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rosedavid · 4 years ago

Text

the fear of knowing

Pairings: Merlin & Gwen friendship, slight Gwen/Arthur

Canon Divergence from 4x08: Lamia

Warnings: brief descriptions of violence and execution (not graphic)

Description: Gwen discovers Merlin’s magic when they are fighting the Lamia. This leads to her having to reevaluate her views on magic and Merlin himself.

Please ignore any mistakes - I wrote this very quickly with no editing because I am lazy lol. If you enjoy this, please consider reblogging :)

...

Gwen lunges toward Lamia with a sense of courage she never knew she possessed. All she registers is Merlin being dragged away before she just acts. Although not as competent with a sword as a knight, she manages to wound Lamia, who lets out a pained shriek. It’s enough to incapacitate Lamia into letting go of Merlin. Gwen stumbles to the ground along with Merlin, who immediately places himself in front of her. Lamia only takes seconds to recover before she hovers over the two of them again, ready to strike.

Gwen can’t hear anything over the pounding of her heart. She grips Merlin’s tunic sleeve tighter, looking over to him as if for the last time. She expects to see fear and guilt etched upon his face. What she sees is gold.

Merlin’s eyes are glowing gold. One of his hands is outstretched, mouth just about to open. Gwen gapes at him, her gaze torn between him and Lamia, wondering what will happen next.

But Gwen doesn’t have to wonder long, as suddenly a sword stabs Lamia through the back, revealing a worried Arthur. Merlin’s eyes fade back to normal, as if the golden hue was never there to begin with. Shakily, Gwen chokes out his name, then surges to greet him. She clings onto him, practically leaping into his arms. A sob forces its way out as they hug, but she refuses to let herself feel weaker than she already does.

“You carry on, don’t worry about me.”

Merlin’s voice breaks them from each other, and Gwen is brought back to the reality of everything that just happened. Arthur heads over to help Merlin up, while Gwen hangs back, still shaking.

After a few bickering remarks, Arthur rejoins Gwen. She wraps an arm around his middle, reveling in the comfort someone familiar brings her. Because suddenly, her whole view of Merlin has been turned upside down. Merlin, the one who Arthur beckons to follow behind them to safety, is a sorcerer.

Everything feels too overwhelming. Lamia was harrowing enough, but to have this newfound secret suddenly revealed to her? That makes her feel all the more anxious. She sticks close to Arthur as they head back to the village. If Merlin is suspicious of Gwen, then he doesn’t let anything on. She sees Merlin rubbing at his back, as if in pain, and she swallows down the immediate need to help her friend. It’s just too much right now. Besides, Merlin appears to be doing alright, if not a bit bruised, so Gwen figures it’s okay to keep her distance for the time being.

They return to Camelot soon after the knights are all deemed well enough to travel. Things are uncomfortable with the knights, as well, after everything that occurred, so Gwen mainly just stays to herself or with Arthur. She doesn’t know what else to do.

When the castle finally comes into view, Gwen heaves a great sigh of relief. Maybe now everything can finally get back to normal. However, as she glances at Merlin, she realizes that nothing will never be the same again. Even as she gets back to work, she can’t stop thinking about it all. Lamia. The Knights. Merlin.

Gwen’s had a rocky past with sorcery. Obviously, she’s grown accustomed to not having any sorcerers around because of the ban on magic in Camelot. Gwen was raised to fear sorcery, to view it as something purely evil. Still, Gwen’s father always taught them never to hate anyone, that they should always be kind and true to themselves. So, despite Uther’s views on the vileness of magic, Gwen never outwardly detested magic. In fact, for a long time, Gwen was sort of indifferent on magic. She never thought of it as some terrible thing, but she also never associated it with good. What she does associate sorcery with is fear.

She’s always feared sorcery, whether it be because of the dangerous those with sorcery pose to the kingdom or because of the horrible things that happen when sorcery gets involved. Gwen could never stand the burnings; the smell of fiery flesh and screaming is something she’ll never forget. And then, it all became unimaginably worse when her own father was executed on the crime of sorcery, a crime he didn’t even commit. And the nightmares are horrific. She had hoped they would vanish after time, but now she knows better. Still, she wakes up some nights gasping for air as she cries, fear flooding through her veins. So yes, magic scares her.

But when she thinks of Merlin, one of her closest friends, she can’t imagine ever being fearful of him. Besides, he just saved her life. If it wasn’t for him, for his magic, Gwen may not have made it out of there alive. She knows that Merlin would never hurt her, and she trusts him with her life. He’s always there for her, no matter how tough things may get. And Merlin has always had such a kind heart and giving personality. He makes everyone around him happier, even Arthur (though he’ll never admit it). So, even though Gwen equates sorcery with fear and death, she can’t possibly equate Merlin with anything other than goodness and light.

She feels so conflicted between her views of magic and her views of Merlin that she ends up avoiding him for a good couple of days. When Arthur asks her about it, she talks it up to everything she’s been through, which technically isn’t a lie. She hates lying to Arthur, but she can’t find it in herself to tell him the truth. Similarly, she can’t find it in herself to tell Merlin that she knows.

And the longer Gwen thinks about it, the more she understands. As the months pass by, she observes Merlin in a different perspective, and slowly but surely it all starts to come together.

The first thing she notices is the way Merlin tenses when Arthur, or anyone else for that matter, mentions magic. Immediately, it’s as if Merlin’s on constant guard. Gwen doesn’t know how she didn’t notice Merlin’s reactions before. His expression drops to something serious, and his eyes hold a deep worry in them, traveling far beneath the surface. You can tell he’s trying his hardest not to react, but now that Gwen knows his secret, it’s like she has another view into his behavior. She can see every nervous fidget, every hand clenching into his trousers, the strained nod he sends Arthur when Arthur declares some type of lookout or attack on a sorcerer. She may not be able to understand everything that Merlin’s feeling, but she can tell it’s eating him up inside.

And that’s just the first of it. She also begins to notice that Merlin does a lot more work than he appears to do. In addition to being Arthur’s manservant, Gwen often finds Merlin coming back to Gaius’s worse for wear. He always brushes it off if she asks, usually claiming that “Arthur worked me too hard at training, the prat,” or “I had a run in with a ditch while collecting herbs for Gaius.” But she sees the weariness behind his smile, the complete and utter exhaustion in his gait. She knows that he’s been doing a lot more for all of them than he’s ever let on. Gwen only wonders what he’s hiding behind his mask.

Through the months, Gwen’s mood shifts from fear to anger. Anger that Merlin kept this from her. She thought they were best friends, that they told each other everything. Gwen has certainly told Merlin everything. But this part of Merlin that he’s been hiding from her makes Gwen feel like she doesn’t even know him at all.

However, after the anger passes, Gwen starts to feel a bit guilty about it all. She’s been keeping Merlin’s magic a secret for all of a few months, and already the toll of keeping it has been weighing on her constantly. She can only imagine what Merlin’s been going through if he’s had his magic for the whole time he’s been in Camelot. But the part that makes Gwen feel the most guilty it that she never noticed. She always expressed her concern for Merlin, of course, but whenever he used a typical excuse, she assumed everything was fine. Even those times when things seemed a bit more than suspicious, Gwen never thought twice. All this time, Merlin has been guarding this secret in fear for his life, and as far as Gwen knows, he’s been dealing with it alone.

So, as conflicted as Gwen feels about everything, she comes to realize that it doesn’t matter. It doesn’t matter that Merlin is a sorcerer because Merlin is her friend. And as Merlin’s friend, Gwen can’t stand to hide from him the fact that she knows about his magic.

They’ve interacted plenty of times since that day, but to Gwen they all felt forced, like she was pretending. She wants to feel that bond of friendship again. She cares for Merlin, as she knows he cares for her, and she wants to make everything right again.

Of course, the day that she chooses to do it ends up being the worst possible time.

Gwen awakens that morning with one thought on her mind: Tell Merlin. So, after eating and attending to her morning duties, she immediately heads to find Merlin. She goes to Arthur’s chambers, first, as that’s where Merlin usually is in the mornings. To her surprise, she only finds Arthur in there, eating his own breakfast.

“Good morning, Guinevere,” Arthur greets, surprised.

“Good morning,” Gwen greets back, smiling as he stops eating to kiss her cheek. “You haven’t seen Merlin, have you?”

Arthur rolls his eyes at this statement, already confirming the answer to her question before he even responds. “That idiot didn’t even wake me this morning! He’s just lucky that I didn’t have anything pressing to attend to. When he gets back, though, he’s definitely going to pay with some time in the stocks.”

“Don’t you think you’re being a little harsh?” Gwen asks, knowing that Arthur doesn’t truly mean his threats. “I’m sure he’s just busy with chores for Gaius. Let me know if you see him, though. I need to talk with him about something.”

“Or at the tavern,” Arthur adds under his breath, earning a stern glance from Gwen. He eases up. “Fine, I’ll let you know. But if you find him, you let him know that I’m this close to firing him!”

Gwen smiles. “Of course. I’ll see you later, Arthur.”

With one last kiss goodbye, Gwen leaves Arthur’s chambers in search of Merlin yet again. She heads down to Gaius’s next, hoping that he truly is there helping out the Physician. When she arrives, though, she only sees Gaius searching through some potions.

“Ah, hello Gwen. What can I do for you?” Gaius asks.

“I’m afraid I’m just searching for Merlin. You haven’t seen him, have you?”

Gaius raises an eyebrow. “No, I haven’t. He wasn’t here when I got up, so I just figured he was with Arthur. Is he not?”

“Arthur hasn’t seen him. Gave me quite the earful about it.”

A worried expression appears on Gaius’s face, and Gwen has a feeling that it’s from more than just him wondering where his missing ward may have gone. She hesitates before asking the next question.

“Gaius....could his disappearance have something to do with his....abilities?” Gwen asks gently, biting her lip.

Gaius startles a bit, staring at her openly before putting a blank expression back on. “I can’t say I know what you’re talking about.”

“Please, Gaius, I’m really worried about Merlin. I know about everything--the magic. I found out after Lamia, and I’ve been keeping it a secret from him that I know, but now I feel like I need to tell him, but he’s missing and I’m worried that it’s something serious--”

Gaius places a hand on her arm. “Calm down, Guinevere. I have to say, I’m surprised that you know, but Merlin never has been the most careful with his magic.”

“So do you think that’s why he’s gone? Is it something to do with him protecting us again?”

Gaius sighs, rubbing his brow. “I can’t say for certain, but usually that’s what his disappearances end up being about. Usually, he tells me what’s going on before wandering off, at least.”

“He could be in danger,” Gwen realizes. “I have to go find him.”

“You must stay here, Gwen, where it is safe. I don’t know what kind of trouble my boy has gotten himself into now, but I’m certain he wouldn’t want you to risk your life on top of that. He comes out of these things.”

“But how does he come out of them?! Maybe he survives, but at what cost? He’s throwing himself at danger for our expense! I have to help him.”

Gaius relents. “I understand, but please be careful. Who knows what Merlin is up to this time. I would advise you to take a knight, but I have a feeling you wouldn’t listen.”

Gwen shakes her head. “I can’t risk them finding out about Merlin. I might not be completely comfortable with the idea of his magic yet, but I do know that Merlin is my friend, and I will not betray him. Now, do you have any idea of where I might start looking?”

Gaius thinks to himself for a moment before remembering, “Merlin did say something last night about going to the forest for more herbs. I didn’t think anything of it, after all we are running quite low on some items. We typically gather herbs down by the creek.”

“The forest creek. I’ll start there, then. Thank you, Gaius.”

“Thank you, Gwen, for being such a loyal friend to Merlin.”

Gwen smiles, nodding her farewell to the Physician. She only hopes that her loyalty proves true enough that she can find Merlin.

...

The forest has a strange air to it. The lack of any wind makes the trees stand unnaturally still and silent. Despite the bright shining sun that morning, there’s a dark mood within the forest as she wanders through it. In one hand, she holds a sword, the same one she wounded Lamia with months ago. It seems silly, but the sword reminds her of her bravery, and it gives her strength.

As she continues on her trek through the forest, worried thoughts play through her head about what condition she might find Merlin in. Gwen doesn’t know what she would do if she lost her closest friend.

Gwen reaches the creek bed, but Merlin is no where to be found. She isn’t surprised, as she figured that Merlin wouldn’t be out for so long merely collecting herbs. Gwen continues searching as the day wears on, only stopping to drink and eat, replenishing her energy.

Gwen walks a long distance in search of Merlin, though she never strays into unfamiliar parts of the forest in fear that she won’t find her way back. Her feet ache horribly, and her body is weak, but she refuses to give up before nightfall. The sun rises and sets, and soon Gwen is left searching in the near dark with only the stars to guide her. She’s about ready to call it quits, as she can’t search for Merlin properly if she gets incapacitated herself, when she suddenly hears a deep, loud noise in the distance.

She chases after the noise, despite not knowing what the noise could possibly be. The noise sounds again, only softer, and Gwen continues to trace it as best she can in the dark. Brush scrapes at her hands as she hurries through the foliage, following her only lead she’s had all day.

Finally, panting in exertion, Gwen stumbles into a clearing. Although it is dark, she can make out a familiar form kneeling on the ground next to something. Gwen shudders in relief and sprints over to him.

“Merlin!” she calls out, hitching up her dress as she goes. The figure startles, turning toward the noise. As she gets closer, he comes into better view.

“Gwen?!” Merlin asks in confusion, standing up to greet her.

Gwen smacks into him, clinging on tightly to his form. He winces, but clings back to her just as tightly. An odd chirping noise interrupts their reunion. Gwen pulls away, only to find what looks like a tiny baby dragon at their feet, white as snow, and a cracked egg. She gasps in surprise.

“I-I can explain,” Merlin stutters, grappling for some sort of excuse. Meanwhile, Gwen kneels next to the creature, cooing at it. The dragon snuffles, scooting closer to her in caution. Gwen offers a hand, allowing the dragon to come to her. It stretches out to sniff at her, obviously deeming her acceptable as he comes closer to nudge into her hand with another adorable chirp. Gwen giggles, stroking the strange feeling skin with her palm as the dragon continues to nuzzle her.

“Adorable. What’s its name?” Gwen wonders idly as she scratches at the dragon’s neck.

“Aithusa, her name is Aithusa,” Merlin replies, still shocked at everything that’s happening around him. “Gwen--why are you here?”

Gwen stops petting Aithusa, who continues to explore the world around her. She stands again, facing Merlin. “I was worried about you, of course! No one knew where you were, Merlin. You could have been dead!”

“Well, I’m obviously alive,” Merlin jokes. Gwen smacks his arm.

“That’s not funny, Merlin!”

“I’m sorry, really.” He pauses, in thought. “...You don’t seem very surprised by the dragon.”

“Oh, I am a bit. I didn’t expect you to have hatched a dragon egg, but I’m not surprised that you’re getting into something magic related. That’s actually what I’ve been meaning to talk to you about.”

Merlin plays dumb. “W-what? What are you talking about?”

“Do not think me stupid, Merlin. I have known about your magic for a while now, since the Lamia incident. I’m sorry I didn’t tell you sooner, but I was trying to wrap my head around everything.”

Merlin gapes at her, face paler than normal. His fingers twitch, and he looks around, as if ready to bolt from her. She takes a step forward, ignoring his flinch, and brings him into another hug. He hesitates before cautiously hugging back.

“So, you don’t hate me?” Merlin wonders, still on edge.

Gwen chuckles. “I don’t hate you, Merlin. I don’t think I could ever hate you. I’ll admit, I was confused and hurt at first, because I’ve been taught to fear magic my entire life. I never would have expected you to be a sorcerer. But then, it all began to make sense. You’ve been protecting us all this entire time.”

She feels the heat of Merlin’s blush against her cheek. “It’s my duty to protect my friends and Camelot.”

“I’m sorry that I wasn’t honest with you about knowing.”

Merlin pulls away this time, looking her in the eye. “You’re sorry?! I’m sorry, Gwen. You’re my best friend. I should have been honest with you about my magic from the beginning, but I was scared.”

“You’re my best friend too, Merlin. And you don’t need to be scared any longer, not around me.”

Merlin smiles, appearing lighter than before. The feeling of Aithusa pawing at her leg gently interrupts the moment. Gwen looks down, unable to do anything but smile at the baby dragon.

“Don’t worry, little one. We haven’t forgotten about you,” Gwen coos, reaching down to pick her up. Aithusa trills happily at the attention. “Speaking of which, what are we going to do about her?”

Merlin scratches his head. “I hadn’t really thought any further ahead.”

Gwen rolls her eyes. “Of course not. Honestly, you men are all the same sometimes. It’s a good thing I’m here to help now. What if we find her a nice cave to reside in where no one will discover her?”

“That won’t work, at least not now. She’s a baby, she needs someone to care for her constantly. I thought Kilgharrah would naturally do that, but I guess I should do it myself.”

“Kilgharrah?” Gwen questions, then backtracks. “Not now, later. You do still have a lot to explain to me, Merlin. Don’t think you’re getting off the hook quite so easily.”

Merlin laughs. “I wouldn’t dream of it.”

“Well, I suppose we’ll just have to bring her to Camelot for now. Only temporarily though! Maybe you can disguise her.”

“Disguise her? How?”

Gwen stares at him. “Magic?”

“Oh, oh yeah! Maybe. I’d have to consult some of my books, though. Maybe she could be disguised as a large bird, like an owl.”

“We’ll figure out the details on our way back to Camelot. Also, just so you know, Arthur is probably planning your punishment as we speak.”

Merlin groans. “Of course. That prat. You couldn’t convince him otherwise?”

“I tried! But you know Arthur. Besides, I do think you deserve a bit of reprimand after leaving to hatch a dragon egg! You could have been seriously hurt, Merlin.”

“I know, but I’m alright, I promise.” As if to confirm this, Aithusa hops from Gwen’s arms over to Merlin’s shoulder, sniffing him. Merlin chuckles, sweeping a hand over her flank. She happily chirps and curls around his shoulders, fitting perfectly.

“You’re still going to get checked out by Gaius when we get back.”

“Fine, if that will convince you.”

Gwen glances over at Merlin, knowing now that she’s finally seeing him for who he really is. “I’m glad I know, Merlin.”

“I’m glad you know, too.”

#merlin fic #merlin #gwen pendragon #mergwen #merlin fanfic #merlin fanfiction #bbc merlin #merlin bbc #fanfiction #mergwen fanfic #friendship #magic reveal #canon divergence #merlin 3x08

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mediocre--writing · 4 years ago

Note

Hey! I just read a couple of your drabbles and I LOVE THEM!💙💙

So if you don't mind, could you please do a Harringrove drabble/ficlet based on either of the two (or a mix of both, if you can) Twenty One Pilots songs "Tear in My Heart" and/or "Smithereens"?

Because, for me, Tear in My Heart is very Billy and Smithereens is very Steve👉👈

Thank you!!💜

Ok so love this and you have an amazing mind, just so you know.

This is like a 2 in 1 fic post so :))))

So smithereens and steve work so well together, like

“I go step to a dude much bigger than me/ for you I know that I would get messed up, weigh 153/ For you I would get beat to smithereens”

Like this is just Steve's personality. He got into a fight every season and barely ever wins without intervention. And like i could see him just being so overcome with emotions that he just does what he knows, which is self destruct.

Like with his fight with Jonathan, he almost accepts that Nancy was too good for him and thinks that he might as well take other people with him.

Then with Tommy in the parking lot, it’s not really a fight, but it shows that he has a conscience and fixes his mistakes.

Then with his fight with Billy, he only tries to protect the kids, even if he’s losing miserably.

I could 100% see steve having snuck into billy’s room during the night once (before he really knew about neil), not to do anything nefarious, but just that he had a really bad nightmare, because there was a small power outage, and billy is really good at helping him sleep afterwards.

And let's just say that Billy's alarm clock (which is always set for 5:30am, half an hour before Neil wakes up just to give him peace of mind) doesn’t go off because of the power outage.

And Neil comes to wake up Billy for school because he hasn’t woken up yet, and sees Billy spooning Steve and both boys are snoring and pressing bare chest to bareback, and so deep asleep that Neil lets them sleep, letting them wake up on their own.

And they do. Billy wakes up around 8am, feeling insanely well rested. He smiles and squeezes Steve before turning to sit up from his bed to look at his alarm clock, that’s blinking on and off and reads 3:18am, but the sun’s up and… the house is quiet.

Billy feels the dread settle deep in his chest, and swears he could cry if he were .000000001% more worried.

He hears the creaking of work boots walking around the house and knows, just from the tension lingering in the air, that it’s just an angry Neil pacing in the kitchen/ dining room and waiting for Billy to wake up.

