. My emissary had a premonition, something akin to your powers. Trust in his ability as you trust in yours,” Kurtz replied, his commanding presence unwavering.

Cheryl glared at him before sighing. “Well, I assume we’re all staying up tonight? And, here I thought I would finally get a decent night’s sleep. But, this is Thornhill and-“ A crash from upstairs startled the group, and Archie held up a finger to his lips to keep the rest silent. He slowly ascended the stairs and went to the source of the noise. Zara looked at Kurtz and said, “Keep her safe.” She then followed Archie, but she knew Kurtz wanted to protest. When she entered the room, she fought hard not to vomit. On Cheryl’s bed laid Ethel Muggs, throat slit with her hands spread.

XXXX

“How could we have forgotten that Ethel was a viable option?” Betty said, frowning. She rested her head in her hands, elbows on a table at Pop’s. Jughead rubbed her back slowly as he shook his head.

Cheryl rolled her eyes. “It’s Ethel Muggs. She’s the most forgettable person in the school. It made way more sense that it could’ve been me. I mean, the monster broke in to my home! Clearly, he was trying to do something to me. Now, Daddy’s being Interrogated by the police, and he’s done nothing wrong.” She then looked at Zara. “I’m just glad that the three of you cleared out before the police suspected you.”

Zara nodded, furrowing her brows. “Ethel being planted in your house was obviously deliberate, and I think I might know why.” She cleared her throat as she folded her hands on top of the table. “Ethel’s father works with Hiram in his side job.”

“You mean-“ Betty started.

“That a member of Archie’s pack had a the dead body of a hunter’s daughter in it? Yeah, that’s exactly what she means,” Jughead finished. “Definitely not a coincidence.”

“Do you think V might try something?” Betty asked Zara, to which Zara replied with a shrug. “To be honest, I’m not too sure what Veronica Is capable of these days,” Zara whispered.

“But, this is enough motivation for the hunter’s council to deem our pack a threat. Before, it was just petty threats from Hiram. Now, it’s going to be a full blown war between us, the hunters, and the-“

“Siphon,” Zara said in realization. “I didn’t pay attention to this in Greendale as much as I should’ve, but one of the book in the Academy had a chapter on siphoning magic. People with true dark abilities can siphon magic from any supernatural creature.”

“How does this help us, though?” Betty asked, furrowing her brows. “We knew from the beginning that he took magic from the people he sacrificed. Why does knowing what he is add on to this information?”

“Because every supernatural creature has a weakness. It’s a means by which nature corrects the perversion. Every wizard has their own weaknesses, but siphons have the same. It was on the last page of that book.” Zara rammed the table forcefully, shocking the rest of the guests. “I have to call Sabrina. She’s the only one that can give us our weapon.”

XXXX

Notification Squad:

@-thatgirloverthere-

@the-gargoyle-queen

@that-idiot125

@sweetscamille

@kurtzyoufunkylittledruggy

@thispreviewsme

@jinxfanfics

@lilhemmo

@littlebizarrethings

@sebby-ravnica

@dusty-old-crow

@fearxthexbloodmoon

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chuffyfan87 · 5 years ago

Text

Hiding. Part 56e

"Leave me alone!" Peter screamed as he pulled himself free of his dad's grasp. "Mum is gunna die and it's all your fault!"

“I know you’re upset and angry.” Charlie replied, “You can blame me all you want.”

"Good, coz I do!" Peter ran off again.

Charlie followed him, “Come back. You can’t stay out here on your own!”

"I'm old enough to do what I like."

“You’re still a child.” Charlie sighed, “Your mum wanted another baby, Peter. It was me who didn’t at first.”

"Yeh, blame her! Everyone always blames her."

“I am not blaming your mum! I blame me, ok? Me!!” Charlie sighed sadly.

"If she dies I'll never forgive you!" Peter shouted as he turned to run again. Not looking where he was going he tripped over a low wall and went flying, rolling towards the main road.

He came so close to being hit by a car but Charlie managed to stop him from being hit again. This time, Charlie wouldn’t let Peter go even though he was fighting against him.

Peter momentarily stopped struggling as he noticed a smear of blood on his sleeve from where he'd scraped his arm as he fell. He froze briefly until suddenly the memories of earlier came flooding back and he began to shake uncontrollably.

Charlie noticed the way Peter reacted and sighed sadly. He’d been through such a traumatic experience - it was traumatic for Charlie, never mind his fifteen year old son. “Son, it’s alright.” He reassured.

The driver of the car who had narrowly missed them had stopped and gotten out. "Oh my gosh, is he OK? I swerved as best I could but he came out of nowhere! I thought I'd missed him." She babbled frantically.

Charlie smiled reassuringly to the woman driver, “It’s fine, it’s ok. You didn’t hurt him. He’s— he’s got a lot on his mind at the minute.”

"Do you want me to go get someone to help?" She asked.

“No, no we’ll be ok thank you.”

"If you're sure?"

"Absolutely." Charlie confirmed.

The lady nodded and got back in her car.

Peter stopped shaking and lay blinking slowly in confusion at his dad.

Charlie touched Peter’s cheek, “Did you have a flashback?”

"I don't know. There was blood and screaming." Peter mumbled.

Charlie kissed Peter's forehead. “Sounds like you had a flashback.”

"Please say she won't die!" Peter begged softly.

“I wish I could son but I can’t tell you something I don’t know.”

Peter hissed in pain as he lent on his arm to get up.

Charlie helped him up of the floor. “Let’s go back to the hospital so I can check your arm? Then maybe we can see your mum together?”

Peter nodded, his anger having disapated once more into fear and confusion.

The journey back to the hospital was mostly silent until Charlie said gently, “When you’re angry, I want you to come to me ok? Shout at me. I won’t mind, ok?”

"I don't like feeling angry." Peter mumbled.

“Its not a nice feeling but it’s a perfectly natural emotion.” Charlie reassured.

"Anger hurts people though."

“It depends what you do with the anger. I get angry with your mum but I don’t ever hurt her. And she gets angry with me too. Ask Auntie Megan about your mum’s famous temper. She’ll have a few stories to tell.”

"I will." Peter replied, a small smile forming on his face.

“You’re allowed to be angry Peter. There’s always choices of what to do with that anger.” Charlie smiled, “You’re a bright lad. You’ll know what’s right and what’s wrong.”

