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satingrove · 4 years ago

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the hours

pairing: obi-wan kenobi x reader

summary: obi-wan pays you a visit before leaving for kamino

content: uhh SOFTNESS, fluff, a cute obi-wan and youngling moment, steamy meditation, more fluff, aotc obi rights, no gender specification

wc: 3.136k :’)

Lost a planet, Master Obi-Wan has. How embarrassing... How embarrassing.

He had one important trip to make before seeking out said planet.

Obi-Wan nods to those who pass him by, walking briskly through the Temple with his hands clasped in front of him, thinking on Yoda's other (more helpful) words, go to the center of gravity's pull and find your planet, you will. It would still be a while before he did so.

He nears an opening of transparisteel, scratching his beard and peering out of it - as if Kamino would appear in the sky, knowing it was sought after. But it's not there, as expected.

Sighing, Obi-Wan closes his eyes, focusing on the surrounding energy, the swirls of air and the sound of quiet walking, trying to single out a presence by the trace of a Force Signature. He gets just a whisper of it when his attention is broken by two small hands tugging at his cloak.

"Obi-Wan!"

Katooni, a youngling Tholothian, starts to wrap her short arms around Obi's leg, who chuckles in return. His hand comes to rest on her head.

"Little one, are you supposed to be in the library with the others?" Obi-Wan doesn't take an accusatory tone - it's laced with amusement at the youngling petting at his calf.

Katooni turns shy, hiding her face and slowly trying to inch away. The taller of the two crouches, his cloak pooling generously around him at the floor. Obi-Wan meets her at eye level, ensuring her comfort.

"I'm not here to get you into trouble, Katooni. Is that where you're supposed to be?" He displays clear and attentive empathy, though not without a trace of austerity.

Slowly, delayed by gentle shame, the Tholothian's head nods up and down.

"I was just taking a walk for a break, Master Kenobi."

He smiles, rising to stand and extending his pinkie to her, "Then I suppose I'll accompany you back, young one?"

She takes it with a soothed giggle, and he realizes the words that stuck with him from so many months ago, ones you had uttered, were perhaps true - he was indeed favoured among the young ones of the Temple, and it's more evident now than it had been before - Katooni isn't fretting about going back to the library to read up on ancient texts; she's content holding his pinkie with her whole hand, skipping twice to each step he takes.

And Obi-Wan supposes that it isn't a bad thing; to be admired in such ways, yet he does worry about the influence he gives. Was it respectable enough? He never thought he'd earned the right to be idolized. Then again, the child grasping his finger does warm his heart.

The fretting about rightful heroism is soon behind him, what with the more pressing matters on his hands - a voyage to a (seemingly) non-existent planet, and before that, a visit to his dearest.

Obi-Wan crouches before Katooni a second time, just shy of the library.

"I need you to tell me something very important before you go," he sets up his question in an enthusiastic whisper - a secret from everyone else in the Temple. Lightheartedly, he pokes her shoulder, "Have you seen my friend?"

"Oh, I have!" Katooni starts, excited that she had an answer, "I last saw them heading that way, before-" and then she stops, ears starting to burn with the heat of embarrassment. But it's all Obi-Wan needs to know. You'll be in your quarters.

"Ah, before you ran into me and tugged my poor cloak?" His right eyebrow raises.

"Mhm!" She chortles, almost proud of herself. Obi-Wan gives her the warmest of smiles.

"It would be best to stay in there this time." He motions to the library, softly stern, "Although, I'm not exactly sure how you escaped in the first place." Winking, a final gesture to let her know that he's not mad, he makes to cross the hallway.

Obi-Wan hardly turns the corner before Katooni yells her sweetest "thank you!" to him, scurrying back into the vastness of history books. As he weaves his way through those high-ceiling corridors, he ponders the affection he's always given. Had the little ones seen him as a father figure? He wasn't even positive what that was supposed to mean - although, Qui-Gon was the closest he'd ever had to one. The thought stings him for a second, a brief pain in his chest, and he brushes it off with his well-known stoicism, ready to fall into your arms instead for one restoring night.

Hood drawn up, he ensures the space around him is empty, pressing the button to your door. Unusually, he hadn't knocked, yet he slips in as it hisses open.

A sigh of relief blows through his pursed lips at his successful venture to forbidden grounds; and like clockwork, his arms fold as he leans his side into the wall. He smirks when you finally see him.

"Maker, I wasn't expecting you-" Your hand on your heart almost worries him.

"Am I not welcome?" He asks quizzically, looking particularly regal, features made dark by the shadow of his hood. Jedi Knight was a rightfully chosen word.

He knew he was indeed welcome.

"Oh, don't be a fool." You kiss his lips in a short but sweet peck, tangling your fingers in the length of his auburn hair and taking his hood down. It's not enough for him.

"You'll have to kiss me longer than that." He talks low and deep against your lips, pressing them back together for a lingering moment. As it consumes your senses, it releases all of his pesky, pent up stresses. His whimper lights up your insides.

As you come apart for the second time, his hand finds the back of your neck to cradle it delicately, eyes switching between your left and right. "What if I am a fool?"

You jab a finger into his side, "You're not", and he huffs.

"Coming here, I'd say so." He waits with an expectant look, one that makes his eyes crinkle with the smile he's trying to put off.

"Hey!" You swat at his shoulder and he takes it with exuberance, "we're careful enough about it."

Unwittingly, you try walking back to your notebook, in which you were scrawling details about deadly Felucian spore plants.

"Oh, are we?" His hands catch your waist, bringing your back swiftly to his chest. Hands creep under your clothing and caress your bare skin.

It instantly makes you weak against him, powerless to put any stop to it, and you let him continue his loving, handsy, research of your body. "Would you prefer we do this outside?" His mouth is dangerously close to nipping your ear.

"Obi-Wan..." You whine, only giving him extra incentive.

"I thought we were careful enough..."

You turn in his arms, wrapping your own around his neck, his head lazily falling into yours. Carefully, he places open-mouthed kisses all along your collarbone. He's not thinking about Kamino, nor how he'll get there. It's all forgotten as he adores you with his lips.

It feels so soft and elegant, he's so soft and elegant, but even as he's lost in his amorous deeds, the nature of his visit hasn't escaped you yet. Secrecy lead you to plan specific times to indulge in each other, although here he is, a doting surprise.

You reluctantly hum a pushy sound. He stops his movements but his lips stay connected to you. Obi-Wan hums a questioning hmm? in return.

"Did you have something to tell me?" You take him by the shoulders, all of a sudden worried that he most likely did and that it wouldn't be your favourite piece of news.

"Oh," he grumbles in slight annoyance, not at you but at the thought of leaving you in a few hours' time. "Yes, love, I did come to speak with you about something."

Your stomach drops, something he senses, and he hurriedly implores you not to panic. Taking both your hands in his, he leads you to your bed and sits down with you on its plush mattress.

He gets on with it, "I'll be leaving soon," starting slowly, gauging your reactions, "to look for a planet erased from the archives. I don't know what I may come into contact with."

The something he came to talk about doesn't startle you as much as you'd expected. Obi-Wan is a very capable Jedi, and he usually left little room for you to fret over his well-being. That said, you did anyway, all the time. His penchant for being mouthy at odds happened to cost him some blood, but this seemed as normal a job as any.

"I came to tell you," he brushes a piece of hair behind your ear, eyes following it, then meeting your gaze again, "and spend the rest of the time I have with you."

His lips envelop yours once more, this time with more bursting energy, eagerly as having an itch that couldn't be scratched. And then it all turns soft, his hair tickling your cheek as he rubs his face along your neck, taking in your scent and trying to memorize it to the best of his ability.

"How long is that?" You ask, ruffling his neat, long hair.

"Few hours." He mumbles into your skin, beard scratching against it but it's nothing you mind. "Almost the night." He adds.

The night.

"You know, I'll have to be very centered when I leave."

You do know, and it means he'll want to meditate for a while.

"Of course," your hand finds his cheek, the scruff soft under your palm, "take your time."

Obi-Wan is grateful for your constant understanding, but he has other plans - he never meant to come into your quarters to deny you his attention. You're glad to have him near regardless of what he does, yet his hand rests on your thigh and his eyes turn pleading.

"I thought you could join me." It's less of a question and more of an implication. An implication that it wasn't going to be a traditional meditation session.

You can't muster a proper response, a quiet oh coming out in its place. And as words fail you, you nod your head in agreement. Enthusiastically.

"Very well." He whispers hot against your skin, moving his head from it and standing up - except he starts to take off his cloak and utility belt. A breathy noise, and you earn yourself an amused look from him. "What? Would you rather do it for me?"

You smile charmingly, feet gently kicking at his shins, "Is that what you want?"

And he feels it again. The need to make his love known.

"I couldn't say no, darling." It leaves his chest in a hum, body leaning down for his lips to touch your forehead. Your fingers hook onto his belt, tugging him towards you and threatening to make him topple onto the mattress. He grumbles in happy exasperation, the kind that leaves him feeling overwhelmingly fond of you as you pull it off of him and neatly lay it on the sheets. He smiles at the care you give to himself and his possessions.

His fingers trace the edges of his wrap. He gathers some of it and holds it out to you. Your eyes narrow.

"More?" Your hands slowly extend to the fabric.

"Won't you?" He asks, and you sense a trace of timidity in it that makes your cheeks burn. To have flustered Obi-Wan again, for who knows how many times it's been now - you feel precious. And to him, you were just that.

The back of his hand slips gingerly down your face as you pull, the fabric wrap starting to fall off his shoulders, leaving him in his undershirt. You ravel it around your wrists and lay it beside his belt.

"That's better, thank you." He pushes the sleeves up to his elbows, the fabric loose and airy on his body, and he's effortlessly handsome.

You feebly try not to ogle him, but he's loosened the collar and his chest peeks through the linen, the image romantic on its own. He feels your stare, chuckling sweetly at your enamoured face, "I feel warm when I'm with you," giving a reason to his lack of layers.

You feel warm, too. Obi-Wan guides you to stand - ever the gentleman - and doesn't let you go while he rolls out your intricate rug from Jakku that had been sitting in the corner. Then he does let go of you, sitting down with his legs in front of him, hair falling princely on his forehead.

"Sit, my love." He motions his head, tilting it towards the spot in front of him. You're not sure why he's not sitting cross-legged, but you follow his lead and sit before him with a straight back.

"No, no. Closer." You inch forward. He extends his cheek out to you with closed eyes, waiting for his kiss. It comes as second nature to you, without a second thought, giggling quietly as you peck his face and he joins the laughter when he feels it. "Now, turn around."

How was this going to go?

You throw him a look, to which he nods his head rigidly. Turning your body before him, everything then becomes a soft and serene blur, laced with every drop of love you held for the other. His arms pull you snug against his front, chin hooking onto your shoulder.

He inhales and exhales deeply along with you, chest firm against your back, bodies moulding.

"That's it," he coos, hands pressing against your stomach, "breathe with me, feel everything..."

All you can do is what he says. The act is new but the feeling isn’t foreign; Obi-Wan’s arrays of intimacy are common, but this is different, the anticipation aloft and the touches silken.

There's the sound of air passing in through his nose. His head further lolls onto you, your lungs filling shakily, the feeling sweet and kind. Your wrists, your neck, seemingly everything has a throbbing pulse. Obi-Wan doesn't miss your wavering breaths, deft fingers making quick work of soothing your muscles.

"So tense... it's only me, darling."

His words surround you. Melodic and steady, "Let go."

You do, floating and falling.

You sense everything - the tide of his breathing, his gentle humming, the way he keeps you tight against him like he couldn't go without; the clement whispers, feeling perfectly flush with the man who brings you nothing but pure, good feelings - like it's the only thing he knows how to do - even as he does everything else with poise and taste.

This is no exception. The sensuality is tangible - the unknowing Jedi who roam the hallway outside could have felt it, should have felt it, if not for Obi-Wan's ability to be subtle about making you weak and entirely his.

"Trust me." He brushes up the column of your throat, cautiously bringing your head back into the crook of his neck as he cranes his own to make space. He notes the fluffy feeling of your hair, arm crossing your body. You murmur, "I always trust you."

Stars, if he didn't love to hear it.

"Tell me what you see when you close your eyes."

In the blackness, there comes nothing.

"I see- I don't see anything. I only feel you..."

And what did he expect?

There wasn't anything to see when there was so much to feel. His tender hand on your throat and his legs hugging yours, you stood no chance at finding an image in your mind.

"Good," he presses his face to yours, "nice, isn't it?"

You sigh, completely enveloped in him - it's physical and emotional. Obi-Wan groans lightly at your sound, further burying his face into your curve, trying to grapple that this wouldn't last forever.

And inevitably, the falling continues. The fog of slumber starts to cloud your head by Obi-Wan's effect, that which leaves you too calm to stay awake in his arms. Fighting it isn't of any use; his soothing energy had always been a mystery, what with its pleasant gentleness that is unassailable against your consciousness.

But the moment is too sweet to lose.

He exhales an ahh of acknowledgement for your perseverance in staying awake.

"Obi, I'm not sure how this is helping you clear your mind-"

He supposes he hadn't been clear himself - learning your body under the expanse of his palms, through the matching time of your breathing, was a meditation in itself.

"But it has, my love."

It all starts over again. The lush sensations and the rush of your heart. Your senses dialed with his fingertips pressed on your wrists, finding the rhythm of your aliveness; the only thing he would hope to be sure of in the coming years that neither of you expected yet.

You both reach a point of euphoric tranquility - two words you'd use to describe his company - chests expanding and deflating at the same, slow rate. It had come to an end.

"You did wonderfully for me." A lasting kiss on your neck as he savours it. His lips send you into pleasant, sunny rapture.

The occurrence leaves you in a hazy state, all that comfort pressed against you is taken away as you both rise, sleepily, happily, and stumble into your bed.

"I don't want to wake you when I leave," Obi-Wan says, considerately and kind, propped up over you on his elbows, "I'll be careful."

"Don't be," and he melts, "I'd hate to miss you."

It’s the saccharine pieces of time that made him whole. Without another word, he kisses you; conveying the completeness that he feels by your hand, discreetly hungry but overshadowed by a chaste and giving nature. It's light and loving and drawn out long.

Then he falls grandly into the sheets beside you, arm heavily draping across your stomach, your lips missing his but you know he needs the sleep. And as the morning came, he was already gone. A vague memory of his departure floods your mind, playing over your closed eyelids - you can see it - the way he had kissed your temples, both lazily and warm, your arm semi-consciously reaching out to him, which his lips had touched too, held by both his hands.

What you hadn't seen, was Obi-Wan looming in the doorway, overseeing you drifting back to dreaming, cloak not keeping him nearly as warm as you did. He blew a kiss that you didn't catch, but knew that had you been awake, you'd have thrown it back to him.

He hopes Kamino will be a simple, touch and go engagement.

#obi wan kenobi x reader #obi wan x reader #obi wan kenobi #obi wan #obi wan imagine #obi wan fluff #obi wan fanfiction #star wars #star wars imagine #userkarina #ewan mcgregor

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poisonheadcrabsalesman · 4 years ago

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Played some more Halo 4 and was talking with @bellygunnr and @shitty17 about John and Cortana sharing the neural load so that she survives long enough fighting Rampancy. And of course, John would offer, he makes promises! He loves her! So the idea was if Cortana thinks herself to death when she has so much processing power and subroutines maybe she can purposely limit herself to John's neural net.

Compress herself to fit and still process certain things and only certain amounts, who's to say it won't work?

Splitting is bad but what about compressing into zip files and storing the parts that fly the supercarriers away and keeping the body-sharing, sensation-feeling, memory-having, personality-holding parts?

This bit takes place Halo 4 after Chief and Cortana get to the Infinity the first time, because he’s been in space for almost five years and needs a snack, a shower, and a nap before they throw him out into the field again. Lasky is also there, because he’s neat.

The techs offered him nothing he wanted to hear so he moved away, ignoring the look Lasky was giving him.

"He looks like a kicked puppy, Chief. Don't ignore him." John makes a face beneath his helmet, mind straying from his mental map of ideas. He'd been going so fast that hitting this wall has left his mind blank. He's so tired, and starving. Now that his body is out of combat and his mind has caught up, he realizes his stomach is growling loud enough that the techs and the commander can hear it.

They let him keep Cortana's chip in his head even after he's stripped out of his armor. It's probably against protocol, but no one calls him on it. He's escorted to some officer level quarters and given enough food to feed 4 marines. He showers. He eats. He sleeps. She's there, commenting on the food, the temperature of the water, how nice it is to have a whole room, his scars, anything but her decline. It still hangs over them like a sword. He's dressed in clothes that almost fit him, in a bed that does when he asks her again.

"What if you map my brain, find parts to fit in? I've fallen out of enough ships something's had to have rattled loose."

"It's never been done, John. Besides, you need sleep. I'll be here."

So he sleeps, and lets the warmth of food and rest mix with the cool rush of her down his spine. He relaxes and dozes. Senses aware and not. The room is secure and he is safe. She's here. He's here. John falls into REM sleep and Cortana, curious, follows.

And they wake up together.

Something's different when their eyes open. All systems feel like they're online. Memory just a bit slow for recall. Everything a bit slower for her, hearing the tick of the clock on the wall at human speed is not her usual choice. She likes being fast and impressing John. Why does he need to impress himself? He knows what he's capable of? He's the one who shows off for her.

He sits up and considers his next step. The clock says he has 24 more hours before they need to be mission ready. They. He and Cortana. They should spend that time together. He needs to find some way to get to Halsey. The name brings a sharp flare of anger to mind, and bitterness. A more foreign feeling. She's used to being bitter over her, but the anger is hot and fast, with a slow, old resentment and sad acceptance underneath. How bizarre. How human.

There's a mirror on the wall by the dresser. An idea. She thinks he should go look, he's already moving, trained to think and move as one with the armor. They stand there together. There's nothing new, and everything's different.

They find Commander Lasky after the higher-ups had been informed of their situation.

They had a favor to ask. And Lasky seemed trustworthy, and funny. And cute. Cortana. They didn't blush at the warring feelings of smugness and truth those thoughts held. They didn't.

"Commander, a moment." They're alone in the hall outside the bridge and they take this moment to stare at Lasky some more. Cortana had recent memories of looking at his file versus John's fuzzier, human memories and the emotions attached. A young mourning Spartan who saved and was saved by a young mourning cadet. A beat passes and Lasky looks a bit nervous as he stares back into their faceplate.

"Nothing serious, Commander, we were just wondering if there was an outer observation deck. One out of the way and out of sight." Her cadence out of his mouth was a slip up, but Lasky doesn't seem bothered. He smiles as he nods and takes them.

They look out over the jungle, the wind whips around them at this height. There's sun baking the deck at this hour and it's now or never. They turn their helmet to Lasky. A mix of prodding worry, vulnerability, and so much just wells up inside them. A silent question and answer to themself. They look towards the sun and unlatch the helmet.

Soft warmth touches their skin and soaks in even as the wind brings a slight chill with it as it ruffles short shorn hair and stings sensitive eyes that were closed for almost 5 years. Tears well up and overflow, hot and bright as the joy spilling up out of their chest. They feel like they could burst with the amount they are feeling. A whoop tears out of their throat followed by a bark of laughter. They haven't cried in years. They've never cried. It's all too much and it's unfair, but it's so beautiful and worth it for them to have this moment and they yell over the side.

Lasky jumps and shifts uncomfortably at the private moment, but even as he quashes the smile he doesn't stop a small laugh of incredulity from slipping out. The Master Chief turns and looks at him with tears running down their face and a smile as big as can be stretched across their face. It's a face that doesn't look like it's used to smiling, but it's beautiful in a very human way. Scars and faded freckles and a tooth gap. Lasky opens his mouth to apologize but is shocked into silence as the Spartan sprints up to him and claps him none to gently on the shoulders.

"Can we hug you, sir? We want to ask, and respect your position." They are so open and eager and their eyes are bright and shining with more than tears.

"I think John should kiss you, but I was willing to compromise." The voice was the same, but the tone and speech was different enough that it almost threw Lasky as much as the actual message. Their face twitched and began to redden as the words sank in. Someone didn't like that they said that.

"Uh, sure, Chief, I won't tell. Don't know who'd believe me anyways." He tries to laugh it off, like he and everyone he knows wouldn't kill for a hug from Master Chief.

"The people under your command respect you and follow you because of your actions and dedication" Ah, Cortana was back, and going straight for his jugular. He tried not to preen under her compliments. "Especially Commander Palmer, you know, I was looking and I think-"

"Cortana. Please." The voice was the same, but the tone was gruffer and it rattled Lasky where he stood. Both of their faces were red. Instead of addressing any of Cortana's praise or any of this situation, Lasky simply brings his arms up and around the Spartan. It's awkward and hard, he's hugging someone covered in armor who's over a foot taller than him. The hug is gently, tentatively returned. A hand around his shoulders and one on his back. He feels them press their cheek to the top of his head and inhale, a bit shakily.

"Thanks."

#my writing #John 117 #Cortana #Johntana #and lasky maybe #Lasky #I cannot write the fics I'm working on but apparently I can take a drabble and obsessively run with it #this is not a halo blog #crab text #thanks friends for enabling me #i write best in discord apparently #all the characters i write are bi and have 2 hands #Johntana fusion au

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keanureevesisbae · 4 years ago

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Coach Cavill - Chapter 2

Summary: Benji really likes his new coach and Amelia can only agree.

Coach!Henry Cavill x Amelia Jung (Asian ofc)

Wordcount: 3.3k

Warnings: None

Masterlist // Previous chapter // Next chapter

‘Annabelle did not pee her pants today,’ I tell Greg, when I place the shopping basket on the counter. ‘She actually managed to reach the toilets in time, so no clothes in a plastic bag today.’

When I walked out of school today, I got a text from Eve, saying that if Benji, Isabella and I wanted to have dinner at her place, I should bring some ingredients back with me and I really want to have dinner at her place. She is a much better cook than I am. Or even will be for that matter.

‘I’m proud of her,’ Greg chuckles, as he scans the articles. ‘By the way, I heard coach Cavill is a success.’

I agree to that a bit too quickly, but Greg is clueless (bless his heart) and doesn’t hear the desperation in my voice. Two practices have passed since the first one on Monday and usually I would bring some work with me, but now I’m enjoying every second of it. It’s something about how Henry handles the kids. I mean, when men are good with kids, it’s always a plus (I mean, have you seen Chris Evans with kids?), but it was different with Henry. The way he would grab the back of Benji’s brown belt, hoisting him up, it was something fatherly.

I remember when Benji was younger, Dean would bring him to practice. Since Benji had this thing about not changing in the locker rooms when he was younger (he finally outgrew that, thankfully), he’d get dressed back at home and Dean would carry him into the practice centre, as if Benji was a sports bag.

What has changed between Benji and Dean?

Henry’s deep voice fills the judo hall, with compliments to each kid. Some of them prefer the yelling type of coaching, while Benji prefers an one on one moments, where the coach would softly and privately tell him how he is doing.

No one hears the things he says to my son and I can’t believe this man knows how to handle my son within one week.

However, I’m not the only one who is enjoying the training, since the crowd of drooling moms is expanding with the minute. ‘Benji really likes him.’

Greg nods. ‘Good, good. Henry is already a well liked customer here. He buys a lot of groceries,’ he says. ‘I heard he lived in the old house miss Bonny used to live.’

‘He lives in that dump?’ I ask. That house has been empty for at least five years since her passing and kids are often told that the spirit of miss Bonny is circling around. Now my kids never believed in that, since I told them that was untrue. It’s just… The place scares me a bit, so I never walk passed that place when it was already dim outside. ‘Why?’