He doesn’t know whether to wake Steve up and tell him to escape out of the window and run or just let him lay there anyway, it’s obvious that Neil already saw.

He let’s Steve sleep and throws a shirt on and slowly walks out of the room into the pits of hell, seeing Neil turn to him with an angry face a brighter shade of red than a firetruck.

As slurs are screamed and Billy is thrown into the walls and has family tchotchkes launched at his face, Steve wakes up after a particularly painful shove makes the wall shake, pushing a single picture frame fall off the wall on the other side.

Steve shoots up after that loud bang and hears a wail and muffled yelling before something else hits the wall. He grabs his shirt and puts it on as he walks out the bedroom door, seeing glass shattered on the hardwood leading to the family room, but what he sees around the corner is so much worse.

Billy’s bleeding in about twenty different spots, body curled in a ball in the corner of the kitchen, Neil standing over him, but turning to Steve with a grin.

Steve feels his blood boil as dots connect and loose ends are tied up, making the connection between Billy's bad nights and the new bruises he’ll sport under his shirt. The way he tries to hide it when he flinches at loud, authoritative men who are bigger than him. Why he told Steve to never call his house and why he is the way he is.

So Steve doesn’t think for another second before launching himself at Neil, slamming him into the floor, but that’s about as much as he wins that fight, because Neil is slamming him back and beating him the same way he did his son.

And billy, let’s admit it, is probably much stronger and a better fighter than his dad, but it’s so hard to fight back against an abuser that has controlled your life for so long. Even when you know you could win and that they deserve it, neil hargrove is still his dad and he could never get it into his head to hit him back.

But Steve was trying too hard to take him down because he was doing the wrong thing and losing terribly, never having won a fight once in his damn life.

Billy’s sitting up against the wall, ribs in excruciating pain and vision blurry, but he sees Steve getting up and kicking Neil once before backing up, and Billy sees his camaro keys in the dish by the front door.

So he stands up as fast as he can, ignoring the dizziness as if that would make it go away, grabs steve’s arm and shoots to the door, grabbing the camaro keys and shooting outside

He takes the driver’s seat, despite his dizzying head, just knew that he’d have to drive for a few miles then they could reevaluate, and Steve was clumsily getting into the passenger side.

Billy had only just started the car when Neil came rushing out the door, screaming threats and slurs as if that would make them stop their escape.

The camaro backed out of the driveway and shot down cherry lane in record time, going to the center of town, the least likely place Neil would cause a scene.

It isn’t until Billy puts the car in park that he can bear to look at steve.

He’s got a bloody nose and his shirt sleeve is torn off, hair disheveled from both sleep and the fight.

But billy looks so much worse.

He’s still hunched to the left from his ribs, he’s got tons of cuts along his arms, legs, and face from, what steve suspects, the broken glass on the floor. He’s also got this wild-animal-look in his eyes. One that screams, I escaped alive, but at what cost?

“Bill-”

“Why’d you do that?”

“Why-- I’m sorry are you asking me why I attacked your dad when he was kicking you while you were, literally, on the floor?”

“Ye--no, I-- but you got hurt, why’d you do that?”

“Billy, what did you expect me to do?” a shrug is all he gets in response--”If you saw my dad doing that to me, can you honestly expect yourself to stand there and watch it happen, or walk away and let it happen?”

Billy turns to face the grocery store--Melvad’s-- that they were parked in front of.

“It’s all weaving together in my head. All the bruises, the jumpiness, how you like to control things, it all makes sense, but what doesn’t make sense is why you wouldn’t just tell me, Bill,”

“And what exactly would you have been able to do about it, huh? You gonna take care of the situation or some shit, Steve? Trust me, I’m used to it and--”

“But you shouldn’t have to be ‘used to it,’ Bill, that’s abuse, and you don’t deserve that shit, not ever,”

Their conversation is halted by a tap on the glass by Steve's window, and the boys turn to see Joyce Byers looking more motherly than ever.

Steve rolled the window down.

“The hell happened to you boys?” she asked but corrected herself with a shake of her head, “Doesn’t matter, just come in to clean up, we’ve got bandages and antiseptic, free of charge,”

Billy wiped away the tears he didn’t know had formed and nodded to her, “We’ll be out in a minute, Mrs. Byers.”

“Joyce, please,” she demanded softly.

“Joyce, of course,” Billy offered a subdued smile.

She walked off and Steve rolled the window back up.

“Thank you,” Billy spoke quietly after a moment. “I’m glad he didn’t hurt you worse,”

“Billy, for you I would get beat to smithereens,”

“Well of course you would, you weigh like 100 pounds, not like you could put up much of a fight,”

“Hey! I gave him a black eye, thank you very much!”

“Oh, well, my bad, baby, then maybe you weigh 150, huh?”

Steve grumbled from the passenger seat, “153,”

Billy chuckled and grabbed Steve's hand over the console, locking eyes and smiling at each other, enjoying their small moment.

“We should probably get in there before Joyce comes out herself?” Steve sighed as he moved to take his hand out of Billy's.

“One more minute, please,”

Steve just tightened his grip on Billy's hand and moved towards the center of the car to rest his head on Billy's shoulder, Billy's head falling onto his.

Billy and Tear In My Heart thooooooooo

Like it fits him so well, again this is amazing.

I also see billy as a resident hater of america and it’s fucking government becuase, well, they have a history between his myriad of speeding tickets and, oh what was it, oh yes, the tentacle monster that impaled and possessed him.

And in California, there’s no cold weather where he lives, so there’s not exactly potholes to avoid.

The first time he drives into the cooler states and has to avoid potholes, he decides that his car deserves a vacation after this.

But the potholes become the biggest issue after he and Steve start dating.

He’s absolutely enamoured by this boy, because who wouldn’t be. He respects Billy's limits and can hold his own in arguments, and they fit together like missing pieces of a puzzle.

Steve has changed Billy, not that he’d admit it, but he’s softer now and all of his sharp edges have been baby-proofed. They’re still there and dangerous, but they’re more difficult to be stabbed by.

All the cracks in his heart have been filled with gold, like Kintsugi (a Japanese technique of repairing broken pottery with gold).

And Billy can complain and complain about Steve's clinginess, about his intrusion into his life, and his persistence to stay, but deep inside Billy's never felt more loved or cared for in his life.

But these damn potholes might just make him lose it.

Because billy is anything but a bad driver, he can control the car even when it’s going 45 over the speed limit, but now that steve falls asleep after their movie dates or when they’re coming back from barbeques with the party, Joyce, and Hopper, he’s driving the speed limit.

Which is just appalling.

But some of these potholes are so deep you could dive into them and not hit the bottom.

Like what the fuck, Indiana?

And, one time, Max is with them after a barbeque when Steve falls asleep and Billy slows the car down to what feels like snail speed, but is just the speed limit.

“Why are we going so slow?” Max asked as she leaned forward from the backseat to whisper to billy.

“Steve’s sleepin’,” he said, as if it was the obvious reason.

“You’re whipped,”

“Shut up, Shitbird,”

Max leans back into her seat with a grin on her face at the absolute mush her big, tough brother has turned into for Steve Harrington.

#harringrove #stranger things #steve x billy #billy x steve #mw harringrove #mediocre—writing #twenty one pilots #billy hargrove #steve harrington

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satanwritesfanfiction · 4 years ago

Text

Jacob Seed x f!reader || Nightmares

Title: Nightmares

Ship: Jacob Seed x F!reader Pronouns: Female reader Triggers: a little angst, nightmares, violence and war but it's not described like at all. Pretty vanilla stuff my man. Characters: f!reader , Jacob Seed Wordcount: 2634 a/n: 1. Flow is off 2. Like every time I do something like this,,,, 👏needs👏more👏angst👏 *** Love is patient love is kind, love forces you to endure, to care. It forces you in places you never thought you'd be dragged to. Puts you into the corner and begs you to react. It drags you under and holds you there and somehow being under the influence together makes it okay. No one ever said love was easy, no one ever said joining Eden's gate was an easy endeavour and no one would even dare say Jacob was an easy man to get along with but yet here we stand where these three points collide. Next to Jacob tangled between the sheets, back turned to a man you'd give your life for and yet you couldn't help but wonder if you were what he needed.

Night after night you wondered as you expected his body to shake. Night after night you waited for his past to come rushing back. Night after night you waited afraid of what was to come. Was it better to have him wake up upset at you but you'd get some version of sleep after the episode or was it better when he could get a night's sleep. Admittedly it was a selfish thought but still you wondered whether the images helped him work through the thoughts he had or it was that he was haunted by something that would not let him rest. You'd come to learn the names by now as he cried out in his sleep, knew bits of the situation as you pieced together the puzzle he unwillingly revealed in his episodes. He would never reveal the picture himself which is what brought on the feelings of unworthiness and the insecurity. He would never trust you as you had grown to trust him. You felt him shift behind you and closed your eyes momentarily, waiting and anxious. Afraid to look back but did so anyway after a moment. His chest rose rapidly as his breathing came and went. His eyes was clenched and caused furrow to form on his forehead from the strain. His hands clenched and you waited. Mistakingly you thought maybe this time it won't be as bad, maybe this time he'd bring himself out so you didn't have to. Maybe this time it will be different. You pulled yourself to a half sitting position as your hand hovered over his shoulder, remembering a time where he had dislocated your shoulder when he fought back with an evil that wasn't physically there. You, a paper cut out of a silhouette he saw in the haze. His head jerked with whispers falling from his lips, names and demands you had heard before and you imagine it was from his time in Iraq. He'd never shared too much from his time in the army but you had a general idea of what he did there and even with the way Hope county had turned out, the stories he did share was way beyond anyone should bear. "Jacob." You whispered, fingers hovering over him, afraid to make contact. His body responded with a jerk of his head at the sound of his name but didn't bring him back, seeming to only make it worse. Your fingers curled around his bicep gently as you shook him, calling his name, pleading as your heart started to pound loudly in your chest. His body was covered in a layer of sweat, hair sticking to his forehead. His eyes shot open but remained unfocused, dilated. His hand shot out to grab at your arm, the skin soft and fragile under his fingertips. His grip was tight and it hurt a bit but you didn't move, only hoped what was to come wasn't worse, that it would be over soon. He blinked and after a few moments his eyes started to focus, eyes looking around frantically until it stopped on you and then his hold on you. You could imagine the fear he must've seen in your eyes as you looked back at him expectantly with nothing to protect you from him if he decided to act out his nightmares again. Just staring at him like a deer caught in the headlights of a truck, unmoving spare for the flinch that bent your body to curl into the grip he held. His grip left you and he searched for something to say, to make what he put you through okay but just like every time he couldn't find a single thing that would lessen the burden he put on you and he stayed silent, falling back onto the bed with a sigh. The silence was uncomfortable, suffocating you and as you looked at his body slowly returning from the hell which it experienced your eyes started to water but not quite forming a tear. Why couldn't you help him, why wouldn't he let you help him. He always needed to be strong for everyone and you were sick of it. Sick of the demands, the responsibility. Sick of no one seeing what it did to him. You could see him shaking, eyes unfocused as he looked to the ceiling. In the beginning you'd ask him what he saw but he'd get upset and eventually you stopped, pretend like you didn't see what you saw, didn't hear him crying out, like nothing even happened. Tonight hadn't been that bad, admittedly. He didn't lash out, didn't cry out, didn't thrash. You weren't in any real danger tonight which made it uneventful but still weighing heavy on your heart. You didn't know how much more you could take. How long you could endure. Who were you kidding, you weren't made for this, weren't strong enough. Someone else could help him through, could be there for him. He needed someone better than you. You turned and sat on the edge of the bed, feet dangling down as you looked into the dark room. It was a quiet night but the moon shone brightly and you wanted to slip to the floor and let the feelings spill on the floor. He didn't need you, it's you who needed him. He needed someone stronger, someone able to bring him back without the whiplash. Someone who understood. You were pulled from your thoughts when you felt his fingers curl around your wrist. When you looked back at the owner, he seemed questioning, almost pleading with a question he couldn't voice. He was still shaking slightly and shone with the perspiration shining under the moonlight that flowed into the room. All you wanted to do was hold him and tell him it's okay but when were you allowed to touch him, when does it reel him back into his fears. You didn't have the answer even after all this time. You were still in the dark. You crawled back to him, cautiously watching his reactions as you moved closer and curling into his side. He didn't say a word when his arm fell over your small figure pressed into him. One would guess you're the one who had the episode with the way you cling to him. "I'm sorry." He whispered, almost too soft to hear if the night hadn't been especially quiet tonight. " I didn't mean to hurt you." You glanced up at his face and he wasn't looking at you, eyes trained upwards as he swallowed hard. "It's not your fault." You stated and you really did believe he would never hurt you otherwise. Your hand drew small circles on his chest as you settled back into your spot. "But it is." He stated and you opened your mouth to deny him the words but he cut you off. "My actions. " You shook your head as you pulled yourself to hover over him slightly. "You didn't mean to, it's.. not you." He didn't answer and you saw the clench of a jaw that said he didn't agree with you but wouldn't argue right now and you laid back down. Talking things out wasn't exactly a staple in the relationship. After a few moments of complete silence, only listening to his breathing as you felt it beneath your finger tips he spoke which had startled you slightly with the sudden noise. "It's my fault, all of it." His voice cracked under the weight of the confession and you glanced up at him. He couldn't honestly believe that, he wasn't aware and he hadn't even hurt you as bad tonight. If you're lucky it might not even make a bruise and then his next words hit you and you knew it wasn't you, it was the moment that defined him. "I wasn't strong enough, I couldn't-" Your heart beat. You could feel it, wondered if he could feel it as well. He never spoke about his time, no details, he never opened up about his time in the 82nd airborne division. It was uncharted territory and even with your curiosity, you were scared. There had to be a reason he never spoke about it, had to be something he was ashamed to admit. "So much sound, and I couldn't see it." You looked up at him and saw him glance down, reevaluating whether he could trust you with the information. You didn't even feel worthy to have it. He sighed as his body shifted slightly, a single tear treading down his cheek and you reached out, thumb smoothing over his cheek. His eyes closed momentarily at the contact. "I keep seeing them, (Y/n).” Jacob choked. "I keep losing them. Over and over." "Who?" You asked softly afraid he'd get upset with the wrong question. "Doesn't matter." Jacob responded shaking his head. "It's in the past." He pulled away as he sat up, feet planted firmly on the ground as his hands rubbed over his face in an effort to dispel the feelings that the dreams awoke. "It matters to me." You muttered under your breath as you took a seating position as well, pulling your knees to your chest. You see him glance your way at the words from the corner of your eye but whether it be from the movement or the words you can't confirm. He sighed audible as he placed his hands on his knees. "It's not something you need to concern yourself with." He stated. "It does concern me." You said softly, hugging your knees closer to your chest. "If it not be for the fear of what might happen every night, we're supposed to be in this together but you.. you don't trust me. " You saw his head whip around but kept your eyes trained forward as they began to water. "I do trust you." He stated as if it was evident. "I let you into my bed, into this life, into this project." "But not into your past." You sighed as you wiped the forming tears on your sleeve. "(Y/n)." He sighed, turning his body so he'd more easily have access to you. "It's.." he shook his head, hand rubbing over his tired face as he searched for the words. "It's too much." "I thought that eventually you'd come to trust me and tell me what goes on in your head but I don't think you ever will. I thought if I was considerate and empathetic you'd come around. Is this all we're ever going to be?" A tear rolled down your cheek as you looked at him, vulnerable and at a fork in the road, you let it fall unobstructed. "I-" his jaw clenched as he searched for the words. He hated seeing you like this, hated being the reason, hate not being able to just let it out like it wasn't suffocating him every day. The day he met you he would never have guessed you'd be sharing a bed, never would have imagined the trust he had in you and yet here you were not realizing just how much he trusted you, needed you. He was deathly afraid of losing you, whether it be by your choice or the resistance it would have the same outcome. Going back to how it was before, alone and scared. You had become something he feared losing, a dent in his armour that made him weak at the knees and even with this knowledge he still would do anything to keep you with him. "I didn't want you to know what I had done." He spoke softly, barely audible as he looked down at his hands. "you know what happened to Miller, I saw the look in your eyes when you found out. You tell yourself I had no choice." His voice cracked and he took a breath to bury the feeling creeping up on him. "Will you still look at me the same when I have a choice and made the wrong one?" You looked at him as you processed the words but what he doesn't realize is that you didn't really care about the actions of his past self, the shocked look you had when he finally told you about Miller was more what effects it had on him more than about a man you had never knew. "Nothing can change how I feel about you, Jacob." You said softly after a moment, crawling across the bed to favour sitting next to him. "We all made mistakes, I just want you to trust me enough to let me in." You took his hand in your own and smiled softly. "I love you, nothing's going to change that." He smiled back weakly, placing a stray hair behind your ear and cupped your cheek for a moment before speaking. "I made a choice." He stated. "I made it to late and it lead to people losing their lives." He took a breath as he pondered the words in his mind. "War is chaos like you can't imagine but the thing that's infinitely worse than being the reason they're dead is having to leave their bodies where they fell. Their families had to bury empty caskets because I was unsure." Tears had began falling down his cheek and he didn't make a move to stop them. He trusted you would pretend it never happened like you pretended he didn't have nightmares, like you pretended you werei scared every night that he would accidentally hurt you. "I see their faces, the blood. I see everything again and again. I don't know how to make it stop." Your heart broke for him, the strongest Man you knew. He was always decisive, ready for action but here he was saying he didn't know which way to turn and neither did you. You wrapped your arms around him and pulled him closer as you embraced him. No words you could speak would make it better for him, all you could do was show him he's not alone, that you wouldn't leave at the words, that you're still by his side. His hands in turn wrapped around your own smaller figure and held you there, head buried into your shoulder as he shook slightly. He's never trusted anyone with the information, always buried it deep within him until it spilled out on nights he was unguarded. He always imagined you'd run with the fraction of the knowledge for how could anyone love someone after what he had done. He was the cause of so much pain and he always thought he'd be the cause of yours and still feared it. You didn't know everything but perhaps you were strong enough to lead up to it. You couldn't give him what he needed, couldn't take it away but just maybe the secrets that now flowed between both could lessen the effects, perhaps it could tame the monster. Maybe he just needed to give a voice to the terror.

#jacob seed #far cry 5 #nightmares #satanwritesfanfiction

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thebloggerbloggerfun · 5 years ago

Text

Watched

AO3

Dean was being watched.

That was impossible, of course, because Sam and Eileen were out for the night on a date, Castiel was on his weekly therapeutic grocery shopping trip, and Dean was by himself in the bunker’s laundry room.

And yet -

He paused after tossing a ball of wadded up flannel into the washer and looked over his shoulder into the empty space around him.

Dean huffed out a breath and shook his head.

He was just getting paranoid.

It was two in the morning and Dean was humming to himself in his boxers and robe as he cooked a spontaneous omelette that his stomach had demanded - he was but a servant to its nightly whims.

And then he felt it again.

Something was watching him.

Dean froze when the sensation washed over him, familiar in a foreign way but not familiar enough to bring him any kind of comfort.

In one smooth motion that years of hunting had ingrained in him, Dean grabbed a knife from his fancy knife block that he’d splurged on during a different late night and whipped around, only catching a glimpse of a tan trench coat as it left the door frame.

Letting out a relieved breath, Dean poked his head out the door and frowned when the only thing that greeted him was a dark hallway.

“Cas?” He called, lowering his knife.

The hallway didn’t answer.

“So, are you doing like a voyeurism thing now, or what?”

Castiel looked up from the fantasy novel he’d been reading, glanced both to his left and right like there was a possibility that Dean could possibly be talking to someone else in the middle of the bunker’s library where only the two of them had been for the past couple of hours.

“What?”

“You heard me,” Dean gestured towards him with a book in one hand, “It’s fucking creepy, dude. You have my full permission to stare longingly at this mug whenever you want but you’re gonna get another knife in the chest if you keep up trying to be sneaky about it. I’ve got hunter instincts, man.”

Castiel blinked.

“I have no idea what you’re talking about.” He said after a moment’s pause.

“I’ve seen you.” Dean said with an eye-roll. “The jig is up.”

“Dean, I genuinely don’t know what you’re referring to.” Castiel said with a frown. “I’ve never spied on you.”

Castiel seemed to take a moment to reevaluate something.

“In recent years.” He amended.

“Ha!”

“Dean -”

“Alright, well, if it’s not you, who is it?”

Castiel shrugged his shoulders once.

“I haven’t detected anyone entering the bunker that isn’t supposed to be here.” Castiel said, his eyes flicking back down to his reading. “Maybe you have a ghost.”