They walked back into the department. "You won't tell mum how I hurt my arm will you?" Peter asked.

“No I won’t.” Charlie smiled. He cleaned up Peter’s arm, it needed steri-strips on the small gash but other than that, it wasn’t too bad. They went back to see the baby and all three of them, went to see Duffy in the intensive care unit.

Peter hesitated as they reached the door to Duffy's room.

“I’m just as nervous as you are.” Charlie said gently, the baby in his arms.

"I want to see her but..." Peter swallowed. "I'm scared." He added in a whisper.

“It’s going to be scary. I’m scared too. But we’ve got each other.”

Peter nodded and followed his dad through the door.

With the baby in one arm, Charlie squeezed Peter’s hand.

Peter's eyes widened as he took in the sight of his mum surrounded by so many wires and machines. When he'd previously seen his mum in hospital it had been after she'd been moved to a general ward so although he knew she'd been seriously ill in the past he'd never seen the full extent of things til now.

“If you want to go back to my office, you can.” Charlie squeezed his hand reassuringly.

"No. Can she hear us? Does she know we're here?"

“Your mum can hear us.” Charlie smiled, “Why don’t you talk to her?”

"What should I say?"

“Anything, you can talk to your mum about anything.”

"OK. Um... You were right. The baby was a boy. He's way bigger than the girls were. Um..." Peter looked up at his dad.

“You can hold her hand.”

Peter reached out to do as instructed. He quickly flinched back.

“What’s wrong?”

"Her hand is cold."

“Your mum’s always got cold hands.”

"Yeh. It's been a while since..." Peter's voice trailed off, he looked a little ashamed.

“It’s been a while since what?” Charlie encouraged.

"I'm a bit old to be holding my mum's hand any more." Peter shrugged.

“Usually yes, but in this situation, you can hold your mum’s hand.” Charlie smiled, “Your mum’s hands are always cold. She places them on my body every morning!”

"Urgh, dad!" Peter complained.

Charlie chuckled softly. “Sorry son.”

"Mum, wake up and make him stop. Please!"

“Hey, I’m not that bad! There are worse things I could say.” Charlie moved closer to Duffy and placed the baby on Duffy’s chest, careful of the wires.

The baby nuzzled closer, sleeping contentedly despite his surroundings.

"I think he knows she's his mum." Peter remarked.

“He does.” Charlie smiled.

Peter fidgeted nervously with his mum's hand. "She's not wearing her rings." Peter suddenly realised.

The baby’s cheek was against Duffy’s chest, listening to the sound of his mum’s heartbeat.

"Where are they? She'll be really upset if they're missing."

“She’s not?” Charlie frowned, “I’ll ask the surgeon. I can’t remember if she was wearing them at home.”

"I can't remember either. Maybe Megan will know."

“I’ll ask her in the morning when she’s woken up, ok?”

"I was thinking of using some of my pocket money to treat her to something nice. She's been really great while you've been away."

“Megan?”

"Yeh, she's been amazing."

“She’s been an amazing presence throughout mine and your mum’s life.”

"She and mum don't argue like mum and gran sometimes do. Well, not in the same way. Mum doesn't get so cross when Megan tells her to do stuff."

“Your mum and gran are too similar but don’t tell your mum I said that.”

"I thought you said mum could hear us?"

“Yeah she can but the chances are, she might not remember what we’ve said when she wakes up.” Charlie smiled.

"OK." Peter considered the thought for a moment. "Mum it was me that broke the vase not Jake." He confessed.

Charlie found an extra chair and pulled it up along side Peter’s chair. “Ah, so you’re the one who broke that vase? How did you break it?”

"Threw my bag on the table without looking first." Peter shrugged.

“And your brother got the blame?”

"Yeh... Mum started yelling at Jake thinking it was him and, well, I just didn't correct her."

Charlie shook his head fondly. “That’s naughty!”

"Yeh, I get that but she was yelling and I didn't fancy getting in the shit with her."

Charlie laughed gently. “Peter?”

"Yeh?"

“I’d like you to see a counsellor.”

"What?" Peter pulled a face.

“A counsellor. I’d like you to see one.” Charlie met his son's gaze, “You’ve been through a traumatic experience.”

"One of the girls at school had to see a counsellor coz her mum went mental."

“Did it help her?”

Peter shrugged. "She doesn't come to school much."

“What’s she called?”

"Ella. She lives round the corner from Sarah."

“Are you close to her?”

"Sarah knows her better than I do. There was tons of police there when it happened. Sarah could see them arriving from her room."

“When what happened?”

"Her mum totally lost it."

“She hurt herself?”

"I think so. Everyone at school was talking about it."

“Mental health issues aren’t great. I have depression sometimes as you know.”

"Yeh, but you wouldn't do something like that while we were in the house?"

“No but sometimes you don’t have a choice.” Charlie admitted, “When your head is too loud, sometimes you need to get it to be quiet.”

"I guess that makes sense."

“That’s why I want you to see a counsellor.”

"Coz you think I'm gunna do something like that?"

“No. But I want you to talk to someone about how you’re feeling because I don’t want you to bottle everything up.”

"OK. Can I think about it?"

“I can come with you, if you like?” Charlie suggested and nodded.

"Maybe. I don't want mum getting upset about it."

“Your mum will understand, trust me?”

"I don't want her to feel bad. Like it's her fault coz it's not."

“She won’t feel bad because she’ll understand it’s not her fault. These things happen.” Charlie smiled.

"You say that..."

“Leave your mum to me ok? Please don’t stress.”

"OK." Other than the beeping of the machines there was silence for several minutes. "Its weird seeing mum this quiet."

“I know. She’s never ever been this quiet in the twenty years I’ve known her.”

"Its unnerving."

“I agree.”

"Oli seems to like it though."

“Oli?”

"I heard mum and Megan talking about names. I don't really like Thomas."

#chuffy #charlie and duffy #charlie fairhead #lisa duffin

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mazqueen · 6 years ago

Note

The writers confuse me so much because as someone who is neutral Jane/raf are not written as a good couple at all. There seems to be a lot of immaturity with raf sending mateo to the door himself and turning in the opposite direction when he saw jane. Then jane is just ignoring all his wishes and not respecting that he wants space. I know Jennie is not meaning for it to come across like it because she is hardcore jafael but this ep showed how a healthy relationship should be 1/2

2/2 with petramos. I got scared when it looked like petra was breaking up with jr before trying to get the twins to understand and was really happy with how the scene went. Especially compared to how jane/raf were unaware of how mateo was struggling which again showed how great a mother petra is and yet she doesn’t get the credit she deserves.