‘Has too much time on his hands?’ He shrugs. ‘I have no idea, never really asked about that, but what is a Brit doing here anyway?’

‘Trying to disrupt the peace here and breaking up marriages. You should see the bleachers during practice,’ I chuckle. ‘There are more women than there are kids. I saw Lotte Gambles even sitting there.’

‘Lotte Gambles doesn’t have any kids nor is interested in judo or any sport for that matter,’ Greg notes.

‘My thoughts exactly,’ I laugh. ‘I mean, how obvious do you want to make it that you are thirty seven, single and desperate?’

‘I bet you’re glad you got pregnant when you were in college, so you’d have a kid, thus an excuse to ogle the handsome coach.’

‘Greg,’ I tell him in my stern teacher voice, ‘I know what tooth broke off. My fist can do that again.’

He holds up his hands in defense. ‘I’ll shut u— Oh no.’

‘What oh no?’ I look over my shoulder and let out a frustrated sigh. Why is Dean here? With Mindy of all people? Is she incapable of doing something herself? Whenever I see her, it’s always with Dean. I don’t think I’ve ever run into her without my ex by her side.

Dean notices me and holds up his hand. I simply turn around again and say to Greg: ‘I’ll give you an extra twenty bucks if you can speed it up a bit.’

‘Amelia,’ I hear Dean say behind me and I clench my jaw out of frustration. I hate the way he says my name. I just hate him anyways. I can’t believe I was married to someone, who had the capability of hurting me so bad. ‘I still haven’t heard if I have Isabella over this weekend.’

I might’ve “forgotten” to text him. ‘She didn’t want to go,’ I simply tell him, ‘but she will think about going for the rest of the weekend, when she sees you tomorrow at the match.’

‘And Benji is still sure that he only wants me there?’ Dean wraps his arm around Mindy’ waist and I’m ready to stab my car keys or anything really in his eye. Why is he rubbing in that he has someone new, a younger model that he exchanged me for?

‘Benji is more than sure.’ I pay for my groceries and Greg hands me the plastic bag. ‘Thank you, Greg.’

‘Wish Benji good luck from me, will you?’ Greg says. ‘I’m not going to be able to make it tomorrow.’

‘So no snacks for us?’ I ask him, pushing my wallet back in my purse.

‘Sorry, Amelia, but I’ll put something behind the registry. When you guys come over, I’ll give you something to make up for it.’

‘You are amazing, Greg. Thank you.’ I look at Dean and say: ‘I’m serious, don’t go and bring,’—don’t say the toddler, Amelia, you have to be more mature than that and you are—‘her with you. Your son specifically asked for you and that means only you.’

I don’t even want to hear what he has to say about that, but I have known Dean for quite some time now: he has plenty to say. I walk to the lot and as I try and find my keys, when I hear a: ‘Hello Amelia.’

I look up so quickly, I nearly break my neck. ‘Coach Cavill,’ I say with a smile.

‘Henry, please.’

‘Excuse me, Henry. What are you doing here?’

‘Just going to get some snacks at the store,’ he explains.

Why going to get some snacks, when you are the only snack around? Thankfully I have the ability to shut my mouth, but I need to tell Eve this as soon as I get to her house. I bite my lip as I look at his outfit. I mean, he is a delicious looking man in his judogi. Normally men don’t wear shirts underneath it, but I do think he is aware that if he were to grace us with a glimpse of his bare chest, all the women would be dead in a heartbeat, me included.

But now, he is wearing jeans and a thick sweater and it looks so homey. I’m just going to put it out there: it’s an outfit that I have dreamed about, in a setting where he is sitting on our couch.

I simply nod. ‘Well, Benji really looks forward for tomorrow,’ I say. ‘He has been talking non stop about how great of a coach you are.’ It warmed my heart to hear Benji speaking so highly about his new coach, he barely does that. ‘He really doesn’t want to let you down.’

Benji always says that he doesn’t want to let me down. Not his dad, not Eve, not Johnny, not his grandparents, not even his sister, but only me. Hearing how there is someone else that he doesn’t want to let down, someone he met just this week, it makes me all sorts of happy. It’s all I ever wanted for my son, to have someone who shares his love for judo on a much deeper level.

I mean, sure, he and Johnny are close, he and my dad are close, but that is different. They don’t share his love for judo with him. Just like Dean and Benji never shared his love for judo. Their bond was never optimal.

Dean is loud, sometimes a bit crude and that was a bit too much for Benji from time to time. A real dad might tone it down a bit, however Dean is not a real dad, from my perspective of course.

‘Really?’ Henry smiles brightly, as he buries his hands in his pockets. ‘That’s always good to hear. I mean, whatever happens tomorrow, I’m proud of him anyways. Your son is an amazing judoka, Amelia. I’ve been training judoka’s for quite some time now, but Benji is on another level. I swear, the way that kid prepares before the throws, it’s quite something. Very unpredictable.’

Hearing other people gush about my children, is something that I always love, but hearing it from a coach who is new, but also seems like the type of man that really, really knows what he is doing, makes it extra special.

‘Really?’ I ask. ‘Wait, now it sounds like I’m actually surprised that he is good, while I know that Benji is amazing, but… His other coaches never gushed about him like you just did. And how long have you known him? A week?’

‘It comes with being a good coach, I guess,’ he says, with an even wider smile on his face. ‘When you see someone talented, you recognize it right away. I’m serious.’

‘Thank you for believing in him.’

‘That’s fairly easy when someone is that good,’ he tells me. ‘I’m not trying to infiltrate in yours and Benji’s life, but… I just have to ask. The divorce, it’s really hard on him, isn’t it?’

I sigh. ‘It is. I mean, it’s hard on both of my kids, but Isabella is really different. She understands that we are never getting back together, that her father is starting a new life and that I’m trying to do that too, but she never blames herself for it. Not one second. Benji on the other hand, keeps assuming it’s his fault. He keeps thinking if he was a better kid, a different kid, Dean wouldn’t have left.’

‘I’m so sorry to hear that,’ Henry says. ‘It must be tough on the three of you.’

‘It is. I mean, Benji is so sweet, but he takes a lot too personal, while this whole divorce had nothing to do with him.’ I sigh deeply and add: ‘It’s good for him that he has another male role model in his life that he shares something so important with.’

Henry smiles and is that a little blush on his cheeks? ‘Happy to be that for him.’

I realize that what I’m saying now, belongs in a therapy session, not on a parking lot with my son’s hot judo coach ‘I’m so sorry, that’s too much information about a messy divorce you don’t want to hear about.’

‘No, I brought it up myself. It’s just that… I can see it with Benji, how much he is seeking for approval. Just let him know that I’m never going to be disappointed in him. No matter how he performs tomorrow and all the trainings and competitions after that.’

I blink my eyes, as I try to not cry. ‘I’ll let him know. Thanks, Henry, for everything.’

‘No problem, Amelia.’ He motions towards the store and says: ‘I’ve got to go, I’m terribly sorry.’

‘No, no, I understand,’ I quickly say. ‘Please, don’t let me stall you. I’ll see you tomorrow.’

✰ ✰ ✰

Isabella, Benji and I finally managed to sneak out of Eve’s house. Normally I’m not too strict with bed time, especially when it’s weekend, but we have to wake up pretty early tomorrow and I want Benji to feel fresh and fit for his match. I already gave Isabella a kiss, before I walk over to Benji’s room. He is scrolling through his phone and looks up with a smile.

‘Hi sweetheart, what are you doing?’

‘Just checking the opponents.’

‘Can I come in?’ I ask.

‘Of course, mom.’ Benji places his phone to the side, as I sit on the edge of his bed.

‘Benji, we have to talk.’

‘Is everything okay? Did I do something wrong?’ His voice is dripping with worry. I should’ve worded it differently.

‘Oh, no, of course not. It’s just that… I ran into coach Cavill today at the grocery store and he wanted me to let you know that he is not going to be disappointed in you, no matter how you perform.’

Benji nods, as he leans with his back against the headboard of his bed. ‘I just don’t want to let him down, mom.’

‘And you’ll never will,’ I say to him, running my fingers through his hair.

‘Dad said that too,’ he mumbles.

I nod. ‘But he always was disappointed when you didn’t win gold,’ I fill in for him. ‘I know, but remember, your dad was overly competitive and was a failure in every single sport out there, thanks to his selfish personality. But you should remember, that not every man in your life is like him. Uncle Johnny and grandpa and even Greg from the store, they are all incredibly proud of you and those men don’t even understand judo. Imagine how proud coach Cavill is going to be, since you both share a love for judo.’

‘But, mom, what if he thinks that I’m not good enough?’

‘You are good enough, honey,’ I say with a smile. ‘And you always will be, for everyone around here and that means for coach too. He will always think that you are good enough, He even said that you were on another level today and he knows his stuff about judo. Remember again, he is not your dad.’

He sighs. ‘I’m scared for tomorrow.’

My sweet and worried Benji. ‘You want me to call coach for you? I think I have his number somewhere in my email. Maybe he can calm you down a bit, prepare you for tomorrow.’

He wants to appear a little tougher than he is, so he shakes his head, but his puppy eyes say something completely different. Thankfully my mom instincts have barely proved me wrong, because I grab my phone from my back pocket and scroll through my mail, trying to find the introduction email from Henry. I click on his phone number and bring the phone to my ear, while holding Benji’s hand even tighter in mine than before. ‘Henry,’ he says when he picks up.

‘Hi, this is Amelia.’

‘Oh, hi Amelia, what a nice surprise. Are you okay?’

This man is quite something else, asking if I’m okay. When was the last time that Dean asked me something like that? I think it was at least six months before I found out he was banging his intern Mindy Simpleton, so that makes it more than a year.

‘Yeah, I’m okay, but I have very a nervous young boy here, who doesn’t believe that he is good enough.’

‘That can’t be good.’ Henry says. ‘You want me to talk to him?’

‘If you want.’

‘Of course I want that. You can put Benji on.’

I hold out my phone for Benji and he hesitantly takes it out of my hand. ‘Hi, coach,’ he says and I stand up, as I clean up his room for a bit, making sure his sports bag is all packed and ready to go. I know he should do that himself and he does, but it never hurts anyone to double check. ‘Yeah … No, I’m just worried … My mom said that too … Yeah, she is indeed … I’m sorry … No, I really am … I’ll see you tomorrow … Will do … Thank you … Of course.’ Benji holds out the phone for me and says: ‘Coach wants to say something to you.’

I take the phone and say: ‘Hi, it’s me again.’

‘I hope that worked.’

‘That was quick,’ I whisper, as I see Benji getting ready for bed, with a smile on his face. ‘How did you do that?’

‘I’m that amazing,’ he says. ‘No, just kidding. I recognize myself in him, so I know how he feels.’

There is so much I want to ask him. He recognizes himself in my son? Why doesn’t that match up in my head?

‘Anyway, just wanted to tell you that he is a great kid, he’ll do fine and that tomorrow I’ll be his coach and his coach only for that block.’

‘Could you wait for a second?’ I ask him. ‘Just real quick.’

‘Of course.’

I hold the phone away and ask Benji: ‘Are you okay, honey?’

‘I’m fine,’ he says.

‘Well, good night and I’ll see you tomorrow. Rise and shine at six.’

He groans. ‘Really?’

‘Yes, sweetheart, I’m sorry. It’s quite the drive.’ I give him a kiss on his forehead. ‘I love you.’

‘I love you too, mom.’

I smile at my handsome boy, before I walk out of his room, flicking off the light and closing the door. ‘I’m sorry you had to wait.’

‘You need to find better and more appropriate moments to apologize,’ he says. ‘You’re always apologizing, even when you shouldn’t.’

‘Yeah, it’s an annoying trait.’

‘Not annoying, little bit unnecessary.’

I walk downstairs and sit on a stool at the kitchen island. ‘It’s amazing, really,’ I say, ‘what you managed to do to him. I barely recognize him.’

‘What I said, I see a lot of him in me. It’s hard being that age and… Well, having to deal with a divorce.’

‘I’m sorry.’

‘What did I say about apologizing, Amelia?’

I can’t help but laugh. ‘This wasn’t an apology,’ I defend myself. ‘This was empathy, very nice of me. You should appreciate that.’

‘You’re right,’ he chuckles.

I sigh. ‘But it is hard on him. This town barely has experience with a divorce, especially if all parties stay in town. We’re all figuring out how to deal with it really.’

‘Yeah, I heard. After you and I saw each other at the lot, Greg told me who you ran into in the store.’

‘Greg, what a big fat blabbermouth. He was never like this back in high school, but the store changed him.’

‘He means well,’ Henry laughs. ‘I haven’t been here too long,’ he continues, ‘but I’ve heard quite some things going around about you and Dean and the kids. I just want you to know that you are doing an amazing job and that Dean is the one who lost out.’

I can’t help but blush and I’m so grateful that he can’t actually see me now. I bite my lip. ‘I just can’t believe that you arrive here when I’m in the spotlight of the town gossip.’

‘Well, if it makes you feel any better, I’m not interested in town gossip,’ he says. ‘I can tell you that I trust my own judgement a lot more than rumors.’

This shouldn’t make me tear up and I blink away my tears, before clearing my throat. ‘That means a lot.’

‘Of course.’ Henry’s voice is soft and I wonder what he is doing right now. Is he also in his kitchen, is he relaxing on his couch or was he doing work and have I interrupted him?

‘I have to hang up,’ I say. ‘There is a lot that I still need to do. Preparations for tomorrow and such. You want me to bring something for you? I’ve heard that I make great sandwiches.’

‘What a mom move,’ he laughs and a chuckle escapes from my lips. ‘But I’m never saying no to a great sandwich. I love everything, so surprise me.’

‘Will do. See you tomorrow, Henry.’

‘Yeah, see you tomorrow, Amelia.’

✰ ✰ ✰

Taglist: @diegos-butt // @henrythickcavill // @thelastsock // @onlyhenrys // @agniavateira // @needmorereading // @summersong69 // @coldmuffinbanditshoe // @chamomilebottom // @toomanystoriessolittletime // @shadesofarrogance // @crazybutconfidentaf // @oddsnendsfanfics // @gearhead66 // @star017 // @iloveyouyen // @thereisa8ella // @thethirstyarchive // @nina-skyee // @rn7rocks // @hollytehmoomin // @star017 // @abschaffer2 //

#henry cavill #henry cavill x ofc #henry cavill x oc #henry cavill fanfic #henry cavill fandom #henry cavill x asian ofc #asian ofc #henry cavill x amelia jung #amelia jung #coach cavill

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tintinwrites · 4 years ago

Text

dar’manda | Din Djarin x Reader | Part Two

A/N: I want to say that this isn’t going to actually be Din x Reader romance for quite a few chapters!! Right now you are merely there to help him as a friend bc this is about a man finding himself, not y’all banging bc ~ooh his looks~ you’ve barely even looked at him lol.

Rating: T

Warning: Naughty words. Slight mentions of blood. Mando is almost catatonic. Helmetless Mando but not in the way or for the reasons you think.

Word count: 2,509, apparently!!

Summary: You go back to Cara to take the Child and upon seeing Mando, she decides to help. Both of you are pretty useless as far as she can tell.

Part One

GIF credit: kanouchi

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

You’d been the one who needed to pilot the ship off the planet, not exactly wanting people to discover the men then somehow know it was you two.

You were kind of freaking out too, but you climbed up the ladder to the cockpit anyway and brought the Razor Crest into the air, putting it on autopilot when the planet was no longer seen behind you.

Mando was sitting in the same spot when you returned to the lower level of the ship and you leaned against the wall in a spot outside of his vision — he was staring at the floor with your jacket still on his head — to watch him with secret sympathy.

Your eyes slid to the item you’d grabbed during your escape that you supposed he did not notice yet, walking over to look at it, running your thumbs over the shining metal.

It never did express emotions when on him, but somehow it seemed pretty emotionless now.

You glanced over your shoulder at him, then turned and walked to stand in front of him quietly, your hands very timidly holding the helmet out as if you were the one who carelessly took it off him.

His eyes rose to stare at it and then looked at you, but you didn’t look at him.

“You can put it back on. I won’t tell anyone...and I will go if that’s what you want me to do.”

“I can’t put it back on.”

“No one will know.”

“I will know.”

There was some anger in his voice which was nicer than his silence, but you wondered how much of it was directed at you as he tugged your jacket off his head.

You knew he was gentler than one might think for a bounty hunter, patient with his foundling, but you were sure that it was partly your fault that he was seen and that he probably hated you now.

Why wouldn’t you stumble back the moment he stood up, seeming bigger than usual?

His nostrils flared at your speed to get out of his way like he was some sort of monster; he dropped your jacket on the bed and walked past you, his cape brushing you as he moved down the corridor to the ladder. “We need to get the kid.”

You watched the back of his head as he disappeared into the cockpit, then sat down on the bed and put his helmet down as you pulled your jacket into your lap.

Your fingers ran over the stains from his gloves and the blood of those men that was on his skin; it was by far the most comfortable, best looking jacket you owned.

Mando’s helmet was a statement piece in a different sort of way, not a statement to draw eyes to him but one that said who he was and what he believed in.

And you looked at his face and now he could never wear his helmet, and you let your dirty jacket fall to the floor as you stood up, stepping on it and...sitting back down.

He wouldn’t want you in the cockpit where you might stare at him, make sure even more that he couldn’t wear his helmet by gawking at the features that hadn’t been seen by another person since he was young.

You stayed where you were on the bed, staring at your jacket for a moment and then putting the helmet in your lap, looking into the visor that now seemed empty even though you’d never been able to see into it before.

Maybe if you walked away from him, he might decide to put it back on.

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

The Razor Crest had been on the ground for quite a few minutes and Mando had yet to step a foot onto the ramp.

He was staring — or you were pretty sure he was since you wouldn’t really look at him — down the ramp at the grass below, and you imagined he was thinking that walking on another planet with his helmet off was some sort of rite that wasn’t his to perform.

“Would you like me to go get him?” You asked gently.

He said nothing and you decided to grab the baby from Cara yourself, which would honestly be a good excuse to drop him off at the ramp then run as fast as you could to allow Mando the possibility of putting his helmet back on as if nobody had seen him.

If he did put it on then find out where you ran to be sure no one would be able to tell anyone what he looked like, you would let him.

You wanted him to be able to abide by the beliefs that built him.

Cara swung the door open when your hand was lifted to knock on it, the Child on her hip and rage in her eyes. “Where the hell have you been?”

You were silent for a moment with your hand still raised and she took the moment to look around, seeing you were alone.

Between the amount of time it took you to deal with the quarry, Mando not being at the door with you, and the look on your face, her own features slowly turned serious.

“Where’s Mando?” Her voice was soft and almost timid if anything about her could be considered timid.

“He, um…” Tears swam in your eyes because how were you supposed to tell her that his helmet was taken off and he was now...what was he now? Was the story yours to tell?

Her eyes left yours to stare behind you slightly wide, her lips parted, and you looked over your shoulder to see Mando walking towards you.

What you could see out of your peripheral vision that still refused to properly look at him was an entirely stoic man in armor as he walked past you to stand in front of Cara, plucking the child from her grip then turning around to walk straight back to the ship.

Cara practically gaped at him until he disappeared out of view then looked at you with confusion written all over her face.

She blinked once and said in a hesitant voice, “He’s hot.”

It was her attempt at a joke to ease the obvious tension, but even she knew it was halfhearted.

“What happened?” She asked instead, watching you closely.

“—it’s all my fault.” You didn’t mean to start sobbing right there on the doorstep and Cara definitely looked a little panicked, glancing around and quickly yanking you inside by your wrist.

It was clear that she was trying to be understanding where she wasn’t used to dealing with people’s emotions, though she was a little rough as she pushed you down into the chair nearest to the door at a little dining table.

She allowed you to sit there and cry for a moment since you probably wouldn’t be able to formulate any words around your sobs, looking around awkwardly.

When you were letting out the occasional whimper, she pulled the other chair closer and sat down in front of you, leaning her arm on the table. “Tell me what happened.”

You wrung your hands, looking down.

“That bounty who was supposed to be this hard to hunt guy worth a bunch of credits? It was all a set up. There were four men and they...I don’t know, they figured out some way to make sure the puck went to Mando. They wanted the Child.” You glanced up to see Cara’s brow was furrowed at this information.

“Oh, shit,” she murmured.

“I know, and their leader wanted to kill Mando, too, and bring him in to someone who wanted his ‘head on a stick’ or something. He tried to make me tell him where the Child was, then he tried to convince Mando by threatening to shoot me. When that didn’t work…” You were starting to become a little bit emotional again and Cara let you take a moment before you spoke again,

“He started asking if I’d ever seen him without his helmet on and he was saying all these gross things, then he...started to take the helmet off. I tried to look away and they wouldn’t let me, they held me still, and he said he’d kill Mando if I closed my eyes. I didn’t want to look, I didn’t, but I saw him and now he can never put it on again and it’s my fault.” A tear plopped onto your pant leg.

“There was blood on his face.”

“He went into this...I don’t know, this rage? And he killed them. Maybe he could put his helmet back on if he killed me too. I was thinking maybe I would stay here and then he could go— ow!”

You rubbed your upper arm where Cara had lightly punched it, looking at her bemusedly — it still hurt even if it was light.

She looked sympathetic as you told her why Mando’s helmet was gone, but now her eyes were stern with no room for argument.

“First of all, it’s not your fault. You didn’t take his helmet off and you looked at him to keep them from killing him. They might be dead, but I saw him too, remember? Do you think it’s fair for him to be abandoned by his partner when he can’t put his helmet back on anyway?”

“I guess.”

“Second of all, crying about it and running away aren’t going to fix this. His helmet was taken off and he needs your help, not for you to run from him.”

“You’re right. Of course.”

That he needed help, but you weren’t sure if she was right about it not being your fault.

You wondered if it would have been kinder of you to close your eyes and let him be killed by that man rather than look at his face.

Why didn’t he just tell you to leave that way no one would ever know he was seen without his helmet?

I will know.

“You’ll figure it out. We will. Obviously neither of you are all that capable of figuring things out right now since you’re crying and what little personality Mando had seems to have disappeared, so…” There was a little smirk playing on Cara’s lips and you smiled a little at her attempts to be light.

“Maybe it would have been smarter if you went with him and I stayed with the baby, then none of this would have happened.” She was a better partner than you and you were sure Mando knew that now, he probably didn’t want you to ever come along with him again.

“All you can do now is see what he needs and that’s not being abandoned by people he knows when the only other thing he knew was his creed.” She stood from the chair to walk around her tiny living space.

“You’re coming?” You asked as she began putting things into a small sack.

“I told you that we’d figure it out.”

“—thank you.”

You didn’t know Cara as well as you would have liked since you were usually off hunting quarries with Mando or taking care of the kid, but it was nice to have a friendly face around to help you.

He’d willingly showed his face to her, so maybe you could leave to allow him a life where he chose who saw him if nothing else and you wouldn’t be there as a reminder of his beliefs being ripped away from him.

That was something you could think about later since you would have someone there as another brain to figure out what Mando could do now or if there was any way he could possibly put his helmet back on.

Maybe she would also come to the conclusion that it was your fault and you should leave.

Part of you was hoping the Razor Crest wouldn’t be there when you walked to it, but it was right there where you left it with the ramp left open carelessly. You saw Cara eye the helmet on the bed and the bloodied jacket on the floor as you walked through to the ladder that lead to the cockpit.

Cara climbed up first and you followed, seeing the back of Mando’s head tilted down as the Child gently patted at and played with his cheeks.

He looked up at the sound of boots on the metal flooring, and you quickly looked away when he glanced over his shoulder.

“What are you doing here?” He grunted at Cara.

