#anyway the gestures that were described were just hand gestures but he says 'maze dances of this kind' in the footnote as if | Explore Tumblr Posts and Blogs

omg-foreverfilledwithweird-posts · 5 years

Text

Idle Hands Are the Devil’s Tools

Pairing: Lucifer Morningstar X Reader

Summary: You are a bartender at LUX, growing to be one of Lucifer’s closest friends in the human realm, attraction swelling in the both of you for the other. On one closing night at the club, Lucifer decides to bet a little wager with you when Detective Decker needs your help for a case and you want to decline. Exotic dancing, lingerie, seducing a crime lord, jealousy, lust, and chaos, the devil’s specialties, soon follow.

A/N: okay so full disclosure I have not seen much, only like eight episodes into the first season but already I’m in love with a general idea of the so far storyline and characters so I hope you guys enjoy this little story because a lot of you requested it and I’m excited *maniacal, evil laughter* feedback is loved and appreciated as always! i wrote this filth in like one night so have fun with this and if yall want a continued part of just smut then fluff lemme knowwww anyway PLEASE ENJOY

Warnings: sexiness, dirty talk, alcohol, infuriating sexual tension, stripper reader, FLUFF, language, near death experience, JEALOUSY hehe, dom! Lucifer, FILTH I SWEAR, implied smut

You clean up the bar counter, wet rag covered in cleaning spray, eyes lifting and making direct contact with your boss, Lucifer. His head tilts to the side, curiously and expectantly, like he wants you to say something, as if telepathic conversation between you two should be second nature, always knowing what he’s thinking.

“You’re really not going to do it?” he asks, alluringly soft voice with that British lilt in it that so many find attractive, maybe that’s why he chose it. Sex appeal.

“Do what?” you ask, evading his gaze the second it turns serious, turning around and wiping down random bottles, aligning them on the shelves.

“You know what, darling,” he sighs, a huff a laughter. “The case Detective wants your help on.”

You stiffen at the mention of Decker’s request, when she came just a few hours before, “She doesn’t need my help... anyone can do it.”

“Well, she chose you, no one else in a one hundred mile radius has an impressive skill set in both martial arts and stripping...” his lips curl when saying the last word, you scold him, narrowing your eyes. “I also wouldn’t mind seeing the latter. I’ve only ever seen you in your uniform,” he scrunches his nose, excitable.

You look down at the sensible attire, a black tank top and dark washed jeans with holes where the knees are. You look back up at him and chew on your bottom lip, pondering that forever reoccurring question of if he’s just being his normal flirty self or if he truly sees you in another light. You only ever come up with the former as the answer. He’s all dark, black suits, raven, slicked back hair, and stormy eyes, all cut from jagged stone, onyx and obsidian. He’s untouchable.

“Stripping put me through college when my parents refused to,” you explain, point blank and to the point. “I haven’t done it since, I quit when I made enough for tuition. It paid the bills and kept the lights on, but the men there... I won’t ever forget the way their eyes made me feel...” you gulp audibly when you remember those disgusting glances, how objectifying they were.

Of course it wasn’t every patron there, some were respectful. Some even got you a good lay, and others sometimes paid an entire month’s rent, but those late night visitors, they were the ones that led you to quit.

“I don’t want to ever feel like that again,” you look at Lucifer and he knows you’re telling the truth, your glassy eyes and wavering stance.

“Y/n...” he says sincerely, reaching across the bar to thread his fingers through yours. You freeze.

“I can assure you at my club, I only let in the best people, they’re hand selected. If anyone makes you uncomfortable, they will be punished and out of the club as soon as you say the word. I wouldn’t be pushing this so much, dear, if it wasn’t so vital to the investigation and to get this crime lord and stop him from killing anyone else, you have to distract him long enough for the cops to get inside. We need you.” He needs you.

“Luci...” you whine slightly, breathing deeply when you catch his stare. “I-”

“Can you do this?” he asks, tongue dragging across the pillow of his bottom lip, twitching in the corners. “For me, beautiful?”

This is one of those moments that has you pondering the stance of your relationship. Because you can’t say no to those eyes. And he knows it.

“You’re terrible,” you sigh, giving up, squeezing his hand before letting go, slipping from his grasp. “But yes, fine, I’ll do it. Because you basically guilt tripped me into doing so.”