I mean, just talking about this context, and not anything else, I don’t really get the issue particularly with Raf sending Mateo to the door by himself (I’m gonna assume he didn’t make Mateo cross the street by himself or anything like that, obviously) or turning the opposite direction when he saw Jane BECAUSE of the fact that Jane has been stalking him, pretty much. And if he doesn’t blatantly go out of his way to avoid her… let’s be real. Jane would’ve taken the first chance she got to be all over him bc when she sets her mind on something… we know how she can be, which I think Raf has made clear he doesn’t want. So taking that into consideration, it actually makes sense. So it’s really more of, if Jane was actually properly giving him space (ex. him dropping Mateo off can just be as simple as that) then I don’t think he would’ve felt the need to avoid her to that extent.

That said, I agree with the overall sentiment in that the writers still could be doing SO much better when it comes to Jafael. And I mean I still have my issues with them (ie. not acknowledging the shit Raf did the last few episodes), but I’ve also accepted the writers will never address them so I’m just trying to chill out and focus on the good stuff because being upset is exhaustinggg, I’m spent lmfao

With Petra, I kind of assumed offscreen Petra would’ve explained to the twins that JR wasn’t a bad guy, but even with that I don’t think it’s really that simple. Sometimes you can understand something but your emotions are completely different, you know? Kind of like, if you have trauma, you can be in a completely safe space and still get triggered, and you’re just scared even though you know you’re in a safe space? I kind of feel like it’s maybe something like that with the twins.

As for not knowing, I mean I’d say Petra didn’t know the twins were struggling either til the camera caught them so I don’t wanna be completely unfair… but also yeah. Mateo’s struggle was probably more easily noticeable since it’s something that could’ve been observed while doing homework, etc? IDk. Sometimes people just miss things because they’re human and idt that automatically makes you a bad parent. And I mean the twins frown every time JR is in the room, idk if Petra just thought they don’t like her? If she ever asked them about it? It’s kinda weird, lmao and if I’m gonna look for loopholes, there are so many of them :)) Honestly I feel like the writers just didn’t have much time for kids’ storylines until last episode because everything was about the triangle so they just decided, oh we’ll do it later and we’ll just throw in some excuse. And Jane wasn’t perfect this episode, as a mother, but I kind of like that she isn’t because the show always frames Jane as the superior mother over Petra and idk. It’s nice that she’s also flawed, and I like that she had to take Alba’s advice in the end (about trying to change her kid). No one gets everything right all the time. And yeah, it’s nice that they put Petra in a great light as a mother too because the show does tend to frame her as the lesser mother sometimes too, so. Idk, it’s not perfect but I don’t have a large issue with it as a whole.

You’re right in saying Petra doesn’t nearly get enough credit for being such a wonderful mother though. That’s 500% true, lol.

#ask: jane the virgin #ask #jtv spoilers #Anonymous #long post for ts

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talesfromablackbook · 7 years ago

Text

A Tumble down the wrong rabbit hole.