“I’m here to help you out, but if you’re gonna be a dick…” She turned to walk away jokingly, thinking he would sass her about it.

When he said nothing and simply looked back at the ship’s dashboard, her worried look fell on you.

You looked guilty when you met her gaze like you were the reason for his mood.

“Look, Mando, I know that quarry was a setup and they took off your helmet, but there has to be some sort of rule when it’s taken off against your will, right?”

“There isn’t.”

“Do you know that for sure?”

“Of course.”

“Because you know all the rules.”

“Maybe.”

Cara looked like she wanted to jump him right there, but she took a small step back to be sure she didn’t do that and seemed to remind herself that he needed some extra patience right now.

Now was not the time to wrestle with him until he agreed with her.

“I think we should go to the covert and ask someone who knows.”

“There isn’t any way.”

She crossed her arms, glaring slightly. “You’re gonna sit here and be stubborn instead of go find out if there’s some loophole you didn’t know about.”

He was silent; unreadable, either mulling over her words or no longer wanting to talk to her because she was right.

And though you were pretty sure he probably didn’t care for your opinion anymore, you said very softly, “I think it’s a good idea to go to the covert, you never know if you might be able to put it back on unless you ask someone.”

It was still quiet aside from the Child cooing a little as it reached for Mando’s chin.

“Fine,” he said after a couple moments, leaning forward to push some buttons on the dash to put in the coordinates for Nevarro.

Cara smiled in satisfaction then gave you a reassuring look as she moved to go down the ladder, presumably wanting to put her pack away.

You smiled, too.

Maybe you would go to the covert and they would say that it didn’t count when the helmet was removed against your will, that he could put it back on and return to the creed he knew.

He might want you to go to be sure that you wouldn’t interfere with him again, but he wouldn’t have a reason to hate you.

#din djarin imagine #din djarin x reader #the mandalorian imagine #din djarin fic

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shintorikhazumi · 4 years ago

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I Have Two Sisters?! Chapter 1: Three Sisters and The Bastard Father (An LWAxRWBYxStarira Crossover)

A/N: What’s crazier than me writing a crossover I can’t get out of my head at 2am while still having multiple wips?

Writing a three-way crossover until 3am!!! (Ended at nearly 5am tho)

GAHHHHH.

Btw, this is a non-magic au. So Diana has no magic, and Weiss has no… semblance. Yes. Because the world of RWBY always goes “???!! OHMG, magic?!” Quite ironically. They become impressed at people turning into birds, but never flinch at Ruby who can separate herself on a molecular level. Sure.

I’ll be updating this sporadically, tbh. The updates will be as random as the coming of this idea. I do like it a lot, so I look forward to working on it. Just have to prioritize the wips.

[DO CHECK OUT THE END NOTES FOR SOME OF THE AU DETAILS AND BACKGROUND]

Still, I couldn’t let the concept pass me by so…

Enjoy?

~Shintori Khazumi

I Have Two Sisters?! Chapter 1: Three Sisters and The Bastard Father

The wind blew strong outside, rain water cold against her bleeding cheek. The numbness was her only relief from pain nowadays. She’d lost count of how many bruises she’d gotten this week. If only her mother hadn’t passed… If only she hadn’t had a bastard of a father.

Then maybe Diana’s life would have been much better than the shell that it now was.

He left her and her mother just as she turned three, the only support she got in the form of random gifts and her financial needs. Her father was nothing of a father. The man that… helped make her was never there. He never showed he cared. Everything he gave her felt obligatory. She hated it. Heck, she didn’t even know his last name, much less remember what he looked like. She did try looking it up at some point, but it seemed as if he was some kind of bigshot she couldn’t name.

Neither her mom nor her aunt had divulged his identity, so she had long since drew a blank to the man’s identity. All she knew was that his name was ‘Jack’ or something of the sort. She had long since adopted her mother’s as it didn’t feel right to take the name of a man she never knew.

All she knew was that he was the cause of all her sorrows. That wretched man had left her and her mother to fend for themselves. Even though her mom was of a strong, well-known medical lineage here in Britain, the fact that she had gotten pregnant out of wedlock labelled her as a shame to the Cavendish name, and she had been cast out to a vacation home in the outskirts of the foreign country, Japan.

After her death, however, the women who Diana now saw as practically witches with how cruel and evil they were decided that because their blood ran through her, took over their small land that she and her mother had cried blood and tears to call their own, and exploited the underage girl, believing she might be of some use as a pawn at the very least, for the sake of the Cavendish name.

And she was. For some time, until she had injured her arm, and was no longer capable of becoming the kind of doctor they wanted her to be, her hand slowly losing its immaculate dexterity, becoming constantly shaky, rendering her as only half the worth she originally was, and thus completely useless besides being their punching bag. Quite literally.

Diana Cavendish found herself spending the better part of her life being abused, and hiding in tool sheds, and escaping her dreaded household at every waking moment, just as she was doing right now.

She hardly believed in any religion, but she found herself always praying to get away from this hellish nightmare. She’d hope that even if she only had a jerk of a father, he’d soon realize that she was his flesh and blood that needed saving.

A hard knock came on the wood of her shed’s door. She flinched, no sound escaping. Had they found her?!

“Miss Cavendish? Miss Diana Cavendish? Are you in here?” An unfamiliar voice called for her, bold and confident sounding, but with kindness and worry interlaced. She felt like it was someone she should respond to. The situation felt like it was some kind of divine calling she should answer.

With legs shaking, she stood up, unlatching the bar that held the door closed and stepping out into the now late night that reeked of hot pavement, rain having stopped while she was lost in thought.

A police officer, clad in uniform and raincoat smiled at her in pity. She was both grateful for- and hated- that gaze. She wished it had come sooner, but at the same time, she disliked being thought of as sad and pathetic.

“Your aunt and her family have been arrested, Miss.” Her ears perked up at the voice and the message they conveyed. Looking up from the ground, she stared into the truthful eyes of the cop. “You’re safe now.”

And she truly hoped she was.

//-//-//-//-//

“Weiss.”

At the mention of her name from that familiar voice, she rolled her eyes internally, holding in the urge to snap at the man she called ‘father’.

“What.”

Maybe her control wasn’t as good as she thought.

“Don’t give me that tone. I know you hate me, but I am still the one that raised you!”

“You mean, you’re the one that paid for me.” The ex-heiress pointed out. Her father gritted his teeth, frown deepening as he stepped forward in an attempt to exert his dominance.

Weiss only raised a brow in challenge.

“Anyway.” Jacques continued. Weiss would have smirked as he neither acknowledged nor denied her statement, but she felt it wasn’t the best time. “You are yet to turn twenty, and as you aren’t considered an adult yet-“

“But I’m nineteen, father.” Weiss stated, confused, her raised brow now raised in question. “I’m of legal age, to drink even.”

“Not in Japan you aren’t.” He replied with a smirk so evil, Weiss would have loved to slap it right off if her mind wasn’t thrown in a state of emergency, dreading whatever plans her father had. Even if she wanted to do as she pleased, she couldn’t completely go against him as she was at the moment. Their family name was too widespread and known in the business world, and she feared the consequences of running away from her father who currently had her safety- and practically her life- in the palm of his hand.

“What are you planning.” She narrowed her eyes at him, fearing for the worst, but expertly masking that fear.

“I’ll be sending you away, just as you’ve always wanted. I’ve prepared you an apartment close to a school of my choice to pursue the arts as you so strongly desired,” He spoke in a mocking tone. “And I’ll let you have your way there.” He ended with a smile that sent chills down Weiss’ spine. It sounded too good to be true, her dream being accepted like this. It was like a carrot on a stick being waved in front of her, only to always be out of reach.

“What’s the catch?”

“Catch? My, Weiss, my child, are you questioning your father’s benevolent heart?”

“What’s there to question?” Weiss shot back. “You don’t have one, now do you?”

She grinned at her little victory as she watched him gnashing his teeth, clearly seething in anger. Her smile dropped however as he gave her his own.

“I mentioned Japan’s legal age before.”

And Weiss already knew what he meant.

//-//-//-//-//

Life in Seishou had been the dream. Her first two years of high school were the peak of her life, she’d proudly say. She had wonderful friends and comrades who battled side-by-side, pushing one another to greater heights, and… she had someone she adored just a little more than friendship allowed. She had never admitted it, though. Then, a school back in Paris, the place where her mother had blossomed as an actress in the past, offered her a scholarship as an exchange student there.

And like she always did, Claudine excelled. So much so that multiple colleges offered her full rides to attend their institutions. Even highly prestigious universities. Her opportunities were broad, her future looking bright-

-And then news came. Her mother had fallen terminally ill.

She had to go back. She had to see her. She had to be by her side as long as possible.

She had to repay her for the love, for the dream she had given Claudine. She had to be the family her mother had been for her in the absence of a biological father she never knew, and the loss of her adoptive Japanese father at an early age. The lack of a male figure in their family was no cripple to Claudine, but she also missed the presence of the man she knew as her papa. She knew her maman missed him too.

So she had to do this for her mother.

She had to… in the event that… she’d lose her soon as well.

God forbid, Claudine prayed.

She had to return to Japan, study and… get a job, find some way to help her mother pay the increasingly expensive hospital bills, their little family’s saved money steadily disappearing.

She wondered if she should just drop school all together and apply for a troupe. Earn both money and experience.

She had enough rapport both in Japan and France. She could probably get enough opportunities, and she would succeed like she always had…

But…

There was something she wanted to see through, going into university.

When she left for Paris, she had gradually lost contact with all her friends, the culture slowly choking her time, eventually disconnecting them from her.

She’d receive and return the occasional message, but… things were different. She knew she’d drifted apart from everyone.

So, when she found out that they would all be attending the same Arts Institute, and when she had decided to return to Japan for her mother’s sake, she believed it wouldn’t all be that bad if she could apply for a scholarship to the same place, and possibly rebuild everything that was slowly crumbling away.

She wanted to be with everyone again.

And though she believed herself capable of attaining what she wanted on her own, she might require a little assistance from a miracle.

…

And a miracle- could she call this monstrosity of a situation that?- came in the form of a letter that had documents that signified she was the daughter of some ‘Jacques Schnee’ currently undergoing some sort of trial, and because of this, some of the accusations led to the revelation that he was neglecting a daughter, not sending support, and now as some form of bribery and compensation or whatever, he had paid the court to shut up about it if he took responsibility for her now.

Claudine scoffed in disbelief and utter disgust.

So this was her damned biological father? Some apparently bigtime tycoon who slept around and left a woman to fight for herself while carrying his- Claudine would suppose she was now an- illegitimate child.

This… was certainly news she’d never have expected in a million years.

She laughed mirthlessly at it all.

Well, at least her financial crisis had been averted. For better or for worse… she hoped it wasn’t the latter.

One upside was that she now had a clear ticket to that university she wanted to get into, it seemed. Her ‘father’ had taken the liberty of enrolling her there coincidentally. At least he could do something right, Claudine guessed.

“Well… I suppose it’s time to pack.” She sighed falling back onto her current apartment bed, staring at the ceiling.

It wasn’t so bad, maybe. Her newfound reality.

“Japan, I’m coming home to you.”

//-//-//-//-//

Diana glared at the letter in her hand angrily. There, in neat script, she saw the name of the man who had caused all her misfortune.

‘Jacques Schnee.’

“I want to hate you for as long as I live…” She gripped the paper so hard, creases were forming and the agent currently assigned to her worried she’d rip it into shreds. “What is this garbage? And why am I… Why can’t I… refuse… this ugly form salvation…” She choked on her sobs, a hand sympathetically rubbing her back.

“Let’s get you ready, Miss.”

Diana nodded in agreement.

-----

All her bags now in her hand after being dropped off by the cab driver, she stared in awe at the slightly modest, but clearly high-end house.

What the hell, did her dad just get her a house?!

Regardless of its size, couldn’t he have… like… gotten her an apartment or condo, at least?

How rich was this asshole father of hers? Was money the only good thing about him? Not that even that was necessarily a good thing.

With a groaning sigh, she unlatched the gate, walking up the little pathway. There were small flowerbeds already present around the yard, and decorations were tastefully placed.

It at least looked the part of cozy.

Once she got to the door, however, angry sounds coming from inside made her question that.

-Wait. This was her house, right?

Why would sounds be…

In a panic, she unlocked the front door with the key that came with the letter, bursting through it like a mad man, blue eyes flickering about the room, shocked to see two pairs of eyes, wide and intense, staring back at her with equal surprise.

“Who…”

“Oh, this is just great!!!” One with hair as white as snow exclaimed, throwing her hands up in the air in clear exasperation. “Now we have another one!” She began marching around the room, palms rubbing her face aggressively and scratching through her hair. “That little fuck-“

“-Language.”

“Shut up! I don’t even know who you are, and why you were in my house when I arrived. And you say you aren’t a burglar or whatever, but what is up with your sword play? Even if you were using the curtain pole. Are you some kind of spy or assassin the corporation has sent to finally get rid of me?”

“First of all, this is my house, not yours. And you came at me with a rapier!” A silver-gold blonde replied in equal stress. “You could have killed me!”

“I would never!” The first girl gasped with faux emotion. “At most, you’d lose an ear.”

“Umm…” Diana remained awkwardly fidgeting at the door, her usual bravery and confidence lost in the moment of shock.

“What.”

“I- I am simply here because… apparently my father purchased this place for me.”

Two pairs of eyes blinked once. Twice.

Then realization overtook them.

“Did you just say… father?” The golden-haired one stepped closer to her, a lot less hostile, but still aggressive looking.

“I- Um… yes?”

“Father… you say.” The lady with a rapier in her hand now approached Diana too.

These women were frightening, dear Lord. Diana slowly backed up, but stopped as her foot hit the bags she’d dropped in her frantic moments earlier.

“Can you tell me the name of this… ‘father’ of yours?” Rapier lady asked Diana who was beginning to wonder if she should look for a weapon to defend herself with.

“S-sure. His n-name is…”

“…”

“Is?”

“Fuck.”

Diana was not one to curse, but it surprised her that she did.

But she couldn’t help it, now could she? After all, her mind had been wiped clean as a white slate. A mental block was not what she needed right now, but just about anything involving that man seemed to bring about her misfortune.

At least the hands by which she’d die her early death were from very beautiful women it seemed.

She liked women, at least?

“Excuse me, um… are you alright?” Miss Golden hair was now very safe-looking and welcoming, Diana subconsciously stepped closer towards her.

“What is up with you? I just asked a question.”

“Perhaps, if you placed the sword down, and looked less like you were trying to murder her and look like you were willing to hear her out…”

Diana expected another heated retaliation, so it was a pleasant surprise to see the other woman sheath her weapon, and place it gently on a plastic-covered couch, clearly brand new.

“There. Happy?” She asked, glaring at the woman now gently holding Diana’s hand- and when had that happened?!

With a nod, the girl turned to Diana and asked again. “What is your father’s name. If you could tell us.”

Huh. She was a lot kinder than Diana had initially taken her for.

“I apologize. I can’t… remember at the moment. I- He hasn’t been around… for me until this point. I just… learned his name a few days ago but…” She hung her head in defeat, apologizing all the while. “Sorry I’m of no assistance to you…”

“No, it’s alright. Isn’t it?” The question was clearly not directed at her as she could only hear a grunt from the other side of the room.

“Yeah, fine.”

“Would your father’s name happen to be Jacques?”

At this, Diana lifted her head, another shocker delivered to her, hearing the familiar name, the cogs in her head clicking into place.

“Yes! Yes, that’s it! Jack, or Jacques or whatever. Snee? Shuni? Schee? I don’t quite remember, but something along those lines.” Diana found herself enthusiastic towards the prospect that some of her questions might be answered.

It seemed the other two shared the same sentiment.

“It’s Schnee.” The white-haired lady corrected, eyes furrowing, anger building up once more. “And… THAT BASTARD OLD MAN!” Grabbing her rapier she swung it around, probably to vent her anger. “He set me up! And what’s more…” She whipped her head about to carefully look the other two people over.

“What is it?” Diana said in a voice quite small.

“Seems he had big secrets to hide.” She sighed. Turning to the initial enemy she had, now turned… stranger? She wasn’t sure they were allies at this point, she stated rather than asked. “I guess it’s the same for you?”

The woman beside Diana nodded, expression looking a lot stiffer than her gentle demeanor as she dealt with Diana earlier.

“I see. I can’t believe this situation.”

“What do you me-“

A voice beside Diana delivered her fourth? Fifth? Sixth?- she’d lost count- Shocker of the day.

“Sisters. It seems we’re… sisters.” Turning to Diana, she held out a hand for a shake. “I’m Claudine.”

“I’m Weiss.” Was the grumble from the couch the woman had flopped on top of.

“…O-oh!” Breaking her stare from the hand, she looked into rose-red eyes. “And I’m-“

And the world suddenly turned black.

‘Hello, My Name is…

[Diana Cavendish]

[Weiss Schnee]

[Saijou Claudine]

-And it seems as though…

I have two sisters?!

A/N: If you’re asking, yes. Yes, Diana fainted.

Here are some details for this AU btw:

I’ve decided to make Jacques a half-Jap, half german.

So all of them have a quarter of that blood.

Diana is half brit, quarter jap, quarter german

Weiss is ¾ german because of her mom, and ¼ jap.

Claudine is half French, ¼ german, ¼ jap.

Also, if you want to know their ages, and their order, I decided it this way, and let me just quote how I typed it out in the raw idea draft.

“Diana April 30 16yro in anime 2017+3yrs (2020) she's 19 too omg jahahahaha (wrote this coz I’m currently 19 and was amused)

Clau august 1, 2001 19 at present

Weiss Currently 19 (in volumes 5-6) may 15th lmao hahsha. Perfect!!

Wtf Diana was the oldest? Hooo boi. I did expect and want Kuro to be youngest tho, tbh.”

Why their ages are pretty much the same will be mentioned next chap.

And that’s how it went. Decided with Weiss being the legitimate child coz Jacques was the only canonically mentioned dad between the three girls as far as I know. Or I just didn’t search enough.

But come on. I wouldn’t pass at the chance to beat up the dude in a fic so… hihi.

Feedback is super appreciated!

Thank you for reading!

~Shintori Khazumi

26 notes · View notes

owletstarlet · 4 years ago

Text

ffxv- forgotten if they’re green or they’re blue- chapter 1

“The next block over from here there’s this great little—ohmygods, you’re the Prince.”

Well, fuck.

“Says who?” Noctis counters, tiredly.

“Says your face,” the guy sputters.

(or, the Moulin-Rouge-flavored AU that nobody asked for. Ao3 link in the notes.)

The table’s sticky, Noctis realizes too late as he’s peeling the sleeve of his jacket off of it. Drink’s not bad, though. Sweeter than he was expecting, but with enough of a paint-thinner aftertaste to it that he knows it’s doing its job. And literally nobody’s giving him a second glance at the moment, either, and that’s more than worth the very specific pitch of this music that’s sort of chipping away at his skull, or the vaguely harrowing feeling of so many bodies packed into one room.

“Not your thing, huh?”

Shit.

Noctis doesn’t turn, doesn’t give him more than a sidelong once-over to make sure he shouldn’t be imminently getting the hells out of here. He doesn’t take in much more than a shock of blond hair, a clipboard, a pair of glasses.

It’s probably fine.

Noctis doesn’t confirm or deny it, just sort of waves a hand at the commotion on the stage. “It’s a lot of…” Thrusting, his brain supplies, helpfully. Body glitter.

“It’s definitely ‘a lot of’ a lot of things.” The guy sounds amused.

“Hm.”

“…not much of a talker, are you?”

Noct bites the inside of his cheek, keeps his face neutral, hears a voice from somehwere between his ears that sounds an awful lot like Gladio’s reminding him that just because he’s in a shitty mood doesn’t mean he should be shitty for no reason to people that aren’t. Damn but this guy’s got a chipper voice, though.

“Well,” said guy goes on, “if you came to see Nea, I can go and—”

The rest of his words are cut off by a bang that Noctis feels as much as he hears, that has him halfway out of his seat with his heart suddenly rammed up his throat before he realizes that it was the sound of an elbow coming down hard on the table.

“Ah—shit, sorry ‘bout that!”

When Noctis turns to face him fully then, it’s to find the guy propped up on his elbow on the table, looking startled himself.

Noctis gets a better look at him, frowns. “Are you okay?”

He looks very much not Lucian, Noctis thinks, Niff maybe, if the light hair and eyes are anything to go by, and the freckles that stand out like pinpricks under the colorful lights. But a good chunk of the clientele around them look like foreigners, so do more than half the performers onstage at the moment. Not unusual, considering the district Noctis had wandered into not entirely on purpose.

His face looks open and friendly, but he seems distinctly unwell—there’s something sunken and shadowy in the corners of his face, in the hollows of his eyes and under his cheekbones. Noctis can’t tell if his pallor is just from the lights just washing him out, but it’s definitely not hot enough in here for him to be sweating like that. His hoodie hangs off his shoulders a bit, and it looks like his hair had been carefully gelled up at some point, but had gotten rumpled and half-deflated like he’d slept on it. His fringe is sticking to his forehead, hanging a bit in front of the thick-rimmed glasses.

“Yup,” he’s saying, a smile slotting into place that seems unforced but a little incongruous. “Yeah. Head rush, is all. Sorry.” He’s perched on the stool across from Noctis now, sliding his clipboard onto the table. His arm is trembling, very slightly, where it’s resting on the table.

Noctis feels his mouth twist, and he slides the still-untouched ice water they’d brought him across the table.

The guy blinks, looks at the water and then Noctis’ face, smile slipping into something marginally less comfortable. “Oh. Nah, you’re good, dude. Thanks. Just. Gimme a sec?”

“Sure,” Noctis says. He doesn’t take the water back. He peers down at the clipboard. It’s not anything comprehensible to him, a lot of x’s and arrows, circles and boxes, only a few words scrawled illegibly into the margins here and there. “You working?” he asks.

“Ah, yeah,” the guy says, tilting the clipboard a bit so he can see it better. “It’s choreography. Kind of. Nothing super inspired tonight, though.”

“Oh. So…dancing?”

“Yup.” He jabs a thumb at the stage, expression settling into something much more relaxed, if a bit sheepish. “I’m supposed to be up there right now, actually, but. My stomach’s being kinda weird, and I don’t think people are paying to see me puke all over everyone else, so. Dahlia stepped in for me.” He points to center stage, where a now very much topless woman with dark lipstick and a halo of brown curls is doing something that looks physically impossible involving a folding chair. “It was her night off and all, too.”

Noctis looks from the woman on the stage, to this disheveled guy who looks like he’s going to pitch over in his seat, and back again. He must be pretty obvious about it, because the guy chuckles a bit. “Uh-huh. Hard to believe, right? I promise I clean up nicer than this.”

And Noctis genuinely has no idea what to say to that. He takes a sip of his drink.

“Uh. You know, if this isn’t your scene, and you weren’t here to see Nea, there’s quieter places to go get plastered around here. And cheaper. The next block over from here there’s this great little—ohmygods, you’re the Prince.”

Well, fuck.

“Says who?” Noctis counters, tiredly.

“Says your face,” the guy sputters. After a pause, adds: “And the fact that you keep checking if your drink is spiked.” He taps the tabletop with one finger, where two little plastic tabs are lying used, the pale blue color of one end indicating safety.

Noctis resists the urge to roll his eyes; takes another, much larger gulp of the aforementioned drink. He’d had the tabs in his wallet.

“I can, like…leave now. If you want.” He’s already standing up, and already catching himself on the edge of the table with one hand.

“What? No, you’re—”

“There you are, asshole.” A heavy hand on his shoulder, then Noctis is wheeling around to look up at a very unimpressed-looking Gladio.