Dean squinted at Castiel, looking for any sign that he was being messed with, and sat back down in his chair.

“Yeah. Maybe.”

The cashiers in the liquor store nearest to the bunker knew Dean by name - in fact they’d picked it up easily in the first month he and Sam had moved in.

Dean gestured towards the empty row of booze that held his favorite whiskey as he groaned loudly and dramatically.

“Nathalie! Who cleaned you out?”

His favorite of the cashiers leaned over from the next aisle and raised an eyebrow.

“You did, Dean. Like four days ago. We only restock once a week.”

Dean made another loud groaning sound.

“I’m my own worst enemy.”

Nathalie began to blow a large bubble with gum the same bright color of her hair and stared at him as it popped.

“Aren’t we all.”

She ducked back down into the aisle.

Dean grumbled some more as he grabbed some of his less-than-favorable second choices of whiskey and set the last bottle into his cart just as the hair on the back of his neck began to stand on end.

Again.

He didn’t move, just stared down at the final bottle as he tried to focus on the corners of his vision.

Tan coat, dark hair, blue tie.

Dean let out a breath and turned to confront him, but the figure had ducked back out of view.

Shopping cart abandoned, Dean strode forward quickly, looking down the aisle, ready to catch him red-handed, but only saw Nathalie taking stock.

“Hey, did you see - uh -”

“That guy you’re with sometimes?” Nathalie, jerked a thumb behind herself. “Yeah, he went -”

She frowned as she glanced in the direction she’d pointed out.

“Well he was there.”

And now there was nothing.

“Dean, I am telling you. I don’t know what it is you’re seeing but it’s not me.” Castiel set the bags down on the kitchen table as he began putting the food he’d just purchased into the fridge.

“Look, if you’re trying to get me back for beating you at Uno this is a really fucking weird way -”

“It’s not me. I don’t know how many times I have to say it.”

Dean threw his hands up in the air in exasperation.

“Then what’s fucking happening? Am I going nuts in my old age?”

“You’re in your forties.”

“In hunter-years I’m decrepit.”

Castiel set the milk on the table with a little bit more force than Dean thought was necessary.

“Dean. Listen to me. I have no need to spy on you. I get to look at you all I want, whenever I want, and I also gain the benefit of having you look back.” For a moment, Castiel almost looked fond. “I’m very lucky to have that in life, and it’s something I don’t take for granted. So, whatever is happening to you, it’s not -”

Castiel stopped mid-sentence and Dean felt Castiel’s gaze go slack, like he was no longer staring at him, but somehow staring through him.

“What?” Dean asked.

“Uh,” Castiel shook his head, coming back to himself, “Nothing. I just… had a thought.”

Dean waited.

“Care to share with the class?”

“You should. . . try talking. . . to whatever it is.” Castiel said finally, turning to place the milk in the fridge. “You never know.”

“Talking to it.”

Castiel nodded.

“I swear to god, if this some sort of prank -”

Castiel turned around, and Dean shut up.

That wasn’t a look he saw on Castiel often.

“Come on. Help me put everything else away.”

The feeling came again at night.

Dean rubbed at his eyes as he walked down the hallway, his bladder now blissfully emptier than it had been when he’d been woken up by it.

The hair on his neck began to prickle as he shuffled past doorways and connecting halls in his slippers and robe, and out of the corner of one eye he saw the figure.

Standing in the hallway to his right.

Dean stopped.

“Don’t go.” He said, not daring to turn his head yet.

The figure shifted ever so slightly, but didn’t completely disappear.

“I know you’ve been watching me.” Dean’s voice was just above a whisper. “You’ve been doing it a lot. What do you want?”

The figure didn’t move.

Dean took a risk, turned his head, and there, in the middle of the hallway, was Castiel.

“You said -” Dean started, then stopped himself as he looked at the figure in front of him.

It wasn’t Castiel.

Not really.

He had the same clothes, the same vessel, the same everything - but this was not a Castiel that Dean was familiar with. He held himself like he was either being weighed down by the weight of the sky or was slowly being coaxed towards whatever lay beneath the surface of the earth. Maybe both.

His eyes were the most off-putting.

They were sunken and dark, staring back at him with equal parts joy and misery all tied up together in a neat little bow of fear.

It was Castiel, but it wasn’t Castiel.

It reminded him of a Castiel he’d seen only once before.

“Dean.”

The voice cracked - like a dam that was on the verge of collapse.

“Cas -” Dean swallowed, trying to put this all together in his head.

The Castiel in front of him sagged visibly, and half a sob caught in his throat as he took a step backward.

“I’m sorry -” Castiel stammered, “I shouldn’t have come -”

“Wait.” Dean took a step forward to make up what he’d lost. “Cas.”

Castiel stood miserably still.

“. . . When are you from?”

Castiel said nothing for a long few moments, just stood silently and stared down at the floor.

When he looked up again, he’d managed to regain a small semblance of composure.

“Two thousand and ninety four.” He said softly.

Dean let out a breath that was half out of disbelief.

“Wow.” He scratched at the back of his head. “And uh... how is it?”

More silence.

“I miss you.” Castiel whispered, and whatever composure he’d managed to regain was lost again as the dam finally broke. “I miss you so much, Dean. I can’t - I’m sorry, I can’t do this -”

“Hey, hey,” Dean stepped forward when Castiel started to hyperventilate - something he hadn’t been aware could even happen to an angel - “Cas. Hey, I’m here, okay? I’m not going anywhere.”

“Yes, you are.” Castiel managed, and Dean’s suspicions were confirmed.

Of course they were - he’d probably been long dead.

“I’m sorry, Dean. I know I promised, but I miss you. I had to - I had to see you again -”

“Cas. . .” Dean said, his heart wrenching at the sight of him like this. “Look, don’t - don’t fucking do this to yourself. Please. Time jumps take so much out of you and you’ve been doing this a lot. You’re gonna hurt yourself.”

“I know.” Castiel reached a hand out slowly, eyes on Dean’s own hand. “I know.”

It took everything Dean had to pull back.

“What’s dead should stay dead.” Dean said, trying to sound firm. “You know that.”

Castiel turned his gaze back up to Dean - and for the first time - he looked soft.

“You and I were always an exception to the rule.”

Dean couldn’t argue that, instead, he ignored the alarms blaring in his head as he stepped forward and pulled Castiel into a hug, and Castiel clung to him like a lifeline, breathing into his neck and gripping at his robe.

“I love you,” Dean said, and felt Castiel’s grip tighten, “But you’ve gotta stop doing this to yourself. If Sam and I. . . if we aren’t around, then humanity needs you, man. You’ve gotta be there for them.”

He felt Castiel nod into his neck and his grip began to weaken.

He let go.

“Alright.” Castiel said, voice lower and huskier than usual. “Thank you... Dean. For indulging my selfishness.”

“S’not selfish.” Dean swallowed. “And I’m - I’m so sorry. For what it’s worth I - he - never wanted to leave you. Never in a million years.”

Castiel’s hand lingered in Dean’s, and then it fell away.

“I know. I know all of this. I didn’t see anything that I didn’t already know I just -” Castiel swallowed. “I just missed you.”

Castiel took a breath and wiped at his eyes, like he was already distancing himself from the Dean in front of him.

“I won’t bother you anymore.”

“Cas -”

Castiel looked up.

“. . . Get a cat.” Dean said with a shrug. “Smelly, dirty, bitey, knocks things over - it’ll be basically the same thing. And you’ll have a cat.”

A small smile twitched at the corner of Castiel’s mouth.

“Hold him tight for me.” Castiel said.

And the hallway was empty again.

Dean stepped back into the bedroom and climbed into bed, curling himself around Castiel and pressed his forehead against his neck.

“A long bathroom break.” Castiel murmured, entwining his fingers with Dean’s. “Everything alright?”

Dean only hummed in affirmation, and inhaled deeply.

“You know. . . maybe we should get a cat.”

Castiel shifted to crane his neck at Dean.

“A cat?”

“Yeah.”

“That must have been quite a visit to the bathroom.”

“Yeah.”

Dean held him tight.

#spn #destiel #destiel fic #angst #canon!verse #sometimes I write #took longer than I thought and I'm still not happy with it but oh well #ANYWAY AAAANGST #as promised

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ahiddenpath · 4 years ago

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If you could give Daisuke, Miyako, and Iori their own crests, what would they be?

This is a really tough one! I do love that they “inherited” crests; the whole “these kids gets mentors” was so cute? A great way to bring back the older kids in a meaningful way. I personally think the 02 crew “had it together” in ways the original crew... kind of didn’t, lol! But they did have a lot of benefits (ability to go home, Koushiro as an advisor, mentors, two members who already knew what was going on, etc).

I also really love the observation that Adventure emphasized individual development (finding and earning and internalizing their crest traits, evolution is triggered by understanding yourself) and 02 emphasized team development (jogress/evolution triggered by strong bonds between teammates, inheriting wisdom from the ones who came before). So... I guess I hate to mess with that? But I do also see the appeal of giving them their own traits...

THIS GOT INCREDIBLY LONG, but it’s a really cool post, I think! So please read on beneath the cut!

Daisuke

Honestly, I think miracles works pretty well? I’ve heard people say that Daisuke just... Does whatever he wants/follows his gut, and it tends to work out; ie he’s more “lucky” than “an effective leader.”

Personally, I... Truly admire Daisuke’s faith and optimism and just... Just raw belief in everyone? I have anxiety, so sometimes my brain loves to tell me that a thing I’ve done a million times with no problems will somehow explode in my face. Can you imagine just... Choosing to always believe, and acting like everything will be okay? I don’t mean “sticking your head in the sand and going LALALA THIS IS FINE,” I mean taking action without hesitation, even when things are scary.

Like, yeah, maybe that’s not always valid IRL- you need to plan and be realistic and accept and reevaluate when your plan isn’t working- although I’d argue that Daisuke learned to do that over the course of the series (I remember him saying the team should rest at some point, and everyone was surprised that he didn’t want to press on, except Ken).

But I also maintain that Daisuke’s ability to believe in himself, his team, and just a general “things will be okay” is what creates success that almost seems... miraculous!

Also, I think he is suuuch a great meld of courage and friendship, because he pushes on when things are scary (courage) and is able to do so because he believes in everyone (friendship).

So, I’m thinking something like faith/confidence/trust. And having listed some similar-ish words...

I’m going with trust.

What incredible things you can do, when you believe in yourself, your team, and the future.

Miyako

I’ve seen other people assign her the crest of “passion,” which I think is great!

I think the thing about Miyako is that she’s, like... Always on, always 150%, so dynamic and vibrant and just... her cup overflows with energy and... Miyako-ness.

It’s clear to see how she relates to her “purity” side. It took me a long time to understand what I think the crest of purity means, thanks to a lot of... ickiness around the word “pure” in western tradition, which is also why I am loathe to throw the word “innocence” into my definition. Basically, I think the crest of purity means that Mimi and Miyako don’t dissemble/hide how they really feel. You’re always getting their raw, honest truth. And, because Mimi in particular is spoiled, she can come off as childish- which is where people like to throw in the word “innocent.”

[The general selfishness of children is related to them not knowing yet that they aren’t the center of the world- psychologically; Freud would call it “being ruled by the id.” It’s just a developmental stage, and doesn’t really indicate actual selfishness. You know how Winnie the Pooh is a sweetheart, but can make things miserable for other people by just assuming he can help himself to everything?]

But Mimi also displays a child’s heart in terms of being kind and sweet and sensitive and wanting to help... and then swinging back towards the id at the drop of a dime, lol!

Like Mimi, Miyako is very comfortable giving her opinion and drawing attention to herself, and she doesn’t seem to be holding herself back... But we do eventually see that things can weigh on her, and that she’s sometimes putting up a front when her energy actually isn’t at 150%.

I think the “love” part is a bit harder to pin down, but then... The word “love” is incredibly vague, and means a million different things to different people, which is why I kind of hate discussing the crest of love! I like to think of it as “the crest of compassion” to focus discussions; sympathetic consciousness of others' distress together with a desire to alleviate it.

It’s kind of funny to think of Miyako with the crest of love compared to Sora. Sora tends to show love by watching over people, being kind and supportive and brave even when she’s struggling and hiding the signs of her struggle/dismissing her own struggles, doing things for others, often without even letting people know she did anything.

In comparison, Miyako shows compassion by being present for people she loves, telling them bluntly when they need to shape up (which, frankly, a lot of Digimon characters really need. We need waaaaaay less staring into each other’s faces and never answering concerned questions and waaaaaaay more *slap* GET IT TOGETHER! God, ilu Miyako), and being honest and open about how much she cares for them.

So yeah, passion!

Iori

One of my favorite Chosen, this sweet good boy that I lovelovelovelove!

So one thing about Iori is that, while I can write big honkin’ analysis of how Daisuke and Miyako show their inherited crests... Um, I think Iori is his own thing. Like, I don’t... super get honesty and knowledge off of him. I mean, the honesty thing, sure. His Grandpa taught him not to lie, we had a whole ep based on that alone. As for knowledge, yes, he wants to know the truth and get to the bottom of things.

But... Neither crest ever felt like a slam dunk for him? Even though it’s easy to see how “honesty” and “knowledge” coalesce into “a desire for truth,” which is further illustrated in his career as a (presumably upright and truth-seeking) lawyer. Like, it’s right there in front of your face, Hidden!

BUT LEMME PULL UP A CHAIR, CAPTAIN AMERICA STYLE, AND HASH WITH YOU.

The thing that, to me, stands out about Iori most is that he’s grounded and centered. Have you seen that post recently that explains how Daisuke tried, just one time, to treat Iori like a little kid (he says, “shut up, little brat”)? And Iori- who is about three years younger than Daisuke, and much more withdrawn- politely but firmly replies, “Please don’t talk to me like that.”

AND YOU KNOW WHAT? DAISUKE APOLOGIZES AND NEEEEVER TALKS DOWN TO IORI AGAIN.

Iori is like... He’s like eight, my dudes! Rolling with a bunch of eleven-ish year olds! He’s personal friends with Miyako, a twelve year old, before Adventure 02 even opens! And we don’t often see him being doted on and protected like Takeru and Hikari were in the same situation.

YOU WANNA KNOW WHY? The simple answer is that he’s mature, but I wanna say that he’s grounded, the ultimate earth sign type (I think Digmon is a pretty clear metaphor). He doesn’t get flustered or swayed. He knows where he is, where he stands, what he must do. On the one hand, this makes him mature beyond his years, reliable, able to stand up for himself and be an equal team mate among kids who are older than him.

The downside is that “that which cannot bend must break.” I’m sure you’ve read a zillion metas about how Iori sees in black-and-white originally and has trouble changing his world views and learning to forgive... But he does all of those things, maturing further into possibly just... just... Can you even imagine him as an adult?! HE’S TOO POWERFUL.

So, if he were an Adventure character, I’d say that his crest is integrity, and he has to go through his adventure to learn what that really means for him- to develop from stubborn, black-and-white thinking to true integrity.

THANKS FOR THE ASK!

#02 crew #digimon meta #crests for daisuke miyako iori #faves #daisuke motomiya #miyako inoue #iori hida #Anonymous

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ill-skillsgard · 4 years ago

Note

Okay, I love a little angst, and I could see Faust visiting Faith at work and some prick keeps flirting with her and she’s very oblivious and doesn’t realize it. Or she has a tutor for college, and Faust walks in on him teaching her something, but the guys clearly flirting with her. Or lastly, her father setting her up with a family friends son who’s picture perfect and Stan making Faith go out with him for the night. But all these scenarios lead to a good banging lol.

Warning: 18+ anti-religious/anti-Christian themes/angst etc. **jealousy, angst and possessiveness in this part**

Faust x Faith Masterpost [x]

Faith awoke with a sharp intake of air. She glanced at the digital clock on Faust’s desk through misty eyes and paled when the late morning hour came into focus. She was due to meet her father in twenty-five minutes, and he expected her at the campus—not a half-hour bus ride from her dorm in an area of town known for its street crime. Even if Faust borrowed his roommate’s car to drive her, she wouldn’t have time to shower and dress before her father arrived.

A text from her dad warned of his impending arrival. She should have known better than to spend an entire Saturday evening humping her boyfriend, or at least set an alarm to wake up with ample time to get back to her dorm. In her panic, Faust woke up, looking ruefully unconcerned while she rushed to get dressed.

“What’s your deal?” Faust grumbled as Faith slipped on her black tights and lilac blouse, a worried expression on her face.

“We slept too late! My dad’s supposed to pick me up at school in like twenty minutes!”

Faust rolled onto his side, propping his head on his elbow as a dreamy smirk snagged his lips. Faith clicked her tongue. When it came to disappointing her father, Faust had nothing but encouragement to give, but his playful stare could not snuff her genuine panic.

“You won’t make it to school on time. Why don’t you just ask him to pick you up here?” Faust suggested.

“Hell no!” Faith exclaimed. “You don’t realize the amount of shit I’ll be in if he finds out I spent the night with you. Premarital sex is... No, I just can’t.”

Faust rolled his eyes. “It’s not like he’ll kill his own daughter.”

She rolled on one sock, then the other, grimacing when she noticed one was on inside-out. “You still don’t realize that he can and will pack up everything and move us away. Or he’ll make me go to a different school next semester. Trust me. You don’t get how strict my parents are. They’ve already made me read several pamphlets from church about the sin of fornication.”

“Well, clearly, you’ve learned nothing. We fornicated all night, babe. I fornicated all over that shirt, too,” he snickered.

“Faust! I’m serious. Now is not a time to joke. Wait... What?” Faith stopped in the middle of the room and stared down at her top, gasping. “Oh my god! There’s cum all over me! I’m so screwed.”

He got out of bed and went to the low-boy, pulling open the third drawer while Faith panicked.

“I am literally covered in your jizz! Why did you have to blow on my shirt?” Faith groaned.

Faust stifled a laugh as he pulled out a black t-shirt from the drawer. “Babe, you’re the one who wanted to suck my dick first thing after you got here. I can’t be responsible for where my unborn children go to die. Maybe you need to catch my loads a little better.”

She scoffed then scoffed again when he held up a faded t-shirt with a macabre design on the front and an illegible logo cresting the imagery.

“Wear this,” Faust offered.

“I can’t wear that in front of my dad. What does that even say?” Faith asked.

“Obituary.”

Faith shook her head. Faust shrugged and stuffed the shirt back into the drawer before grabbing a different one. “How about this? No pictures on it or anything.”

She grimaced again. “It just says Death. I’m going to church, Faust.”

“All right, all right. Give me a minute,” Faust said, rifling through another drawer.

The phone buzzed in Faith’s hand, warning her that time was running out for her to make herself presentable and come up with an excuse as to why she was nowhere near campus grounds. Faust pulled out a plain black t-shirt, offering it to her with round, sympathetic eyes.

“Will this work?”

She took the shirt and gulped. “It will have to do. It’s still all black, and my parents won’t be happy.”

Faust nodded, seeming to understand her predicament. “Why don’t you say you’re sick?”

“The only time I ever got away with missing church was when I had Chicken Pox,” Faith said.

“Say you have too much work.”

She frowned. “There’s never an excuse large enough to appease them. I appreciate the suggestions, but I’d rather you just help me with a plan.”

The man towering over her nodded, turning to select his outfit for the day. “I’ll take you to the diner down the block. You can say I picked you up for breakfast.”

“I’d rather not tell them I was with you at all,” Faith said as she gathered her purse and stuffed her soiled blouse inside.

“Ouch,” Faust flinched.

“I’m sorry... That was rude,” Faith replied, covering her mouth for a moment, eyes wide. “You’re right. We should do that just to make it look like I didn’t spend the night.”

Faust ducked into a dark long-sleeve shirt, pulling his black hair out to fall over his shoulders. “Might want to wipe the dried cum off your chin then.”

When Faith slid her fingers through Faust’s as they walked down the street, his grip fell limp. He stared ahead and didn’t take any casual glances at her. In fact, Faust had been silent since they left. Worry piled on top of anxiety over what she would tell her dad, and she dropped her gaze to the sidewalk, counting the cracks as they walked. She doubled her steps to keep up with Faust’s until they reached the front doors of the quaint diner he and his buddies went to after nights of partying and hungover mornings. He let go of her hand and stepped away from her.

“See you later,” he said, spinning on the heel of his boot.

She reached out and grabbed his arm. “Wait! You’re not even going to kiss me goodbye?”

Faust shrugged, his leather jacket bemoaning the gesture. “Wouldn’t want your dad to catch you kissing your boyfriend.”

“Faust... Please. I didn’t mean to hurt your feelings.”