“You are only human,” he teases, wearing a cheeky smile when he swipes the liquor from your fingers and pours two glasses. “Don’t worry, love, you’re going to have a devil of a time...”

You take a long sip of your drink, pointing at him accusingly, “Stop it with the puns or I’m out.”

“I’ll also put a little wager on the endeavor, pet, and make it interesting,” he sits up straighter, the nickname he uses for you sending an ice cold chill down your spine. “If you make at least a grand tomorrow night, I’ll tell you what I desire.”

“I have always wondered...” you take another sip of the smooth drink, the burnt amber taste gliding down your throat with ease. “Can you really pin it down to just one thing?”

“For you I will,” he looks at you, genuine. “And if you don’t make that much, I get to ask you. I never have gotten the chance.”

“What’s stopping you from doing it until then?”

He smirks, “Nothing, I suppose. This is much more fun, though, wouldn’t you say, kitten?”

“Okay, then. Deal,” you extend your hand to him and his eyes are alight, scarlet fervor.

He grins wickedly, shaking your hand, “This’ll be such fun.”

~~~~

Maze looks you over, feline eyes slit with her bottom lip caught between her teeth in deep concentration. You two are in the back of the club, music and bass pounding in the dance room while she studies your attire, your new work uniform while aiding in the case. You’re covered head to toe in a gaping fishnet body suit, a black strapless bra laying over atop your breasts and a pair of black lace panties to match with a pair of ebony, Louboutin stiletto heels, a weapon in themselves. She places a com in your ear so you can covertly communicate with Lucifer and Decker.

You feel out of your element, but also incredibly empowered, now that it goes by your rules, what you say goes. Maze put your hair in curls, minimal makeup with a dark lip, and she’s smiling, licking her lips deliciously.

“If Lucifer hadn’t already called dibs on you, mortal, I’d have you right here myself...” she traces a finger down your torso, stopping at your panty line, crimson lips cut from ruby.

“Dibs?” you ask, confused but also intrigued. “When did he do that?”

“If you really don’t know...” she looks at you. “Then you’re an idiot.”

“Bitch,” you scoff.

She smiles, leading you to where you’ll be dancing for the night, “Sure, but at least I’m not an idiot.” That’s clueless to my boss’s affections.

You huff in annoyance before stopping at the individual pole where you will be performing for the night, the club already packed with crowds of dancing, grinding bodies, sweat and musk. Lucifer catches your eyes from across the room, he’s stunned for a moment, like he’s stuck in a moment of shock and he can’t move. You’re breathtaking.

He smiles, lifting a single eyebrow in question, calculating your next move. The crime lord Decker described to you sits on the couch adjacent to the poles and designated dancing areas, his greedy eyes already laying over you and you know you have him hooked.

You look back at Lucifer and hook your leg on the steel pole, spinning around, positioned upside down when you flash the devil a wink.

He’s taken aback by the gesture, eyes wide as saucers, chest rising and falling at the unknown twist in his gut. You slide back up, walking around the wooden square allotted for your dancing, letting the music seep into your bones, move your hips and sway your curvy body to the beat of the song, one you requested. You turn away from Lucifer and lock eyes with the crime lord, you wiggle your fingers in the smallest of waves, flirtatious when your lips move upward, all planned and perfected. The man is caught under your spell and caught completely off guard, perfect for a distraction.

Your hand graces the pole once again when you twirl around, hand running through your hair when you dance to the rhythm of the playlist, eyes closed and letting your body do the talking that your lips can’t. Already both men and women have been throwing wads of dollar bills, in the hundreds now.

Lucifer’s eyes fall over you more than once, but unlike everyone else’s, they hold adoration, admiration, he can’t look away.

“You’re doing this on purpose...” he growls into his ear com, nursing a hard scotch on ice, eyes crinkled in the corners.

“Whatever do you mean, Luci...” you swing around once more, landing in the splits when you face him, laying down fully, face in your hands. His jaw drops.

He’s never wanted someone this badly. It’s like your touching him without actually doing so, your eyes doing all the work for you.

“You look ravishing.”

You belly laugh, throwing your head back when you look at him, smug, “In the way that I look intriguing or that you want to ravish me yourself?”

He sips his drink, fire licking his irises, flickering in flames, “Both.”

“Guys, focus,” Decker scolds in the mic, interrupting the staring contest, having you continue back to dancing, looking back at the crime lord.