This is not an easy or light one to start with but all stories have a beginning. After finishing at work, a friend of mine asked me to come to a house party across the river from my home. She said it would be fun I didn't have to worry about buying any drinks cause she had enough vodka for both of us. I hadn't been out in a while so after being a bit resistant due to college and a performance the next day. eventually I agreed and made my way to meet an already wasted Debbie let's call her. When we got to the party the vibe was strange and everyone there was over 20, I was only 16 at the time. They seemed friendly enough though and the night was going well. After a few too many drinks Debbie was pretty out of it. Her boyfriend at the time, let's call him Dave and I decided it was time to take her home. We managed to get to Debbie's without too many issues and dave put her to bed. Debbie's grandma offered for me to stay there but I had college in the morning and I didn't want to wake up any earlier than I already had too so I told her it was okay, I've done this walk a thousand times, I'll be fine. She insisted that Dave should walk me home but I assured her I would be perfectly fine by myself as I had been many times before. I left walking through the empty streets, through the bus depot. As came to the bridge before the hill i had to walk up to get to my house, I realised I had left the umbrella I borrowed from my mum for my journey to the party, the umbrella I had promised not to forget to bring home. "Shit". Through my drunken eyes i sent a text to my friend Debbie telling her I had left my umbrella at the party and to get it for me in the morning and I would come by later that day to get it from her. Thinking she would see it in the morning when she woke up. However the text wasn't as detailed as I thought and all it read was "left my umbrella at the party, get it for me please! Xxxxxxxxxx". Just as I was crossing the bridge I got a text sent from Debbie's phone but read something along the lines of "hey it's dave I have your umbrella I can meet you at the pc world" a few minutes from where I was. I messily replied "yeah okay thank yooouuuuu xxxxx" thinking of it as harmless. As I got to the pc world, he was already there waiting with smile on his face. And my umbrella in his hand, I thanked him for coming all the way to bring it to me and said I should probably be getting home. He said that he felt he should walk me home, I said I would be fine but he insisted so I agreed. As we walked the last 15 minutes to my house we talked the whole way back about random stuff most of which I can't actually remember but I do remember he was doing different accents and I'll hand it to him he was charming and to a certain extent attractive and had the ability to make me laugh. As we got to my house we stood outside and talked for a while, he was continuing to do different accents, I laughed, head spinning knowing I should get to bed. He tells me "I can't remember the way back to Debbie's". I explained to him, several times. I told him I had to go inside and he said "I should probably walk you to your door" "Okay" as I walked up the Stone steps. I put my key in the door, opening it quietly as to not wake my sleeping family. I was inside now, he looked at me and said "maybe we should kiss" smiling at me. I laughed, shutting the door in his face. I proceeded up my stairs and into my bedroom. Just as i was getting ready to get into bed, my message tone rings again. It's from a number that I don't have saved on my phone it read " heey, I've forgotten how to get to Debbie's , I replied explaining once again but he stated he didn't understand. So I went back down, back outside. once again he had trapped me in a long conversation drifting away from the reason I came back outside. He finally told me he understood and said he would once again walk me to my door. We walked up and I had left the door open, he said "maybe I should come inside" I know I should of said no, go back to Debbie's but something stopped me and I found myself directing him into my house with my hand. We sat and talked for a while, he was making me laugh and I admit there was flirting involved. Looking back my attraction to him makes my skin crawl. We got on to the subject of how the tights I was wearing was fully of ladders and holes, which for me was the way in which I liked to wear them. He decided to take it upon himself to count the holes and I let him, forgetting about the one in the place he shouldn't of been touching. He found said hole and just started touching me, which I did not refute. It felt good, I hadn't been touched like that before I didn't want it to stop. I knew what I was doing was wrong and I should stop but Debbie and I had a tricky past in terms of boys and bitching and back stabbing and I admit that at this moment in time I wasn't a good person and I thought as much as I could in my drunken state "fuck it" we were kissing now, I had mounted him like a horse. Kisses down my neck, hands exploring my body. I had never thought that someone as attractive as him would be interested in me in that way, I went with it. We were both naked now, me still on top straddling him as he tried to place himself into me. I asked if he had any condoms. I thought to myself I had already done everything but. I may aswell go the whole 9 miles. He said he didn't, so I went upstairs to grab one from my room. I returned, he put the condom on and attempted to enter me again, and again and again. It wasn't going to go in. Maybe due to the largeness of his penis or my subconscious guilt of wanting to fuck my friends boyfriend. After a while of trying, it wasn't happening. I told him "I'm too tight, it's not going in" but he was persistent that it would, taking off the condom that had been no use, we attempted another position. Him on top this time,trying his hardest to get it in, he looked at me saying "have you ever done this before" "no" I replied nervously. He just returned to trying to put it in, as if he had not heard what I had just said. That I was a virgin and it may seem silly to you but where I'm from the fact that I was still a virgin was a big one, if I had to guess I was one of the last to loose it in my year and it was joked about for years cause I hadn't opened my legs to a boy yet. When he dismissed my answer that's when I wanted him to stop. I told him "let's just give up. It's not going in, I'm too tight and you're too big" he continued to try and get it in, "stop" as I started to try and push his body off of mine, trying to push as hard as my body would let me to get him off as he continued to push onto me, me pushing again him to release myself from him. It felt as if his whole body weight was crushing down on me as he still continued to try and put it in. I started to say "Dave no, stop. It's not going to go in" by this point he wasn't listening anymore, as if I was mute. and I couldn't escape, I didn't know what to do. He finally managed to get just the tip in causing me to scream out in pain as he covered my mouth, so I didn't wake my parents. As the tip went in his grip and weight lifted off me, I could push him off of me. I couldn't believe what had just happened and it felt like it hadn't. It had all happened so quickly like a dream. Between my legs was aching in pain as if he had broken it. I told him he had to leave and go back to Debbie go back to his girlfriend as I put the closest clothes to me I could find onto my body. He was still smiling like he didn't notice what he had just done and tbh at the time I didn't realise it myself. He said he wanted to stay but I told him that if my parents found him in the morning they'd be mad and if Debbie awoke to find him not next to her she would be even more angry. He understood when I said that and put his clothes on. I didn't know how to feel in that moment. I don't think I felt anything apart from a slight emptiness within me, but I was still too drunk to address that. I showed him out the door. As he kissed me gently reverting back to how he was before, I will never know til this day why but I kissed him back. I couldn't comprehend what he had actually done to me and for a while And it took me even longer to tell Anyone. I went upstairs once he had left and passed out to get the few hours of sleep I had left before waking up for college. In the morning, I woke up and started to remember the night but only in fragmented parts but with a black block in the middle.i had a text from David saying "story- I walked you home and we started talking. True" that triggered that I had mounted him like a horse and is kissing and him attempting to put it in, but the memory was still incomplete, that black block still there. We exchanged a few texts between us planning to meet on Saturday, side note- what the fuck was I thinking, was I crazy?!?!? I was so naive that I had blocked out what had happened and romanticised him. Then I text my friend Mille saying " I had done something bad the night before and that I thought I may technically not a virgin anymore, judging by the pain" she called me it seemed seconds later, asking me "who", I said "Dave" I heard her gasp in disbelief, "I'm getting off the bus and coming to yours right now" "okay". She ended the call and a few minutes later she was knocking on my door "are you okay" she asked. "Yeah I think so, don't remember much but I've fucked up" It was like I remembered the party and taking Debbie home ,but I couldn't remember what exactly had happened with Dave. I told her what I could remember and I got ready and Millie and I got the next bus we could to college, Millie running super late, I had rehearsals for a performance I had that evening. we went our separate ways and would talk about it after her lesson, in our break between lessons we were all at the smoking area and everyone was asking me what happened and I told them what I could remember everyone was saying how Debbie was going to kill me, "you need to talk to her" yeah I know I replied, I don't even know what to say to her" Millie and Louise said they would give me 24hrs to tell her before they did. Keeping in mind they did not know the truth at this moment in time. By lunch time the next day at college Debbie knew, her name glowing up on my phone at lunch time I knew I couldn't answer. I didn't know what to say, at this point I still couldn't remember much and what i did remember would only hurt her to hear. to this day though I remember the pain and bleeding I had for 3 days after, this wasn't my period, he had tore me. I sat in college all day contemplating what I should do, what I should say. Once Debbie found thus did everyone. But the story she told was not the truth. She wrote a status along the lines of "devastated found out one of my best friends slept with my boyfriend, and in my own house downstairs" as if I was the one who seduced him and convinced him to take my virginity. the status was over flooding with comments telling Debbie how sorry they felt for her and how I was a slut and a whore and every other name under the sun. My face was even published in the comments outing me directly for what I had done. Might I add an old photo of me with dark hair, even though I was blonde at the time which is strange. Once I saw this status I was half upset and half expected it once I knew she knew. But she had gotten all the facts that she could of found out from Millie and Louise completely wrong, even though I did not tell them much, only what I could remember myself. So in her head she had come to the conclusion that this was the case. Me being immature asf also wrote a status saying nothing is black and white. As you can tell this didn't go down to well and caused quite the stir. Eventually I deleted cause I couldn't be fucked to continue the argument. Some time passed and not a lot changed and Debbie stayed with Dave quite a while afterwards and for obvious reason Debbie and I didn't talk for a very long time. Apart from once when we met up face to face So I could tell her What I remember from the night. After a while I managed to bring the whole night together and I remembered everything. I just started to blame myself, thinking I shouldn't of let him in my house, I shouldn't of flirted. None of this would of Never happened. if I attempted to talk to Debbie and tell her the truth she wouldn't believe me. Eventually a year or so on I told Millie and some others who were close to me the complete story, obviously not all the gory details like in this recollection of it. Only enough for them to get the drift of it and they understood. I told them that Debbie would never believe me and I didn't see the point in telling her. Eventually Debbie found out the truth from someone else I think during a phone conversation and I knew I had to talk to her so I then myself told her the truth at a engagement party we had both been invited to. By this time they had broken up and I hoped she had been released from his mental grip. I told her it wasn't as she had thought this entire time, and in only so many words that he had forced himself on me after I said no. She replied saying how he was a bit rough in the bedroom, giving off that vibe sometimes when they would sleep together. Just by looking at her body language to this day I know she never will and never had believed me and how can I blame her? I saw him in the street about a few months after it happened, as I was walking from a funeral in the centre I had been at with Millie and louise and Debbie was there too. I was heading back to college, for my last couple of lesson. When I saw him it was if my heart stopped and had made its way to throat and sat there beginning to thump as we walked parallel to each other. I going the opposite direction to him. As he passed me I caught my breathe and tried to stop my self from going into panic mode. I got myself onto the bus and sat down. I felt my eyes start to well and tears started streaming down my face, I sent a text to Millie saying " I just saw Dave and now I'm siting on the bus crying". Millie was still with Debbie at this point, opening the message assuming it would be something completely different, Debbie saw the text and questioned Millie " does she fancy him" d o e s s h e f a n c y h I m. Wow. I heard she had even asked him about it once she found out what I had told those I thought I could trust. I asked what he had said to her and as I suspected he had denied everything. I don't know what story he told her or how he said it happened, I think for a while he denied it completely, saying he was too drunk too remember anything but I knew that was bullshit, I would of never have gotten that text the next morning, from him. Luckily he lives no where near me and I've only seen him one other besides that time in the street, in these 4. That being during my time working in a fast food restaurant on the tills and he came in to get food, unluckily I felt how I felt that day in the street I had to go out into the kitchen to get myself away from him and prevent myself from having a panic attack. The saddest thing about this story is not what happened that night but the fact that this is not the only chapter containing situations much like this one and if every girl ever wrote anything like this a lot of them would be writing similar situations, they do nothing about and sit on for their whole lives. The shame and guilt builds up inside of you like a tumour and in the end it eats you alive . I don't want to be one of those people anymore and I don't want to be silent anymore.