He snorted, pulling out a pack of cigarettes and his lighter. “If that’s what you think.”

His pointed response stung, but Faith wouldn’t let him walk away without addressing the tension. “Seriously... I’m sorry. I wish you understood how hard it is for me to navigate this. You think I’m exaggerating when I say my father will stop paying my tuition and make me go to a different school, but I’m not.”

“No one can make you do anything you don’t want to do,” said Faust, inhaling a cloud of cigarette smoke. “You just let them run your life.”

Heat built up behind her eyes. She took in a deep breath and sighed hopelessly. “I don’t have the income to be independent. It’s not as easy as you think. Not for me.”

Stan’s car pulled up at the curb, and Faith’s heart dropped. Faust glanced at the vehicle, then back at Faith fidgeting with the hem of the black t-shirt he gave her. He nodded toward the street.

“I should go before your dad gets the wrong idea about us.”

“Faust—” she whimpered.

“We’ll talk later.”

Faith hurried to get into the backseat of her father’s car, staring out the window as they drove off and passed Faust on the street. Her mother sighed and shook her head.

“Smoking is a disgusting habit,” she muttered.

Faith’s sisters stared at her from their seats, then looked away when she met their eyes.

“What?” Faith asked.

“You’re in trouble,” one of them sang.

Stan glared at his oldest daughter in the rear-view mirror. He didn’t keep his indignation quiet for long. “Since when is it okay to wear all black in the house of Christ? We’re not attending a funeral, Faith. We’re going for worship.”

“I know,” she said, rolling her eyes. “It was the only clean outfit I had. I haven’t done laundry because I’ve had too much schoolwork.”

“Maybe if you didn’t spend so much time with that man, you’d have a proper outfit to wear on Sunday.”

“That man is my boyfriend. Am I not allowed to ever fall in love? It’s not like you and mom didn’t date before you got married.”

Reneta continued shaking her head. “Your father was a respectable man. He didn’t smoke and listen to evil music.”

Faith scoffed as her sisters listened with wide eyes and mischievous smirks. “What are you talking about, mom? You had nothing but nice things to say about him when he came over for dinner!”

“He was our guest, and a lady is always a kind host.”

“So, you don’t like him either?” Faith asked.

“Sweetheart, that’s not what I said. I just wish you would find yourself a nice boy. One who knows the importance of God—”

“If I smell smoke on you or catch you making a mockery of His word, I promise on His good name, I will make sure you never see that boy again,” Stan vowed.

Faith clammed up. Though she had plenty to say, she knew better than to push her luck. Her sisters whispered next to her, but Faith ignored them too. She fished her phone out of her purse and sent a text message to Faust.

You’re right. These people are fucked. I have to get away.

The service dragged for what seemed like hours, and when it ended, Faith was eager to leave. But instead of piling into the car to go home after the last prayer, Faith waited as her family mingled with others. As a revered minister of the church, Stan often welcomed conversation from those who sought his guidance and blessings. She sat in an empty pew, sighing with impatience as the churchgoers waited their turn for a private conversation with her father.

Faith peeked at her phone to see if Faust had replied, but the message remained unopened.

Though he hadn’t said much that morning, she feared her err had caused Faust to reevaluate his interest in her. A troublesome mass weighed in her stomach. Texting him again might result in him dubbing her “clingy,” Faith decided, so she turned off her phone until it was time to leave.

They piled into the family car and turned down the road in the opposite direction of the school campus. When Faith noticed, she perked up in her seat.

“Where are we going?” She asked.

“We’re having the Esders family over for dinner this evening,” said Stan.

Faith tried not to voice her displeasure, but nothing prevented the furrowing of her brow. “Well, that’s very nice, but I have to go home to work on my paper.”

Stan glanced back at his oldest daughter. “Your home is under our roof. And you can spare a few hours for your family.”

“Dad, I can’t spend the entire day doing nothing. It’s due tomorrow!” Faith whined.

“I won’t hear anymore, Faith. Bobby is your age, and you’ll be kind and cordial.”

“Oh, so that’s what this is about? You want me to spend time with another boy?”

“Faith, you’re helping host the Esders’, and you will be on your best behaviour.”

Faith kept to herself during dinner, helping set and clear the table, answering questions with curt replies, and after dessert, she stepped onto the veranda to call Faust. The line rang and rang until it cut off. Faust didn’t have voicemail, and he still hadn’t replied to her message from earlier. Dejected, Faith sighed as she looked out over the suburban street, the stained glass crosses hanging in bay windows and wind chimes tinkling in the cool breeze. The sound of footsteps rounded the corner, and she turned to find Bobby Esders approaching.

“Hey, Faith. What’re you doing out here all by yourself?” The flaxen-haired boy asked.

She forced a brief grin and leaned against the handrail. “Being by myself.”

“Oh, I’m sorry. I shouldn’t have interrupted. I was getting sick of all the church-talk in there.”

Faith nodded. “Same.”

Bobby tucked his hands into the pockets of his beige chinos. “I noticed you haven’t been to group in a while.”

“I have a lot of schoolwork. It’s a little more important than making arts and crafts and babysitting kids while they cry over which Veggie Tales movie to watch.”

“Yeah, I get that,” Bobby snorted with amusement, stepping up to the handrail beside her. “So... What did you do all Summer?”

The only voice Faith wanted to hear was Faust’s whispering in her ear, gently poking fun at her, calling her babe and stating interesting yet useless facts about his favourite bands and horror movies. Though she was polite, she turned to Bobby with a tight smile and sighed impatiently.

“I don’t know... Stuff? What everyone else does during the Summer.”

The boy accepted her response with a solemn nod. Bobby Esders was not oblivious. He sensed her discomfort and unspoken need for solitude the moment dinner began. With a nod, he backed away.

“Well, I hope you have a good night, and good luck with your schoolwork.”

Faith frowned. “I’m sorry, Bobby. I shouldn’t be so short with you. My parents have been treating me like a child lately, and it’s getting on my nerves. I should be studying, but instead, I’m here—”

“Pretending like you give a shit about church?” Bobby said with a secretive smirk.

“Um... Well, yeah,” she replied, blushing.

Bobby chuckled, maintaining his distance but relaxing his shoulders. He was tall like Faust, with zero body fat, bony arms, and a mop of blond curls. Faith hadn’t spoken more than a few sentences to Bobby since joining the church, but she always smiled at him when they passed in the corridors. He was pleasant and had one of the best singing voices in the congregation. His parents were wealthy business owners who donated large sums to the church and took a liking to Stan the moment he commanded the podium for his first service. Since then, Faith’s parents cultivated a friendship with the Esders family. Faith even heard them discussing how perfect it was that the two respective families had a daughter and a son of the same age, as though it was some kind of miracle. She dreaded the day Stan might suggest she try spending time with Bobby. And perhaps if she had never met Faust, she might entertain the idea of Bobby courting her, but that chance was long gone.

“Don’t worry, Faith. I might look like a goody-two-shoes, but it’s just the clothes my parents make me wear for church. I don’t really buy into any of this bullshit either.”

Stunned by his admission, Faith tilted her head as Bobby’s expression turned sly.

He continued. "And I know what our parents are trying to do with us. They’re trying to play matchmaker like it’s the eighteenth century or something. Trust me; I wouldn’t be out here bothering you if your dad hadn’t encouraged me. I can tell you want to be somewhere else, and I don’t blame you."

Faith looked up at him with a growing appreciation for his honesty. His bluntness still took her back, but she smiled with relief.

“Well, I appreciate your observation. My dad doesn’t seem to realize that I’m a person capable of making my own decisions.”

“I’m in the same boat. Do you think I want to spend all my free time doing church stuff? Right now, my friends are at home playing Call of Duty together, and I’m here, pretending like I give a shit about this stupid religion and all its oppressive rules.”

“Wow. I never pictured you as anything but...” Faith trailed off, flushing pink.

“But a Bible-toting nerd? Yeah, I get that a lot.”

Reneta called for Faith from the side door. She sighed, smiled at Bobby again, and smoothed her hands over the black T-shirt that still smelled like Faust’s bedroom. Bobby stepped aside, motioning for Faith to go first before he followed.

Faith turned on her phone after she collapsed in her bed in the corner of her dorm room. To her shock, Faust still hadn’t answered her message from earlier. She called him, but the line rang until the call dropped. Fighting back an onslaught of burning tears, she rolled over, stuffing her face under her pillow to absorb the sounds of her whimpers.

She worked an evening shift at the bookstore the next day. It was the last thing she wanted to do, but she decided that morning if Faust didn’t want to answer her, she wouldn’t press. If he couldn’t accept her apology and saw silence as an acceptable form of punishment, then she would return the favour.

However, by the time Faith made it halfway through her shift, her heart had grown twice as heavy, and she longed to hear Faust’s gravelly voice more than ever. She ducked away for a minute here and there to stifle her tears, returning to the floor with watery eyes and a sagging expression. Even her boss noticed her sunny disposition trampled upon by something she refused to disclose.

The only relief she found was when Bobby Esders strolled into the bookstore, surprised to see her working behind the counter, sorting discarded books to return to their proper shelves.

“Faith! I didn’t know you worked here,” Bobby said with a broad smile.

“Yeah, I started here in the Summer,” she replied, returning the grin.

“This is my favourite bookstore. I’m surprised we haven’t run into each other before.”

Faith forgot her melancholy for a time. With twenty minutes until close, she focused her time on helping him locate a copy of a novel he’d had no luck in tracking down. He purchased the book and offered to wait until Faith punched out to walk her to the bus stop. Her first impulse was to decline, but Bobby was too kind to allow her refusal, claiming he was going to the same stop, and he might as well accompany her there.

The last thing Faith expected to see was Faust parked outside of the mall’s entrance, leaning against the side door of his friend’s car, waiting. She flashed a concerned look at Bobby, who stared at the leather-clad man with a touch of disdain.

“Oh, that’s um... That’s my boyfriend,” Faith pointed out as Faust glared ahead.

“That’s your boyfriend? That mean, scary-looking dude with the hair?” Bobby scoffed.

By the time Bobby took another breath, Faust had launched forth with long strides, clearing the cobblestones in a second. His glare burned hotter as he approached them.

“Who are you?” Faust asked Bobby with an air of mocking disinterest.

“Uh—”

“This is my friend from church,” Faith stepped in. “His name’s Bobby.”

Faust narrowed his eyes on the man who was only an inch shorter than himself. “Your friend, huh?” He asked.

“Faust, don’t start. He was just walking me to the bus stop.”

Bobby took a step back, relinquishing the closeness with Faith he had enjoyed for the last half an hour. He’d heard stories of Faust and his buddies, as they had beaten up and antagonized his friends throughout high school. Anyone associated with the church was subject to the circle’s cruelty, and despite Bobby’s size, he was no exception.

“I don’t want to see you sniffing around my girl ever again, you got it, bible-beater?”

Faith frowned as Bobby cowered from Faust’s smouldering contempt. She pushed on his leathered arm and stepped between the two men, glaring up at Faust with her own scorn lighting her features.

“Stop it, Faust! He didn’t do anything. We were going to the same stop, anyway. Stop being such an asshole!”

Faust pushed his jaw forward, swiping his tongue over his teeth as she challenged him. He’d never seen Faith look so angry, and though she was laughably small in comparison, her scowl was enough to make him take a step back.

“Let’s go, Faith,” he muttered.

“No. I’m not going with you. I’m going home,” Faith refused.

“Fine, I’ll drive you,” he insisted.

“No! I’m taking the bus. You can’t return my messages or answer your phone when I call? Then I don’t need your help getting home.”

The city bus pulled around the corner, rumbling to a stop at the depot to pick up the people leaving the mall. Bobby watched, frowning, then looked back at Faith.

“Sorry, Faith. I have to go,” Bobby said.

Faust sneered. “Yeah, get lost. She’s fine.”

“I’m leaving too,” Faith said, turning, shouldering the strap on her purse before stepping away.

Before she crossed the road, Faust stepped in front of her. His expression softened when he noticed hers hadn’t. Faith was angrier than he thought. When he showed up to intercept her, Faust assumed she would drop everything and run into his arms, happy to see him despite the tension he’d allowed to rise. But her disgust was potent. She wasn’t about to be pushed over by his feeble attempt at soothing the situation.

“Don’t,” Faust punctured his firm stance as Bobby crossed without her. “Please.”

“Why would I go with you? You’re not even nice to me. I tried texting and calling you, but I guess you were too busy doing your own thing to care.”

“Yeah, ‘cause you pissed me off!” Faust hammered. “That whole ‘I don’t want my dad to see us together’ was a real dick thing to say.”

Before Faith launched another complaint, she closed her mouth and looked to the ground, then back up, glaring harder. “I said I was sorry. It’s not like you haven’t said awful things before. The only difference is you never apologize for them. I’m just expected to accept your unsolicited opinions about my life and my family.”

Faust offered no rebuttal. The couple stood staring at each other until Faust relented, scooping his hand into her hair to kiss her firmly. He hated that she was right, and he refused to admit it out loud, but the kiss acted as his justification.

It wasn’t good enough for Faith. She pushed him away.

“You can’t just act like a total asshole, then kiss me and expect it all to be okay.”

Faust rolled his eyes to the darkening sky. “What do you expect me to do?”

“Oh, I don’t know. An apology might be a good start.”

“Why would I apologize for you pissing me off?”

“Apologize for making a scene in front of my friend. Apologize for not answering me. Not accepting my apology when I had the maturity to realize I was wrong.”

“All right, well, I’m sorry. Happy? Now, let’s go.”

“No, Faust. I don’t think we should hang out tonight.”

Her refusal hit him hard. Faith always jumped at the chance to spend time together, so her steadfastness came as a shock. His shoulders slumped as he sighed.

“Please,” Faust said.

“Why? You seemed happy ignoring me yesterday.”

“I wasn’t happy. I was upset. What you said really fucked with me. Now, I’m over it, and I want you to spend the night.”

A flicker of sympathy sparked in Faith’s chest. She noticed his green eyes reflecting something she had never seen in him before: sadness. Faust reached out for her hand, and she stared at his outstretched palm, heart aching. Maybe what she said had hurt him more than she realized. She always figured Faust was above such emotions, that the only passion that lived inside of him was menacing anger that only came out when somebody threatened him or his territory. The regret tugging at his mouth proved her theory wrong.

She took his hand and he pulled her close. Streetlights illuminated as the parking lot emptied. Stars poked through the violet sky in clusters. They stood wrapped in each other’s arms for a minute before he held her out before him, staring into her eyes beseechingly.

“If you really don’t want to come over, I’ll take you back to your dorm.”

Faith shivered. When Faust noticed the goosebumps on her arms, he let her go and shrugged out of his jacket. Underneath, he wore a black t-shirt with a severed head spewing forth a waterfall of blood and entrails. The carnage spelled out the name of a band whose logo was utterly unintelligible. She smiled as he swung the heavy leather jacket around her so she could push her arms through the sleeves. The hem ended at her thighs, and only the tips of her middle fingers poked out from the armholes, but it was comfortable despite being several sizes too large for her body.

“Fine. I’ll come over. But I wanna have sex, and I don’t want you to hold back.”

“Faith—”

“Those are my terms. I don’t want you to treat me like a little flower. I want to fuck... hard.”

Faust snorted, biting his bottom lip as he rolled his eyes again. He placed his hand on the leather at her back, guiding her toward the car. “You might regret that request, you know.”

Faith smirked. “We’ll worry about that in the morning.”

#faust x faith #faust stuff #valter skarsgard fanfiction #Valter Skarsgard imagine

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chocoluckchipz · 4 years ago

Text

The Other You - 5

Read it on A03, FF.net, WattPad

< Previous

Marinette set her phone back on her desk, suppressing a long sigh.

Deep down, she knew it was unfair of her, but part of her was somewhat glad that Alya was worried about her whereabouts. For the past few days, she had been receiving a constant string of texts, first asking if she was okay, then wondering if she was safe. In the end, Alya began to beg her best friend to at least give her a sign, confirming that she was, at the very least, alive.

But Marinette couldn’t.

The wound was too fresh, the hurt still too vivid.

She didn’t want to go back to their apartment, a home where questions never ceased, where she couldn’t focus on her already withering career without being guilt-tripped. Marinette snuck in only once after leaving, at a time she knew neither Alya nor Nino would be home. And only because, as the Guardian, she couldn’t leave the Miracle Box at a place she no longer lived.

Her daily phone calls with her parents went by quickly, telling them she was staying with a friend, looking at different options and reevaluating her life. Aside from that, she ostensively ignored a thousand calls from Alya and a few hundred from Nino.

But no matter how much her friends were worried about her, no matter how her parents thought she was making all the wrong life choices, Marinette knew that pursuing her lifelong dream was worth it in the end. Reaching the goal would make it all worth it.

She had to pull through, had to continue even if it killed her in the end. She had to carry Gabriel Agreste’s work beyond the grave and prevent his up-to-no-good son from wrecking years of sacrifice, late hours of work, and lonely holidays. Gabriel’s first women’s line was almost ready to launch, and she had sworn to herself that everything would go smoothly even if there were a few sacrifices to be made along the way.

And now that the goal was so close, almost in her hands, she couldn’t imagine giving up on it. So, she ignored the stubbornly chiming little device on her desk and got back to work, trying yet again to figure out what her former boss had intended to do with a particular design.

A few hours later, she dropped her pen on her desk, holding her head in her hands. It was no use. The fire in her veins was drowned out; the inspiration was gone. No matter how hard she tried, she couldn’t envision what Gabriel had been trying to convey, what his intention with that final design had been.

She grabbed her sewing shears and started cutting through some fabric she had laying around, trying to empty her mind from the constant nagging, the constant wondering about whether or not her late boss had intended Design A to be flirty or Design B to be sassy. She lost herself in the cutting of the best quality cloth, her fingers running over the fibres with reverence as she lay them against the dress she was currently working on. Maybe seeing the samples on the dress itself would help her understand?

“Long time no see, Princess.”

Marinette almost jumped out of her skin upon hearing those words, her shears falling to the floor with a clatter. She spun around, ready to fend off the intruder with her very life should the need arise.

The sudden motion after what little food she had eaten in the last few days made her dizzy. The room wobbled around her, and her limbs felt unbearably heavy. A familiar face came into view, one that looked oddly out of place in her office, one that she only ever saw on random rooftops these days.

Despite being happy to see him, she opened her mouth to ask him to leave, to put her partner back into the ‘superhero life’ where he belonged, where he couldn’t witness firsthand the mess her life had become. But her lips refused to obey. Her legs gave out underneath her, and everything went black.

The next thing she was aware of was strong arms holding her upright in her office chair and something wet pressing against her lips. Marinette suppressed a surprised cough as cold water filled her mouth, bringing her back to her senses. Warm fingers covered in leather gently stroked her cheek as a familiar voice spoke to her.

“Marinette? Look at me. Are you okay?”

She choked out half mumbled words, her head still spinning. Her eyes managed to focus on a vivid patch of green—Chat Noir’s eyes.

“Ch… Cha… W—”

Marinette tried to get up, but he was quicker than her, forcibly holding her shoulders down. “Easy there, Tiger. That was a pretty bad fainting spell.”

She looked at him through her hazy vision, focusing on his soothing voice. “How… How long was I out?”

“About five minutes or so. Come on, I’m taking you home. You need a real meal and a few hours of sleep in a bed.”

She gave a disheartened laugh. “Good luck with that, Chat Noir. You can’t take me home.”

“Don’t be ridiculous,” the hero argued stubbornly. “You can’t weigh more than a few feathers; you’re barely skin and bones. When was the last time you had a proper meal?”

She didn’t answer, instead averting her gaze away from him. His proximity was beginning to mess with her head. Her entire being craved his comforting touch, the familiar safety of his arms. Chat Noir wasn’t done with her though, as he gently nudged her chin up, worry written all over his handsome face.

“You’ve lost an awful lot of weight, Marinette. Please, please tell me you’re not starving yourself to look like those unhealthy models placed all over Paris. You’re a very beautiful woman. You don’t need to go to such lengths to feel attractive.”

His tone was earnest, gentle, and any other day, Marinette would’ve thought Chat Noir’s concern was nothing short of adorable. That night, though, she was way beyond exhausted and had apparently just wasted a good amount of precious time she could’ve spent working.

With a frustrated groan, she eyed the mess on her desk. “Don’t worry about me, Chat Noir. I’m fine. I have a housing issue to solve, but right now I’m just running short on time. Those mockups have to leave first thing in the morning, and I can’t afford to miss the deadline.”

He looked almost shocked. “Are you saying you have nowhere to go?”