“Uh-huh,” Noctis mutters. “Here I am.”

Honestly, Noctis thinks he ought to be impressed with himself that he got as much time as he did, considering the genius move of having used his subway card when he’d taken off out of sheer muscle memory. He’d left his phone—and its state-of-the-art tracking capabilities—charging by his bed, though, and he’d gotten three entire hours out of it. It probably would’ve been less if he hadn’t wandered for 20 minutes after getting off at a completely random subway station, or had tried to go somewhere quieter and more predictable than this, with less flashy neon or people losing their clothes.

“Who’s blondie?” Gladio asks, raising an eyebrow. “You work here?”

The blondie in question’s eyes go very round—a pretty common reaction to Gladio’s entire everything, really. “Uh-huh.” To his credit, his voice cracks only very slightly. “I dance.”

Gladio gives him an appraising look, glances at the stage, then shrugs. “Oh,” is all he says. “Nice.” If doesn’t believe it, he gives no indication.

“Uh. Are you a bodyguard or something?”

Gladio’s eyes narrow at Noctis, who just shrugs—the jig’s up. “Or something,” he parrots. “Speaking of,” he adds, rounding on Noctis, voice dropping into a growl, “I don’t have to tell you what a fucking security nightmare this is.”

“Yup.” He makes no move to stand. “Planning on telling my dad? Or yours?”

He scoffs. “Y’know, getting my own ass kicked over this might just be worth watching you get grounded like a high schooler playing hooky.”

“Do it, then.”

They both know he won’t. Check and mate.

“We’re leaving,” he says, shoving at Noct’s shoulder. “Iggy’s waiting in the car.” A pause, and his face changes. “You know he’s planning on apologizing to you. And if you don’t say it back, I’m gonna kick your teeth in. You were being a dick.”

“Yeah, well.” Noct would contend he wasn’t the only one, but he was the one that went AWOL and probably (absolutely) gave them both an aneurysm over it, and had them crossing half the city to find him. Which constitutes a dick move. That hadn’t been the point, though; the point had been the bone-deep urge to just be away, just for a bit, before he could say anything else he’d regret. But he could stand to apologize to the both of them for the runaround, at least.

Gladio’s giving him a long, hard look, now. “Fine,” Noctis mumbles, fishing out his wallet.

“On the house.” The words are abrupt, a little too loud to be warranted despite the room’s overall noise level, and Gladio and Noct both look over at him.

“Uh, I mean. It’s covered. You can go.”

“Okay.” Gladio raises an eyebrow. “Thanks. Got a name, kid?” Noct knows it’s less out of actual interest and more as a rote point of security; if anybody needed to be questioned later on, they’d have a starting point.

“It’s Prompto.”

***

This time, Noct drove. Gladio had worked out pretty quick where they were headed when Noct suggested they go for drinks after they’d trained late.

Gladio doesn’t have to be thrilled about it. But at the very least, Noct’s got some supervision, this time around.

He should’ve put up more of a fight, probably, but it’s not like he could’ve stopped the damned car.

And here they are. Club Aurentia, the sign cheerily proclaims, complete with a flickering neon clementine in the corner. The building’s old, not exactly dilapidated but definitely not retro-on-purpose. Plenty of people are coming and going through the tarnished brass doors, or milling about outside, even on a weeknight.

“You do know how very obviously a brothel this joint is, right.” No shade, just a statement of fact.

Noct huffs a short sigh through his nose, drums his fingers on the steering wheel. “Yeah. Iggy was pretty damn clear on that point. Not like that’s why we’re here.”

“Still don’t get why it’s gotta be we anyways. If you’re really that worried about the tab for one drink, it’s not like it’d take both of us to go settle it.”

Noct just shrugs.

Fucker.

It’s not like it’s a bad idea to make sure the charge is covered, arguably worth the trip across the city, even; if he’d been recognized they didn’t need anyone claiming that the Prince is the type to skip out on a bill. The employee had seemed like a decent enough guy, and herding Noct back to the car had been a more pressing priority at the time than any overpriced cocktail. But yeah, ideally, better to head off the issue.

Which is a one-person job.

“This about that kid from the other night? You worried or something?”

Or something.

Huh.

Noct makes a noncommittal sound, suddenly seeming quite fascinated by a loose thread on his sleeve. “I mean, if he’s there we might as well thank him.”

“Fine. But you know you’re not here to socialize though, right. We pay, we leave. You already got recognized once, and if word gets out you already know who’s gonna wind up doing the damage control. With time he doesn’t have.”

The Citadel’s entire team of publicists aren’t worth shit by comparison, honestly. And just because Iggy doesn’t exactly know they’re here right now doesn’t mean there’s not an 80-20 chance he’ll figure it out anyways, even if precisely nothing happens.

“I know,” Noct mutters, and for whatever it’s worth it sounds like he does in fact know. And probably still feels like an ass for blowing up at Iggy the other day.

Which, good.

Gladio sighs, yanks open the car door. “We going, or what?”

***

The lobby’s not as packed as it was before—that was Saturday night, and it’s Tuesday now—but there’s still a good line snaking its way up to the ticket counter. Looks like a working-class crowd for the most part; the easy chatter between friends or coworkers washing over the narrow space. And Noct doesn’t exactly look out of place; he’s in a hoodie and jeans that don’t look as expensive as they are, and there’s about as many Lucians here as foreigners. But he looks stiff and ill-at-ease on the old chintzy carpet, staring off into nothing, the yellowed light from both the dusty chandelier overhead as well as the strands of what look like multicolored Solstice lights on the far wall glinting off his hair.

Gladio elbows him. “What, you nervous?”

“About what?” Noct shoots back, under his breath.

“Exactly.”

***

“Actually, we’re here to settle a bill.”

The woman selling the tickets raises one pristinely-shaped eyebrow at them, before wordlessly waving them over towards the other woman behind the desk. She looks foreign, too; ivory skin standing out starkly against her black blouse, slate-gray hair pinned back into a complicated updo.

She glances up from her clipboard, green eyes flat and hard as she takes them in. “Yeah?”

She doesn’t say anything for a long moment after Gladio repeats himself, but her gaze immediately flicks towards Noct, and narrows.

“You here to see Prompto?”

Gladio shrugs, not sure if it’s hilarious or worrying that the kid had obviously gone and told his supervisor. “Nah, we’ll just—”

“He’s on in ten,” she says, abruptly, cutting him off. “You wanna talk, you’ll have to wait. And he’s booked up tonight, so make it quick. That is if he’s up for it.” She turns, calls over her shoulder. “Biggs.”

The guy who emerges from the door behind her has an easy stance, a relatively friendly expression, but he’s keen-eyed, and the jacket that’s one size too big would suggest he’s packing.

“There’s no loitering in my lobby. Front section’s a hundred crown each. Nobody’ll bother you there, Highness.”

Noct, to his credit, doesn’t visibly react to his title. But it is very clear he wasn’t planning on having to sit through another show. “No, it’s fine, I’ve got the nine crown for the drink.”

“Biggs’ll go with you, make sure you’re left alone,” she says, tone banking no argument, before pointedly turning on her heel and striding through the door behind her.

That’s that, then. If they hang around out here any longer, Noct definitely is gonna get recognized.

There’s worse ways to spend the evening, Gladio thinks as they follow Biggs through the double doors. As long as this guy doesn’t try shoot them in the head point blank in front of a large crowd of spectators, Gladio’s pretty damn sure he could take him down if he needed to.

But Noct looks downright pained as he takes his seat at their table, ten feet from the stage.

“Think she just wanted our money,” Gladio tells him, grabbing the menu and scanning it. Drinks are off the table (for him, at least, though Noct looks like he’s gonna need to knock back at least three to survive the next forty-five minutes), but a plate of wings doesn’t sound half bad.

Noct doesn’t respond. Neither does Biggs, but Gladio hears his soft snort.

***

It’s a good time, really. Dizzying sprays of confetti, bass-heavy radio remix after remix he can feel in his gut, and the loose effortless charm of a dozen guys and girls in various states of undress.

He can see why Prompto’s their headliner. It’s not even that he’s the most eye-catching, really, though he is hardly recognizable compared to the bedraggled, barely-upright kid they’d met the other night--either he’s better now, or he’s buried those dark circles under a shitload of concealer. It’s the precision of his movements, the lightning-quick steps, fluid grace that’s impossible to look away from.

Noct’s certainly looking.

“Flexible little guy, isn’t he,” Gladio says, applauding at the end of a number.

“Hm.”

Noct’s still tensed up, very much so, fingers gripping the table’s edge so hard it might disintegrate, so obviously out-of-sync with the entire situation that Gladio was going to take mercy on him and suggest they take off once they’d eaten, bill be damned.

But he hasn’t taken his eyes off Prompto once.

“You smitten yet?” he asks, snatching another wing off the plate and double checking the exits—nobody’s come or gone—then glancing over at Biggs. Biggs just gives him an even look right back; he doesn’t seem to particularly mind that he’s being surveilled, and Gladio’s sure the guy’s doing the same to him.

Noct flips him off, gulps his drink. The next number starts.

It makes sense this kid’s a choreographer, he thinks. He knows what he’s doing. Gladio might not know shit about dance aside from the obligatory ballroom stuff he’d been made to practice with Iris as a kid to get them both through boring state functions, but he definitely knows a thing or two about controlled, deliberate movement.

Movement which, at the moment, apparently includes jutting out your hips gratuitously and feeling up your own ass.

He does look good, though, dancing aside; hair meticulously gelled into a perfect swoop, hoops in his ears, bits of gold leaf stuck around his eyes. He’s not tall, but he’s got a dancer’s build, lithe and strong, and those heels aren’t hurting any. The outfit’s some drapey orange and gold lamé situation, complete with shorts that look painted on him, strategically placed rhinestones and body glitter scattered across his skin.

It takes a few minutes to notice the scars. The few spots on his back, a handful across his arms and legs. It’s not the color of the skin—it’s obviously concealed, and the light catches the sparkly bits of him just right to draw the eye away—but skin pulls and puckers sometimes, just slightly, not quite moving with the rest of him. Gods know that outfit’s not covering much, but he’s the only one who’s not shedding any layers up here, and Gladio wonders if there’s more beneath that shimmery fabric.

Well. Rough part of town.

It’s not until the very end, at what passes for a curtain call at this place when the lights aren’t quite so bright, that Prompto finally seems to notice them. His expression shifts, just a bit, from the performative but comfortable smile that had stayed firmly pasted on his lips throughout the show. For a split second, his eyes are rounder, the curve of his mouth more uncertain than pleased when his gaze meets Noct’s. But the moment passes, and he’s grinning again, arm-in-arm with the other beaming, panting dancers as cheers ring out around them. Twenty seconds later and the stage is empty.

“Have fun?” Biggs asks, eventually. It’s the first time he’s spoken.

“Uh-huh,” Gladio says, easily, at the same time that Noct says, “It was fine.” God, the kid looks constipated.

“Great. Wait here.” He stands. “Gotta wait for Nea’s say-so if you wanna see Prom, but. He’s gonna be pretty busy after this.”

Noct watches Biggs’ retreating back, an odd look on his face.

“Do you actually wanna see him?” Gladio asks, sliding the still barely-touched plate of gyoza he’d ordered for Noct across the table. “I mean. Your eyes were glued to the kid.” He smirks, waggles an eyebrow, and it earns him a spectacular scowl.

“…dunno,” he says at last, shoulders deflating, jaw working as he stares at the condensation rolling down the side of his glass. “Maybe he wouldn’t want to be bothered if he’s that…busy.”

“Well.” Gladio plucks a gyoza from the plate he’d just handed over. “What he’s not gonna want, probably, is for you to act all weird about his overnight gigs. You knew.”

“I know,” he mutters, just this side of defensive.

“Ain’t like it’s a crime, either, as long as Blondie’s not committing tax fraud.”

“I know.” Noct sighs. “Can’t hurt to see if he’s okay, I guess. Seems like a lot if he was that sick the other night.”

“Yeah.”He pauses, taking in Noct’s stiff shoulders, the full-body tension that’s gonna leave him achey all over in the morning. “Last chance to bail, though. There’s no actual reason we gotta do this part.” He nods at the empty stage. “Looked like he’ll live.”

Another tight shrug, another swig of his drink and a terse “might as well,” and alright, looks like they are doing this part.

***

Ten minutes later they’re shuffled back through now mostly-empty lobby—most of the patrons are either drinking or or migrating to the dance floor now—and led through a side door into a wood-paneled hallway.

Biggs’ hands are full; a steaming cup of instant chickatrice noodle in one hand and a packet of saltines in the other, a sports drink tucked up under his armpit. “He’s already waiting for you,” he tells them, as they come to a halt in front of one of the doors deep into the hallway. “He’s gotta eat something, though. And Nea said you get ten minutes.”

“Guessing you’re here to enforce that,” Gladio says, not caring if it’s blunt.

“And to make sure no one bothers him,” Biggs replies, calmly, meeting his eyes.

He has to remind himself not to bristle at the implications of that on Noct’s behalf—these people don’t know him, and they’re probably not bursting at the seams with fealty toward the Crown, either. The treaty with Niflheim is tenuous, barely older than Noct himself, and the war beforehand had been ugly for both sides. Most Imperial immigrants are refugees, or the children of refugees, having had no choice but to flee to the country that had fared marginally better when their own had become so stripped of resources. And they ain’t exactly living the high life, here.

Noct must’ve realized the same thing, because even though his arms are crossed now, all he says is, “We won’t.”

It’s a cramped sitting room of some kind, both tacky as hell with bright orange walls and décor as loud as the rest of this place, but cozy with its low lighting and squashy armchairs. And no exits but the way they came in. Well. If Gladio needs to pull the plug on this shit a minute in, he’s got no problem with that. Biggs had lost the jacket, at some point, and if he is still armed, it’s not obvious. But Gladio’s been put through the ringer learning how to recognize and disarm assassins of all varieties. And Noct’s not exactly helpless either—quite the opposite—if it comes down to it. Doesn’t mean he can relax any, and if anything happens it is squarely on him, but it’s something, anyways. Damn kid’s gonna be the death of him.

Blondie’s seated with his shins pressed up against a glass coffee table. He’s in a pair of beat-up sweats, but his hair and makeup still look pretty much flawless in the dim light of the room, even the gold leaf framing his lashes doesn’t seem to have budged any.

He makes no move to stand at the sight of Noct; the smile he slaps on looks taut, maybe wary. He meets Gladio’s eyes a grand total of once before decidedly looking anywhere but.

“Hi again,” he says, with a gung-ho sort of cheer that can’t quite seem to get its legs under it, an awkward little wave to match. “Didn’t think you’d be back around…your highness,” he tacks on, like an afterthought.

Gladio frowns. The kid seems winded, words coming out a little breathy and odd. And yeah, he just had one hell of a workout, but twenty minutes on and his chest definitely shouldn’t be rising and falling that rapidly.

Biggs plops down into the chair beside him and sets the soup and crackers in front of him, repeating the directive to eat before anybody can say anything else. And Gladio thinks Noct’s concern, in its veneer of studious indifference, wasn’t misplaced after all. Guy had looked like roadkill a couple nights ago, anyways. He doesn’t, now—mostly he just looks glittery—but still.

Noct sits. Gladio does not. “Didn’t mean to crash your break time,” Noct says. Gods, he looks uncomfortable. “Sorry. You should eat.”

“Thanks.” The kid raises the soup cup to his lips, but doesn’t take an actual sip, swallowing reflexively like the smell of it alone is enough to turn his stomach. He takes a careful sip of the sports drink instead. It’s a brand that Gladio knows for a fact tastes like piss, but is damn good for electrolytes. Beside him, Biggs’ brows draw together, but he says nothing.

“So, uh,” Prompto starts, after a moment. “You have a better time tonight?”

When Noct doesn’t answer right away, Gladio feels a twinge of sympathy for the kid.

“Was fun,” Gladio says, honestly, with a shrug. “You’re pretty good.”

Noct takes his lead, fortunately, and his “yeah” comes out only slightly strained.

“Really?” he says, brows shooting up like maybe something’s not quite adding up here, eyes flicking from Gladio’s face to Noct’s, but he doesn’t look displeased. “Whoa. Thanks.”

“No problem.”

“Nea said you wanted to see me?” he asks, and before Gladio can clarify that that’s not quite what’s happening here, he goes on. “If you were wanting to book, I’m pretty full up tonight, but. Uh. I don’t mind rearranging some stuff? Seeing as you’re, y’know.” He gestures vaguely at Noct. “But you gotta work that out with Nea, she handles most of the scheduling.”

And Noct, hilariously, says, “Book…what?”

Prompto blinks. “…me? Unless you wanted someone else?”

Another one-point-five seconds and Noct’s brain seems to catch up to his mouth. He flushes, spectacularly. “Wha—no.” It comes out sharp, louder than he probably meant it to, and Prompto actually starts a bit. “That’s. No,” he says, quieter now, staring very hard at his own knees, looking like he might spontaneously combust and also that he’d probably be fine with that. “That’s not why we’re here.”

“…um. Okay.” A long pause, and Gladio can see the shift in Prompto’s face from puzzlement to something like unease. He might be blushing, too, but the makeup makes it hard to tell. But Biggs is grinning now, clearly at Noct’s expense, and Gladio can’t blame him because he is about two inches away himself from absolutely pissing himself laughing.

He tries to keep it out of his voice when he says, “He came to pay for that drink, is all. And see if you were feeling any better, if you were around.”

“Oh.” He gives them both a smile that’s nervous around the edges, a little wrong-footed but not insincere, drumming his fingers on his knee. “I am. Thanks.”

Biggs raises an eyebrow, gives a pointed look at the soup cup growing cold on the table, but says nothing.

“But,” Prompto says, frowning, “if that was all, then why’d Nea…” He trails off, and Gladio can see the realization hit him. He wonders if they’re the same conclusions he’d come to himself. To see just what they were after, for starters. To keep the sudden appearance of the Prince from causing an ordeal at her establishment. To collect their money, while she was at it. “Sorry,” he mutters, finally, gaze falling as though he’d had any part in this at all.

“It’s fine,” Noct tells him. He looks only marginally less like he wants to die than he did before, but he sounds genuine, at least. “Not like anyone warned you.”

“I’m…” Prompto starts, then lets out a shaky breath. Then, with a kind of dawning horror, “You’re not about to, like. Lock me up for soliciting royalty, or something?” Adds, under his breath, “Shiva, I just solicited royalty…”

Gladio holds back his snort, wants to tell him that repeating the offense out loud isn’t exactly gonna help his case. Instead, he says, “Relax, kid. We know the laws.” Well. Sort of. Brothels are legal is about the extent of his own knowledge; maybe soliciting royalty was actually a crime. Iggy would know, probably. Freakish knowledge of obscure laws is his forte. “Anyways. You thought it was him soliciting you, you were just doing your job.”

Noct gives him a withering look, which is pretty much the best thing ever when he still looks like a beet. And Prompto does look distinctly salmon-ish now, too, despite the foundation piled on thick enough to blot out most of those freckles. He’s picking at the edges of an old striped sweatband he’s wearing, and Gladio thinks of that gigantic jeweled cuff he’d been wearing on the same wrist, earlier.

Nobody says anything, after that. Prince Charmless can’t string two words together to smooth the situation over, because of course he can’t, and Prompto’s moved on to fiddling with the label of his sports drink, not looking at any of them. Biggs raises an eyebrow at Gladio, a silent question—which of us is gonna end this first—when Noct’s phone goes off.

It’s his text tone, a bright handful of eight-bit notes, and Gladio wonders if it’s Iggy. It’s probably Iggy.

But Prompto looks up, at the sound. He’s smiling faintly. “Heh. Level up.”

Noct’s head snaps up so fast that Gladio almost hears it.

“You play King’s Knight?”

***

(to be continued-- many, many thanks to @taizi for listening to me spitball about this one and giving me that sweet sweet validation--

#cw alcohol #cw eventual frank discussions of consent #not a deathfic #owlet's fanfic #in this house we respect sex workers #final fantasy xv fanfiction #final fantasy 15 #final fantasy xv #noctis lucis caelum #ffxv #prompto argentum #promptis

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demonfox38 · 4 years ago

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Competed(ish) - Monster Hunter Rise

In life, there are times Where you must slay other beasts To protect your own.

Haiku time, bitches.

So, "Monster Hunter" games. I've heard good things about them, but I've personally struggled to cut into them. I first experimented with the series back in the early 2010s with a copy of "Monster Hunter Tri" through my GameFly subscription. (It seems like they're still operational, which is quite surprising to me!) Long story short, I didn't have the time or patience to get into it through my rental period, so I bounced out of the series. Given a scratched track record, what helped me stick through "Monster Hunter Rise"? Was it just having the time to explore the games, or did this game latch onto some inner weeaboo hook?

Hey. Sometimes, it's just about making sure I make the most out of $65.00 USD.

"Monster Hunter Rise" is Capcom's 2021 release of its "Monster Hunter" series in which you…well. Hunt monsters. Pretty obvious, right? This game takes place in Kamura Village, an idyllic Japanese town known for its weapon forging and sweet shops. You, the newest village hunter/idiot, are charged with helping to defend the village from being overrun by monsters. That's it. Nothing deep. Just you, your yokels, and your various animals driving other animals away.

Look. I'm gonna be honest. This isn't a game you play for plot or deep characters. You're here to do the "Shadow of the Colossus" thing, but without the artsy veneer. And good luck doing that!

To say this game is abstruse is an understatement. I mean, it tries to teach you about your game loop and your weapon usage, but damned if I didn't have to spend an hour or two on YouTube just to get my bearings. There's a lot you have to manage. Your equipment. Your buddies. Their equipment. The needs of the people. Your stamina. Your health. Your maps. What monster's going where. What's it doing? Why's it doing that? How should I kill it? And that's just going solo! (No, I didn't do multiplayer. I was feeling cheap. Also, my modem and router were dying a slow death. That's been fun to fix over a holiday weekend…)

I did enjoy the game's attempt at making the game feel like a multiplayer title, even when I was playing alone. The inclusion of Palicoes (cats with human-equivalent intelligence) and Palamutes (knife-wielding dog mounts) is particularly helpful. Palamutes, while not as technical as Palicoes, did give me a break while traversing the terrain and provided some additional speed with item usage in battle. The right kind of Palico can save your ass. Personally, I was fondest of those with Healing and Gathering personality sets. I think Fighting types also have their uses, but I struggled to see the help that Assist or Bombing types provided. But, I'm sure every player has their favored type.

Outside of "Shadow of the Colossus," the other game I kept thinking of while playing was "Devil May Cry." Why? Well, they're produced by the same company, for one. But, for another? I expected a game with such a pedigree like "Monster Hunter" to feel a little more elegant and polished when I started it. Instead, I was lucky to understand battle pacing, never-the-less combos. "Devil May Cry" is a game series where I start feeling like a pro and end feeling like a pro, but with a few more tools under my belt. With "Monster Hunter Rise", I started feeling like a clod and ended without a drop of sweat on my brow. Such development can be frustrating, especially if you don't have the time or any real reason to commit to the game. But, there can be fun in figuring out, "Hey, I can do this!" or "Well, I can abuse this terrain/endemic life to gain an advantage."

Really, really could have used a better targeting system, though. Sometimes, it felt better not to use it at all.

While it did take me some time to feel like I was competent at anything in game, I think my first turning point was fighting Aknosom, a fire-spitting crane. I finally slowed down enough to learn its movements, guard against its attacks, then smack it around when it was done acting up. Additionally, it helped teach me about the importance of stopping to heal status effects, as well as how to kite around it to recover the most health possible while keeping engaged in battle. Groan it up, but it's certainly analogous to a "Dark Souls" experience. Easier, but similar.