#metoo #mytruth

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cagedbirdsong · 7 years ago

Text

Finally, part four of To Build a Home! This one is broken up into a few different parts, and is a touch slow, but will serve as a springboard for the rest of the plot!

If you’ve missed anything, you can catch up with part three here!

As always, feedback is welcome, encouraged, and appreciated!

Part Four

Lallybroch, Summer 1744

To say that things were alright after that would have been a lie, but they were better; at least as much as they could be. Claire took to food and drink again, and ventured tentatively around the house as the days passed, busying herself with whatever was available. She went back to the grave often, every day in the beginning, and for as much pain as it caused, Jamie suspected it did her some sort of good.

He never went back.

He passed the grave often, heading out into the fields to work, or even just walking on a cool evening, but he made sure always to steer clear of the sight of that makeshift cairn. It was something he had vowed the night he had buried Brigid, and a vow he had broken only for the sake of saving his wife, but now that they seemed to be mending themselves, he never wanted to see the damnable thing again.

He spared a glance in the general direction now, watching the limbs of the willow tree sway for a moment in the breeze, and crossed himself involuntarily.

While Claire coped by occupying her mind, pouring over her medicine box and notes she had jotted down, Jamie distracted himself in more physical ways. He spent most of his days out in the fields, doing what he could to keep his hands, and thus his mind, busy. Consequently, when the end evening rolled around, he was passed pleasantly exhausted, and capable of little more than basic trains of thought. Tonight was no different.

He stepped into the bedroom and set down his belt with a small thud, stifling a yawn. Claire looked up briefly from where she was perched on the window sill, a book in hand and her lip clasped between her teeth, and managed a small twitch of a smile in his direction. He gave her one in return, and her eyes lit briefly. For just a moment, she looked like herself again. It made a small lump rise suddenly in the back of Jamie’s throat, and he turned his head away.

She had been getting better, that much was evident. Her face was still narrower than usual, and the bones of hand and shoulder stood out prominent beneath ivory skin, but the pallor in her face had seemed to fade, replaced again with a more suitable flush of life. She seemed to be healing, at least physically, but there was a look about her eyes that troubled him deeply. It was something foreign and unfamiliar, this unrequited pain of a mother without a child, and it disquieted his spirit to wonder what was going on in her head.

Wanting suddenly to get as far away from the topic of childless mothers as possible, he stepped over to stand next to Claire, dropping a quick kiss to the crown of her head. “What are ye reading tonight, Sassenach?” He moved away to begin undressing and settling down for the night, but spared a glance over his shoulder as she swung her legs down and closed the book, which sported a plain leather cover.

“Shakespeare’s Romeo and Juliet. Ned Gowan sent it, along with a few small articles and things on medicinals. Jenny had one of the staff fetch it up to me earlier in the afternoon.” She set the book down on the small table housing her box and tools, and folded her arms, turning to watch him. “Now that you know that I spent my afternoon in fair Verona, where were you all day? I didn’t even see you at lunch.”

“Hmm? Oh, I was out in the fields wi’ Ian and some o’ the men again. There was a problem with the wheels on one of the wagons, so we had to stop and fix it and the tilling ran late.” He spared a glance out the window into the front path, where the tool in question sat, waiting for further repair, and shrugged as he undid the buttons on his sleeves. “He that is strucken blind cannot forget the precious treasure of his eyesight lost. Ye dinna realize how much the damned thing makes the going quicker til ye’ve one wheel stuck in the mud and the other wi’ broken spokes.”