“I’m fine, Chat—”

“You are far from fine, Marinette. Where’s the bubbly and adorable teenager who shared her cookies with me on her balcony a few years back?”

“You don’t understand, Chat. I have to make this work. Failure is not an option.”

He grabbed her hand. “Why are you putting yourself through this insanity? I’ve seen what you’re capable of, Marinette. Any fashion empire in France would be happy to have you. This entire company is going down in flames, and everyone’s already abandoning the sinking ship. Why are you staying?”

“Because without Gabriel Agreste behind me, I’m no one in the industry,” she cried. “I don’t have anything worthy to put on my CV. How do you expect me to find a job like this?”

“But… You went to ESMOD, didn’t you?”

“I never graduated. Gabriel found me and offered me a paid apprenticeship instead of wasting my time on school benches. It seemed like the perfect solution back then. I would get an early start in the industry without racking up student debt,” she sighed, her head hanging low. “But now, without a degree to show for myself and with Gabriel gone…”

She trailed off, but Chat Noir seemed to understand what her entire problem was, because he breathed softly, “Your only chance to prove your worth in the industry is to make sure his last collection is a hit and gives you the recognition you deserve.”

“In a nutshell, yes.” Marinette looked to the side, tensing. “And as if that wasn’t enough, his nut-job of a son is back in my life.”

“Not a fan of the younger Agreste, I take it?”

Marinette snorted inelegantly, shaking her head dejectedly. “That’s the understatement of the year.”

Chat Noir flinched, but now that the gates were open, Marinette couldn’t for the life of her figure out how to close them. He was still kneeling in front of her, looking at her with those big, kind eyes that always made her weak in the knees, and for a fleeting moment, she forgot about everything else.

Like she had done countless times before, she raised her hand to cup his cheek tenderly, losing herself in his intense gaze. She didn’t hear Chat Noir’s surprised hiccup, nor did she realize it was the very first time her bare fingers were touching his skin.

“You know what the worst part in all this is, Chat?” she said, unaware of the sharp intake of breath from the man before her because she shouldn’t be that comfortable, that familiar with him. “I used to be friends with Adrien. I would’ve done anything for him, would’ve gone to the moon and back just to put a smile on his face. But he betrayed me the first chance he got, tried to sabotage my dream for no good reason. He…”

Her voice broke, and she choked back a sob, tears rolling unbidden down her cheeks. Chat Noir surged forward, wrapping his arms around her in a warm embrace to try and appease the pain she failed to contain. What he didn’t account for, though, was Marinette’s current state of mind. She needed her partner more than anything at that moment. Her entire being was yearning painfully for his comforting touch as a wave of affection for him washed over her heart.

Without thinking, the absence of the red spandex suit long forgotten, Marinette tilted her head, her eyes fluttering closed. Her lips found his easily in the semi-darkness of the room, and she found solace in the familiar scent of his cologne, the comforting feeling of his muscular arms holding her close to his broad chest. His lips were a little chapped, and he tasted of coffee and the salt of her tears, and Marinette had never felt more at home than in that moment.

For a brief and blissful moment, his lips moved in harmony with hers, making her heart soar high. Then, Chat's entire body went rigid beneath her hands and just as fast as it had begun, it was over. His hands wrapped around her wrists and pried her hands from him as he jerked back with a startled gasp, staring at her with a shocked expression. His lips moved a few times without any sound coming out of them, before he managed to hoarsely choke out, “Ah—shit. I’m sorry, Marinette. I shouldn’t have—”

Hearing her own name roll from his lips in such an unfamiliar way brought her back to her senses, and the weight of what she had just done crashed on her all at once. Her heart felt like it was bursting at the seams, unable to contain the contradictory emotions fighting within it. “I’m sorry,” she sighed, her cheeks still wet from her earlier tears. “You love her, don’t you? Ladybug?”

Oddly enough, when Chat Noir nodded with a fiery blush spread on his cheeks, Marinette felt her heart torn to pieces in her chest.

“I have to go, but I really want to help you here, okay? I owe you for all those cookies on your balcony years ago. I’ll… ah… I’ll figure out something and come back as soon as I can, okay? I’m sorry—try to grab a bite to eat while you wait for me. You’re as white as a ghost.”

“Chat…” Her voice was barely above a whisper, and he took a step back, his hand clenched tightly around his staff. Had he seen her expression change? Was he suddenly unable to bear the sight of her? Before she could say anything, he was gone without another word, an open window being the only proof that he had ever been there.

Breathless, her heart pounding almost painfully in her chest, Marinette plopped back into her chair, unaware of the tears running freely down her face. In the oppressive silence of her office, she whispered to herself, “Shit… I broke my kitty, didn’t I?” before letting out a loud sob.

The only thread tethering her to sanity was now threatening to break.

Next >

#miraculous ladybug #marichat #ML #adrienette #the other you #enemies to friends to lovers #angst with a happy end #myart #my art

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aion-rsa · 3 years ago

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Django Unchained, Halloween III and Clerks II Are Streaming Free on Plex This Month

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This story is presented by Plex

Streaming is getting expensive. What started as the cheap alternative to let you watch all of your favorite content and cut the cord on your cable subscription has ballooned into an arms race where one must shell out cash to several different providers just to watch their favorite movies or shows. Thankfully, Plex TV is here to entertain you and provide some relief to your wallet.

Plex is a globally available one-stop-shop streaming media service offering thousands of free movies and TV shows and hundreds of free-to-stream live TV channels, from the biggest names in entertainment, including Metro Goldwyn Mayer (MGM), Warner Bros. Domestic Television Distribution, Lionsgate, Legendary, AMC, A+E, Crackle, and Reuters. Plex is the only streaming service that lets users manage their personal media alongside a continuously growing library of free third-party entertainment spanning all genres, interests, and mediums including podcasts, music, and more. With a highly customizable interface and smart recommendations based on the media you enjoy, Plex brings its users the best media experience on the planet from any device, anywhere.

Plex releases brand new and beloved titles to its platform monthly and we’ll be here to help you identify the cream of the crop. View Plex TV now for the best free entertainment streaming and check back each month for Den of Geek Critics’ picks!

DEN OF GEEK CRITICS PICKS

Django Unchained

The second of Quentin Tarantino’s revisionist history lessons, Django Unchained is a provocative, post-modern Western film that mixes the widescreen sensibilities of Sergio Leone with Tarantino’s own gonzo impulses to create something hyper-violent, subversively funny, and more than a bit uncomfortable. Jamie Foxx stars as a slave freed by a German bounty hunter played by Christoph Waltz. Waltz won an Oscar for his performance as the kind German that takes in the stoic but savvy Django as his partner. Together, they travel the pre-Civil War South, killing slavers and savage men. Eventually, they embark on a more personal mission, as Django intends to free his beloved wife from a sadistic plantation owner played by a scenery-chewing Leonardo DiCaprio. With anachronistic needle-drops, hands-over-eyes horrors, and more blood than a donation bank, Django Unchained is an epic, entertaining revenge fantasy for the ages.

Silver Linings Playbook

From director David O. Russell, Silver Linings Playbook is a screwball romantic comedy for the modern age. Despite inviting, yet livewire lead performances from Jennifer Lawerence and Bradley Cooper, Silver Linings Playbook really shines as an ensemble: Robert DeNiro, Jackie Weaver, Chris Tucker and Anupam Kher bring fully-realized characters to life in just a handful of scenes. Based on Matthew Quick’s novel of the same name, Silver Linings Playbook finds Bradley Cooper as a man who has been released from a psychiatric hospital a bit too soon. He’s frantically trying to prove that he’s bettered himself in an effort to win back his wife, but when he meets the equally unstable and filterless character played by Jennifer Lawerence, unusual sparks fly. Combining the familiar tropes of a sports film with unorthodox romantic leads, Silver Linings Playbook is a crowd-pleasing watch that creates harmony out of dysfunction.

Anthony Bourdain: No Reservations

It never mattered where Anthony Bourdain was going, we just wanted to be along for the ride. We lost the soulful, iconoclastic bad-boy of the culinary world far too soon, but he left behind a treasure trove of rewarding travelogues that tackled culture, social dynamics, and most importantly, food. Whether he was weighing in on a world-famous culinary hotspot or peeling back the curtain on a hole-in-wall gem, Anthony Bourdain: No Reservations was always thoughtful, fearless, and never less than authentic. It’s the rare show that is as educational as it is entertaining, hosted by a candid host who knew how to travel, knew where to eat, but most crucially, knew how to connect with people. Reality TV doesn’t get realer than this.

Halloween III: Season of the Witch

Following the mind-boggling success of the original Halloween, director John Carpenter had a clever idea. Instead of churning out sequels starring Michael Meyers, Halloween would become an anthology series, with each new film telling a spooky tale centered on the October holiday. The concept was inevitably scrapped, but Halloween III: Season of the Witch suggests that maybe Carpenter and co. should have stuck to their guns. Taking inspiration from Invasion of the Body Snatchers and working off a concept that Carpenter described as “witchcraft meets the computer age,” Halloween III: Season of the Witch finds a doctor and the daughter of a toy maker trying to uncover the horrifying truth behind the town of Santa Mara, home to Silver Shamrock, the world’s largest manufacturer of Halloween masks. Intelligent, surprising, and disturbing, Halloween III: Season of the Witch is due for a critical reevaluation that heralds it as one of the most ambitious horror movies of the ‘80s

Clerks II

With the recent announcement that Clerks III has started production, it’s the perfect time to revisit Kevin Smith’s first-sequel to his independent film phenomenon, Clerks. Clerks II picks up with our titular clerks Dante and Randall 10 years after the events of the first film. The Quick Stop has gone up in flames and been replaced with a Mooby’s fast food restaurant. Dante and Randall toil the day away with their sheltered co-worker Elias and too-cool for minimum wage manager Becky. While the film tackles adult male friendships and middle age complacency, it’s main appeal is still sitting around, shooting the shit with your pals and listening to their expletive-filled rants about Star Wars, Lord of the Rings, or whatever pop culture fascination that they’re hung up on. Come for the surprisingly poignant story about Dante deciding to leave his friend behind, stay for Jay, Silent Bob, and a donkey.

New on Plex in August – Full List of Titles

Army of One

Dark Tide

Deadfall

Django Unchained

Escape from Alcatraz

Feast

Ismael’s Ghost

Kickboxer

Lucky Number Sleven

The Naked Gun 2-1/2: The Smell of Fear

The Naked Gun 33-1/3: The Final Insult

The Naked Gun: From the Files of Police Squad!

Pulse

Redemption

Seabiscuit

Silver Linings Playbook

Skyfire

Wind River

Still streaming on Plex:

2:22

The 100 Year-Old Man Who Climbed Out the Window and Disappeared

22 Bullets

24 Hours to Live

3rd Rock from the Sun

6 Bullets

99 Homes

A Little Bit of Heaven

A Walk in the Woods

Aeon Flux

After.Life

Afternoon Delight

The Air I Breathe

Alan Partridge

ALF

Alone in the Dark

Amelie

Answer Man

Anthony Bourdain: No Reservations

Arthur and the Invisibles

Battle Royale

Bel Canto

Bernie

Better Watch Out

Black Books

Black Christmas

Black Death

Black Sheep (2006)

Blitz

Blood and Bone

Bobby

Bronson

The Brothers Bloom

The Burning Plain

Cagefighter

Cake

Candy

Cashback

Catch .44

Cell

Chain of Command

Child 44

The Choice

Clerks II

Coherence

The Collector

Congo

Cooties

Cops and Robbers

The Core

The Cotton Club

Critical Condition

Crossing Lines

Croupier

Cube

Cube 2

Cube Zero

Deadfall

The Death and Life of Bobby Z

Death and the Maiden

Death Proof

The Deep Blue Sea

Deep Red

Derailed

The Descent Part 2

Detachment

The Devils’ Rejects

Diary of the Dead

Distorted

District B13

DOA: Dead or Alive

Dragged Across Concrete

Eden Lake

Edison

Europa Resort

Falcon Rising

The Fall

Fido

The Fighting Temptations

Filth

Find Me Guilty

Fire in the Sky

Fire with Fire

Flirting with Disaster

Flowers of War

Flyboys

Force Majeure

Formula 51

Four Lions

Frailty

Frank

Freeway

The Frozen Ground

Getting to Know You

Ghost in the Shell

The Ghost Writer

Ginger Snaps

The Girl Who Kicked the Hornet’s Nest

The Girl Who Played with Fire

The Girl with the Dragon Tattoo

God Bless America

Goon

Goya’s Ghosts

Grand Isle

Grave Encounters

A Guide To Recognizing Your Saints

Halloween II

Halloween III: Season of the Witch

Hannibal Rising

Happythankyoumoreplease

Hard Candy

Hell’s Kitchen

Hester

High Rise

Highlander

Hobo with a Shotgun

The Homesman

The Horseman

The Host

House of 1000 Corpses

House of the Rising Sun

How I Live Now

The Humanity Bureau

The Hunter

I Give it a Year

I Saw the Devil

I See You

I Spit on Your Grave

Ida

If Only

The Illusionist

In Hell

In the Blood

In Too Deep

The Infiltrator

Interstate 60: Episodes of the Road

Invasion of the Body Snatchers

It’s a Boy Girl Thing

Jeff, Who Lives at Home

Jo Nesbo’s Headhunters

Joe

John Dies at the End

The Joneses

Juliet, Naked

Just Getting Started

Kevin Hart: Cold as Balls

King of New York

Kinky Boots

The Kite Runner

Knight of Cups

The Last Days on Mars

The Lazarus Project

Leaves of Grass

The Legend of Hercules

Lethal Eviction

The Limey

Lionheart

A Little Bit of Heaven

A Long Way Down

Love Story

Maggie

The Maiden Heist

A Man Called Ove

The Man from Earth

The Man from Nowhere

The Man Who Killed Don Quixote

The Matador

Mesrine Killer: Instinct

The Messenger

Middle Men

Midsomer Murders

Misconduct

Miss Potter

Monster

Monsters

Mother

Mr. Church

Murdoch Mysteries

National Lampoon’s Van Wilder

Never Back Down: No Surrender

Noah

The Oxford Murders

The Paperboy

Paycheck

Personal Effects

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lexiepiper · 5 years ago

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Flicker

Hi @mobster-wife, here’s your Truce gift! You asked for Danny’s powers showing in subtle, creepy ways, and also for Ghost King Danny, so I took a bit of liberty with the content. I hope you like it! Happy holidays!!!

---

“Hey, Mum?”

“Hm?”

“Can we talk upstairs?”

Maddie carefully put the lid back onto her petri dish and drew the fume cover fully into place. “What is it, Sweetie?” she asked, only pulling back her hood and goggles after peeling off her gloves. Danny was already halfway back to the stairs, but he paused as she faced him. “Daniel Fenton, how many times have I told you to at least wear a lab coat and gloves down here if you won’t bother with your suit?” She pulled on a new set of gloves as she spoke, snapping the plastic against her forearms in an effort to make her point.

He shrugged halfheartedly. “Sorry.” She tossed him some gloves but he twisted them in his hands instead of putting them on. His eyes reflected the portal’s muted green light. “Um… I know you’re busy and everything, but I was wondering, um… if we could have dinner as a family tonight.”

The shadows on his face drew lines from the corners of eyes and mouth, and he drooped like a dying plant.

“Oh, Sweetie,” she sighed, and stepped away from her samples. She needed to finish studying them tonight, before the ectoplasm withered into nothing. She didn’t know why it faded away like that, but without a core, and without the Ghost Zone sustaining it, it could only last a short while… But Danny looked so lonely standing in the middle of the lab, twisting the gloves in his grasp and looking down at his shoes when she didn’t answer right away.

His clear disappointment won her over. “I think we could all benefit from that.”

His gaze shot back up, and his smile was relief that loosened the lines in his brow. “Thanks,” he said, and tossed the gloves in the bin. “I was thinking maybe we could get pizza, or that really good Thai stuff that we had for your birthday, or otherwise we could have Indian?”

“We can have whatever you want.” She shooed him towards the stairs and he began to climb them with heavy steps. They were slow and solid, and as she followed, she kept waiting for him to miss one. He knew he was being watched, and he was always so careful around other people, but whenever she discovered him walking down the hallway, or in the kitchen late at night, his footsteps didn’t make a sound until he knew she was there. She’d previously written it off as general lightness of feet, but now, she needed to reevaluate.

Jack and Jazz were waiting for them in the kitchen, menus strewn across the table as they argued about what to order. Maddie was suddenly grateful that she’d agreed to join them. There was a gauntness to their expressions that weighed against her, and she took a seat as Danny decided on Thai. Once their orders were put through that new Uber app on his phone, they all sat around the table, and she wondered why this felt more like a meeting than a family evening.

Danny folded his arms across the table, accidentally brushing against her skin. He pulled back with a hiss, and Maddie tried to keep her face blank at the frigidity of his touch. He was still as cold as yesterday, when she’d held him close and his blood had soaked through the knees of her thin Halloween costume.

It had been a terrible ghost attack. He should have died in her arms… but he’d breathed, and blinked, and then everything fell away. She’d woken up that morning and walked downstairs and he’d been cleaning up from breakfast. No blood. No death. The sight had convinced her that it had all been a terrible nightmare.

Jazz cleared her throat. “So, um, what’s the occasion?”

Dany shrugged. Even away from the portal, his eyes held that soft emerald sheen. “We don’t spend time together much anymore, mostly because I’m never around,” he confessed. “I realised that I’m so… so lucky to have you guys, and I… I just wanted to…” He sniffed, and wiped at a tear that shone brighter than it should have in the dull kitchen light. “I wanted to say that I love you guys,” he choked.

“Oh, Sweetie,” Maddie sighed, and looped an arm around his shoulders. He was freezing, even through his shirt, and out of the corner of her eye his body seemed almost translucent. She wouldn’t say anything yet, though. Not until he brought it up. She didn’t want it to be real. “We love you too.”

Pressed against her side, he was still. She breathed, but he… didn’t.

Maddie felt like she’d been punched in the chest. She squeezed her arm around her son, closing her eyes for a moment and trying to think of how to approach the topic. “Danny, last night…”

He leaned against her. “I know.” That simple admittance smashed her thoughts to shreds, but she held tighter to him, as though the simple hug would keep him with her.

“Sweetie,” she whispered, and blinked as burning tears slid down her cheeks, “tell me what happened.”

He shrugged against her, and Maddie’s blurry vision cleared enough to see the confusion on Jack’s face. Jazz was different though — she was already crying, and blotted at tears with the sleeve of her jumper.

“It’s a long story,” Danny said, and his voice was a whisper that crackled like wind in a blizzard. “I know you’ve probably noticed things in the past, but I’ve been… something else, for a few years now, and I defeated the ghost king a while back, and I didn’t know how things worked with right of conquest or whatever, but now… they came for me last night. I convinced them to give me one more day, but… I guess I wasted it. I got you guys home, and spent all night writing everything down, and today I said my goodbyes.” His voice cracked, and he scrubbed a hand over his face. “They’ll be here in a minute. I’m sorry.”

She pulled back and grabbed him by the shoulders, ignoring how her fingers sunk halfway into his skin before hitting a solid layer. “Who’s coming? Danny, what did they do to you?”

His eyes shone like bright green stars, flickering as glowing tears poured free. “I’m sorry,” he whispered again, tightly, like he was fighting back sobs.

“No spook’ll take my son!” Jack roared, ripping a blaster from its holster and waving it through the air.

Jazz stood up, and moved to stand at Danny’s other side. “We’ll come find you,” she promised, and carded her fingers through his hair. The black was filtering away, fading into a soft silver that slowly bleached to blinding white.

Danny shook his head, and Jack’s gun clattered to the floor. “Danno? You’re… You look like…”

He smiled then, through his tears, and Maddie wondered how she hadn’t seen it before. “Yep,” he said, “I’m Phantom. Full confession’s in a letter on my desk.” The smile dropped away again, and he gave a shuddering sigh. “I really… r-really love you guys.”

He was fading more now, and shadows rose from the floorboards, like wisps of green steam. Maddie couldn’t make out much beyond high-collared cloaks and huge eyeballs, but her touch suddenly sank right through her transparent son.

He gave another sad, tear-stained smile. “Don’t worry about me. I’ll be fine.” A crown of green fire wrapped around his brow. “I love you guys.”

His sister lurched forward with a cry, but Maddie blinked and he was gone. Jazz crumpled to the floor, her shoulders tremoring as she sobbed into her hands.

Maddie stared at the spot where he’d disappeared. She wanted to tell herself that it was all a trick, that this had been some crazy post-Halloween joke…

Her heart knew the truth though. She sank back into her chair, laid her head on her arms, and wept.