Additionally, of the pre-credit matches, I enjoyed fighting Barioth, Khezu (who is still a songless fight, by the way!), Somnacanth, Bishaten, and Magnamalo (the pre-credit final boss.) While they all had their own status effects, I found it easy enough to avoid their more irksome attacks by being aggressive with rolling and keeping close and to their backs/sides. Also, I enjoyed using wirebugs to zip in and smack them on the face when they had finished their attacks. Those little goobers are great! Takes a hot minute to use them smoothly, but man, when you can, it makes punishing so much quicker.

The hunts I tended to avoid the most were those that had creatures with poisoning capabilities. Seriously, poison sucks in this game. Keep antidotes stapled to your ass at all times. I also had some difficulties with heavily plated dragons, but I suspect using a hammer would have mitigated that. Something to test another time, I suppose.

Also, I can't say I got too much into the Rampage side of this game. I mean, it's okay? It's a Tower Defense mode. Nothing too taxing. However, I didn't feel the need to grind for a different reward set. What I saw was just improvement stickers to slap on pre-existing equipment. It seems like the kind of thing that would have unique rewards associated with it, but I didn't see anything that compelled me to stick with it outside of a couple of experimental battles. I'm sure it will eventually offer something unique. Just didn't need it.

I think the best I can do with this evaluation is help you get a step into the game, should you want to play it. And really, it's mostly about the play. If you're looking for a novel story, unique characters, decent voice acting, or the next video game soundtrack to get stuck in your head, this isn't really the game for you. (Although, "Cold Blues and Flaming Reds" is a banger!) It's really just about fighting cool monsters and attempting to be cool while doing it.

So, here! First, take my hunting prep loop:

Gather items earned from quests/subquests from the previous hunt.

The quest maiden in the town (Hinoa; shrine maiden sitting around and eating dango) gives you single player quests. Her sister in the hub (Minoto) gives group assignments.

Manufacture new weapons and/or armor for your character.

You'll be looking for an old, grumpy dude who's hunched over (Hamon).

Most of the stuff you can get for weapon creation will get dropped for you somewhere between 1-5 kills of that monster's set. At least, that was what it felt like for me. Khezu equipment took the longest to get, but I think I just had some bad luck there.

Try to use the tree page as much as possible to determine what you'd like and what you need to make. This helped me visualize when I needed to recreate a weapon to get something new through a unique branch. Icons with arrows over them can be reversed to a previous state. Icons with a treasure box on them indicates that you've got this particular weapon in storage.

You can make upgrades to armor and weapons as well, if you'd like! I didn't find it necessary, but some people may want to beef up their stats.

Manufacture Palico/Palamute weapons and armor from scrap and/or unneeded materials.

This'll be the kitty to Hamon's right (your left, if you're facing Hamon.)

You can trade for scraps in the event that you have some piece of a monster that you don't anticipate on using. But really, really make sure you don't need an item before you scrap it. I learned that the hard way regarding Electro Sac scrapping.

Hire at least 1 new Palico or Palamute until a total of 15 is reached. (It'll help you with a subquest later on.)

You'll do this from the Buddy Plaza, which is in the exit opposite of the hub area. Find the kid in the forest playing with a puppy (Iori).

I personally had 2 of each Palico personality type, but you can pick whatever you'd like. Really, really get some healers, though!

Check Palico/Palamute training progress.

It'll be another Palico by Iori (without a hood).

Check Meowcenary progress.

I can't say I really needed the items from this, but it did help me make some unique pet armor!

This will be the Palico in the blue robes and hood by Iori. You won't see him for a bit, though.

If possible, reassign lowest-leveled companions to training duty, then highest to Meowcenary tasks.

Don't interrupt the Meowcenary tasks, at the very least.

If it's been 5+ hunts since you last checked, climb up a tree in the Buddy Plaza to check the Cahoot's nest. If there's two golden eggs, take them.

Create, purchase, and restock items.

Honestly, I only bought trap-making materials from the shop (umbrella dude with a seal taped to his face by the name of Kagero.)

Pet/feed the Cahoot.

Okay, this is optional, and the rewards it triggers can be a pain in the ass to bag. But, pet the owl anyway, idiot.

You can call your owl by dicking around with your D pad.

Accept your quest of choice and subquests from one of the quest maidens.

Cook Motley Mix.

You can do this in the multiplayer hub or in Kamura proper, but I just go to the Kamura proper location. You're looking for a green-clothed gal (Yomogi.) Sit at her counter to her left.

You can cook on the battlefield, but you might as well have the dango lady/Palicoes make your food for you. You can get bonus tickets to improve your Bunny Dango's stats this way!

Eat Bunny Dango.

There are multiple pages of dango you can buy, so don't feel like you need to stick on the first page.

If you see a dango about training your buddies, get that! Might as well help your dudes out, right?

Also—I know the dango lady rants about my character just eating meat and fish, but really. Dango's not healthy. There really should have been some sort of alternative customizable foodstuff for this. Like, I dunno. Sushi?

Depart.

As for control tips:

Don't rush your inputs. Flailing around will leave you open to getting batted across a field.

Try a lance as soon as the game will let you. I recommend this weapon for newbies because its combo system is simple. It's X X X for low attacks, A A A for upper attacks, and R to guard. Learn to target certain body parts using this, and you can handle pretty much any other weapon afterwards. I wouldn't stick to it forever, but it's good for grounding yourself.

Cut off tails; bash in heads. I can especially recommend using great swords for the tail chopping. It'll give you something additional to harvest!

Use items on your Palamute to gain mobility while vulnerable. This is particularly helpful with sharpening your sword or healing up! Press A when you're near your dog to get on it. Press B to dismount.

Rations/steaks heal stamina. Stamina helps you move and attack quickly. It's the yellow bar. Under the green bar. Which is your health. I hope you saw that one, at the very least.

You can auto-craft some items. Absolutely set this up for potions and antidotes. You want that shit ready to go as soon as you touch its base items.

Sheathing your weapon is Y. Using your selected item is also Y. Make sure you know what state you're in when you hit Y (i.e., weapon in or out.)

To select your items: Hold L, then tap Y or A to scroll left or right through the item wheel. Release L on the item you want. Tap Y to use it. This seriously was a pain in the ass for me to learn, so I'm putting it down here. (You can use the L + a control stick to use an item, but I always ended up using stuff accidentally that way.)

Use wirebugs to zip in and hit monsters. It's a bit putzy to do (ZL + ZR while your weapon is sheathed, then X to hit the monster.) But, nailing this will help you lower their defenses against being ridden and get in a good combo starter.

Hold the minus button to warp. There's no penalty for doing this, so get yourself back to your base and restock. You can't do this while you're in active combat, however.

Your time remaining is the clock in the upper-left corner. Try to keep your monster kills in under 15 minutes. You can usually bag three monsters in a go, but it's up to you whether or not the fight is worth it.

Put some time in the Training Arena. It's past the Buddy Plaza, which is the exit past the armor shop. It's a free place to practice comboing, so take your time here to figure out how you'd like to move going forward.

Honestly, you may want to wait a few months for this game's price to drop down and for updates to settle. It's a hot property as of writing this very second (Memorial Day weekend of 2021), but with that heat comes a financial cost. If you've got a buddy who's really biting to play, then go for it. If you're a people person, you might really like the multiplayer! Otherwise, it may be difficult to feel like you're getting the most out of this game.

However, the value of this game really can't be captured in video or audio, as much as I relied on videos to get into it. It's not an Hour One enjoyment, either. It's more about hitting Hour Twenty and finding out that you've become this brutal, beautiful acrobat, despite everything standing in your way. But, "Devil May Cry" takes less work, and "Shadow of the Colossus" scratches that arty itch more, so take the pride I have in my progress with a grain of salt.

Also, I very much hurt myself playing "Devil May Cry 3" and "Shadow of the Colossus." (Don't force yourself to fight bosses for and hour and a half straight, kids.) At least I didn't hurt myself playing "Monster Hunter Rise!" Just battered my dignity for a bit.

#post game evaluation #monster hunter rise

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terrm9 · 4 years ago

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CHAPTER 3 - Waiting

Keiki was sleeping peacefully in her hospital bed with Sienna, Jackie, Rafael and Elijah surrounding her, waiting for a slightest hint of... something. Rafael couldn't let go of Sienna's hand, not when now, instead of crying, she just kept whispering "it's going to be okay, everything will be just fine, everything must be alright". She was clearly fighting with enormous anxiety and used the positivity so typical for her to deal with the situation. Jackie sat on the chair next to Keiki's head, her head propped on her knees. She was now looking at the ground, finally able to look around the room she was in, but she couldn't bring herself to say a single word. She wanted to badly to snap at Sienna for repeating those stupid words full of hope, she wanted to scream, to make her stop, but she was physically incapable of saying a single 'shut up'. Elijah just stared out of the window, trying to find some sort of distraction on the busy street under the hospital room.

The door suddenly opened and obviously exhausted and uncharacteristically serious Bryce Lahela walked in, the scrubs he was still wearing bringing odd mixture of disinfection and sweat to the room.

"Hey guys. Thanks for staying with Keiki. I met Dr. Mirani on my way here and he said that she suffered from concussion but should be okay within week. I got here as fast as I could."

"How did the surgery go?" Elijah asked nervously.

"Ugh... as well as such surgery can. She is alive."

"What are her chances of actually staying alive?"

It was Jackie, finally able to find her lost voice.

"As for now, I have no idea. Dr. Emery was fantastic, guys you should have seen her, she simply didn't allow Chiara to die on that table. But it was brutal. She has so many injuries, lost such huge amount of blood..."

He trailed off, not knowing what else to say.

"It's really bad, isn't it?" Sienna whispered.

"It is really bad, yeah. Dr. Emery told me not to get my hopes up, because the chance of survival or chance of recovery is very low. But she doesn't need to be always right. Very low does not mean none and if there is even glimpse of hope, I simply believe in full recovery. I already got my hopes up, because if someone can get through this, it's Chiara Ray. I mean, she's been through so much shit, in her early life, in her intern year, in her med school and she always, always pulled through and got stronger on the way. She is a fighter and she will fight this. We just have to keep believing in her."

There was a long silence after Bryce's speech, everyone dealing with their emotions on their own. Sienna's cheeks were soaked with silent tears again, Jackie played with hem of her shirt and Elijah just kept staring out on the street.

"I'm gonna get us some hot chocolate," Sienna declared out of nothing

"On the wheelchair?" Rafael raised his eyebrow, looking at her freshly casted leg.

"I need to do something."

"I'm coming with you."

Sienna and Rafael left the room without any other word and Bryce followed her, intending to change into clean set of clothes. Shortly after they left, the door flew open again revealing Aurora furiously walking in.

"What the hell, guys? What happened? I came home after the night shift expecting all of you to be home and the flat was empty! So I tried to reach Chiara, then Sienna, then Jackie and Elijah and none of you responded, so I tought maybe you went to the beach or something. I called my aunt, who is supposed to have three days off and she picks up at last telling me she just got out of the surgery of Dr. Ray? What does this mean? I ran all the way from home."

As Elijah started to fill her in on what happened, Sienna, Rafael and Bryce came back with five cups filled with hot chocolate.

"Ah Aurora, hi! Sorry I didn't know you would come, I'll go for another one," Sienna was about to go get another hot chocolate.

"No need. Just tell me what happened."

Aurora was left speechless when they finished. She grew very fond of Chiara and admired her as a doctor but also as a person. She couldn't imagine her lying on the cold operating table, more dead than alive.

"How about you girls? Sienna, Jackie?"

"We are fine. I have a broken leg, that's all," Sienna answered.

"Oh, I look much worse than I feel. I'll be back to work in a day or two," Jackie said angrily, not wanting to talk about herself at all.

"You think we could go and see her?"

"I don't think they would let us, not now. But when I went to get the chocolate, I talked to Danny and he told me that Dr. Ramsey is staying with her."

They all shared a silent look deciding whether they should talk about Dr. Ramsey or not.

"He really cares about her, right?"

Elijah broken the silence with sincere question.

"Oh he does," Rafael nodded. "I mean, I knew he had a soft spot for her when all it took for her to convince him to play softball was to ask him, but damn this was something different."

"Of course he cares about her. He is her mentor, she is important part of his team. And she saved Dr. Banerji's life."

"I guess he really does respect her for that," Rafael admitted. "But still, this was something else. He was going to lose it in the E.R."

"What happened in the E.R.?"

Aurora and Bryce asked at the same time.

"His whole body was shaking when he heard the news. I didn't know if he was going to punch someone or faint. And when he heard she was in the operating room, he just stormed off."

"She means a lot to many people."

Sienna closed the discussion up with only one sentence and the group remained silent. Every person in the room felt the same heavy feeling on their chest, but somehow sharing their fear has brought some ease into their breathing.

On the other side of the third floor, there was nothing nor someone that could possibly bring ease into Ethan Ramsey's breathing. He was sitting on the wooden chair as close to Chiara as he could get, his hands resting in his lap helplessly, afraid to touch even her finger, scared that he would cause more harm to her. Ethan kept staring at her, failing to swallow the bulge that formed in his throat hours ago. He hated crying. He hated it so much that he learned how not to cry even when needed to. Sitting here next to her, he wished he could just cry. Cry and scream, let some of the emotions out of his system, share them with someone. But the only person he could imagine sharing such grief with was the very same person that made him feel this way in the first place. And so he didn't make a move or a sound, remaining motionless on the chair, his jaw clenched.

How could I let this happen? If I wasn't such coward, I would start the speech I was preparing myself for and she would never leave the office.

Damn the speech, I could've just kissed her and she would stay with me.

The thoughts of what if's and what could and should have been were costing him his sanity, but Ethan couldn't just stop thinking. He couldn't forgive himself for losing so much time. For not expressing how he really felt. Oh, he should've done that long time ago, but he was afraid of admitting that he cared for her enough for them to be more than just star crossed lovers. How much he wanted to be with her, to call her his, his Rookie, his Chiara and yet, he couldn't bring himself to talk to her about them, guilt eating him up for being so selfish. He wanted her despite their potential relationship being unprofessional, unethical, so wrong on so many levels. Still, he longed for her.

She deserves better than me.

He couldn't help but think so, knowing that she expects much more from relationship than he could provide. He could give her his time and attention and physical affection, he would adore her and push her to be the best doctor she could be, but that would never be enough. She needed him to love her the way she loved and he wasn't capable of love. He didn't believe in such thing in the first place. Caring for someone, liking them, wanting to spend their time together, those things made sense to him. But love, love was like hope or faith, there were zero science explanations to back those feelings up. To make them valid. He couldn't tell her he loved her, because he didn't believe in love.

Not like any of that mattered now. He never told her how he felt or how scared he was of ruining her career and her life by wanting to be with her, he never expressed his belief that she should find someone better for herself, someone who would shower her with 'I love you's' every day. He never said a word and now she could die any minute.

Ethan lost track of time or of any outside situation for that matter, therefore Harper's presence in the room took him by surprise.

"Ethan, I need to check in on her, so please leave us. And I think Naveen would like to talk to you before he heads home today."

"What time is it?"

"8 PM."

"Can I come back when you are done with examination?"

He needed Harper to say yes. He couldn't leave her.

"You need to sleep Ethan. What was the last time you slept? Or eaten for that matter?

"I'll sleep when I feel like sleeping. I'm staying with her overnight."

With that he left the room, determined to find Naveen without talking to anybody else.

Dr. Banerji was sitting in his office, waiting for the younger man to come. As the door opened and Ethan entered room, he noticed just how devasted he looked. He hasn't seen him like that ever since his own dying.

"Ethan. Thank you for coming. Can I get you something to eat?"

"I'm not hungry. Thanks, anyway. You wanted to see me?"

"I wanted to check on you, dear boy. I see that this situation drained any life from you and I am concerned."

"I'm just scared okay? And hopeless. So fucking hopeless."

Ethan thought he would lose it now. That the tears would finally come. They didn't.

"I know you are worried about Chiara and I know that you would raise the hell if that would help her. But starving yourself or refusing to sleep will only destroy you too."

"Maybe I want to be destroyed."

"Ethan, don't say that."

"I don't know Naveen. I just... the last time I felt like this, it was when I thought you were dying. But at the time at least I could do something. I ran tests and studied not-so-known illnesses and I tried to save you. Now all I do is sitting on the damn chair and wait for her to wake up or die. It's killing me."

Naveen took Ethan's hand into his own and squeezed it with all the emapthy he had, hoping that the brilliant doctor in front of him could feel that he knew. He knew how Ethan felt about Chiara. He knew how much she meant to him and that it was her who saved his own life, after all. Dr. Ray stood by Ethan's side everytime he faced tragedy and when he needed her, she was there. Naveen knew that very well, without ever needing to talk to Ethan about it.

"I called her mother. She said she would catch the first flight in the morning and should be here by the noon."

Naveen broke the silence with the statement.

"You expect me to talk to her."

Ethan didn't ask, he knew it was true.

"I think it should be you. You know Chiara very well and her mother needs to hear the truth from someone who knows her pain."

"And what exactly the truth is?"

"Oh, Ethan..."

"Okay, I'll talk to her mother. I'll be in the I.C.U. with Chiara."

He left, expecting Harper to be done and without stopping anywhere, he found his way back to the I.C.U. room, spending his sleepless night there.

"Mrs. Ray, hello."

Ethan shook hand of the woman in front of him, trying not to stare at her hair. Hair with the same colour as Chiara's.

"Dr. Ramsey, it's nice to finally meet you. Chiara talks about you all the time."

She tried to smile and failed miserabely. Her eyes were puffed from crying and she was holding her purse so firmly as if it was her own dear life she was holding onto.

"Oh?"

"All the good stuff of course. Dr. Emery informed me about the surgery. Now you tell me... and I need the truth... will she get through this?"

At this point, she was crying again and Ethan couldn't help but hug her.

"She is a warrior, Mrs. Ray. I know Chiara very well and she fights whatever comes to her life. Nothing is certain, but I believe in her."

Ethan didn't know if he was trying to convince Chiara's mother or himself.

"I can't lose her too, Dr. Ramsey. Dr. Emery told me the driver that caused him was drunk. Is that so?"

"Yes, it's true. He has some broken ribs and waits for his time in jail."

"Is that some kind of curse?"

Ethan motioned for them to sit down before asking: "What do you mean, curse?"

"Oh, I should have guessed Chiara never told you. She doesn't talk about it and she would never bear the idea of you pitying her. But you already do pity her now, so I can as well go on."

Ethan nodded with his eyebrows high, holding hand of the woman who looked like she needed to throw up.

"Chiara is the oldest of my children. She had younger brother and sister, both adoring her. She was always such a good kid, taking care of her siblings, doing her homework, helping other kids at school. She wanted to apply for med school since forever and her father couldn't be prouder. He supported her every step, not to my delight. Chiara is excellent painter, art is huge part of her and as an artist myself, I always hoped for her to follow my steps. I thought being doctor wouldn't make her happy. But she applied for the med school, got in and I realized that the special spark she holds inside of her is only released when she talks about medicine. When she was in her second year, her father and brother died in a car crash. Drunken driver on the truck crossed the crossroad on the red light... they were both dead immediately. She lost her spark then, nothing could bring it back. But she stuck with the medicine because she wanted to make her dad proud. She finished the school and when she was accepted to her programm here in Edenbrook, that's when her spark returned. I remeber her screaming: 'Mom I'll get to work with Ethan Freaking Ramsey!' I hardly understood what that meant, but the expression she held at the moment was enough for one of my many wounds to heal. And now... now I am losing her too."

She was crying again, leaning against Ethan's chest, as he tried to soothe her pain by hugging her tightly. The bulge in his throat got bigger, even though he didn't consider it possible.

"You're not losing her. She never gives up and she won't give up this time either. I'll be here, Mrs. Ray, I'll take care of her and I promise you, Chiara doesn't die, not on my watch. I am Ethan Freakin' Ramsey after all."

He felt his own strenght coming back at his words. He started to see what Naveen and Harper were saying about him needing to eat and sleep. At some point, Chiara might need him and he needs to be ready to save her. Mrs. Ray managed to create a small smile, wiping her eyes.

"Thank you, Dr. Ramsey. I can't stay here, Alicia - Chiara's sister - needs me back to San Francisco. Just... just promise me to take care of her, okay?"

"Of course. Here, this is my number," he handed her a piece of paper with his quickly written number. "Call me anytime. We will inform you about everything. Now, I'll let you see her for a few minutes, if you want."

Two weeks have passed and Dr. Emery stood side by side with Dr. Ramsey, consulting results of Chiara's new CT scan.

"Pretty impressing, I must say. The swelling on her brain is retreating and as far as I can see, there's no evidence of irrevisible damage on the brain. Of course we'll know better if she wakes up."

"When she wakes up," Ethan muttered under his breath, not accepting the possibility of her not waking up.

Harper looked at him with raised eyebrows, but never said a word.

"However, we are far from winning this, but so far, Dr. Ray here convinced me that nothing is ever as hopeless as it seems. With her lungs working on their own completely now, I propose transferring her from the I.C.U. to your wing of the hospital, Dr. Ramsey. As a surgeon, my work is done her for now. Her brain needs to start working and that's your field. She's all yours."

Oh how I wish she was all mine, Ethan tought but didn't say a word. He just nodded and left the I.C.U.

One would say that Ethan Ramsey's life was back to normal. He was back to work, giving interns hard time, reading journals, cracking cases, avoiding people. Looking more tired than usually, his hair longer and more messy, his stubble slowly turning into beard, everyone knew that he wasn't completely okay, but how could he be after all? Little did they know that for the past two weeks, Dr. Ramsey only left hospital once. He slept on the couch in his office every night so that he'd be close in case Chiara's state changes. Little did they know that every time he had some spare time, he'd spend it next to Chiara's bed, looking at her. Naveen's heart was breaking for Ethan's pain. He was probably the only one to notice how much weight Ethan lost, eating two raw bars a day at best.

The very same evening Chiara left I.C.U., all of her friends decided to spend evening in at Donahue's again. Sienna spent last fourteen days at home, not being able to work with a broken leg and Jackie with Elijah came straight home after their shifts. But tonight, they let themselves feel certain bliss of normalcy and met at the bar. Aurora was already waiting for them and Danny decided to join them too.

"Shouldn't Bryce already be here?"

"I'm sure he will come any minute now."

They ordered beer for everyone and tried to talk about work, about their patients, about anything but Chiara's still critical condition. Not too long after their order arrived, Bryce walked in and after long time, he looked like himself, smiling brightly while winking at the group of interns.

"Whoa there, scalpel jockey. Enjoying yourself? Did someone make you feel so cheerful?"

Jackie furrowed her brows at him.

"Oh you better believe someone did," he smirked.

"That's why you are late?"

"Exactly. I needed to check one very particular woman's chest, in case you need details."

"Ugh, no thanks, Lahela."

"I waited for Kyra's surgery results," he rolled his eyes. "I wanted to make sure I got it right before spilling the news."

"Are you saying-"

"Yes! The surgery worked! I mean, she's going to be in so much pain for the next few weeks, but the chances of recovery are amazingly high and the cancer is gone."

Sienna started to cry and even Jackie's eyes shimmered with tears.

"Holy crap, so there are still good news available in this world," Elijah sighed and finished his beer. "We are drinking to that. And we should let Rafael know. He might be on the other side of the States, but he still cares, right? Oh I am actually feeling happy right now. Have you talked to her?"

"I haven't. I thought we should all talk to her together tomorrow, since she still doesn't know about Chiara. I know we needed to protect her before the surgery, but she needs to know now. Will you go with me?"