Claire’s face split momentarily into a true smile, and she arched one eyebrow, crossing the room to step into his arms as he shrugged out of his shirt. “I didn’t know you read Shakespeare.”

Jamie smiled as well, and settled his arms around her shoulders. “Och, well, I did go to school once. We had a headmaster who insisted we ought to. Ye can ask Ian about it. I dinna think any other kid we’d ever met had heard o’ it, let alone read it, and there we were.”

Claire gave a small hum, leaning her cheek against his chest, still warm and ruddy from the sun. “A regular Romeo and his Mercutio.” Jamie gave a derisive snort, and she smiled, stepping away from him to go about her own evening preparations. “Have you eaten?”

“Aye, Mrs. Crook gave me a bite to eat when I came inside.” He tugged on a clean linen shirt for sleeping with another tremendous yawn, and stretched so that the bones in his lower back popped pleasantly and his knuckles brushed the smoke darkened beams of the ceiling. “Christ, I’m tired.” He dropped unceremoniously on the bed, face down in the pillow, with a small groan.

“I’m sure,” Claire remarked, finishing running a brush through her hair before coming over to get in bed as well. She leaned to blow out the candle, and then scooted down beneath the sheets, gravitating towards Jamie for the sake of sharing body heat. He rolled slightly onto his side, allowing her to tuck herself up under him, and sighed pleasantly, burying his nose in her hair.

“Tha gaol agam ort, Sassenach.” He felt one hand tighten in his shirtfront.

There seemed to come with each new day a sort of tense unease, bordering on awkwardness. It was evident, of course, from where it came. Jenny, still very much pregnant, did her best to avoid Claire, but the crossing of paths throughout the day was inevitable. The entire household seemed to be a ticking time bomb, a live nerve ending, exposed and quivering. One touch, and the whole body would be cast into chaos. As a result, everyone seemed to be perpetually tiptoeing around one another. For the time being, it worked well enough, but in just a few short weeks Jenny’s bairn would be born, and Jamie knew there would be no avoiding the pain then.

To Castle Leoch then, he had decided. They would spend the next few months here, with Jamie helping to finish the early summer harvesting. By the time Jenny gave birth, he hoped Claire would be able, and willing, to offer what help she could, and then the two would be on their way. He hated to leave, of course, but the pain of being around a newborn so soon after they had lost their own child would be too much for either of them to stomach staying at Lallybroch.

He glanced unconsciously back at the bed where Claire lay, curled on his half of the bed and still sound asleep. Would she agree, he wondered, to leave so soon after they had begun to make a life for themselves among his family and people? Likely she would understand his desire to go, but there was also an equal chance that she would swallow her own discomfort to stay and help his sister, the oath she had taken as a healer stronger even than her own inhibitions. He had seen it before.

She stirred, stretching herself out on the sheets, and her shift fell off one shoulder, exposing the pale expanse of neck and breast, and doing well to catch his attention. His cock twitched in response, and Jamie swallowed, standing and gathering his things for the day. They had not been intimate since before Brigid’s birth, and his balls ached something wretched for it, to say nothing of his heart. He longed to be with her again, though he had made no advances towards Claire, not wanting to hurt her, nor press her beyond her limits. She, in turn, had made no moves towards him either. While the need to draw strength from one another after they lost the child had fostered some healing between them, Jamie still did not know the extent to which their relationship had been damaged, nor yet when - or if - they would be able to mend it.

Claire stirred further as he finished securing his belt and dirk around his waist, and sat up in bed now, watching him despite still being half asleep. “Morning,” she murmured, blinking lazily and catlike, gold eyes flashing.

“Mmm, good morning, Sassenach,” he smiled, coming over to stoop and press a kiss to her head. She reached up to cup her hand to his cheek, and hummed pleasantly as he drew back.

“How did you sleep?”

He lifted one shoulder in a half shrug, smiling. “Och, like-” he stopped abruptly, swallowing down the like the dead that so naturally came to him, and frowned. “Like a cow that’s got his head in the keg, aye? I dinna think a stampede o’ horses coulda roused me.”

Claire chuckled slightly at that, swinging her legs out of bed. “Hm, I’m inclined to agree. I thought I’d have to fetch Ian and one of the lads to get you up for breakfast.”

“Well, I can assure ye I am fully restored to consciousness, mo ghraidh, though I do wish I didna have ta be going so soon. Ne’ertheless, the wagon will no’ be fixing itself.” He reached to finish tying his stock at his throat, and glanced out the window, catching sight briefly of Ian’s head, already bent to look at the axis.

“Right, on with you, then. Wouldn’t want to miss all the fun.” She flashed him another smile as he slipped out the door, and something in Jamie’s belly squirmed.

Wee Katherine Murray was born a month later, pink faced and screaming. Her arrival was, on the whole, greeted with an air of celebration by the tenants of Lallybroch, desperate for a bit of happiness after the learned death of the Laird and Lady’s only child. Beneath the general atmosphere of cheer and wishes of good health, however, there was still the underlying sensation of nervousness. Jamie could see it in Mrs. Crook’s face, in the way Ian carefully schooled his excitement when around him. Jenny especially worked vigilantly to keep the joys of motherhood confined to privacy.

The gesture did not go unnoticed, though it was not entirely appreciated by the intended party.

“God, they act like- like-” Claire curled her hands into fists, beating them on the table in frustration. “Like we’ll both keel over if they so much as breathe around us! Dammit, we lost our baby, not our fucking minds!” She huffed in annoyance and stood up, pacing, arms locked across her chest.

Jamie sat on the bed, elbows on his knees, and watched her with a small sigh, opening his mouth as if to speak, but Claire continued on.

“Did you know your sister didn’t even want me to touch the baby after she was born? I could see it on her face! She didn’t think I should even be in the room, and then was making eyes at the midwife the entire time, trying to get her to shoo me away like some pestering fly!” She whirled, throwing her hands into the air in exasperation, and shot a fiery glance at the door, chest heaving. “And what if something had happened? If there had been some complication? Would she have insisted I leave the room then? The nerve of that woman!” Exhausted, she dropped down on the bed next to him, muttering under her breath.

Jamie’s mouth twitched, a muscle in his jaw jumping, and he reached out a hand to rub her back gently. “I ken it, Sassenach,” he murmured, though his words had the opposite of the desired effect. Claire stiffened.