#mobster-wife #danny phantom #holiday truce 2019 #lexiepiper

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aquietwritingcorner · 4 years ago

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Embers in a Wounded Heart

Author: RealityBreakGirl/aquietlearningcorner/scentedbygunpowder Word Count: 13,706 Prompt: FMA Big Bang 2020 Fandom: Fullmetal Alchemist (Manga, Brotherhood) Characters: Riza Hawkeye, Roy Mustang, Jean Havoc Pairing: Royai Genre: Hurt/Comfort, Angst, Family Chapter: Part I of 5 Summary: Post-PD. A drive to look for more of Berthold Hawkeye’s research sends Roy Mustang, Riza Hawkeye, and Jean Havoc back to Hawkeye’s childhood home. But although the years have faded the wounds of Hawkeye’s heart, the embers still exist. This trip, ordered by Mustang, threatens to flame them back to life. With Hawkeye and Mustang at odds with each other, and an unknown but heavy history hanging overhead, Havoc isn’t sure what this research mission will mean to the future of his commanding officers.

Prologue || Part I || Part II || Part III || Epilogue AO3 || ff.net

______________________________________________________________

Part I

Jean Havoc was definitely not procrastinating on his work. No matter what anyone in the room thought, that definitely wasn’t what he was doing. No, he was just reevaluating his approach to said work, and you couldn’t do that and work on the work at the same time, right? Or, at least, that was the excuse he was going with. It probably wouldn’t hold up for Hawkeye, but he was willing to try it. Although, trying for an excuse with Hawkeye might not be the best idea right now. Something had been up with Hawkeye and Mustang lately. Havoc leaned back in his chair and chewed thoughtfully on his pencil. He wasn’t sure exactly what it was, but he could tell that something was definitely up. It was “in the air” as his Ma would say.

If there was one thing that Havoc knew well, it was people. Sure, his his academic skills weren’t that good, and he didn’t consider himself smart, but ever since he was a young boy he had been people watching. It had started in his family’s store, when his Ma would take him with her when she needed to tend to a customer. It had continued when his Pa had considered him old enough to work. It had served him well, giving him all sorts of people to watch and interact with, and Havoc had taken to it like a duck to water. He knew people, and he knew the people closest to him the best.

(Of course, that had taken a bit of a blow with the whole Solaris/Lust event and its aftermath. But he was a bit mollified in the knowledge that she had literally been created to fool men—and was likely a psychopath too.)

Havoc counted his team amongst the people that he knew best. Sure, his family was up there first, simply because when you grew up with someone, you knew them. But his team was also very important to him, and he spent time learning them too. When he regained the use of his legs and rejoined the team, there had been a little bit of a learning curve, as some things had changed. He expected it, after their experiences. They had been through a lot, and that changed a person. Even with that, though, the basics of how his team worked were still the same.

It was why he knew that something was up.

Mustang had been on edge all week, ever since that briefing about some of the rogue terror groups that were popping up. He was contemplating something big, Havoc guessed, but also strangely enough, something personal. Roy had spent a lot of time in his inner office, staying there most of the day. He did that more when he was thinking about something important or big. His lackadaisical attitude had fallen away, too. There were actually piles of paperwork coming out of his office not just going in. When he was out of his inner office, his brow had been furrowed more often than not, and his hands had been in his pockets, almost as if reassuring himself that his gloves were there. His eyes had almost always stayed near to Hawkeye, too. Those were all telling signs that whatever he was thinking about, it was weighing heavily on him, and that it was personal.

Even though it was personal, Hawkeye didn’t seem to know what it was about. The looks she kept giving Mustang, the way she hovered a bit, the stiffness in her when he didn’t respond to her efforts, it was obvious, at least to Havoc, that she had no idea what was going on in Mustang’s mind. That was unusual, as she generally knew everything that Mustang was contemplating. That meant that Havoc’s usual approach of “take care the of the menial things and let Hawkeye take care of Mustang” was a little bit askew this time around.

This morning had promised to start off with little difference. Hawkeye had all of the curtains open and all of the lights on, something she did occasionally now. There had been three cups of coffee sitting on Fuery’s desk, the younger man already hunched over a radio. Falman’s brow had been creased as he stared at that small carved bear that sat on his desk while he drank his coffee, quieter than normal. Breda had seemed normal enough, at least, but he hadn’t eaten much of his sandwich. The two of them had exchanged looks, knowing that their teammates were not at their best today. But at least everyone had settled down to get through their morning work.

That is, until Mustang had waltzed in more confidently than he had in days, glanced at Hawkeye, and then had gone straight to his office. It hadn’t been a half-hour later that he had called Hawkeye in. She had gone, somehow seeming hurried even with her measured steps.

That’s where Havoc’s eyes rested now, staring at that door. He wondered what was going on behind it. Certainly, Mustang and Hawkeye had been growing even closer since the Promised Day, but there was something about the way that Mustang had been looking at Hawkeye this past week. It was something that wasn’t going to be solved by one of those frustratingly silent conversations they had with just their eyes, he was sure. But what was going on? And why didn’t Hawkeye know what Mustang had been thinking about?

“Hey—are you going to do your work, or are you just gonna keep staring at that door like you’re waiting for Miss Amestris to come out of it?” Breda’s voice broke through Havoc’s watch, and honestly, he had no idea how long he had been staring at that inner office’s door.

Still, that didn’t mean that Havoc was going to take the comment laying down, and he pulled a face at Breda. “Ah, come on man. Let a guy take a break! Besides,” his hands had been rubbing at his legs, he just now realized, “I need the break. My legs are aching a bit.”

The red head frowned a bit, his eyes going down to where Havoc’s hands were rubbing his thighs, and Havoc gave him a lopsided smile, trying to get him not to worry. The stone may have healed the nerve connection, but that wasn’t all that went into getting his legs restored, after all. Physical therapy had been hard and long work, and he still didn’t have all of his muscle mass back. Havoc was suspicious, too, that even with the philosopher’s stone, things couldn’t be completely restored. He had no proof, of course, but the aches in his legs weren’t just from physical therapy, that much he knew.

Breda eyed him for a moment longer, then turned away to go back to his work. “Yeah, yeah, just don’t take too long. The Hawk won’t let you get away with that excuse too much.”

Havoc grinned and waved him off. That was Breda’s way of expressing his concern for him and he knew it. It appeared that neither Falman or Fuery cared to get in on this conversation, and so Havoc went back to looking at the door while his hands rubbed at his legs.

“Whaddya think is going on in there?” Havoc asked, looking back at the door again.

“Something that’s none of our business,” Breda said with a grunt. Havoc glanced at him.

“What, you’re not the least bit curious?” Havoc pressed to the room at large. “Fuery, you’ve got your ear to the ground. Have you heard anything?”

“Nothing,” was the man’s one-word reply, and if Havoc hadn’t seen the bags under his eyes and the multiple cups of coffee on his desk, he would have thought the younger man was just lost in his work. Maybe he could get the conversation going and shake him out of his thoughts a bit.

“Nothing?” he said. “Tsk, and here I thought you had the inside scoop, Fuery.” Fuery just grunted, and Havoc backed off for the moment. “What about you, Falman? Any ideas?”

Falman glanced up from that carved bear, and tilted his head back a bit, thinking. “There have been some troop movements lately towards the northeastern part of Amestris. With the ongoing reconstruction of Ishval and the Xingese rail line, it could be that the General is anticipating something coming.”

Havoc could see both Breda and Fuery tense a bit at that, Fuery’s hands tightening for a moment, and Breda unconsciously touching his elbow. Havoc shut that line of thinking down as quickly as he could, before the memories of the front could get a good grip on either of his teammates.

“Nah, that’s not it. Have you seen the way he’s been looking at Hawkeye? There’s something personal—"

The door opened suddenly, precisely swinging on its hinges, and then closed nearly as fast and with just as much precision, startling Havoc out of what he was going to say. It wasn’t just him, he noted, but everyone, although the other three quickly went back to looking at their work, clearly not wanting to be caught. Havoc didn’t bother, either because he had no sense of self-preservation, or because he was far too curious for his own good, and just watched Hawkeye.

She was doing things that no one but her could do. No one could accuse her of slamming the door, but somehow that emotion came across as she shut it behind her. Havoc was always amazed at how Hawkeye could be so absolutely in control, and yet still managed to come across as insubordinate or absolutely clear on how she was feeling. He had yet to figure out how she managed to do that, and at this point, he doubted that he’d ever know.

It was a mystery, although one he didn’t have time for as Hawkeye walked in precise steps across the room to their desks. She didn’t spare any of them a glance as she got to her desk. She just reached for the telephone that was currently taking up space on her desk, opened up a drawer to pull out a pad of paper and a pencil, and sat them down precisely while she dialed a number. Every movement she made was precise and tightly controlled, almost more than Havoc had ever seen before. She didn’t sit down, still stiff and straight, but instead stayed standing. Nothing of her was relaxed in the slightest. It was clear, at least to Havoc, that whatever Mustang had said to her in there, it had made her unbearably angry.

None of the others were daring to pay direct attention, and he frowned, realizing that he was about to take his life in his hands with this question but did it anyway. “Everything okay there, Hawkeye?” he asked her, trying to keep his tone mild.

She paused in her controlled movements long enough to spare him a sharp glance. “Pack a bag,” she told him, her tone clipped and her speech not wasting any words. “Make it for a week. You, the general, and I are taking a trip.”

He looked at her in surprise and sat up straighter in his chair. The pencil he had between his teeth fell and his hands stilled their massaging of his legs. “We’re what?” he asked, blinking rapidly, trying to think of anything that might have crossed their desks that would warrant the three of them going somewhere and would anger Hawkeye this much. His mind came up blank. “Where? Why?”

She ignored his question, focusing again on dialing the phone and Havoc realized he wasn’t going to get any answers from her until after she had finished her call and fell silent, listening instead. As she talked to the person on the other end of the line, Havoc took it in, hoping for answers.

“Yes. I need three tickets to Awrout,” Her tone was polite, but clipped. “As soon as possible. Yes, that will be fine. Put them under the name Captain Riza Hawkeye. Yes. A General Mustang or Lieutenant Havoc could pick them up as well. Yes. Thank you.” She hung up before the person on the other line could finish saying “you’re welcome.”

That conversation didn’t help Havoc too much. It answered some basic questions of where they were going and when, but it didn’t clear up the why question at all. Actually, he was pretty sure that even if he had heard the other end of the phone call, he still wouldn’t know. None of his questions had really been answered, and from the way she was standing, Hawkeye wasn’t in a sharing mood. He’d have to bite the bullet and ask her himself. “Hey—Hawkeye. What’s in Awrout? I’ve never even heard of it.”

“It’s a small town between Central and East City,” Falman supplied out of nowhere, apparently focusing back on the world around him with this unexpected twist to their day. “It’s known for very little. The area around it tends to be mostly farming country, so it stocks a wide variety of crops. It was founded in—”

“Yes, thank you, that’s enough,” Hawkeye cut him off and Havoc eyed her. She wasn’t looking at any of them, still, obviously, tightly controlled. She was straightening up her desk, even though there was nothing to really straighten on it. It was clearly more of an energy wasting habit if anything. “We leave tomorrow morning at 8am sharp. Do not be late to the station.”

“Yes, sir,” he said, still looking at her in a bit of confusion. She still hadn’t answered his questions, and it didn’t appear that she was going to. He watched as she made her way back to the general’s door, as stiff as she had been when she came out of it originally, practically textbook in her movements. He hesitated for a moment, and then decided to try one more time. “Sir? What are we going to Awrout for?”

She was at the door to the general’s inner office, but she paused, her posture very stiff and straight. She didn’t look back at him, but somehow something about her seemed even stiffer than before. For a moment, he thought that she either wasn’t going to answer him, or she was about to explode. He could feel the rest of the men tensing up behind him, as if readying themselves to run.

“The general wants to do some research.”

The words were very clipped, and delivered in a very even tone, which told Havoc a lot about her state of mind right now and how she felt about that research. She opened the door in that precise way again and let it close behind her, again, not slamming, but very much letting all of them know that this conversation was closed. Whatever this research was, she did not approve of it and she was very upset about it—that was blatantly clear.

The rest of the team had decided to stop pretending that they were doing their work, and instead stare at the door as well. It was clear to Havoc that they were each a bit concerned about this in their own way.

“Looks like that’s gonna be a fun trip,” Breda finally said, staring at the door, just like the rest of them.

“I wonder what kind of research the general could be looking for there,” Fuery said, caution and curiosity both in his tone, although he didn’t stare at the door for long, quickly going back to his radios.

“If they didn’t tell us, it’s probably none of our business.” Falman said, being the first to return to his actual work. Havoc noted that his shoulders hunched a little, as if he was trying to physically keep his head down and out of this matter.

“Well, whatever it is,” Havoc said, bending down to get the pencil he had dropped from his mouth earlier, “let’s just hope I don’t get dragged into anything big,” He stood up, taking his eyes from the door. Whatever was going on, he’d find out later, it seemed. “I’m gonna go take a smoke break.” He stood and stretched, the movement feeling good to his legs, and then reached down to pet Hayate.

“Those things’ll kill you,” Breda warned him, watching him carefully.

“What? The cigarettes or the dog?” Havoc quipped with a grin.

“Both.” Breda replied, just as flatly.

Havoc laughed, reaching in his drawer for his pack of cigarettes. “Yeah, well, I’ll take my chances. I need to move some. I’ll be outside.”

He waved jauntily to them all over his shoulder as he opened the doors to the office and headed down the hallway. He had quite a bit to think about as he walked, mindlessly preparing his cigarette as he did. Whatever Mustang and Hawkeye were planning, it was obviously something that they both knew about, but that he didn’t. Which, honestly, with the two of them, covered a lot of ground.

They had history together. Havoc didn’t quite know all of what it was, but he had no doubt that whatever this was, it tied into that history. It weighed heavily on Mustang, and it upset Hawkeye to a degree he had never seen. It was something more than professional but something that was also personal. He was sure that he was being brought along simply as another pair of eyes and he had to wonder just what they would need that for. Unless this research was hidden or forbidden, then he saw no need for him to go along. Unless they needed him because it was personal. He could be there simply as a balance, to ensure that they didn’t get lost in whatever this was. Like how when he was a child and his brothers and sisters were in a fuss, they wouldn’t fuss nearly as much in front of a guest. Maybe he was taking the role of “guest” for them in this, to keep them from going too far.

Havoc was outside fairly quickly and found himself a nice little spot to take his smoke break. He leaned on a wall and lit up his cigarette, looking up at the sky. As he did so, he couldn’t help but wonder what the next day was going to be like. Would Mustang still be weighed down? Would Hawkeye still be intensely upset?

Was he going to be caught in the middle?

He really, really, really hoped not.

Havoc blew out a stream of smoke and watched it dissipate into the sky. He supposed he’d just have to wait until tomorrow to find out.

Chapter 2

If there was one thing that Havoc knew in this world, it was not to tick off an already upset Hawkeye. Her mood had not improved as she spent the rest of the day readying the office for the coming week. Mustang had come out of his office after the conversation the two of them had and, although there was a sort of regret in his eyes when he looked at Hawkeye, he had remained resolute in his decision. Havoc had considered asking more about the nature of the trip, but one look at his commanding officers had him deciding it was better to keep his mouth shut. It had seemed to be the order of the day, and everyone had cleared out as soon as the workday was over, Hawkeye included. She had been out the door as soon as the clock hit quitting time, not even waiting on Mustang. That did not bode well for the trip, and, from the looks of sympathy the rest of the team gave him (and a peppy “Good luck, sir!” from Fuery that Havoc did not need to remind him of how awkward this could be) the rest of the team knew it too.

Rocking the boat did not seem like a good idea to Havoc. The best way to avoid that, he figured, was to be on time and on top of his duties. So, in the morning, he had made sure he had plenty of time to get packed and be on his way. A decent breakfast—well for a bachelor—and a quick packing job later, and he was on his way. The Hawk hadn’t said anything about what type of clothes to wear or pack, so he slid his uniform on and slung his rucksack over his shoulder, heading out the door towards the train station. It sounded like they were heading towards farm country, so something sturdy like his uniform was probably best anyway.

He made good time and arrived at the station at seven-thirty. It was thirty minutes early, but Havoc knew it was always best to be early when trains were leaving. Besides, he was sure that Hawkeye would appreciate it. He honestly half hoped to see Mustang and Hawkeye standing together, looking tired, but alert. If they were tired and together then it meant that they had probably talked throughout the night and worked things out. It had happened before. Hawkeye wasn’t usually so upset, but Havoc held out hope for a positive solution anyway.

Not many people were at the station this early, so it didn’t take him long to find his two superior officers. They were standing together, but they did not look as if they had patched things up. Havoc wasn’t sure, but it looked as if they may have gotten worse.

Mustang was standing there in his uniform sleepily yawning. An expensive looking suitcase at his feet, clearly full. Mentally, Havoc rolled his eyes. Mustang was a little too attached to some of his high society things, in his opinion. They were nice, but there was a time and place, and Havoc got the feeling this wasn’t it.

Beside him Hawkeye stood, also in uniform, her eyes already alert. A much more modest carpetbag sat at her feet. It was a little bit worn and looked to have been patched or fixed a time or two but was still perfectly sound. Somehow, Havoc thought that fit with her personality. Riza Hawkeye was the type of woman to use something until if fell apart, then fix it up and keep using it.

(Was it his imagination, or was Mustang eyeing her bag a bit distastefully?)

But although the two were standing together, they were clearly not over yesterday’s argument. Hawkeye stood dutifully next to Mustang, but she looked the very model of a proper soldier. She normally did, but this could have been for a training film. Mustang, too, stood a little stiffer than normal. He seemed irritated instead of having his usual casual arrogance around him. Neither were talking to the other and Havoc had the sense that this was going to a very difficult trip. Maybe he should have called Fuery up and asked him for good luck again.

Observations would do little, though, and Havoc swallowed his discomfort and lightly jogged up to them. It was up to him to try to keep things smoothed over. He had no idea how he was going to do it, but it was clear they weren’t going to deal with this themselves.

“Hey Boss, Hawkeye,” he greeted them as he came up.

“Havoc,” Mustang half muttered, looking not at him or Hawkeye, but around at the area.

“Good morning, Lieutenant,” Hawkeye said, looking right at him, brisk and focused. She was already reaching into the folio she had with her, pulling out a ticket and handing it to him. “Here is your ticket. We can board in,” she looked at the clock, “nine minutes. The trip will take about five hours so we should arrive at 1pm. Did you bring something to eat?”

Havoc nodded. “Yes, sir. Got myself a sandwich, some cheese, apples, and cookies.” He grinned. “Ma sent me some of their apples and a tin of cookies, so there’s enough to share.”

Hawkeye nodded without returning an ounce of emotion. “Very good. There won’t be much in the way of places to eat once we arrive.”

That seemed to catch Mustang’s attention and he looked back at them. “Well that’s going to make this week interesting then, isn’t it, Captain.” It was just a comment, but there was a slight undertone to it that Havoc couldn’t quite pick up.

The air around Hawkeye seemed to freeze in a way that Havoc had honestly though only Olivier Armstrong could do. (Maybe it was just something that strong women could do?). “I have it arranged, sir.” She said, her voice clipped and terse. There was another undertone to her voice as well, and Havoc got the mental image of a gun being cocked. “There is a kitchen.”

For a moment, Mustang looked at her and she stared back, and the tension seemed to grow. Havoc was almost scared to move, but self-preservation had never been one of his strengths.

“Well depending on what food is there, I can make a few mean dishes,” He cut in, hoping to ease the tension. It only seemed to have a minimal effect, but they both did mentally step back from whatever unsaid battle they were having. Havoc cleared his voice and tried to find another subject to talk about, reaching for anything he could find. “Ah—so, no Hayate, Hawkeye? I thought the pooch might enjoy running around in a county town.”

“I thought so as well,” Mustang muttered. “Thought he might be a good companion.”

That tension returned somewhat, and if he wasn’t so scared of accidently kicking something off, Havoc would have slapped his own forehead. Apparently, he had stumbled into another point of contention.

“He doesn’t do good on trains, sir, and you know it.” Hawkeye’s reply was terse, at best. “And considering this is going to be a six-hour trip, I determined that it would be best to leave him with Fuery.”

Havoc couldn’t remember the little dog doing badly on the train back from Ishval, but if Hawkeye didn’t want to bring the dog with her, then he wasn’t going to get in the middle of that. An awkward silence fell over them, and Havoc shifted from foot to foot, trying to figure out what to say next, if anything at all. It took him a moment to realize that both of his superior officers were staring at him with slight looks of guilt on their faces, and another moment to realize why. They must have thought that his shifting was because of his legs hurting him, and not because of nerves. He could feel the tension ease a little and decided not to correct them, even if their assumption was wrong.