He waves you over, a stack of cash beside him that he pats, wanting a personal lap dance. Your skin crawls at the way his eyes trail over you, lingering in places he shouldn’t, but you know it’s for the case, so you can save people. You smile at him, forced, walking down the platform and over to him.

“He want’s a lap dance, Decker,” you whisper, the loud music enough to mask your talking. “What do I do?”

“That’s not apart of the plan, Detective,” Lucifer bites, voice dripping with venom, eyes aflame.

Decker mulls it over, “It’s... actually perfect. Do it, y/n, you’re not in any danger and-”

“She could get hurt, we didn’t plan for this,” Lucifer says, another foreign feeling in his chest where his heart should be, clutching the absence and his jaw clenches. “W-what if she’s uncomfortable?”

“She can do it, because if she does, we have more than enough time for the cops to swarm in and take this guy down, ten minutes tops.”

“I can do it, Luci,” you promise. “He’s only human, right?” you say, voice unsteady when you see the gun in his pocket, burly bodyguards on either side of him.

Lucifer’s chest clenches and he’s forced to watch you straddle the man’s lap, smiling openly at the murderer, whispering sweet nothings in his ear. This hurts more than the injuries, when the Detective shot him, this doesn’t even compare. It resonates through his whole being, he’s rooted to the ground and the fear in your eyes when you throw a look at him kills him further.

“The cops are close,” Decker tells you. “Just a little bit longer and we’ve got him.”

The man beneath you suddenly frowns, “What’s that voice? Do you have a com in? Are you a cop?” He shoots up, pushing you off, you barely catch yourself when you stand.

“Shit!” Decker curses, footsteps immediately following when she runs down the main staircase, gun aimed at the criminal’s head, a sure shot from there. “Alright, LAPD, hands up, asshole!”

The club goes into a frenzy, crowds running out the doors when they hear her yell, giving the perpetrators an easy exit. And in the heat of the moment, the crime boss grabs you, arm around your neck and restricting your airway with a gun pressed against your temple, the cool steel on your skull. Your eyes sting with tears, a damned lump forming in your throat you can’t bear swallow, and Lucifer sees you across the club.

His eyes light up, and he realizes he was wrong earlier, this pain was worse, so much worse. It takes him over and makes him vulnerable beyond repair when he runs over to you but the criminal is two steps ahead, moving with you to the exit, pressing the gun into you further.

“One more step and I’ll shoot!” he tightens his grip around your neck and an empty tear slips past, but you dare not make a noise. “Don’t test me!” He clicks off the safety and you flinch.

You mouth a soft, It’s okay, to Lucifer, watching his face fall, true sorrow in his features.

“You picked the wrong woman to hold at gunpoint,” his chest heaves, but he’s calm and collected, eerie and still like a lake at midnight, the only reflection of light being the moon. “Let her go.”

“Step back or I’ll kill her-”

Lucifer flashes his real face, scarlet and devilish, monstrous and the man drops his gun in a fit of fear and confusion, eyes wide. You knock your head back and headbutt his nose, enough so to knock him out, dropping to the ground unconscious.

You breathe heavy and the tears finally fall. A single, broken sob escapes, you cross over to him and wrap your arms around his neck, crying into his chest, staining his signature purple button down shirt. His arms, once stiff at his sides, encircle around your waist and tug you to him, no space between you both except the fabric of his clothes and lace of your ensemble. And there’s no words needed. His hands rest on the small of your back, and for once they have no intention of ever wandering.

~~~~

You step into the shower, closing the blue tinted, glass door behind you. The hot water slides down your skin, close to scalding, cleaning off the day you’ve had, especially that man’s hands, gripping your waist. Hands on your hips. You close your eyes and tilt your head up, water rushing down your face, waves lapping at skin, kissing your cheeks with warmth.

You step out of the shower after washing your hair, wrapping a towel around yourself when you walk out of the bathroom, water droplets running down your hair and face, coating the tips of your lashes and your pink lips. Lucifer, leaning over the bar and nursing a drink, turns when he hears your wet footsteps advance into the main, sitting room, dark eyes trailing over your figure.

He’s been acting off ever since the incident at LUX, driving you over to his apartment, letting you use his shower, laying out a fresh outfit for you, and offering you a guest bed to sleep in for the night. He thinks it’s his fault, all this, being held at gunpoint and almost being shot, this entire mess in the first place. Guilt is aching in his chest and he doesn’t know what to do with himself.