Everyone nodded, except Aurora who sighed: "I don't think Carrick will let me switch shifts. But you guys say hi from me and tell her that I'll come to see her on Saturday."

"Sure thing."

They ordered another round of beer and for the first time in what felt like forever, they didn't feel the heavy stone on their chest. They felt victory.

Later that night, as the young doctors leaving the bar allowed themselves to laugh at some stupid joke Bryce said, Dr. Ramsey laid on the not so comfortable couch, scotch in his hand, looking at the ceiling above him. He missed her. The sound she would make when she cracked some particularly difficult case. The laugh when she teased him. The smile she saved for him and only for him. He missed even her temper that could drive him crazy at the times. Without giving it a second thought, he unlocked his phone and opened the Pictogram app. He needed to see her with her eyes open. He needed to see her full of life. Clicking at her profile transferred him into completely different world, the one where she laughed on the beach, smiled proudly with diploma in her hand, posed for a selfie with her roommates. He scrolled to the end of her feed and starting to observe the photos from the oldest one to the last one she posted. He swallowed hard when he realized that she posted the photo only few hours before the crash, smiling carelessly into the camera with her friends surrounding her. The photo was clearly taken at the concert they attended. She looked so happy, so relaxed, so very much alive. He just kept looking at the photo, memorizing every single detail about her, imagining she was still there, dancing to music and laughing with people she loved. And there it was. After all, Ethan felt a single tear streaming down his cheek.

Days passed in some bizarre blur, summer nights turned into ashy evenings of fall, sun gracing city of Boston with its presence only exceptionally. It was exactly one month since the accident and as the end of his shift arrived, Dr. Ramsey found himself sitting next to Chiara's bed again. It became some kind of bittersweet routine for him to come to her room anytime he could and talk to her about work. Chiara was actually doing good, considering everything. Her lungs worked perfectly, her broken spine was slowly but surely healing. Her brain's swelling was gone now, however the brain itself wasn't working the way it should, putting her into state of coma.

"Mrs. Potter is going home tomorrow, the treatment worked exquisitely. I wish you could see the face of her son when we told him she would be okay. I think even Baz had tears in his eyes when the little boy hugged him."

Ethan realized quite well that what he was doing was stupid and he laughed at himself for being this pathetic. But it helped him keep her sanity, so he came everyday and talked to her about every single patient.

"I almost yelled at Hirata today, though. She asked if I was looking for someone else to take your place at the team. I mean, what the fuck is she thinking?"

Repeating the scene with June Hirata in his head made him wrathful all over again.

"She just kept saying that the team needs the fourth member to work. I told her that we were fine, with Naveen helping us when there's too many difficult cases. But she was really determined and I couldn't listen to her, so I snapped at her, I told her to shut the fuck up. It was... intense. Definitely not my proudest moment but what else could I do? How would I even offer the position? 'Hello, we need a new member for our diagnostics team. The only problem is that we have no idea for how long we can provide the spot for you. Maybe for two weeks, maybe for two years, maybe we'll keep you for good. Nobody knows.' Huh? No one would even accept such position. Listen Rookie. I know I've been telling you the other day that you should take your time and heal, but life is pretty hard without you, so could you wake up? Could you do this one last favor for me and just wake up? Please?"

Elijah, Sienna and Jackie were standing next to the nurse station, too deep into the debate to notice someone watching them.

"...what are we going to do? I tried to talk to Farley but he said that he couldn't afford to lose those money. It's been five weeks since the accident which makes two checks. And none of us actually has that much spare money."

"We don't have that much even if we put our savings together."

"Should we call her mum?"

Sienna asked nervously, biting her lip.

"Nope, that poor woman is going through hell. We'll find a way, okay? We could ask Aurora."

"Mass Kenmore has cut its budget just like Edenbrook. She basically works for free now."

"We'll figure it out guys, okay? We always figure it out somehow. I gotta go, but I promise to find a solution."

The three of them went their separate ways, Jackie determined to get some coffee from the cafeteria.

"Dr. Varma? Could I talk to you for a second?"

Ramsey's voice snapped her our of not so bright thoughts and she turned on her heel to face him.

"Yeah? Is something wrong with Chiara?"

"No change. It's just... I didn't mean to eavesdrop... well..."

"Get to the point, Dr. Ramsey."

Despite feeling anxious and nervous for the past few days, she found some weird sense of satisfaction on how the tables have turned now. She still remembered clearly how he said those exact words to her in her intern year.

"Right, sorry. Look, I heard you talking about Chiara and some money problems. I understand that it's... rather difficult for you to pay for her checks?"

Jackie raised her eyebrow, surprised, but didn't deny what he said. She nodded and let him continue.

"I don't mean to offend any of you by my offer, but would you let me pay for her checks? I've been second year resident once and I know how much you get paid. And I know that Dr. Ray's mother is going through a lot. Paying for your apartment is, well, no problem for me and I would like to help at least this way."

"Wow, I expected you to talk to me about that woman who can't stop vomiting in the room 232. Look, Dr. Ramsey, what you are offering is really nice and, uhm, surprising, coming from you, but I am not sure it would be appropriate."

"Consider it a loan, then. When Chiara wakes up and gets her life together again, she can pay me back."

"I need to talk to my roommates about that, it's not my decision to make after all. Thank you for the offer, though."

"Okay. I'll be happy to help. Oh and Dr. Varma?"

"Yeah?"

"I am sorry for how I acted the night of the accident. I yelled at you and that was wrong."

"It's okay, Dr. Ramsey. We've all got our ways of dealing with pain."

With that she left, leaving Ethan alone with his thoughts. He automatically turned towards Chiara's room and after the door closed after him, he started to talk.

"It's not work today. I just need to let this out. I miss you, Chiara. I really miss you. It's gotten to the point where I just keep staring at your photos and hope that it could wake you up. I never confessed to you about the photo I have of you. After the first night we spent together, day before your ethic trial, you sat on the floor in my apartment, wearing one of my shirts, reading some random history book you found. I was making some coffee for the both of us, watching you from the distance and in that moment I couldn't resist the urge to take photo of you. So I did. And I was too embarassed to admit it to you, that I found you beautiful and wanted to have the moment immortalized. I never found the strenght to delete the photo though. And now that you are here, I find myself looking at the damn photo every day, not believing that I was once lucky enough to have you in my shirt reading my book in my apartment. I really miss you. And I can keep missing you, knowing that it won't last forever, knowing that you'll wake up. I can handle missing you as long as I have hope."

He indeed did sound desperate. He never even believed in hope. But after the long weeks without her, feeling only fear, allowing himself to feel something as pathetic as hope was enahncing.

#open heart #open heart fanfiction #open heart choices #ethan ramsey #pixelberry #ethan ramsey x mc

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melodious-madrigals · 4 years ago

Text

london calling (yes, i was there, too)

For Day 1 of Wondertrev Loveweek!

Fandom: Wonder Woman Pairing: Diana/Steve Prompt: London Word Count: 2154 Rating: T (for ~innuendo~ probably) Summary: A view of London, past and present, from Diana's point of view.

Read it here on [AO3] or below the cut.

***

present

London has become a glittering, sprawling city in the years since Diana first arrived at its docks. Some would go so far as to call it the greatest city in the world.

Diana still dislikes it.

She never warmed to London. She loves Lisbon, adores Amman, visits Xi'an every chance she gets, calls Paris home for now. But London remains something of a frustration for her, a necessary evil for business trips from time to time.

There are things she doesn't mind, she supposes.

The red telephone boxes, for one. They're a bit cliché, but iconic. (She remembers when those were first put in.) They're less common now, but every time she passes one, she snaps a photo and texts it to Clark, with the caption thinking of you, because one time in a pinch, he used one to change into his Superman suit but in his haste accidentally broke one of the panes of glass, and she's never going to let him forget it.

Then there's Hampstead Heath. It's a bit outside the bustle of the city proper, sure, but it's a breath of fresh air (literally), and it has lovely views of the city. She's enjoyed her walks there, even fondly recalls a picnic or two on the grassy hill as she gazes at the skyline, stuck in the city between one meeting and the next.

Indeed, the city itself has largely been cleaned up. There are still stately aging buildings and parks, but less of the pervasive grime. Still, there's something about London that she can't quite put her finger on that makes her feel unsettled.

It's totally irrational.

1918

"It's hideous."

"Yeah, it's not for everyone."

Diana hates it here. The air is bleak and grey and thick. It's like the air on Themyscira on the winter solstice, when it's choked by smoke from their celebratory bonfires, only worse, because this isn't fragrant, woody smoke. It's a thick miasma of coal and smog, utterly pungent, with an acrid odor layering it that Diana will soon find out is what the aftermath of bombings smell like.

The streets, too, are filthy, full of trash and grey with coal dust, and she's never seen anything so utterly uncivilized in her whole life.

And it's loud, an ugly cacophony of sounds like she's never encountered: people shouting—a language that she understands, to be sure, but one that is just a little dissonant all the same because it isn't hers —and bells chiming and the creaks and groans of the bridge as it raises, and hissing of the engines in the automobiles.

Truly, she doesn't know why anyone would live here, but it's all right, because soon they'll be headed off to the War. Battlefields are not good, but she is sure they are something that she at least understands.

Her first day in London has been a whirlwind: the clothing shop, the fight in the alley, Parliament and the horribly rude generals, and finally, assembling the team at the pub. She's not ashamed to admit that she's looking forward to a bit of rest before she goes to confront Ares.

After leaving the pub, Steve leads her to a quiet side street, and directs her up three flights of stairs into a cramped set of rooms.

"It's not much, but when I'm in London, it's home."

The apartment is largely impersonal—it's clear that Steve doesn't spend much time here, away on missions more often than not—but it still feels warm. To that end, Steve ushers her into the little kitchen and hands her a cup of tea.

It's pleasantly warm despite being bitter, and she manages to finish it as Steve gets up and starts rearranging the cushions on the sofa.

"What are you doing?"

"Um. Making up the couch?" It sounds like more of a question than her own, honestly.

"Yes, I have eyes," she says impatiently. "Why are you making up the couch?"

"I...don't have an answer you'll approve of."

She huffs. "I do not understand your society in the slightest. Did we not sleep together on the boat, just last night, and all the ones before it?"

"Er. Yeah."

"And tonight is different how?"

"Um," says Steve, clearly looking uncomfortable. "There's a bed?"

Diana levels him with a very unimpressed look. "You sat alone at the kitchen table with me while we drank tea."

"Well, I—huh? What's that got to do with anything?"

"Well, what on earth do they teach you about the pleasures of the flesh that makes you think a bed or even a horizontal position is a requirement?"

Steve chokes on air and starts coughing. "Diana—"

"I'm just saying you get very flustered about very peculiar things. The bed, for example, but not the kitchen table, which looks very sturdy, by the way��"

"Okay, okay! You've made your point! I'll sleep with you."

"Finally," she huffs.

"It's—"

"—not polite to assume, yes, you have said, but it is hardly an assumption on your part if I have clearly stated my feelings."

"Right, well, we'll just. Um. Go to bed, then."

Steve, anticipating Diana's lack of concern over modesty, offers her an oversized flannel shirt to sleep in.

"If it will make you feel better," she says, and puts it on over her undergarments.

"Goodnight," she says, once he's extinguished the light.

"Night."

She's not awake long enough to see him fall asleep, falling into a slumber almost as soon as her head hits the pillow.

Diana wakes up to warmth, an intangible yet visceral feeling of safety, and a comfortable weight around her waist. It's clearly morning, weak light dappling the side of the room, the view out the window in front of her proving it's a cloudy day. She shifts slightly and realizes that in the night, Steve has rolled her way and thrown his arm around her.

They're meant to get an early start, but Diana is used to waking up so early for training every morning that it can't possibly be time to get up yet. She's willing to lay in bed just a few moments longer, but her shifting appears to have woken up Steve, who tugs her a little closer and then seems to realize where he is.

He lets go of her like her skin is aflame and jerks backward so hard that he nearly falls off the edge of the bed.

"I'm so sorry, I didn't mean—"

She catches his hand in the middle of a wild gesticulation. "If I thought you were being disrespectful, you would no longer have the arm in question."

"Right. Neat. I'll just, uh, go make some tea."

Sameer and Charlie knock on the door not long after, and then they're out of London, off to the War.

London, upon return, is even worse than London before. Even amidst the celebrations, it seems so much bleaker, so much colder.

Etta, dear lovely Etta, helps with all the arrangements to make it appear as though she existed before last week. Documents, a day job—and a place to stay.

"I've arranged it all so that it's yours. Young ladies, they usually have to stay in boarding rooms, but I think this is what he would've wanted."

Etta makes time to take her to the apartment, under the guise of ensuring that it has everything she needs.

It's a grey day, the kind that doesn't really let much light make its way indoors. The small apartment is dim, and it feels so desolate, so empty.

Diana turns in a circle as Etta rummages through the drawers, making a list of the few things she finds to be lacking. She was just here a few days ago; how can a place feel so intrinsically different?

"Well, luv, it appears to be mostly in order. If you don't mind, I'll come 'round tomorrow with a new spatula and a bit of sugar, and you'll be all set."

"Yes, of course," Diana says distantly, and then Etta's gone, out the door.

An apartment so small and cluttered shouldn't be so capable of feeling empty, but it does.

Diana, who's always run hot, feels vaguely cold.

She tries, she really does. She does her job and goes on missions and tries to make friends, invites people over for dinner or tea, does her best to make London home.

She makes it a whole month before it drives her mad, being in that little apartment. London itself doesn't hold Steve's ghost, but this apartment does.

After a month, she can no longer stand it, even though she's hardly ever there anyways. In a fit of impulsiveness, she turns the keys over the Etta, and moves to Paris, a place she's been several times already, on missions with Sameer, and once, Napi.

She moves frequently, after that, from place to place, city to city, country to country, but doesn't call London home again.

present

So it's irrational, but every time Diana thinks of London, all she can think of are the grey skies and the colorless light in that apartment, like the world was slowly being sapped of color. Each time she thinks of London, she can't help but associate it with sorrow. With each emotion she felt in the aftermath of Steve's death, all of the complicated ways her victory felt like anything but.

No, she never takes to London, even as the years pass and the city changes. She arrives only as absolutely necessary, and leaves as soon as whatever work is done.

Today, for example, she's here for a conference on artifact preservation. She knows the man from the British Museum who's presenting the seminar—and frankly he has no business giving this talk—and as soon as it's over she'll be on the Eurostar back to Paris.

Her next meeting in London is with the director of the British Museum itself. She and a small team from the Louvre are meeting with a team from the British Museum to hammer out a loans agreement for a couple of highly-coveted pieces. It's the most important meeting outside of the Justice League that she'll have all year, and she's the lead negotiator.

The day before she's expected to leave for the week-long trip, Steve shows up, alive again after a century and change.

She already wasn't looking forward to the trip—this just makes it worse. She's in emotional crisis, and has no desire to leave Steve for any period of time, but this is literally the one meeting of the year that she cannot miss. (After all, if there's one attitude regarding museums and artifact "ownership" that she hates more than France's, it's Britain's. She's not going to miss this meeting and let them get away with anything.)

"I could...come with?" asks Steve, uncertainly. They're both still trying to figure things out.

"Would you?"

"It's hardly the worst place I've ever followed you," he says weakly, trying for a joke, and it's met with a wet laugh. "Look, I know London. Knew London, anyways. I could walk around somewhere familiar while you were in meetings and then after…" he trails off.

"And then after, there is no one I would rather spend time with," Diana declares.

"Neat, so—I'm coming."

Diana wastes no time booking the second ticket.

"It's hideous," says Steve when he sees the ultra-modern skyline for the first time.

"Well, London isn't for everyone," replies Diana with a smirk.

"It's just—strange. London was sort of home for so long, and now I don't even recognize it."

"You get used to it, after a while," she says softly, and Steve has the distinct impression that she's not just talking about London.

They've arrived the evening before the meetings are set to start, so they wander around a little before getting dinner and checking into the hotel. (Diana has accumulated properties in plenty of places, but London was never one of them; instead, they're staying downtown, near several excellent take-away spots that Diana was already planning on taking advantage of.)

"How many shades of red would you turn if I offered to take the couch right now?" Steve jokes, surveying the hotel room upon arrival.

"Objectively? Fewer than if you joined me in the bed."

Steve flushes almost as many shades as he had in mind, still a little startled by her bluntness.

"Oh? And now who's assuming?" he says as evenly as he can.

"I don't know what you mean," she says, far too innocently, "I run hot when I sleep."

"Right."

She can't help but laugh at that. She feels so—content, for the first time in so long. It's coloring her view of everything: the business trip suddenly doesn't feel so unmanageable, London doesn't feel so soul-less, even the sterile hotel room feels cheerful.

It's true that Diana never warmed up to London, but it has a fighting chance now.

***

Final Note: Please pardon any negative depictions of London; it's not my favorite city but it mostly comes from Diana's emotional relationship with the place.

***

#wondertrevweek2020 #wondertrev #diana x steve #steve x diana #wonder woman #diana prince #steve trevor #wondertrev fanfiction #lenci writes

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ampleappleamble · 4 years ago

Text

Chapter 7: Crumbling Castle

Caed Nua stood, a mossy, neglected tombstone hunching above the sprawling, untamed foliage of the Yenwood. Its once mighty towers rose from the center of the ruined castle, climbing only midway to the sky before succumbing to gravity and the ravages of age. The walls surrounding the estate slumped and buckled as well, having sloughed away in places to reveal the overgrown bailey and the collapsed, rotting buildings therein.

Axa let her eyes wander over the derelict keep.

"What a shithole," she muttered.

Her flippant words did little to mask her disappointment, and although Aloth noticed this, he decided to say nothing. Anything he said would probably only make her feel worse, seeing as he was now almost utterly certain that if she was-- if they were to find anyone to advise on matters of the soul, it would not be here, in this place seemingly forsaken by kith. But he also knew by now that trying to deter the little woman from her goals was nigh impossible, so he trailed doggedly behind her, scepter and grimoire at the ready. After all, it wasn't as though he had any more promising leads to follow, and what she lacked in subtlety she more than made up for in determination. A disposition which with I am most certainly well acquainted, he thought bitterly, the resulting headache quite worth the barb.

Edér, either out of ignorance of Axa's true emotional state or in a good-natured attempt to lighten the mood, took a different approach and tried to joke with her, remarking aloud on the poor quality of Maerwald's gardeners. But he'd scarcely gotten the words out when the orlan gesticulated fiercely to him for silence, pivoting her long, tapered ears over to her left and listening intently. It wasn't long before her companions heard it too-- a low, steady humming coming from just beyond the bridge before them, behind the overgrown hedge, right outside of the walls of Caed Nua.

"Oh, good. We're not alone," Aloth whispered, reaching for his grimoire.

"This trip just keeps gettin' better," Edér sighed, drawing his blade.

Axa squinted in the direction of the humming noise, and a strange grin slowly spread across her flaxen face.

"...Is that Sea of Miracles?"

And she marched off confidently toward the moldy castle walls, her companions scrambling to keep up.

---

"Refrain of the Soul, actually," the gigantic man replied, his pointed teeth bared in a friendly smile. "But you were close! Both ballads were composed by the selfsame skald--"

"Uwēno the Elder!" Axa laughed, clapping her hands together. "Of course! And in the same year, if I remember correctly."

Aloth watched the two bards, utterly bemused. No matter how he tried to prepare himself for what might come, the world always managed to defy his expectations in the most bizarre ways. After they'd heard deep, tremulous murmurs in these abandoned ruins, he'd been sure he'd spend the next hour hurling arcane flame at hostile spirits or hungry wildlife, or maybe even bandits or cultists. Instead, he had found himself awkwardly fumbling to secure his weapons, trailing after Axa while she strode directly to the source of the noise: an enormous, very amicable aumaua man with whom she was now excitedly chattering about ancient Rauataian songstresses. After the surprise had worn off, he was obliged to wait quietly while they talked, feeling oddly like a petulant child waiting for his mother to finish speaking with another adult.

Glancing over at Edér, who looked as though he hadn't a thought in his head, Aloth felt a mild twinge of envy.

The farmer grinned back at the elf, content to idle for a few pleasant moments while the large shark man and the tiny cat lady laughed together at jokes he couldn't even begin to understand. Honestly, he was just happy to see the poor girl relaxed and in her element, for once. And they hadn't had to fight any screaming monsters! ...Yet.

"Kana Rua," the giant boomed, bending slightly at the waist to extend his hand to Axa, "of the royal city of Tâkowa and her esteemed lore college. Are you, perchance, here to see Maerwald? I assume you haven't come all this way to discuss music history with strangers!" His dark eyes, wide with curiosity, shifted to the other two men. "And with a retinue, no less!"

"Axa Mala," the little woman chuckled, "and my traveling companions, Aloth Corfiser and Edér Teylecg. We are indeed here for Maerwald's counsel. I'm a Watcher, it seems, and I'm hoping he can offer some insight into our shared condition. And yourself?"

Both Kana's eyes and his smile had grown steadily as she spoke. "You're a Watcher? Truly? ...Well, I'm afraid my own reasons for seeking Maerwald aren't nearly so extraordinary. I was hoping he could direct me to a tablet of great historical and cultural import to my people, the Tanvii ora Toha. Only... I've had some difficulties in actually getting near the place."

He winced in the direction of the stone archway leading past the walls of Caed Nua and into its wild, unkempt yard. They couldn't see the dark spirits beyond the castle gate, but they didn't need to. All four kith could feel the dark spirits' presence, falling silent for a moment as the malevolent essence in the air prickled and picked at the edges of their souls.

"To meet the master of the estate, it seems one must first neutralize his spectral visitants, or else find a way around them. I'm... afraid I haven't had much luck at either by myself."

"Ah," Edér groaned, feeling his bowels churn with the sick, primal fear spirits always instilled in him. "There's that fight I knew was gonna happen."

"But this is a magnificently serendipitous encounter!" Kana grinned again, bigger and brighter than the sun, spreading his arms before the group as though to embrace all of them just for being there. "I was planning to finish jotting down these notes, set up camp for the evening, and simply trek to the nearest village tomorrow to hire a helping hand. But since we've the same goal, and you all look quite capable--"

"A collaborative effort?" Axa finished for him, stepping closer to the huge man. "I'm all for it, as long as there are no objections." The orlan glanced back at her companions.

"You'll hear no dissent from me."

"Hey, the more the merrier."

The little woman turned back to the aumaua with a wink. "That settles it, then! Welcome to my retinue, Kana Rua. With you at our shoulders, we ought to make short work of these ghastlies."

His already broad smile broadened ever further. "And we shall hold conference with Maerwald before sundown! I'm certain of it!"

---

Soldier and marauder. Soldier and marauder and Maerwald.

At sundown, they finished burying the keep's former master.

Axa gazed out over the bailey-- her bailey, this was her keep now (??!!)-- at the freshly filled grave next to the chapel. Her thoughts buzzed frantically like a swarm of panicked hornets behind her eyes, and she couldn't focus on a single thought long enough to make sense of any one of them.

No sleep. No sleep for the Watcher.

"I think... I'm going slightly mad."

Edér frowned sympathetically, placed a heavy, calloused hand on the little woman's shoulder. "Hey, c'mon. It ain't as bad as all that, is it?" He'd done most of the digging, being more acquainted with the work than anyone else, and his hand left a sizable smudge of grave dirt on her tunic.

She didn't look at him. "I'm going to go completely mad. I'm a Watcher, and I'm Awakened, and there's some sort of Woedican cult behind it, and if I can't find them, or if they can't undo this, then I'm going to lose my mind and die. Just like him." To her mild surprise, no tears welled in her eyes or spilled down her cheeks. Although her eyes felt hot and swollen, she supposed she was simply too overwhelmed, too exhausted to cry anymore.