“What?” he deadpanned.

“I’m going to go see if there’s any way we can board a few minutes early,” Hawkeye said. Havoc blinked at that. Considering she didn’t want to make this trip at all, he had half expected her to resist up until the very end. But apparently her concern for him overrode that, which was really nice of her, honestly.

She strode off quickly, Mustang and Havoc looking after her. After a moment, Havoc spoke. “I don’t know what you did, sir, but whatever it is has got Hawkeye more than upset with you.” He glanced at him. “Maybe you should try to talk it out.”

Mustang let out a frustrated huff, although Havoc was pretty sure it wasn’t directed at him. “I’ve tried. But she won’t listen to reason. I keep explaining it, but she’s just angry no matter what I say.”

Havoc scratched at his chin, still holding his rucksack over his shoulder. “Hm, well, if you’re not getting through with your words, maybe it’s time to stop talking and listen. Sometimes what’s really bothering someone is deeper than the words they say.”

Mustang stared at him for a moment, then looked away with a snort. “I swear, you country types dole out words of wisdom like that any chance you get. Do you just compile them in a book to pull out later or what?”

Havoc grinned at him. “Fortune cookie, sir.”

Mustang opened his mouth to respond, but before he could Hawkeye approached them again. “I talked to the conductor. He said that it was alright for us to board a few minutes early. Fortunately, our car isn’t far.”

“Very good,” Mustang said. He hesitated for a moment, and Havoc took advantage of that to give the two a moment alone.

“Ya know, I think I’m gonna run to the bathroom really quick before we board,” Havoc said, sitting his rucksack down. “It’ll only take a moment; I’ll be right back.”

For a moment, Mustang looked panicked. But this his expression smoothed out and Havoc left, hoping that when he got back, both his commanding officers would be in a better mood.

Havoc didn’t hurry as he walked with his loping stride over to the public bathrooms. He knew he couldn’t take too long, but he also wanted to give his two commanding officers the time to work things out or at least start on it before he got back.

It was perplexing, this tension between the two of them. Yeah, the two of them had moments of tension before, but it usually didn’t last long. The two of them would work it out and, given a couple of days, it would all be right again. More than once both of them came in looking exhausted, as if they had stayed up late talking it through, but it was solved. Or, and it happened sometimes, there were contrived moments of tension between them for a mission. But while those were always well played to the average onlooker, there was never the presence of actual tension there.

But this tension? This tension was deep.

It felt… old. Like it had existed before, in some form. Like it wasn’t supposed to exist anymore, but it did now, and that’s what made it worse. Like it was supposed to have been forgotten. There was something more to it, something deeply personal. It had flavors of that deep connection the two of them had, but there was something more to it, something else. Havoc had no idea what it was, but he knew that it existed.

With a sigh, he put those thoughts aside and finished up his business, making his way back to where he had left Mustang and Hawkeye. He took a glance at the station clock as he walked. He’d managed to waste three minutes, so maybe they had at least started to resolve something of this.

Unfortunately, it didn’t seem to be the case when he got to them. If anything, Hawkeye looked more PO’ed then when he had left. Havoc rolled his eyes. What had the General done this time to tick her off?

“Sorry ‘bout that,” he said as he ambled up to them and they both turned to look his way.

“No, it’s perfectly acceptable, Lieutenant,” Hawkeye said, her voice as professional as ever. “We can go ahead and board now.”

Havoc reached down to pick up his rucksack, and noticed Hawkeye sweeping her carpetbag up with a bit of a glare at Mustang. She was holding onto it almost possessively, and practically turned her nose up at Mustang’s own expensive luggage. Havoc wasn’t sure, but he thought he heard Mustang mutter something about “offer to replace something” under his breath before following along behind her. Havoc shook his head. Mustang had apparently put his foot in his mouth again—this time by insulting her luggage. Sometimes he wondered how in the world Mustang had ever become known as a ladies’ man.

(It did strike him as a bit odd, though, how possessive Hawkeye seemed over that simple bag. But he filed that away for later consideration)

The train was empty, as the three of them got to board ahead of everyone else. Although he was only a few steps behind Mustang, by the time Havoc had climbed aboard the train car, Hawkeye had already found their seat and was loading her carpet bag into the luggage rack. Her folio was sitting on one of the benches along with some files that had appeared from seemingly nowhere, and he grimaced a bit. He sure hoped that she didn’t expect him to work on this train ride.

Mustang put his own suitcase up, and Havoc followed suit. But when he turned to sit down, he had to blink in surprise. Hawkeye had sat down on one of the benches while the men had been putting their luggage away and had promptly spread her paperwork all over the seat next to her. A grumpy looking Mustang looked down at it, before sitting himself across from her, clearly a bit ticked off. Havoc looked between then and sighed. Yep, this was going to be a long train ride. He sat down and leaned back in the seat. Might as well get as comfortable as he could. Who knew? Maybe he’d get a nap in, or his mama’s cookies would work some sort of magic.

He could only hope.

Chapter 3

While Havoc certainly thought his Ma’s cookies were magic, they apparently didn’t have the kind of magic that could fix whatever was going on between Mustang and Hawkeye. It ran deeper than any surface level fix, and the train ride didn’t help it. Havoc dozed for the first part of it, Hawkeye consenting to moving some of her paperwork so that He could put his legs up and stretch them out. She seemed to be continually working on it, even when he woke up for brief moments here and there. Havoc wondered if it was really that intense, or if she was just going over it again and again to appear to be occupied. Mustang didn’t take it well as she ignored him, and instead stared grumpily out the window for a bit. Eventually he pulled out a black notebook from his pocket and started working in it, flipping back and forth between pages. For some reason, that seemed to bother Hawkeye more, although Havoc could see no reason why.

It wasn’t getting figured out on this train ride, though, that much was obvious. Whatever this between them was, it wasn’t for public knowledge, and there was plenty of the public on this train. Havoc had seen that as he walked himself up and down the train a few times, stopping to talk to some passengers here and there. He had trouble staying still for very long nowadays and the walking helped. He had hoped that it would give Mustang and Hawkeye time to at least soften a little towards each other, but as he came back this last time, it was clear there was no dice, which was a shame. He had been hoping that the next meal they ate wouldn’t be as tense as that silent lunch. That had been awkward.

“Finally tired of playing with children?” Mustang asked him as he sat back down, the General barely looking up from his black notebook.

“Nope. But their Ma told them to settle down and sent me on my way. I know better than to get in the way of that.” Havoc responded.

“You certainly seemed to keep them entertained.”

“I like kids, you know? They kinda reminded me of some of my nieces and nephews. Kids need to enjoy some carefree years in there. It’s good for them.”

If he hadn’t of glanced up then, Havoc was sure that he would have missed it. Something flitted over Hawkeye’s face, and a look of concern filtered over Mustangs as he looked at her. It was gone almost before he even registered it, but it was there.

What had he said? His first thought was that perhaps it was related to Ishval, and the kids they knew would never be able to have carefree years. Several times Havoc had seen little things like that put a haunted look over both of the veterans’ faces, even if just for a moment. But there was something different about this. Whatever it was, it centered on Hawkeye, just because Mustang had looked concerned at her not with her.

What was going on here?

“Anyway,” he said, trying not to let on that he had seen anything, “We should be arriving in Awrout in about forty minutes. The Conductor further up is making his way down, suggesting that anyone getting off there go ahead and start getting ready. Apparently, they’re not going to stay long in town, just long enough to load and unload.”

“Of course not,” It was probably the first time since lunch that Riza had actually spoken. She was carefully gathering her papers, taking the time to stack them nicely. It was a tactic designed to take up time, and she wasn’t fooling either man with that anymore, although neither called her out on it. She glanced out the window at the passing forest. “There’s nothing of consequence in Awrout. It only has a stop because the trains needed to get water at some point.”

There was something almost bitter in her tone, and her eyes had a hard glint to them, but she turned her attention back towards her paperwork, stacking it carefully again, and Havoc couldn’t read her as well.

“I don’t know anything about it. Maybe I shoulda let Falman recite the encyclopedia entry to me,” Havoc said, trying to ease the tension a bit. “Then I would have known what kind of a place I’m walking into, at least.” He paused, but there was no response from either Mustang or Hawkeye, so he just shrugged and continued. “But alright, small place, got it.”

The three of them fell silent after that, no one, apparently, willing to continue the conversation. Fortunately, it wasn’t too much longer before the train pulled into the station. They got their things, and disembarked, although not before Havoc had waved bye to the kids he had played with earlier, tossing them an apple to share. With one last grin at them, he followed Mustang and Hawkeye down off the train and onto the platform.

Havoc put his rucksack down and took a moment to look around as he stretched. Awrout really wasn’t much of anything. The train platform was literally that, a platform, with a small covered are for the station master to be at. Wooden stairs led down to the road, which was nothing but packed dirt. Havoc spied a general store, a stable, a clinic, what looked to be a small inn, and a few other shops or buildings here and there. It was a small country town, although it looked like it was kept up well, and the people seemed to be friendly enough, looking at them curiously, but giving a nod or a wave their way.

Despite the friendly atmosphere, Hawkeye was, if it was possible, stiffer than before. It was like something in this place was making her shoulders pull back, and her spine stand straighter. She didn’t say anything, just looked at the town with a tight look on her face, and something Havoc couldn’t place in her eyes. Mustang was clearly eyeing her out of the corner of his eye as if waiting for something to happen. When she didn’t move or say anything for a few moments, he spoke.

“Where to now, Captain?” he said as they stood there. “You made the plans.”

It was like a spell over her had been broken and she could move again, although there was still that tension between them. Havoc decided he was best off to stay behind them.

“Yes, sir, as you ordered,” she said tersely, and Havoc was sure there was some sort of double meaning there that he wasn’t aware of. “The general store is supposed to have a wagon with supplies for us. I’ll go talk to Mr. Nelson. Wait here, sir. Havoc.”

Her voice was sharp, and he started a little, not expecting to be addressed. “Yes, sir!”

“Watch over the General.”

“Yes, sir.”

She left them there, striding over the general store, carpetbag in hand. Havoc noticed a child who was sweeping run inside, and within minutes an older man came out. It didn’t take him long to see Hawkeye—all of them stood out in their uniforms, honestly—and he smiled at her and started talking. Havoc wasn’t close enough to hear the conversation, but it seemed to be going a little long for a prearranged cart with supplies.

Hawkeye expression hadn’t changed, but she was clearly participating in the conversation. Havoc noticed with a glance at Mustang that he seemed almost relived to see the exchange. As Hawkeye allowed the man to take her carpetbag, and put his hand on her back almost familiarly, it occurred to Havoc what it was. It wasn’t just a conversation about a wagon with supplies, the man knew her. He knew her and he was catching up with her. And she knew him as well. It was just like when the children that grew up in Havoc’s hometown came back by the store after moving away. His Ma spent at least a good five minutes catching up with them.

Havoc glanced around. He always knew that Riza had country in her. Her voice was pretty smooth, but there were certain words, or turns of phrase that gave it away. Not to mention things she knew that people who grew up in cities didn’t. But was it possible this was her hometown? She had never mentioned where she was from, just that it was “out east” and “too small to be of consequence.” This could easily be the town she grew up in.

So why all the tension? And why come back here for research? And—and why was Mustang giving a group of men the stink eye?

He hadn’t noticed it until just now, but Mustang seemed to be eyeing some men that looked like they were somewhere around the same age as the three of them. His gaze had distaste and a little hostility in it, and it put Havoc on edge. The men, who were locals from the looks of them, seemed to be eyeing Mustang with wariness and curiosity. It was as if Mustang knew these men and had a past with them. But wasn’t Mustang a city boy? How did the general know them? What in the world had he wandered into? Or, well, been ordered into, but same difference, honestly.

He was just beginning to wonder if he should break Mustang’s line of sight when Hawkeye came walking back to them, her carpetbag gone but her voice all business. “Mr. Nelson is having the wagon loaded with supplies for the week. It’s almost finished. He also said that he has it set up with the livery for us to keep it and the horses for the wee—what are you looking at!”

Her words were harsh and sharp, and Havoc winced, not wanting to be on the receiving end of them. Mustang had turned his attention mostly back to her when she walked up, but he had kept his eye on that group of men, and she had, of course, noticed. She turned to look at what he was looking at, and Havoc couldn’t help but notice the way her lips pressed flat and her back straightened even more.

Mustang turned to look back at Hawkeye, and Havoc could see him shift slightly, as if he were ready to get between her and those men. “Nothing, Captain, I’m looking at nothing.”

Her attention shifted back to him, and her cool eyes narrowed just slightly. “The wagon is this way,” was all she said, though, and executed a nearly perfect military turn before tersely walking away from them and towards the general store.

Mustang took one last look at the men, and then turned to follow Hawkeye. Havoc had to bend to pick up his rucksack, and lingered, just a moment, enough to catch bits and pieces of conversation.

“—back again—”

“—together—”

“—cried. She’s toughened—”

“—he came—"

“—protected her—"

“—left her—”

“—her dad—”

“—Ishval. The papers—"

He couldn’t linger long, but he caught just enough for him to get the impression that it wasn’t the first time that these men had seen Mustang and Hawkeye together. Hawkeye fit in being from here, but Mustang? He was a city kid through and through if Havoc had ever seen one. He was definitely missing puzzle pieces. The problem was, he wasn’t sure that this was his puzzle to solve.

Catching up with Mustang and Hawkeye easily enough, she led them around back to the loading area. It was about what he expected to find. A slightly different design then the layout his family had, it was pretty much the same all in all. A couple of guys that looked like they could be Mr. Nelson’s sons or grandsons were busy securing the items and Mr. Nelson himself was talking to Hawkeye and Mustang. His familiarity seemed to extend to the general as well, just adding to the idea that Mustang had spent time here.

“I’m going t’ trust that you still remember how t’ drive a wagon, Miss Hawkeye,” Mr. Nelson said as Havoc walked up “I know you were more used t’ a cart, but the principle’s the same.”

“It’s Captain Hawkeye, now, sir, and yes, I’m sure I can manage,” Hawkeye replied.

Mr. Nelson seemed to eye her, and then Mustang. “Well so long as you don’t let him try. He twas never very good at it.”

“I can do it,” Havoc interjected, cutting off whatever indignant remark his boss was about to say. They all turned to look at him, and he stepped forward, reaching out to offer his hand to Mr. Nelson. “Jean Havoc, sir,” he said, “Lieutenant. I can drive that. My folks have had ones just about like it all my life. Sturdiest wagons you’ll ever meet. Used to take it out for my folks to make delivers or pick up, when I was old enough.”

The old man seemed to brighten at this and turned his attention to Havoc. “Your folks own a store? Whereabouts?”

“Further east then here, closer to the boarder,” Havoc replied.

It was a good starting point, and the two of them launched into a brief conversation about general stories, running them, deliveries, and various other shop keeping details while Hawkeye and Mustang wandered away. The old man seemed eager to compare and contrast and take in any good ideas, and Havoc didn’t mind sharing, even if he did keep an eye on his superior officers during it. Hawkeye moved to oversee the loading with a tight stiffness to her, and he could see Mustang move to stand a little closer to her. When he got to a certain point, though, she abruptly turned away from him. For a moment he saw a look of frustration cross Mustang’s face before it smoothed out.

“She always twas stubborn.”

Havoc startled for a moment, returning his full attention to Mr. Nelson. “What?”

“Oh, young Miss Hawkeye. Or well, Captain now, I suppose. She’s always been a stubborn independent thing.”

Well, it seemed to confirm Havoc’s suspicions that this was Hawkeye’s hometown, at least, but not much more than that. “Yeah?” he asked, not offering any information, but hoping that the old man would give him some.

Havoc was in luck.

“Mm, yessir. Always kept t’ herself, always quiet. Never wanted t’ accept help. Seemed determined t’ do things on her own and as unobtrusively as possible. Almost would freeze right up if she thought you’d taken note o’ her troubles. She dealt with her own problems. The only times she seem t’ get in any sort of state was when her father was sick, or when that boy came.” Mr. Nelson was looking in the direction of both Mustang and Hawkeye and Havoc couldn’t help but wonder if he was talking about more than just Hawkeye.

“That boy?” he asked, hoping for a little more information

“Mm,” Mr. Nelson said. “Just a city boy looking for a teacher. Flustered all the girls and made all the boys mad. Miss Hawkeye twas the only one who didn’t seem t’ fall for his charm. Thought she hated him for a while. But then something changed, and they seemed as thick as thieves. Shame about them both joining, up, though. I’d hoped he’d ask her to marry him. She deserved something good in her life after—hey! You two know better than t’ secure it like that!”

Mr. Nelson abruptly abandoned the conversation to go deal with the wagon, but that was alright with Havoc. It was more information than he had hoped for, even if he had never had a direct confirmation that the boy Mr. Nelson had talked about was Mustang. It was definitely implied, but implications weren’t confirmations, even if it did give Havoc something to turn over in his mind.

“Lieutenant Havoc.”

He turned at Hawkeye’s call, filing Mr. Nelson’s words away for later consideration. “Yessir?” he said as he moved over towards her.

“Please come make sure that you can drive this wagon before we attempt it.”

“Yeah, sure.” He ambled up towards the wagon, giving it a practiced look over. It seemed pretty standard to him. “Yeah, no problem. Like I said, I grew up on wagons like this.”

“Very well,” Hawkeye said, before turning back to Mr. Nelson, who had come up to the group of them now. “Thank you for arranging all of this. I assume you already received the payment?”

“I did, but don’t you worry about that,” he said. “You gonna be alright?”

This time, Havoc noted, she didn’t smile. “Yes, this will be sufficient. We shouldn’t be here long.”

It seemed that Mr. Nelson wanted to say something more, but Hawkeye had already turned away and left to climb onto the wagon. Havoc shrugged, gave the man a friendly grin and a handshake, and climbed up on the other side of Hawkeye. He heard Mustang also thanking Mr. Nelson as well, and Havoc familiarized himself with the reigns while they waited.

Havoc couldn’t help but see how stiffly Hawkeye sat, looking straight ahead, like she was about to ride this wagon into a battle zone. There was clearly some subtext here that Havoc didn’t get and that she didn’t want to talk about, but what it was, exactly, he wasn’t sure. All he knew was that whatever it was, it didn’t seem to be good.

When he felt the dip of Mustang getting on board, he looked over at the both of them. “Alright, which way?” he asked.

“Straight out of town,” Hawkeye said, her voice terse. “Just keep going. I’ll tell you when to turn.”

“Right-o.” He gave the reigns a snap, and they started moving, heading out of town like Hawkeye had said. They garnered some stares from the townsfolk as they went down the main street, but with them all in uniform Havoc couldn’t really blame the townspeople. Mustang looked around a bit as they rode, as if reacquainting himself with the place, but Hawkeye kept her gaze straight ahead. They fell quiet as they rode, and Havoc decided to let it be as he focused instead on driving the wagon out of town and down the road.

After all, Havoc got the feeling that this was far from over.

Chapter 4

As the wagon bumped along, Havoc took a good look at the landscape around them. It was a varied place, going from town, to scattered houses, to fields and rolling hills, to forest land. Livestock roamed the hills, Havoc spotting everything from cows to sheep to goats. The fields were filled with crops growing, mostly either hay or corn, although he recognized some soybeans, potatoes, cotton, and few areas of more varied crops that he guessed were more for local consumption then mass production. Dotted here and there he recognized orchards too, mostly pecan and apple, although he saw some cherry, peach, and walnut groves as well. The forests that he saw seemed to interrupt the fields every so often, but aside from some wild patches, they seemed strangely evenly spaced until he realize he was looking at tree farms.

On the whole, though, it seemed to be a pretty typical farming community, although nicely varied in what was grown. Tree farms aside, this clearly wasn’t a cash crop area, but one that focused more on common sustainability. He wondered what the main export of the town was, especially as they moved further into forest land, and regretted not letting Falman tell him about Arwout.

But for all his observations of the land, Havoc also observed Hawkeye and Mustang. Hawkeye’s hands seemed to grip her knees harder the further they went, her knuckles turning white eventually. She never looked around and her tension only seemed to increase the further that they rode. Mustang’s focus shifted more and more towards Hawkeye, and Havoc could see the general growing more tense as she did. Mustang attempted to reach out to her more than once, but his attempts were rejected. Worried glances, a rejected brushing of her hand, decided looks away from him—clearly, whatever was going on, she wasn’t willing to give.