“Oh, you know, do you?” She stood up again, letting his hand thump back to the bed, and angrily stomped back and forth. “You know what it’s like? To have people treat you like you’ll break if they so much as look at you?” He arched one eyebrow, and she huffed, deflating. “Right,” she swallowed, remembering back to the events of the winter, “sorry,” she breathed, coming back over to sit down again. “I just-” she let her hands fall into her lap, scowling intensely. “I’m sick and tired of being doted on. I’m fine. I’m not going to go insane. You should see how everyone winces the second the baby makes any noise.” Some of the fight seemed to have gone out of her, and she leaned against Jamie’s side. “Poor little Kitty, being ignored by everyone. She can’t understand it.”

Jamie settled his arm around her shoulders, his thumb rubbing her skin absently, and rested his cheek against the top of her head, taking a deep breath. “They mean well, but they’re maybe no’ going about it the right way.” Claire just ‘harrumphed’ in agreement.

“I mean, really, Jamie. I wish they’d all just act normal. They don’t have to make it so bloody obvious that they pity us.” She had taken up a fold of his kilt, pleating it back and forth between her fingers nervously, and sniffed once, trying to keep her composure.

Somewhere in his chest, Jamie’s heart tightened, and he shifted to gather her more firmly into his arms. She dissolved into quiet tears, sniffling now and again as her nose and eyes watered, and pressed her face into his shoulder, hands curling now in the front of his jacket. They had come up to the bedroom after a particularly awkward supper that ended in Katherine fussing over a wet diaper and Jenny urgently shushing her and casting sidelong glances at both him and Claire. She had undressed, feverish with anger, and he had sat and watched, not bothering to take off his own clothes from the day.

He rubbed a hand down her back comfortingly, murmuring soft, soothing things in Gaelic, and Claire eventually subsided, lifting her head but not drawing back from the warmth of his embrace. He looked down at her, eyebrows furrowed, and she sniffed once with finality, nodding her head as she wiped at her nose. “I’m alright,” she said after a moment, pressing the heels of her palms to her eyes. “I’m alright. Let’s just go to bed.”

She reached out for him some time during the night, hurt and lonely and seeking to be made whole, and he made love to her tenderly but thoroughly, a potter carefully reshaping, molding her like clay until she took life beneath his hands. In the end, she arched against him, gasping, and he felt the thrum of her heartbeat around and in him, pulsing through his veins until it reached his own heart. They lay trembling, breathing in tandem, and their souls conversed under the cover of night as the wounds of the last two months bled freely, and then began to heal.

continue reading here!

#outlander fanfic #outlander fic #outlander fanfiction #outlander #to build a home #to build a home part four #tw depression #tw death of a child #cagedbirdsong fic

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sea-and-storm · 8 years ago

Text

INFAMY : Drabble (pt. 2)

PART ONE : Read here!

Val knew that she shouldn't let her nerves show, but that was near impossible while sitting and waiting for Thorne to grace her with his presence. It had been months -- over a year, maybe -- since she had last found herself having to meet with him face to face. She had been just as nervous then as she was now, and just as nervous now as she had been as a teenaged girl when she had first dealt with him herself.

The lackey that had brought her in had left her there alone while he went to announce his return. In an effort to distract herself, she briefly wondered what sort of deal with the devil he had made to find himself in Thorne's employ. It usually came down to money, she had found, but the situations varied. Honest merchants and storekeepers indebted to him just to keep their doors and stalls open. Money borrowed for sudden, crushing expenses desperately needing paid. Those with nowhere else to turn for employment who would do whatever job asked of them to support themselves, their families, or even just their vices.

Fear lay at the heart of the matter just as reliably as money did, at that. The snake of a man had resources and influence in no short supply, and connections from all facets of Ul'dahn life. Val didn't know the true extent to which he was involved in the city's seedy underbelly, but she didn't need the details to know that he was a player in the game. A player not to be trifled with. He was the type that needed not to speak a threat aloud for it to be understood all the same.

She had been lucky that for most of her life, all he had wanted from her was the money she owed. Otherwise, he had paid her little mind. Others she had known in similar predicaments had been called upon at points for 'favors' or offered 'alternate means' to pay off their debt, most of which had been less than savory and all of which had been demands and orders rather than suggestions. The Hellsguard that brought her in had probably been in similar circumstances. He seemed far too nervous of Thorne's ire to simply be a hired thug.

As the door to the office swung open behind her, Val jumped, abruptly torn from her train of thought. The other hyur was in the lead with the Roegadyn following behind, lingering at the door with his arms crossed. He gave Val a dark glare, which she could only assume meant that Thorne had been displeased with the timeliness of her arrival. Yet the moneylender himself didn't so much as give her a sideways glance until he had sat behind his desk, leisurely taking his time in settling before he spoke the first word.

"I'm pleased that you could meet with me on such short notice, dearest Valera," he began as a pearly white smile spread across his lips, in that voice as sweet and smooth as warm honey. A voice that made her skin crawl, knowing just how disingenuous it was. "I'm afraid that we have some alarming business to discuss."

The payment she had missed. She had a feeling that was what this meeting was about, but even knowing didn't make her any less uneasy. It must have showed on her face, as Thorne's brow knitted and his smile pulled into a softly concerned frown.

"You know that you are late in making your payment this month," he stated without room for question. "This surprised me, Valera. You have always made your payments on time, without fail. The past few months, you've even paid at least thrice your usual. You had said that you were intent to finish your payments altogether. So naturally when this month's payment did not come, I was very concerned for you.. that something terrible may have happened."

Concerned for your money, you mean. But she didn't dare speak the thought aloud, truthful or not.

"I'm sorry, I--" Val cut herself suddenly short as it dawned on her. They had planned for her to cease her payments to try and coax Thorne into sticking out his neck, that it might make it easier to cut him off at the head. But they hadn't planned on him dragging her back into his snake's burrow instead. And without a plan, she found herself suddenly scrambling to make up lies that wouldn't get her killed or worse.

"I'll have the money soon, I swear it." A lie, and one that hit her with a dizzying amount of deja vu. She was sixteen again, sitting in this very same spot, terrified and trembling as she tried to convince him to let her keep the bakery. She roughly pushed the unpleasant memory away. "I.. I had your payment ready, I did, but it was stolen. I had it hidden with my thin's in the camp and someone must've snooped 'round and found it."