Kana, eye level with the woman as she leaned against the adra pillar under which he was seated, studied her face while he considered his approach. "Well... if it's of any comfort to you, you at least know what to expect in regards to your condition. You know where you're going next, you've an entire keep to set yourself up in while you search." That gregarious smile opened up his face again. "And you've a band of loyal flunkies at your beck and call!"

"And a magic talkin' stone chair lady t' take care of most of the housekeeping for you." Edér grinned down at her, brushing the dirt from her shoulder with a casual familiarity. "All things considered, you got dealt a bad hand, but at least the deck is lookin' like it's stacked in yer favor."

Axa pricked up her ears, and turned to regard the blond man with a mix of wonder and disgust. "...I don't know if that's the best or the worst mixed metaphor I've ever heard."

He chuckled as he stuck his pipe between his teeth. "No idea what yer talkin’ about there, lil' darlin'."

She finally laughed, brushing at her dry, sticky eyes with her fists, and Kana laughed too, throwing an arm around her shoulder. "See there! The ship floats yet. Tomorrow the eastern barbican will be restored, and then off to Defiance Bay, where answers abound! ...If Maerwald spoke true, anyway."

Poor woman. They will take you, too--

"Might look for some answers there myself, if you'll go with me." The farmer let loose a plume of smoke as he spoke, failing to finish exhaling before turning to the little Watcher. "Been thinkin' about what I wanted to ask ol' Maerwald before... well, before all that had to go down. About my brother, Woden. Think I might find at least a... hint or somethin' in the big city." He passed his pipe to her, and she did not hesitate to accept it.

"Mysteries upon mysteries!" Kana's booming voice in her ear made her wince. "The Eyeless Seer must have you in their sights, my friend. Pun fully intended!"

"For the love of the gods," she groaned,

For the gods' love! For their love!! the old man sobbed--

a sudden headache gripping her behind the eyes, "is Aloth finished setting up in there or what?"

---

Nae they willnae.

"Oh yes they will. It's inevitable now."

Aloth's grimoire trembled in his hands, sweat dribbling down his temple as he tried to focus. The large, broken brazier he'd dragged into the middle of the great hall wasn't a small target for a spell, but it wasn't exactly a large one either. And it didn't help that Aloth felt as though he was on the verge of a nervous breakdown.

They willnae find oot, laddie.

"They will. All because someone can't keep their thoughts to themselves."

It hadn't been difficult to convince the others to allow him to set up camp for the night by himself. Axa had not seemed very eager to socialize after she'd landed the killing blow on the old man, and Edér and Kana had quickly volunteered to take care of the remains. And after the confrontation with Maerwald, after what the old Watcher had told them, Aloth had been desperate for solitude.

Fye, they wouldnae need t' find oot aught if ye'd tellt 'em sooth from th' start as ye oughttae--

He'd rushed his recitation, and now he flourished too haphazardly, and the arcane fire he called forth flashed and spouted violently into the rusty little brazier. Aloth hissed with pain and surprise as the unruly flames licked at his face, singed his hair.

"Damn you!" he screamed, whirling quickly around, shielding his face with his arms. "You dare to-- You always do this, you--" The wizard cut himself off. He squeezed his eyes shut, clenched his fists at his sides. He needed to stop and calm down, right now.

One. He exhaled. He inhaled. He exhaled.

Buck up, Corfiser. Your situation is not that dire.

Two. He shook his hands out of their tight fists, flexed his fingers.

No one has any concrete evidence. Of anything. And no one has said anything. Yet.

Three. His shoulders twitched, tried to lock back up, but finally slumped, laden with nervous exhaustion.

They will find out. About... us. That's an inevitability.

Four. His ears, pressed back flat against his head in irritation, started to slowly droop down and forward.

But that's not necessarily a bad thing.

Five. His hands hung limp at his sides now. His breathing and heart rate slowed.

For one, the same taboos don't apply here like they do back home. Look at how the others responded to Axa, for instance.

Six. He pressed his lips into a thin line, lowering his head until his chin touched his clavicle.

And if Axa can find out more information about her condition, and if she'll have me along, maybe...

Seven. He wrapped his arms around himself, cupping his elbows in his hands.

But... then, if she finds out about... and Kana has made enemies of them, too-- oh gods, this isn't--

Eight. He started pacing back and forth. He was shaking all of a sudden, gasping for breath.

This isn't working-- Why isn't-- I need to--

Nine. He heard the doors to the Great Hall creak slowly open, but he kept his eyes screwed shut. He couldn't open them, couldn't until ten--

Oh gods, if I've been wrong this whole time--

Ten. He opened his eyes.

Axa touched him on the elbow, and he actually yelped in surprise.

"Axa! I'm-- You're back! H-how can... I help you?" He winced, looking away from her as he felt his face grow warm. Kana was off to his right, humming merrily away and taking notes about the keep's interior or somesuch; Edér was rummaging through his things, likely looking for more whiteleaf.

Axa herself looked at him with concern-- or was that just his imagination?-- and cocked her thumb at the now-calm campfire, the meticulously arranged bedrolls. "You've helped more than enough, I'd say. Thank you for doing this."

He prepared to suppress a relieved smile, but she took care of it for him. "Aloth, are you-- have you been feeling alright?"

"Wh-- well, I mean-- yes, yes, of course, just-- I've just been a bit... distracted, processing some of the... unusual things we've all seen as of late." He never knew how he managed to fool anybody: here he was, heart pounding in his chest, fidgeting, eyes darting to and fro, insisting he was just fine, thank you.

Nevertheless, the little woman regarded him with sympathy and spoke in a low, soothing tone. "That's understandable. I think we've all had some rather unsettling revelations recently."

"We certainly have, you foremost among us." Aloth had started to recover and he straightened up, tugging at his clothes, dusting himself off, all those little tricks he'd learned to explain away his tics and outbursts. "If what Maerwald said is true, your very life and future are in jeopardy."

She frowned, turning her attention away from him-- just as he'd hoped she might-- and sighed heavily, staring at her feet. "Yes. Yes, I've got quite a lot to contend with. Whoever or whatever this Leaden Key is, I have to find them. Sooner the better. My sanity, my life could depend on it."

"Indeed." His composure finally restored to a respectable level, Aloth gave the orlan his best diplomatic smile and nod. "Rest assured, I shall accompany you and render what aid I can on our journey to Defiance Bay."

"Why?"

His heart stopped. "...I beg your pardon?"

A look of shock flashed across her face, followed closely by a bashful grimace. "I'm-- I'm sorry. Never mind. It's been a long day, I... I should get some rest. You, too. Long day tomorrow as well." These last few lines were delivered half-mumbled over her shoulder as she shuffled over toward her belongings, which he had carefully arranged a safe distance from the fire, close by to his own things. He tried, but found he could not muster a verbal farewell, instead struggling to keep a neutral facade even as she walked away from him.

"...I think she knows."

An impatient, long-suffering sigh.

Nae she disnae.

---

Maerwald sat at his hearth and watched his fire. Watched the wood burn.

Axa sat in the Great Hall of Caed Nua's keep and gazed into the makeshift campfire.

I'm sorry, old man. At least... I was able to release your soul from this place. You can truly rest, now.

Her three comrades slept peacefully in their bedrolls, the ugly, dark things in the keep-- her keep-- kept at bay by the light and warmth from the fire and from the Steward, both, Axa imagined. Of course, she found herself unable to rest, although she was exhausted. No sleep for the Watcher.

The soul remembers--

A memory. A memory caused this. And that man, the one in the ruins-- he called that memory forth.

Who is he? Was he? Is he the same person from... from my past life? How is that possible...?

Axa squinted into the flames, trying to remember him. She pictured his face--

--you, Anthea? My child, what--

-- and suddenly powerful waves of emotion hammered the little woman's mind, choking out all other thought. Tears flooded her eyes and poured down her face as just the memory of the man's voice, of his cold, stony stare filled her mind with horror and rage and sorrow for which she had no explanation. If only she could remember more, remember the question she--

--ask him ask him ask him please you have to ask him you have to know you have to have to--

Axa crawled to her bedroll, trembling and sniffling, and collapsed, where she remained for the next eleven hours.

She only slept for four of them.

---

#pillars of eternity #fanfiction #fanfic #poe anthem infinitum #watcher #watcher axa #aloth #eder #kana rua #holy moly this took foreveeerrrrrrrrr #might edit in more song references later

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wolftraps · 5 years ago

Note

"They’ve got one single person who is Desolation + the End (an orphan Daisy found in the burned out shell of a house that they all sort of co-raised...)" Oh I'd love to hear more about them. Both in the Institute family accidentally an entire baby sense and in the WOW is this the wrong person to have mad at you sense. Give them a touch of the Hunt and they're deadlier than any Slaughter. (Course, thats what mum's for.)

Right, so, uh, I didn’t mean to write so much. But I guess that’s the story of Reverb. So, here’s 2500 words of Daisy and Jon raising a monster, I guess?

Basira finds the lead. There have been rumors that the Lightless Flame is trying to create a new Agnes. Jon thinks they may already have. He doesn’t Know, but his attempts to do so gave him a nasty sunburn for a couple hours, so he passed it off to them instead. Almost everyone involved in Agnes’s birth and childhood are gone, but there are still a couple known contacts, and at this point, Daisy can usually just follow the smell of burning.

It’s Basira who finds the lead, though, and takes them up to a tiny town about 100km north of Glasgow.

To what was a tiny town north of Glasgow. Most of it isn’t even smoking anymore by the time they get there. If anyone survived, they’ve already fled. All except for one. There’s no sound that gives them away. No crying or screams. Daisy just follows the scent of smoke to the epicenter of the destruction, and huddled in the middle of the burned out shell of a house, with their head buried in their knees, is a child.

Her first step into the building disturbs some rubble, just enough to get the child’s attention without immediately prompting an attack. Their head snaps up, and they may not be crying now, but the redness of their eyes says they have been.

“Daisy,” Basira warns as she takes a step closer, and Daisy motions for her to keep back.

Another step, the child tenses. Another, they still don’t attack. Another. Another. When she’s finally only a couple meters away, the kid makes ready to run. So that’s where Daisy stops, and sits down amid the rubble and ash.

“Hi,” she says softly. “I’m not here to hurt you. My name is Daisy.”

No response.

“Can you tell me your name?”

Nothing.

“That’s alright. You can tell me when you’re ready.” Daisy slowly gestures at the destruction around them. “I’m going to take a guess and say you did this.” The child tenses. “Also going to guess you didn’t mean to.” They stare at her suspiciously for another few seconds and then jerkily shake their head.

“That’s okay,” Daisy reassures them. “I understand. I’m going to sit here as long as you need to feel comfortable, okay? You can talk when you’re ready, but I’m only here to help.” Their eyes flick briefly to Basira, still standing just outside the demolished wall. “That’s my partner, Basira. She’s not going to hurt you either. She’ll stay right there unless you say she can come in.”

And so they stay for another twenty minutes, sitting in silence.

“D-Daisy?” the child says eventually, their voice cracking and hoarse from smoke.

“I’m here.”

“You… don’t really look like a Daisy.” Daisy laughs.

“My real name is Alice.”

“You don’t look like an Alice, either.”

“Yeah. I didn’t really like it. Daisy’s better.” They nod.

“I’m… I’m Shay.”

“Hi, Shay. Good to meet you.”

“I… I really didn’t mean to,” they say, and their shoulders shake, but there are no tears. Daisy suspects they may be too dehydrated. “I just… I just wanted to see. And- and then I couldn’t stop it. And everyone was screaming! And- and-”

“Shh-shh. It’s okay, Shay. Can I come closer?” Shay nods and Daisy moves slowly, no sudden movements, until she sits again at Shay’s side. “I’d like to hug you, if that’s okay.”

“I- I don’t-”

“That’s fine too. I’m right here. However you need me.” Shay studies her for a long moment, barely breathing, and then a sob wracks through them and they’re buried in her side.

“I didn’t mean to!”

“I know. It’s okay. I know.” She rocks them gently until the shaking stops.

“What’s going to happen to me now?”

“If it’s alright with you, I’d like to take you home now.”

“Your home?”

“My home.”

“With you and Basira.”

“With us, and my friend Jon. And Martin and Sasha. Our whole little family. And yours if you want it.”

“A child,” Georgie says incredulously. “Someone gave you a child?”

“Technically, Daisy acquired a child. I thought it best they learn in a more stable environment. Also they’re almost eleven. It’s not like we’re trying to raise a toddler in the Archives.”

“I’m not sure that’s better, Jon.” The child in question side-eyes them, but says nothing, just continues to sort papers. “They’re very quiet.”

“Now,” Jon scoffs a bit. “There was a bit of a row earlier, and a yell that may have spawned a small tornado. Shay is cleaning up the mess they created, in silence, or they won’t be going out with Sasha tomorrow to witness Hurricane Gabrielle hit Florida.” He meets Shay’s glare with a flat stare of his own. Stubborn ten-year-olds have a remarkable ability to not be intimidated by staring, though they still break first, with a touch of an embarrassed blush.

“Jon! They’re a child.”

“Georgie! They’re not human. And I’m certainly not going to push them to pick a second patron at this age, so I would rather they participate in events that will occur anyway than for them to start blowing things up near our home.”

“So if they don’t behave, you’ll starve them.” The glare Jon aims at her has her taking a step back. It’s not often Jon aims any of his powers at Georgie, but it’s abundantly clear that that isn’t something she should have said.

“If they don’t behave, they will be taken to northern Georgia, where the hurricane will likely cause serious flooding, but little irreparable damage. They’re already Desolation, Georgie, and I am not going to punish them for living.”

“Shay.”

“Oh, uh, hey, mum! W-what’s up?”

“Explain.”

“I’m just… protesting? Oh, come on! We’ve been careful. Minor injuries and some lingering trauma only. And you can’t tell me some of these assholes don’t deserve it!”

Daisy looks at them sternly for a good half minute, just enough to let them squirm.

“You’re targeting the wrong pressure points. And his lordship is over there,” she points to the building currently behind Shay, right on the edge of the localized earthquake they have going.

“Oh. Oops.”

“If you want to level the building three down from that, I won’t complain. Got a Stranger I’ve been after for a while squatting there.”

“Aww.”

“Don’t.”

“What? I think it’s sweet you still bring him Strangers for their anniversary!”

“You want pointers or not?”

“Not saying another word. What’s the secret to efficiently destroying a building?”

Jon finds them in the tunnels, sitting against a wall, wrapped around Patrząc. He sits beside them, just close enough to brush arms. Even then, he can feel the heat coming off them. Not burning, but feverish at least, if they were capable of having fevers.

Neither of them say a word for several minutes.

“I keep trying to cry,” Shay says, soft and flat. “I want to. I- I really fucked up this time, but I just… can’t. I can feel them, their terror, and… I can feel when it stops. Every single one, it feels like i’m being dropped into ice water, but I’ve been burning so hot, it feels more like a balm. I… I know we’re not human, but shouldn’t- shouldn’t I be sad? Or… something?”

Jon leans his head back against the wall and considers. “I- spent a lot of my youth blaming myself for… everything, really. It took me a long time to accept that ‘you always have a choice’ and ‘some things are beyond your control’ aren’t mutually exclusive. Just because there is a choice, doesn’t mean it could’ve gone any other way than how it did.”

“Didn’t you literally go back in time to change everything?”

“Yes. And I changed… a lot. It was hard to think of it that way at the time. Back then, it seemed like no matter what I did, everything was still going to go wrong. Some people probably would’ve been… No, no one would’ve been better off. Not in the end. That’s what I still have trouble remembering. We told you I came back because the world ended.”

“Yeah? Because of Jonah Magnus. You came back to kill him, so it didn’t happen.”

“I’m the one who ended it.”

“Wh- wait, what? But you…”

“We tried to run away, but I was too much the Archivist to go without statements. Basira sent us some, but Jonah slipped one in, and it held the words to perform the ritual. By the time I realized what it was, I couldn’t stop reading. It wasn’t a choice I deliberately made, but I ended the world.”

“Oh… fuck.”

“Heh. Yeah. And still, I wouldn’t have come back- I wouldn’t have been able to come back- if Martin hadn’t been killed.”

“I don’t-”

“Do you know about Agnes?”

“Agnes… Montague? I read some of the statements, why?”

“If Daisy never found you. If you were raised by the Lightless Flame. You were meant to be her replacement. Your birth was orchestrated to bring about the apocalypse in the image of Desolation.”

“… Oh.”

“Agnes was conflicted. She had doubts. Eventually, she decided she couldn’t do it. She told them to hang her, so her spark would return to the fires of Desolation and they could try again.”

“… Oh.”

“Do you know the difference between you and her?”

“She chose not to destroy the world and I’m going to do it by accident?”

“No. It’s the same as the difference between timelines for me. The people around Agnes made her choose between dying and ending the world. The difference is that your family would never want you to do either.”

“I… Jon- Dad- There- there are still so many lives being lost. Because of me. And-”

“And you can feel them. Yes. You said it doesn’t feel bad. Does it feel good?”

“Wh- Um… Not- not especially? Mostly it just… is. It’s almost like… part of me wants to be satisfied, but instead I’m just numb.”

“That’s probably the best we could hope for.”

“I don’t understand.”

“I know. I’ll do my best to explain. We should go back up, though. Your mother is being gruff, but it’s because she’s worried about you.” Jon starts to lever himself up but is stopped by a warm grip on his arm.

“Could- could we stay down here, just a bit longer? The- the cold feels nice.” Jon smiles softly and sits and lets them lean in to rest their head on his shoulder, even though they’ve got enough height on him it can’t be comfortable. The two of them won’t be able to sit here forever. A fretting Daisy is already wearing a hole in the floor of the Archives with her pacing. And it’s unlikely the forest fire is going to go out without some supernatural intervention. He remembers this feeling, though, and how much he depended on Martin’s support.

He can give them this, for a little while longer, and then he’ll call Oliver Banks.

Ethan has been at the Institute for half a year when he finally meets Jon’s kid. They’re… a lot livelier than he expected. They blow through the Archives like a whirlwind (and, in fact, may spawn a small one, though it only disturbs some of the discredited statements, so it’s not like it matters), and almost slide into a seat across from Jon.

“Mum says you have something for me,” they say, practically bouncing. “What is it? What is it?”

“Hello, Shay. Lovely to see you too. I’m doing just swell, thanks for asking. How are you?”

“Oh please, you know exactly how i’m doing. But… yes, hi Jon, I missed you too.” Ethan has never once had any cause to doubt his mother’s love, but he doesn’t think he’s ever seen her look at him with half as much fondness as Jon looks at Shay. Though, in fairness, that’s probably because he’s a bit too close to the situation with his own mum. “Soooo?”

“The Vast.”

“Oooh, that’s a new one. I thought Martin still had a pretty good hold on the Fairchilds.”

“Simon is trying his hand at space exploration again and won’t answer our calls. Helena says this new avatar isn’t a Fairchild and has no stake in our alliance.”

“Is she telling the truth?”

“Unfortunately. Kinsey Harris is a former RAF pilot. In 2031, there was a malfunction and his plane went down. He did not. In August of 2032, he came to the Blackwood Institute and made a statement. Ethan?”

Jon has been doing this more and more lately, quizzing Ethan on case numbers. Sometimes he remembers from his searches through old statements, sometimes he doesn’t. On at least two occasions, though, he’s known without ever seeing it.

“Umm… 07.2031.2032/08/14… I/L/R?” Jon nods, and Ethan tries not to look too proud of himself.

“New guy?” Shay asks, looking him over. They had clearly missed him in their sprint to Jon’s office.

“Not that new,” Jon scoffs.

“Jon.”

“I didn’t say anything.”

“You didn’t need to! Martin and Mum and even Sasha did it for you! I’m pretty sure Sasha doesn’t know what year it is half the time, let alone how long it’s been since I last visited the Institute.”

“Sasha knows what year it is at least 86% of the time, and she knows when it’s been too long since you came home.”

“Can’t we go back to you asking me to kill a guy? That conversation was a lot more fun.” Jon stares at them until they start to squirm, just a little, and Ethan’s spent enough time with him that he’s pretty sure he can see Jon fighting a smirk.

“Kinsey took one of our HR employees, Buried-aligned. She was missing for a week before she crash-landed in the front hall. Now one of our library staff, Len, Pitch, is gone.” All of Shay’s fidgeting has stopped, and there’s a sense of… something in the Archives. Static tension. The calm before a storm.

“Right. Give me everything you have on him.”

“Ethan has been collecting it all. He can fill you in while you grab something from the canteen.”

Shay doesn’t so much roll their eyes as their whole head. “You cannot judge me for skipping a couple meals. I was busy.”

“I can and I will. Go. Eat lunch. And we will see you for dinner later.”

For a second it looks like there’s going to be an argument, but Shay stops before saying anything. “Who’s cooking?” they ask. Jon really does smirk now.

“Georgie and I are making curry.”

“Yessss. Okay. I’ll see you later. Love you!” They drop a kiss on Jon’s cheek and then Ethan is being pulled up the stairs by someone with Jon’s intensity and Ms. Tonner’s feral energy and he wonders if maybe he should be worried, but doubts he’s going to have much time for that.

#daisy tonner #jonathan sims #my writing #my tma fic #reverb ficlet #shay tonner #reverb #not a sad #ethan herne #the reverb in these holy halls #tma #Anonymous #you asked

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cyn-00 · 5 years ago

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Moreid one shot, 4 - "the first one"

Season 6, episode 1 "The longest night" (at the end of the episode, when the team arrives to the couple's house where the unsub is - the "Prince of Darkness", and Morgan alone gets in)

I know I have just posted number 3 but hey, I felt productive, so...enjoy it while it lasts? I'm sure as hell gonna have a drop in creativity soon and won't be posting for like...weeks.

Also, it's a long-ish one, sorry ❤️ (? I guess? Maybe it's better for you). Note: I think I kept the unsub’s lines pretty much consistent with what he actually said in the show - the concept is the same, words might be different

Y'all this fucking episode...there was SO MUCH Moreid Angst potential...wasted. robbed. Ugh.

Read it on AO3

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

The team along with the police arrived to the home of the couple where the unsub was reported to be, after he let out of the car the little girl he had taken as a hostage.

It was melting hot and the sun was blinding, the bulletproof vests and the obvious anxiousness were surely not making any of it any easier.

Reid had been worried for Morgan all day long. After he was the first to find and succor him at detective Spicer's house in Santa Monica, the night before - where he was tied and kicked repeatedly by the unsub - Spencer wasn't sure he could think straight. But Derek was wired like that: if anybody doubted his capability to keep working efficiently even when hurt, they would get yelled at. Of course, Garcia and Reid got yelled at.

And he had only apologized to Garcia so far.

Just before getting in all together, they received a phone call. Spencer was too far to hear what it was about, but as soon as the local pd officer passed the phone to Derek, he gathered that the call was from the unsub. And that he wanted Morgan to deal with him personally.

"Wait- what's happening?" he nervously asked Prentiss, even though he knew exactly what was happening. He just wanted someone external to confirm that his theory was correct, and that he wasn't going batshit crazy.

"I think he wants Morgan to get in." Prentiss answered. Reid was so tense he didn't even register what she'd just said, even being the one who asked in the first place.

Morgan made a few steps ahead with Hotch right behind him. Reid's nerves started to untangle.

But then the man stopped and turned around to confront their team leader. Again: Spencer couldn't hear, but from the look on Derek's face, he seemed enraged just as much as confident in his ability to handle what he was walking into. Reid wasn’t equally confident in such thing, though.

Hotch nodded and stepped away.