They rode for what about thirty minutes before Hawkeye told him to turn off the main road and down a barely kept side road. Havoc honestly would have missed it if she hadn’t pointed it out and he frowned a little as he gently took the wagon down it at a much slower pace. The road was rough and unkept, with ruts carved out by water. It wouldn’t do to get the wagon stuck or to break a wheel by going too fast. He was sure that the horses would be fine, but the wagon and its goods were more concerning, and Havoc had to concentrate on the road and little else as they moved down it.

It was probably about twenty minutes later when they finally got off the overgrown and rain-rutted road and out into a wider area that looked like it might have once been a yard. It was now overgrown with weeds, grass, vines, and patches of flowers that looked as if they had once been intentionally planted. A large house stood in the middle of the area, obviously once a very stately place, but now run down, although basically maintained. Behind it was an old barn, a chicken coop, a shed, and a gazebo, none of which were in good repair, save the barn. Trees grew close to the house, branches scratching up against it. Past the clearing that could have been a yard, Havoc could see the tree line of the forest, and what might have once been an orchard off to one side. Whatever this place was, once upon a time, it had been important.

“We’re here.”

Havoc glanced over at Hawkeye who was staring at the house with a shuttered expression, something lurking in her eyes. Her voice was tight, strain in it and he didn’t miss the tight look of concern that Mustang gave her. For a moment there was silence, and Havoc wasn’t sure that he should break it. Then, abruptly, her countenance shifted back to that tightly controlled anger and she looked over at Mustang. “Your orders, sir?” she questioned, her voice razor sharp again.

Mustang’s own face went from concern back to the stern, put-off look that had decorated his face most of the day, and this time he didn’t try to smooth it out. “Unlock the house, Captain. Lieutenant, drive this wagon around back and we’ll unload things in the kitchen. I’ll check on the woodpile.

Both Hawkeye and Havoc responded with a “yes, sir” and Hawkeye climbed over them to get down and head towards the front door of the house. Mustang’s jaw worked for a moment, almost as if he wanted to say something else. Instead, he told Havoc to keep going, and Havoc obliged. He dropped him off halfway around the house and made his way with the wagon to the backdoor. He still didn’t know what was going on, but it was obvious that both Mustang and Hawkeye knew their way around this house, and that Hawkeye had the key.

Havoc parked the wagon on the backside of the house, as near to the backdoor as he could make it. From the looks of it, it was probably the kitchen door, which was just as well. A lot of this was food stuff and the kitchen would be the best place for it. It seemed Hawkeye wasn’t at the kitchen yet, if the closed door meant anything, so Havoc took a moment to look around at the house and area a bit more.

It had at one time been a stately home, that much was obvious. It was a large house, at least two floors and an attic, and he’d estimate four or five bedrooms, probably a study or two. He’d lay odds on indoor plumbing as well, something that was often retrofitted on old homes. He looked up and around, spotting a singular electrical line coming to the house, but the light above the door was clearly meant for oil. Whatever electricity the house had, he’d lay odds that it only went to appliances. He guessed that it was to a refrigerator or maybe even a freezer or hot water heater. If they were lucky, it would go to a radio too. It probably didn’t go to a stove or heat if Mustang was looking for firewood. And he doubted, from the look of the house, that it went to lights.

The house itself didn’t look to be in bad repair, not exactly. It had clearly seen better days, and had repairs done to it, but there had been an attempt at upkeep, even if it could use some more. It was clearly in need of a new coat of paint, the shutters were either in need of replacing or just altogether missing, there were missing shingles along the edge of the roof, and the house just looked overall dirty, with lichen and moss creeping up it. It seemed, to his layman’s eye, to be structurally sound, though, and that was reassuring at least.

The outbuildings seemed to be in much worse shape that the house, although he supposed that made sense. If this wasn’t a working farm anymore, then upkeep of the house would take priority. The outbuildings were still pretty bad, though. The roof of the chicken coop had fallen in and the chicken wire surrounding it was rusted and missing in places. The shed was missing a door, and the other one was warped, and sagging. The gazebo looked to have once been white, but the roof now had a hole in it, and it was clearly filthy. It wasn’t hard to see where birds and wasps had made their homes in it over the years, or how the vines—he really hoped that wasn’t poison ivy—had crept up it.

Of the outbuildings, the barn seemed to be in the best shape, although it sagged a bit in the middle. The doors weren’t quite closing evenly, and a large rock sat in front of them to keep them closed. It could do with a coat of paint worse than the house could. The inside, he hoped, was in decent repair. The horses would need somewhere to stay while they were here, after all.

With the exception of a small area around the house that seemed to be maintained--enough to walk and pull a cart around, anyway--most of the yard seemed to be overgrown. He could spot an area that looked like it might have once been a garden, but it was long full of weeds and grass at this point. A bit back there were rows of trees, some dead, that looked as if they had been deliberately planted that way, lending more evidence to the idea that it had, at one point, been an orchard of some sort. Not far from the gazebo he could see flowers growing, although no longer in any sort of deliberate planted pattern. But from the types he saw, someone had lovingly planted them there at one point.

The whole place gave Havoc a bit of a chill, honestly. It spoke of something that had once been great but was now just a shell. It made it seem like something had happened, something ominous, and it made him shift a bit uncomfortably. Was this the place that Hawkeye had grown up? It would make sense, considering how the town seemed to know her and how she had a key to the place. But this wasn’t damage that could have happened in the time since she had been in the academy. This sort of degradation took longer than that. Had she grown up with this place falling apart all around her? And how did Mustang fit into all of this?

A sound of a door unsticking, and then scraping open pulled Havoc’s attention back from his musings and he looked to see Hawkeye forcing the kitchen door open. She grimaced a little bit and looked at the door with a bit of annoyance.

“I guess that couldn’t be easily fixed,” she said with a huff, before looking up at him.

“This a good place, or should I move it on a bit?” Havoc asked her from the wagon.

Hawkeye shook her head. “No, this is good. Help me unload the wagon, and then head to the barn to put the horses up. I had some supplies delivered there for them earlier in the week.”

“You got it,” he said, making sure that the brakes were on before he climbed down and made his way around to the back of the wagon.

Mustang came around the corner, a bit of dirt on his uniform and brushing off his hand. “There’s some firewood, but not a lot,” he said as he approached them. “The circle is still intact, though, so all we need is some logs.”

It seemed an odd statement to Havoc, but Hawkeye apparently understood it. Her expression tightened again, and she pulled some supplies off of the wagon, not even bothering to look at Mustang. “Well, then I guess there’s no orders needed to know who is doing that job.”

She walked inside with her load, and Havoc looked back at Mustang for a moment. His jaw was a bit clenched and he seemed to be actively trying to hold his patience. Deciding that this was something he didn’t want to get in the middle of, Havoc grabbed a load off the back of the wagon and made his way inside the door that was, apparently, stuck open as it hadn’t even tried to close.

The kitchen was dark, despite the windows, and Hawkeye was busy lighting a lamp to give them some more light. Her load of supplies was sitting on a wooden countertop that looked clean, but in poor repair. There was a deep sink that was stained, with a window above it for light. A refrigerator stood nearby confirming Havoc’s suspicions as to where the electricity was going. There was still an old-fashioned ice chest that stood nearby as well, although the place for the ice was empty and the door for the ice box was swung open. The kitchen contained a wood-burning stove and oven as well, a nice size, actually, and cast iron, with stove pipping that still looked intact leading out.

It was, honestly, a pretty nice kitchen, if a bit run down and old fashioned. But it was still perfectly workable.

Mustang came in behind him, carrying a load of his own and sat it on the old but still solid looking table that was in the kitchen. Hawkeye glanced back at it and him, and then turned back to unloading her supplies.

“I’ll get these put away,” she said, without looking back at them.

“You got it,” Havoc said, turning to go back to the wagon. He saw Mustang hesitate for a moment, and then headed back out with Havoc. For the next few minutes the two men worked bringing in supplies while Hawkeye organized and put them away. At some point she filled the sink with water and soap, wiping down the cabinets as she worked. Somehow, he wasn’t surprised that she was cleaning even as she was putting things away.

“Alright, that’s the last of it,” Mustang said as he and Havoc brought the last load in, sitting it on one of the chairs.

Havoc stretched his back, popping it, and looked at the two of them. “I’ll go take care of the horses and the wagon.” He shot Mustang a cheeky grin. “No offense, Chief, but something tells me I’m better at this then you.”

Mustang scowled and Havoc heard him mumble “I’m not completely incompetent,” as he went out the door.

The door was still stuck open, and so far, no one had bothered to try to close it, so Havoc didn’t bother either, instead going to the wagon to start putting it away.

“Do you want help putting things away?” Mustang’s voice drifted out from the open door.

“Do you remember where things go?” Hawkeye’s voice was sharp, cutting. “Or are you so focused on finding his research that you’ve forgotten.”

“Riza. That’s not fair.”

Havoc grimaced to himself at the words that he heard, but it wasn’t his conversation to know. He climbed up on the wagon and started backing the horses up, letting that cover up anything else he might have heard. Whatever was going on between Mustang and Hawkeye, it was clearly something that went back much further than Havoc was privy to. It was none of his business--even if there was a part of him that wanted to know.

The barn was still in good enough repair that he didn’t mind leaving the horses in it, and there were supplies there, just as Hawkeye had said. He wished there was a pasture for them to roam in, but maybe he could figure out something to do about that later. It didn’t take him long to get the wagon put away and the horses settled, but he didn’t feel like spending extra time out there with them. With the way things had been going, he wanted to get back to Mustang and Hawkeye. He hoped that things hadn’t gotten worse in his absence.

Still, he didn’t hurry as he strolled back to the house. It wasn’t far from the barn, but it gave him time to take a good look at the place. It could be a really nice, if it was fixed up. Move that tree that was almost growing into the house, re-landscape the yard and the flowers, even out the drive, replant the orchard. The house and buildings would be more work, with the way they were sagging and had cracks here and there. He wasn’t sure how much work that would take, or even if it was worth it, but he did know it was possible. He was pretty sure that Ed could have done a decent job of it, if he could be convinced to stay to the style and not put his own tacky input in, but without his alchemy that wasn’t going to happen. Alphonse would probably do a good job too, but he was off studying in Xing—and hopefully courting a princess, the lucky brat. Then again, if anyone deserved it, it was Alphonse.

Of course, all of that was supposing that Hawkeye even wanted the house fixed up. She obviously put some amount of work into keeping it in basic repair, but she didn’t bother to keep it up too much. There were lots of things that needed to be fixed, like that door and the cracked windows he was just noticing. But if she did, Havoc was sure that they knew enough people to call in favors for her. Maybe Ed could even work up some circles or whatever for Mustang to do it. Ed was still an alchemic genius, even if he couldn’t do alchemy anymore, and Mustang had the happy-clappy alchemy now. If the two of them could work together, then they could probably do it. Havoc figured if they were going to get along to do something for someone, he’d bet they’d do it for Hawkeye.

When Havoc walked back into the kitchen, that door still stuck open, Mustang was the only one there. He was putting things away, a bit of frustration in his movements. For a moment, Havoc wondered if he should ask, but standing there would do no good, so he bit the bullet and asked anyway.

“Hey, Chief. Where’ Hawkeye?”

Mustang didn’t look back at him, just kept stacking canned goods. “She went to open windows to air out the house and make up beds.” He jerked his head at some packages that were sitting on the table, tied up with brown paper and string. “Can you take those up to her? I’m pretty sure those are sheets and blankets she had cleaned for us.”

“Sure. She upstairs?”

“Yeah. Use the stairway in the entrance hall. The back stairs have always been rickety.”

Havoc raised an eyebrow at that, taking note that Mustang apparently knew this house pretty well. He said nothing about it, though, just picked up the three rather heavy packages and hoisted them up. There was only one other exit out of the kitchen, and it led into what appeared to be a dining room. A sturdy table and chairs, a china hutch, and a sideboard stood in there. The wood could clearly use some care, but it had been a nice dining room suit at one point, heavy and sturdy, but with good lines and carving. The back of the hutch seemed to be a tarnished mirror, and there were wrapped packages in it that Havoc was sure were dishes of some sort. Broken pieces of china with delicate pink and yellow roses sitting in it seemed to confirm that theory, and he idly wondered what had happened to that piece.

The dining room had two exits, one to a hallway, and one to what looked to be a sitting room or parlor. He took a glance in that as he went by, seeing, again, what was once very nice, if dated and worn, furniture, and what seemed to be an upright piano against one wall, all of it looking very formal, set for receiving guests. Of course, it didn’t look as if it had seen guests in maybe more years then he had been alive, but with some care it could be nice again.

He stepped out into the hall, which was dark and a bit narrow. There were clear marks on the walls of where decorations of some sort used to be hanging. All that was left now were lamps and candle sconces, and it lent it an eerie sort of feel. He followed it only a short way before he realized he was walking parallel to the staircase and emerged into what seemed to be a bit of a foyer. Again, there were things that had one been nice here, but had clearly fallen into disrepair. A bench, a coat rack, and an umbrella stand, things of that sort were still in the foyer. He could see what seemed to be a more comfortable living room—although maybe ‘less formal’ was a better phrase then ‘more comfortable.’ Nothing in this house seemed to be comfortable--from the foyer and wondered briefly if it was more lived in then the parlor.

However, he didn’t bother to look in the living room besides a glance, instead heading up the stairs. He was curious, sure, and there were more rooms downstairs he hadn’t seen, but he’d probably see those later, considering they were searching for something. He could wait. He ascended the stairs instead, balancing carefully with the heavy packages. The stairs creaked a bit as he went up, but seemed stable enough, which was a relief.

The stairs opened up into a long hallway, with rooms on either side. A window was at both ends, open for the moment to let the place air out. It was still dark, though, as if the sunlight just couldn’t quite penetrate into the house. Havoc looked to see more sconces on the walls, but little else. Fortunately, a noise from a room down the hall, as if someone was moving around, tipped him off as to Hawkeye’s location, and he headed towards it.

The room she was in was on the corner and very plain. It, too, had furniture that had once been nice in it but was now old and could use a little work. He did notice what looked like several burn marks around the room and on some of the furniture as well, which was curious. Riza herself was opening up the corner windows, letting air in, and, although she appeared not to notice him, Havoc was smarter than that. She was typically aware of what was going on around her, and he was positive that hadn’t changed.

“Heya, Riza. Boss said you might need these.”

She turned to look at him, not the least bit surprised, and nodded. “Sit them on the bed,” she instructed him. As soon as he did, her nimble fingers were picking through the paper, confirming what was in each package. “Alright. This one stays here,” she said, pointing to one. “The others go in the other rooms. Would you mind helping me make up the beds? With two of us it should go much quicker.”

“Sure thing.” Havoc moved the other two packages off the bed and watched as Hawkeye untied the one she had selected, revealing a set of white sheets, a compressed pillow, and a heavy quilt of blues. He caught one corner of the sheet that she tossed to him and moved in tandem with her to start making the bed. “So, who’s sleeping in here?” he asked her.

“This is the general’s room,” she said. “He’ll bring his luggage up here later.”

It was interesting, Havoc thought, the way that she phrased it, as if Mustang already knew where he was staying even though he hadn’t been up here yet. Obviously whatever time Mustang had spent here, it was more than just a couple of visits.

It also made him curious as to the burn marks, but a quick look at Riza made it clear that she was not open to any questions on that, and so he dropped it.

If the Academy had taught them anything, it was how to quickly make a bed. It took them no more than a few minutes to be done with it and ready to move to the next room. Riza picked up one of the packages, gesturing for Havoc to get the other, and they moved on.

This room was a little smaller, but the furniture definitely had a more feminine feel to it, with softer curves, and carved hearts here and there. There was a singular window with faded curtains and the branches of the tree that was growing into the house right outside of it. The bed stand had obviously once been painted white, and this room still had little personal touches in here, like a jewelry box, a trunk that was painted for a little girl, a sewing kit, and, sitting on the bare bed, a ratty stuffed rabbit that had clearly been repaired many times over. He couldn’t help but notice the way that Hawkeye’s fingers lingered on the doorknob as she opened the door.

“Hey—this your room, Reez?” he asked her, not bothering to ask if this was her house. She had to know that he figured that out by now.

She looked sharply up at him, as if he had just reminded her that she wasn’t quite alone. “Yes,” she said curtly. “This was my room.”

“It’s cute. Musta been a nice little escape for you, huh?”

Something in her face tightened again, and he caught a glimpse of the same look that she had gotten on the train when he had mentioned kids needing to be kids. His brow furrowed. Something was definitely not right, and it was beginning to cause an uneasy feeling in his chest. What was it about childhood that had her reacting that way?

“It was what it was,” she said before he could think too deeply on it. “Let’s just get the bed made up.”

“Sure.”

He didn’t say anything more but watched as she took the rabbit and tossed him onto the dresser before they started making up the bed. Her movements were almost military precise again, as if she were focusing on them instead of her emotions. The quilt they spread here was made of little squares of light colors, something Havoc could see appealing to a little girl. Hawkeye smoothed it out, and Havoc caught the slightest lingering of her fingers before she picked up the other package and made her way out of the room. He hesitated for a moment, then reached over for the rabbit, sitting him on the pillow.

“She might need you, buddy,” he said, before turning and following her to the next bedroom.

This bedroom was also very plain but seemed to have been somewhat used as a storage room as well. There were a couple of trunks in there, as well as a sewing machine in a corner and a dress dummy. As with the other rooms, the furniture looked run down, but had clearly once been nice.

“Sorry for the clutter,” Hawkeye said, moving the dress dummy into a corner. “Technically this is the guest bedroom but, well, we didn’t exactly have many guests.”

“Its fine, don’t worry about it,” Havoc said, not at all surprised at the lack of guests. “It’s got a bed, and that’s good enough for me.”

She gave him a wane smile, and then opened the package and the two began once again making up the bed. His quilt was different from the other two, looking to be made of flour sacks and with uneven stitching.

“Sorry about that,” she said. “It’s just as warm as the others, but it was the first one I made. I wasn’t very good at it, but it served its purpose.”

“It’s fine,” Havoc said, a little surprised that Riza knew how to quilt. “Did you make the other two later or something?”

Hawkeye shook her head, gathering the paper and string back up. “Those were made by my mother. They only have small repairs done by me.”

“Oh, she teach you?” Havoc asked, curious. Hawkeye never talked about her family.

Hawkeye shook her head. “No,” she said quietly, simply, and he felt like he might have stepped in something again. “She died when I was young. I don’t remember her.”

“Oh, ah… geeze, Riza,” well he felt like a heel now, and brought his hand back to scratch at the back of his head out of guilt. “I’m sorry. Didn’t mean to just bring it up like that.”

Hawkeye shook her head. “No. It’s alright. You didn’t know and you couldn’t know. It’s nothing to worry about.”

She looked up at him and met his eyes, and for once on this trip he felt like she was being honest about her feelings on this matter. But the moment was quickly over, and she gestured for him to leave, both of them heading back down the stairs.

The rest of the afternoon and evening was filled with the three of them finishing readying the house, settling in, and cooking supper. Havoc learned that there was a bathroom downstairs and one upstairs, a washroom that was under the stairs and near the kitchen, a library that was downstairs, a master bedroom and a study upstairs, an attic, and a basement. He also learned that many of the items that seemed to be missing from the house were sold over the years to keep the place up, and that Riza had kept chickens and a few goats for both food and profit, as well as selling her kill when she went hunting.

He also learned through observation that Mustang had spent quite a bit of time here. He seemed to know where everything was and was nearly as familiar with the house as Hawkeye seemed to be. There was also some sort of history here in this house, not just between Mustang and Hawkeye, but with Hawkeye herself. She was clearly tense, Mustang clearly knew why, but as to what exactly was going on, well, Havoc wasn’t sure. He was, though, beginning to wonder just what Hawkeye’s childhood was like.

The tension was still present between Mustang and Hawkeye. Hawkeye still shied away or outright rejected help or touches from Mustang, and made comments that Havoc knew somehow were digs or barbed comments, but that he lacked the context to understand. Mustang grew more frustrated and exasperated with her as the night wore on, sometimes flinging back a verbal barb himself. By the time the decision was made that they should all just go to bed, the two were clearly irritated with each other again, and Havoc was going to stay well out of it—even if he did note, with interest, that when they went up the stairs for bed, Mustang headed straight for the bedroom that Riza had said was his, with no hesitation whatsoever.

Well, that was going to give him some interesting tidbits to think over tonight.

Just what was he in the middle of?

#fmabb #Fullmetal Alchemist #riza hawkeye #Roy Mustang #Jean Havoc #Fullmetal Alchemist fan fic #fma fanfiction #fma fanfic

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