Thorne gave her a long look then, as if seeming to weigh the story's veracity. Only after a long silence that seemed to span bells to Valera, he breathed out a sigh through his nose and leaned back in his chair.

"You should know better than to keep your money in the refugee camps," he chided. And as she opened her mouth to answer, his next words cut her off sharply. "Especially when you have not even been staying there yourself to watch over your belongings."

He had been watching her. The blonde was quiet for a long moment, desperately trying to recover from the unpleasant surprise and find a way to salvage the lie he had caught her in. Before she could speak the first word, he held up his hand to stop her in her tracks.

"I took an interest when you surprised me with that first hefty payment of yours," he admitted, professing his spying as casually as one comments on the weather. "You've been staying in the Goblet for weeks now. Why?"

"I.. That's where I've been workin', for a tradin' company that's got an office there," she explained, tripping over her words from her nerves. "It's--"

"Yes, a quaint little business by the name of Moonlight Trading. I am well aware. But that does not explain why you have been staying there overnight. Nor does it explain the bruises, the cuts, the limping.." There was steel in his voice suddenly, something she had only heard once before. It sent a bone chilling shudder down her spine. "Why?"

Her mouth opened, then shut again. She had to be careful, so very careful. One wrong word and gods only knew what Thorne would do to her. Worse, one carelessly chosen word and she would give him the power to not only bring their plans with the fighting pits to a halt, but to have herself and Pyralis both killed.

"Valera," Thorne's voice softened then, growing quieter and more sincere. "I know that you have gotten yourself tangled up in quite the ordeal. I've heard that you have been making appearances in the fighting pits, of all places. Considering that you killed a man in your last match, I assume that you know how dangerous and foolish this is."

Val withered under his words, not bothering to try denying them. The fact that she had killed her last opponent was something she had carefully compartmentalized in the match's wake. It had been him or her, and she -- oddly enough -- didn't feel remorse that she had done what she had to do in order to survive. But it was that precise lack of remorse that had instead bothered her deeply, making her force the memory away to the furthest reaches of her mind.

"You are not a killer, Valera," Thorne reassured her, seeming to pick up on her discomfort. "You might be headstrong and hot-tempered, but you've the same gentle soul as your mother. No matter how desperately you wish to pay your debts, I cannot imagine that you would ever willingly take a life for coin."

He was right about that. If it had been about the money, she never would have agreed to step foot on the sands knowing what she knew. But there was so much more to it than coin, so much more at stake. Ignoble deeds done in the name of a noble cause.

"You're being forced to fight in the pits, are you not?" He asked suddenly. "Most are, unfortunately. Men and women who no longer have the liberty to have a say in their own lives, ordered to fight and die for the entertainment of others. But you know that already, better than even I do." He crossed his forearms on the desk in front of him, leaning in and dropping his voice low. "You call this man your 'boss' in front of others, but that isn't the truth of the matter, is it?"

Inwardly, in a peculiar way, Val was relieved. It was clear that, whether or not he had watched her, Thorne didn't know everything that was going on. He thought he knew more than he did, but didn't know just how far from truth his conclusion really was. But that gave Valera some room to breathe, to lie and cover their tracks. It was time to play her part again.

"I.. I didn't know what I was gettin' myself into. Started out like any other good payin' job, 'til he asked me to fight for him. I thought it wasn't nothin' big, just like the fights people bet on in the city, you know? Just a way to make some money fast. No one hardly ever dies in fights like those. But once he had me, he.." She hesitated just long enough to make the emotional pause convincing, sucking in a trembling breath. She was getting better at this, if only out of necessity. "I can't walk away from it now. He won't let me. I asked once and he beat me bloody and said if I asked again, I'd get it worse."

Lies, all of it. But lies and illusion was what kept the plan going and what kept them alive, especially when problems like Thorne came sniffing around uncomfortably close.

The moneylender seemed to believe it, his brows knitting and his lips turning into a scowl. Anyone else might have thought he was actually moved by the 'revelation'. His propensity for manipulating the vulnerable was what had gotten him this far and made him so dangerous.

But Val knew that if he did feel something at the news, it was probably consternation that someone else was seeming to lay claim to someone that he himself had already claimed as his own. Thorne may not have been a slaver in technicality or title, but he didn't need collars and chains when debt and intimidation worked well enough for his purposes.

"This is troubling," he finally sighed, straightening in his chair. "Very troubling, and I fear that at present that there is little even I can do to help you."

She forced a look of disappointment onto her face, though it was relief she felt on the inside. If he wasn't offering to lift a finger, then that must've meant that he didn't feel confident enough to make a move. That was for the best. Even if his caution would make him a more difficult problem to deal with in the long run, perhaps, it meant he was lacking information and that would but her time to find a solution.

"The most I can do is absolve you of the debt you have remaining. It's only a small sum that won't be missed, and the least I can do for a person who has been so loyal for so long having fallen into such dire straits." Thorne's lip twitched upwards at the corner in amusement at her very real shock. "You think quite poorly of me, I know. Don't bother denying it; I'm not fool enough to believe it if you did." He shook his head. "I am no saint, but I am not as cold and ruthless as you would like to believe. I doubt I can convince you of such, but still, know that I will be looking into a means to free you from this predicament."

Whether it was a charade or a veiled threat, she didn't know. Either way, he was right. It would be a cold day in the hell of fire before anyone would convince her that Thorne had even an onze of humanity within him. Still, she played along, meekly nodding her head and murmuring some vague gratitude.

"Now, I have kept you quite long enough. Best get back to your tasks before this master of yours becomes cross with you." He nodded his chin towards the door dismissively. "You're free to go, dear Valera."

He had barely spoken the words before she was hastily pushing herself to her feet, making for the door. The scowling Hellsguard gave her one last sour look as he yanked her linkpearl holder from his pocket and held it out to her. Once she had taken it back, he stepped aside to allow her to pass.

"Keep your chin up and your head high for just a bit longer," Thorne called after Val as she passed through the door. "And do take care that no one knocks it off your shoulders, Ironfist."

@rpaddictsneedapply

#Feisty Fistfighter #Valera Swifte #Val Swifte #FFXIV #FF14 #Balmung #RP #Balmung RP #drabble #Slave Pits arc

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