"He- he's going in alone?? W- why isn't Hotch going with him? He cannot- Morgan! Morgan wait-" Spencer was about to run toward him, but Emily grabbed his arm strongly enough to keep him from getting any farther.

"Reid," she said softly.

"What?! Are we really going to watch him get killed? He's probably not even completely aware, he's hurt and he didn't even rest for a second like we all told him to do- and the MEDICS, too, I- I get that he doesn't wanna listen to me but at leas-"

"Reid, stop. You going in there is not gonna make things any better. You have to trust him." she reasoned, assertive.

Hotch, still a little far from them both, shot him a stern glare and shook his head, as if saying: "Don't. Let him go."

Spencer calmed down just enough to realize what Emily had just said. Was she intending that if he went in it would only get worse because he was the weak and clumsy one? Same old stuff. Was that excuse ever gonna stop being an argument to persuade him not to do things? Not to help people?

Spencer gave her a deadly glance.

"It's not about me. And it's not about trusting him- I don't trust the psychopath killer on a spree that's in there with Morgan, not Morgan. We should all go in with him, I- I don't understand why I'm the only one who cares, we are a team, right?? That's what you guys always tell me when I'm about to do stupid things or- or try to deal alone with matters that are bigger than me. So why are we purposely letting him go alone all of a sudden? That's EXACTLY what the unsub is waiting for." he explained rationally, but rattling on as fast as he did everytime he was convinced about something - which was...always.

He snatched his arm away from Emily's grip before she could reply with something that would only make him more mad, and quickly strode far from everyone, looking down at the ground while stripping off his bulletproof vest with twitchy fingers. He felt breathless, on the verge of crying and, at that point, even useless and on some measure mocked by his very team- his family.

When Reid screamed at him, Morgan obviously heard him. But in that moment, the anger he was feeling caused everything else to shift to a lower level of importance. Even his Spencer worrying about him - actually, it was especially the thought of his boyfriend worrying about him that Derek was trying to push back into a hidden corner of his head: he couldn't let the guilt of making him wait helplessly eat at him in that moment.

He kept walking toward the door. He just wanted to get over with that psychopath and run back in the arms of his lover, apologizing and letting him pet his neck while whispering forgiving words in his ear.

Once he entered the house, he heard the unsub talking to him.

"Over here, agent." he said.

Morgan slowly and cautiously walked toward the couple's bedroom, from where the disgustingly over-polite voice was coming, with his gun firmly pointed ahead.

When he got in, the two hostages were curled up on themselves on the floor; wrists, ankles and mouths duct-taped. The "Prince of Darkness" was sitting on the bed between them, denying the couple to even find comfort in each other's proximity; a gun in his hand.

And he was crying. Morgan wasn't sure if it was to try and make him pity him, or if he was actually feeling some kind of emotion besides...pure evil, if that can even be defined as an emotion.

"That's it. You have no way out." he said in an unwavering tone, approaching closer.

"You say?" the unsub laughed.

Morgan slowly but carefully lowered his firearm. "I'm not afraid of you."

"But they are." answered the man - though Derek was reluctant to deem him such - pointing at the two with his gun, making them squeak in fear.

"You see," he continued, still crying. "right after I killed my mother, she looked at me - I don't know if I was imagining it - but she looked at me with relief, sort of. Like I finally set her free."

Morgan scowled. He heated up and raised the gun toward him, again.

"That's what you think you were doing to those people? You thought that by killing them you were doing them a FAVOR?" he asked. The uncomfortable realization of knowing the answer to such question already, triggered in Derek's body the urge of vomiting from one second to another.

Both their guns were aiming right at each other’s heads now.

"Naah " the unsub replied; on his face a grimace akin to a smug, lopsided smile. He stood up from the mattress.

"I killed them because I decided they had to die. Just like...God." his self-complacent grin widened.

"You sick bastard." Morgan spat through gritted teeth, fire in his eyes, sweat drooling down his temples.

Two gun shots were fired. Everyone outside heard them.

Reid was suddenly like woken up from a dream - one that left him with a bad feeling in the pit of his stomach. His heart stopped for a fraction of second only to start pounding rapidly right after; his brain went blank, like static.

It didn't even cross his mind that everyone on the team along with the police were gonna go in anyway: he ran toward the house, forgetting to put on his vest; merely accompanied by his gun and the instinct to rescue the man he would’ve cut off all his limbs for.

Prentiss and Hotch screamed at him with all their breath, but in all honesty he couldn't have cared less. The voices of his two teammates sounded muffled to his ears, as if three layers of thick glass were separating them from him. He had this gut feeling that Derek had taken too much time in there to taste his revenge, and that's exactly what the guy was expecting from him, using it in his favor to hurt him or - more likely - kill him: he had NO intention nor interest in trusting those two again.

Both his thoughts and his steps were suddenly interrupted by someone who jumped in front of him and pressed a palm firmly on his chest: it was Rossi.

"You cannot go in there without vest, kiddo. We're going in."

"Then come with me, but I won't stand here doing nothing! What the hell are you guys waiting for?? I've seen no one moving for fuck 's sake- what, have you given up on him already??" Spencer yelped in response, his voice coming out way less steady than he'd wished to.

Their altercation was cut off by Emily's voice.

"...Reid..."

"What now??" he bit back, annoyed.

She was staring at the front door, pointing at something. Or someone.

Spencer turned around, hoping not to see the unsub, because that would’ve meant he’d got the better out of the two.

His heart stopped - again. His eyes filled up with tears. His bones shuddered.

Derek was there, right outside of the door, standing still. His bulletproof vest in one hand, his gun in the other. He looked physically and mentally drained out, breathing heavily as if trying not to pass out on the hardwood floor of the porch; but at the same time relieved that he could feel sensations and emotions again, instead of a continuous state of sheer rage and frustration, all the time: he could feel his eyes prickling with tears, his heart hammering in his ears, his skin cold-sweating from the breeze blowing hot and humid against it.

He was staring at Spencer and Spencer was staring back at him, but neither was making an effort to close the 30 ft distance separating them.

When Spencer saw him taking a few steps in his direction, he stilled. But then Derek froze in spot, as if suddenly realizing that his legs were crumbling under his weight, disabling him from getting more than a few feet ahead; ignoring the fact that he was supposed to be the "strong" one out of the two - out of them all.

JJ was watching from far away. Hotch, Prentiss and Rossi were standing, encircling Reid, like they were all waiting for him to do something, like they wanted to give him the privilege of going toward Morgan first.

Spencer got the hint. He absent-mindedly pulled away David's hand from his shoulder, and finally started walking forward, putting his gun away.

He didn't run. He didn't feel the need to do so: it was like the urge to go and "save" him was gone the moment he came out of the house and everybody saw him, alive, breathing.

Once he was right in front of him, he stared long and deep into his glossy eyes, immobilized. He didn't know what to tell him, and neither did Derek: there was nothing to say, they were feeling too much to think about the right words to speak, to give some sort of hierarchical order to the things they had to get off of their aching chests.

Derek could no longer keep his usual alpha-male show going. He dropped his vest and gun to the ground, falling on his knees with a thud, shedding his first tear since it all started. Nobody on the team had ever seen him that vulnerable - Spencer, on the other hand, was certainly not new to it.

He kneeled down as well, finally getting to wrap his boyfriend in his arms as tight as he could; dwelling on the unfounded, naive and anti-scientific conviction that he could keep his crumbling body whole only with his slim frame, hoping it could act as a glue to stick together the smithereens of Derek’s soul.

Derek hugged him back just as tight, forgetting that the same amount of strength that made him comfortable in Spencer's arms, could actually make it difficult for the skinny man to breathe, squeezed in a body twice as strong - albeit equally tall.

But neither of them cared, in that moment.

He buried his face in Spencer's neck, keeping at bay the volume of his choking sobs and probably soaking wet the collar of his shirt: hiding him from judgemental eyes was a small price Spencer was willing to pay, if it made Derek feel like he was finally allowed to find comfort in him.

Spencer closed his eyes, massaging the back of his neck; uncaring of the sensation of his skin melting from the heat imbuing the air surrounding them, only increased by the warmth of their hug.

Derek shifted a little.

"Kid I- I'm so sorry for treating you like crap in the past days..." he finally stuttered against Spencer's skin. He wasn't really expecting an answer: he knew that Spencer - and, to be honest, everyone else on the team - could not but agree on that, and that he’d probably already forgiven him, like they always did when they got mad at each other.

Derek kissed his temple.

"and I love you." he added, once he’d lifted his head just enough to reach Spencer’s ear.

He kissed his earlobe, risking to deafen him with the smacking sound - he could feel the man's muzzle scrunching at that.

"I swear to God I love you, Spencer, I love you so much."

He lowered his face, reclaiming his previous spot on Spencer’s neck, placing kisses on his damp skin - from sweat and tears.

"-love you, I love you, I loveyou-" he whispered in a loop, as if the more he said it, the higher the odds that Spencer’s body could absorb the concept.

Derek himself couldn't believe he was actually saying it out loud - not like that. He knew Spencer knew it, even by just demonstrating it - which was way more important and tangible. But that time he felt like he needed to actually voice it, and the fact that he told him so not that often, convinced Spencer more and more that the way Derek loved him was not the same way he loved the others on the team; each time the three words were repeated, again and again and again, like a gentle but forceful lullaby, wrecking down his wall of uncertainty.

"I know you do." Spencer interrupted Derek’s flowing of whispers, sniffling. "and you know I love you too."

Suddenly, he felt some kind of...drop, falling on his shoulder, sinking through the thin cotton of his shirt. He let go of Derek and looked at him: it wasn't the tears.

"Your cut is bleeding again...you should have known better than to just ask for a band-aid." he said, regaining a bit of composure while he cleaned the blood drooling from the other's brow with his thumb, careful not to touch the open scratch.

"It's just a cut." Derek shrugged, wiping off the tears from his face with the back of his hand.

"The ambulance is already here, you should go to the hospital so they can at least put a couple of stitches on it." Spencer insisted, playing the puppy-eye card.

Morgan sighed at how annoyingly and at the same time adorably caring Reid always acted when he was hurt. He resigned to stand up on his feet, prompting at the other to do the same, and they walked together toward one of the two ambulances.

Once they’d stepped out of their timeless, little bubble of emotions and tear-wet kisses and entanglement of limbs and whispered words; they both realized the only ones that had been looking at them for those few minutes were the policemen, mostly confused or even moved, but strangely not mocking: JJ was trying to shoo away some reporters, Hotch was on the phone - supposedly with Strauss or Garcia - Rossi and Prentiss were inside the house. All of them had probably seen the scene but were very good at hiding it.

Derek was sitting on the back of the ambulance. The medic hadn't arrived yet. Spencer was standing in front of him, trying to minimize the bleeding with a gauze, and more importantly to prevent any infections.

"I can do it alone, you know?" Derek told him, gazing at him with heart eyes.

"I don't care." Reid responded unbothered, concentrated on the task at hand.

He then removed the gauze from Morgan's cut, letting out a sigh.

"...I- I should stay here, you know? The team might need my help with some stuff." Spencer said in a tone full of resignation and apology, as he feigned to be studying attentively the bloody gauze in one hand, while the other rested on Derek's thigh.

Derek laughed good-heartedly at him.

"What?? You thought you were coming with me? For some stitches? C'mon now pretty boy. They need you more than I do." He retorted convincingly, but in reality he needed him way more than anyone else did in that moment. He just didn't wanna be a burden.

Spencer slightly frowned at the idea that he wasn't even considering him coming with to the hospital as an option. He didn't argue though, letting the conversation fall in a short silence.

"...is anyone around?" Derek asked, lowering his voice.

Spencer squinted his eyes at him, confused. He backed up a little and checked: they were all pretty far away. The rear side of the ambulance, where they were, was facing the other way, so clearly everyone just saw the front of it. He got closer again.

"Uh, no? I think they're all-"

He couldn't finish the sentence because Derek - who perfectly knew no one was around and, even if there was someone, he didn't care - had already pulled him closer by grabbing his arm and pushed his lips against his, all of a sudden. Spencer's waist so thin that his strong arms could've wrapped around it twice.

Spencer was definitely caught off guard - just like most of the times Derek kissed him out of nowhere. One would think he'd got used to it, by that point.

Admittedly, he’d been meaning to kiss him since the second he saw him getting out of the house - which was half an hour before that. He just couldn't bring himself to do it, in front of at least 30 people. But now that he felt like he could, he cupped the back of Derek's neck with his hand, guiding his head as he pleased, in order to draw his mouth deeper into his.

Derek spread his thighs a few inches so that Spencer could come closer - like there was any space left between them.

He stopped all of a sudden, gasping for air, resting his forhead against Spencer's with his eyes still shut; an attempt of closing out whatever other sensation could distract him from relishing a few seconds longer in the sweet taste of Spencer’s mouth, still clinging onto his tongue.

"I wanted to do it as soon as I saw you." Derek broke the silence with his confession, distancing himself a little to look into Spencer's eyes; caramel specks brought out by the sunlight.

"I had the gut feeling you were going to be the first one to look for me when I fired that shot. I knew it was gonna be you." he added, tucking an untamed, brunette curl behind his boyfriend’s ear.

Spencer bit the inside of his cheek, choosing to reply non-verbally by leaning closer and parting his lips again to lay another kiss on his - because, how could he not, after he said those things.

But they heard footsteps approaching.

They quickly got away from each other. Reid's body suddenly remembered how hot it was outside, and that situation surely wasn't helping.

The medic along with Rossi appeared from the side of the ambulance.

"The bleeding stopped...plus, it looks very clean. Good job whoever did it!" she congratulated, after taking a quick look at Morgan's cut. Reid and him exchanged a knowing glance.

"Alright, we can go now, agent Morgan. We still have to stitch it up a little. Sorry if I kept you waiting." she apologized.

Derek kept his eyes on Spencer.

"No problem." he answered briefly, trying to hide a smirk. He actually wanted to thank her for having given them the time to do...that.

While Morgan got inside with the medic and the ambulance left, Rossi stood silently next to Reid, with his hands in his pockets. He had clearly captured all the exchange of looks between the two. And Reid's messy hair, breathing rhythm and rumpled shirt were just a few other clues that they hadn't simply been talking.

"You guys know that we know. Right?" he finally put a halt to the awkward silence.

Spencer’s eyes remained glued to the ground, but widened instantly - as if he shouldn’t have expected such a comment, sooner or later...

"...I- I guess." he answered, not even bothering to make the effort of denying it, aware that it'd be useless. The blush he was trying to contain made him wonder if, maybe, he should've considered that option. Not that he was any good at lying.

Rossi snorted and patted Spencer’s shoulder. "I'm just happy you two have each other. We all are."

Reid finally raised his gaze from the tarmac to look at him with puppy eyes, without saying anything. What was there to say? Morgan and him had both been feeling like it was way more than just friendship since day one, even though they had actually been "dating" only for a year or so. It had to happen, it was clear to everyone on the team BUT them. Talk about being blindly in love.

David left the kid alone with his thoughts, strolling away toward Emily, who - Reid realized just then - had been grinning at them from afar all along, with her arms folded on her chest.

"I'm happy too" Spencer smiled to himself.

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kileyrose-2003 · 5 years ago

Text

True Knot x Fem Child! Reader

A/N: Hello lovelies! This was requested by @wellhithere2 who Tumblr is being a pain in ass in not letting me tag. If there are grammar and spelling errors in this, I’m sorry. As I just started online classes a few weeks ago. I hope you enjoy and all you lovely people are doing well in quarantine and again, if anybody needs anything please don't be afraid to reach out. Not to be a sap (but I am) We're all in this together and I want you all to know that I care about all of you and we're going to get through this but anyways, enough of my ranting. Love you all and stay safe :)

For as long as you could remember you always knew you were different from other children. Picking up on social cues that kids your age shouldn’t be able to recognize and having particular talents that weren’t considered normal.

You were born in the early 1900s to a particularly wealthy and religious family. Each of your siblings had a special sort of talent they liked to show off, whether that was singing or sports but your talent was different though.

You were “special” as your mother liked to call it, though you were sure she never meant it in a good way. You could picking up on the thoughts and feelings of others, as well as manipulate their emotions. You were proud of your gift and wanted to flaunt it but your family didn’t view it that way. To them it was paranormal and a curse and they hated you for it.

You ran away from home at the age of 7 with no plan in particular on where you were going to end up when Crow Daddy found you living on the streets. At first when he tried to approach you resisted. Kicking and punching him because something deep down told you that despite the nice smile he gave, he wasn't the nicest man but all that changed when you heard his voice in your mind.

(I know you can hear me.)

For the first time in a while, your rock hard exterior melted and tears started streaming down your cheeks. He felt so warm and his clothes smelled like the earth.

(I always thought it was-)

(I know. Everyone does.)

The look in his eyes was soft and despite that feeling in your gut, you trusted him. He began to carry you out of the alley way and you gripped onto his shirt tightly. "W-where are we going?" The response was simple but made you feel safe. "Home."

The True Knot took you in, making sure you were well clothed and fed. They never had a child in their tribe before but they accepted you as their own and loved you all the more for how special you were. You weren't a rube to them or just some freak. You were above that.

When Rose originally proposed the idea of turning you, Crow was hesitant. They all were. If grown adults were capable of cycling out during the process, so were you. But Rose insisted. Saying that you had more will and motivation then those who didn't survive the process had.

Though it was long ago, you could remember the night of your turning clearly. The sky was painted a million colors by all the shimmering stars and everything just seemed so right. The world was humming like a power line and you finally found your place. After that everything was a blur though, blended with pain and agony. You almost cycled out but Rose pulled you back. Promising a life of bliss and comfort after that, to which she kept her word.

You loved your family and they loved you just as much if not more, than you loved them. Each of them served a different purpose from Rose acting as your maternal figure to Andi being like your older sister but no matter the role, you adored them.

It was a sunny Saturday morning just outside Florida and you were curled up next to Rose in bed. It was one of the very rare days where all the canisters were full and there was no need to go out and search for other steamheads so the two of you were sleeping in. The warm blankets on Rose’s bed protecting you from the autumn chill outside.

It was around noon when the sun peaked through the window, a thin ray of it shining so brightly on you. You rolled over, expecting to bump into Crow who more often than not was cozied up by the two of you on lazy days such as these but to your surprise he wasn’t there.

You sat up half way and let out a yawn as you looked down at Rose who didn’t seem to be bothered in the slightest by the bright light. “Rosie..” You shook The True’s leader gently. “Y/n..Y/n, my flower. It’s still early. Go back to sleep.” She pulled you back down next to her, placing a gentle kiss on the top your head as she spooned you close. “it’s not early. It’s twelve.” Even though you couldn’t see her face, you didn’t have to look at Rose to know she perked up slightly at hearing what time it was.

“Still, very rarely do I get the time to actually cuddle with you.” Rose ran her hands up your sides, slightly tickling you. “Rosie! Stop it!” You demanded, letting out a giggle. She turned you onto your side, that way you were facing her. “Why? I enjoy seeing you smile.” You blushed slightly and Rose stopped what she was doing, pulling you into a hug. “Good morning, my sweet.”

“Good morning, Rosie.” She kissed your forehead and released you from her grasp. “How long have you been up for?”

“Only a little while. I thought Crow was staying the night." Rose scooted around you and stood up in bed, throwing a shall on. "He did. He must of gotten up. Come on, love. Let's see what the rest of the family is up to." She lifted you up in her arms and carried you outside. The breeze from the fall winds made you shudder and Rose noticed, placing her shall over your shoulders. “Morning ladies.”

“Good morning.” You wrapped your arms tightly around her neck as made her way over by Crow, placing a kiss on his cheek. "How'd you sleep?" He shrugged. "Nothing to complain about. The two of you?"

"Pretty good since we just got up." Rose gently ran her fingers through your hair. "Good." Crow held his arms open to hold you. "Come here, darling." Rose gently set you down on your feet. You felt your toes and the bottoms of your pajamas getting wet but you didn't care, leaning over to hug Crow. "Hi daddy," You mumbled into the fabric of his jeans. "Hi baby." He knelt down to your level, pulling you into a tight hug when you felt a pair of arms wrap around your waist. Pulling you away from Crow.

"Barry!" Rose barked. "What, I can't say good morning to the kid?" You giggled as he swung you around. "You can but without pulling her arms out of her socket would be nice." Andi rolled her eyes, swiping you around from him. "Hi, Y/n/n."

"Hi Andi." The snake took her turn holding you before passing you over to Annie and so on and so forth. You barely ever got any all of their attention at once so you enjoyed it.

"What do you want to do today?" You gave a light hearted shrug and giggled. "I don't know!" Diesel Doug chucked and met you at your level. "I have an idea."

"What is it?" As you walked closer he reached forward and gave your shoulder a light tap. "Tag." He ran off in the opposite direction towards the woods and you gasped. "That's not funny!" You gave Annie a light tag and chased after Doug. You could of sworn you heard Rose laugh from the distance but thought nothing of it.

"Uncle Doug! You can't hide from me forever." You spun around, trying to find him using your locator sense when you felt another hand tap on your shoulder. "Tag!"

This time it was Eddie. You could see none of your aunts or uncles in sight and carefully began to wander through the woods, peaking through and around bushes. "You guys. This isn't funny!" You heard the crunching of leaves behind you and tensed up, quickly running to hide behind a tree. You didn't see anything but you felt nervous. You could feel hot breath on the back of your neck and held onto the trunk of the tree tightly.

"Boo!" You let out a scream and spun around to look at Diesel Doug, pouting cutely. "That's not funny." He let out a laugh. "Sorry, little lady. Had enough excitement for one day?" You nodded and he took your tiny hand in his. "Come on, I'll take you home." The two of you walked back to camp together with Annie and Barry eventually finding the two of you among the way and tagging along.

Rose had The Knot's make shift picnic table set up with an array of lunch foods while Crow fiddled around with a projector. "Y/n, my flower. Come eat." She beckoned and you obeyed. Letting the much taller woman scoop you up so you pick out what you wanted.

"Rosie, what do we have that out for?" You gestured to the projector. "We haven't watched a movie together in a while as a family so I figured we should while we have the chance."

"That sounds nice." Rose smiled softly and kissed your cheeks. Sitting down on the blanketed ground with you. "So what classic are we showing the kid this time? Fifty Shades of Grey!"

"Barry!"

"Oww!" You giggled as Andi slapped his arm. "Rosie, what's 50 Shades of Grey?" She looked mad. Not at you but at Barry. "Nothing you need to worry about and no, Casablanca."

"She's seen that movie so many fucking time. Oww!" He yelped again. "And she likes Casablanca so that's what we're watching." Crow shook his head and sat down next to you that way you were in the middle of them, their arms wrapped around you.

The movie was long but it was worth it just to be able to spend time with your family. As it hit the end you found yourself leaning more into Rose and Crow's side, trying to keep awake.

"You getting tired, Y/n?" Rose gently pet your hair and you nodded and let out a slight yawn. "I want to nap..Hold me?" Crow complied to your request without hesitation and rubbed little circles across your back while continuing to play with your hair, making small braids. "I love you both," You muttered softly into his chest. "I love you too. We all love you so much."

The credits on the movie began to roll and Rose scooped you up in her arms. "Rosie?"

"Yes, Y/n?"

"Thank you for everything you've done for me..all of you."

"You're welcome, Y/n..we love you." She kissed your hair, rocking you back and forth. "Love you guys more." You didn't have to be looking at her to know she was smiling. "Sleep well, Y/n.." You fell asleep peacefully in Rose's arms knowing you were at home with your family and that's how it would be forever. Because what is tied can never be untied and they never were letting you go. Ever.

#doctor sleep #imagine #x reader #x child reader #the true knot #dr sleep #stephen king #The Shining

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