And he’s barely talking.

“Lucifer?” you ask, meek and quiet, afraid you’ve already overstepped too many boundaries just being here. You know it’s a bad idea.

“Yes, darling?” he answers just as softly, still not quite looking at you, just staring straight ahead at his cabinet of drinks, ice clinking in his crystal glass of scotch.

“I’m sorry.”

He turns his head in your direction, close to snapping, “Why are you apologizing?”

“Because I got sloppy and it almost cost us the investigation... he overheard my com-”

“You’re apologizing... because Detective spoke too loudly and he heard? You’re apologizing for almost getting killed?” he turns fully to face you, setting his scotch calmly on the bar counter.

“Don’t blame her.”

“I don’t. I blame myself for roping you in and getting you involved...” he groans, frustrated, walking slowly towards you.

You frown deeply, confused at his sudden change of heart, regret in his features, the wrinkles in his brow when he furrows it, “Even so we still got him in custody, there’s no harm done, Luci-”

“There could have been!” he yells, eyes rimmed with scarlet. “You could have died, y/n! I could have lost you and it would have been my fault...” his voice wavers, and you gulp, realizing what’s going on.

He was scared.

“Lucifer...” you whispering, cooing softly, a melodic lullaby put into his name.

You step on the tips of your toes to cup the side of his face, rubbing your thumb over the stubble on his cheek. He’s trapped.

He’s never experienced tenderness like this before, such love and care in one’s touch, all for him. He doesn’t deserve it, but he’s softening, melting into your palm and he’s a puddle at your feet, eyes locked with yours and he’s thrown away the key. He presses his lips to the inside of your palm, sending electricity through your veins, sparks on your fingertips that shock his skin.

“Stop.”

He pinches his brow, confused, “What?”

“Stop,” you tell him, lips kicking up in a small smile. “Stop blaming yourself, I was sloppy, I admit it, Decker was loud... but I agreed to it, that’s on me. I knew the consequences and I knew what would happen if things went sideways, but he’s behind bars, and I’m not dead. I’d call this a win.”

His jaw tightens, “He put his hands on you.”

“He did...” you agree. “But I’m a big girl,” you laugh, both hands on his face now and he lets you, leaning into your touch like a moth to a light, succumbing to its own undoing. “I handled it.” And something comes over him.

“I should handle him...” he pushes you against the wall, you inhale sharply when you hit the cool material, gripping the front of your towel.

His eyes fall over your face, “For touching what’s mine.”

You open your mouth to speak, say something, anything, but you don’t object, you can’t. It happens so fast, both your wrists in one of his hands pinned above your head, pressing you further into the wall.

And he kisses you.

Your eyes flutter close and he groans into your mouth, catching your bottom lip between his teeth, tongue soothing you when it licks your own. Like coal igniting fire, aiding its own demise. His other hand runs down your neck, ripping off the towel that covers you until you’re bare before him, dripping in more ways than one. He finally lets go of your wrists and you wrap your arms around his neck, his arms looping around your waist and it’s clashing teeth, tongue, and lips, a frenzy of hands and it’s not enough. Not enough. He drinks you in with a hunger that can never be sated, your fingers carding through his ebony hair and tugging, harsh and vindictive. He growls, the devil but still a man, and you make him painfully so.

He picks you up, hands under your thighs when your legs wrap around his torso, soaking his clothes but he doesn’t give a shit, never breaking your kiss when he carries you over to the bed, tossing you on the mattress. He looks you over, hungry and vicious, lips exploring the maps of skin before him, biting and licking all the curves, dips, and sweet spots, finding what makes you tick.

Kissing down your stomach, eyes still holding onto yours, “Tell me, my love... what do you desire?”

“Y-you,” you say, voice shaky and unsteady, gulping down the lump in your throat that makes it hard to breathe.

He smirks, malicious, crawling back up your body and he sucks on your neck, marking your skin with love bites, littered with remnants of him.

“You won the bet, didn’t you, darling?” he kisses the curve of your jaw, licking the lines of your throat, and all oxygen leaves you. “I suppose I have to tell you what I desire, then, don’t I?”

“A deal is a deal,” you smile, equally as excited as you are scared for the answer.

“You,” he scatters his lips across your chest, kissing your breasts. “To ravish you like the goddess you are... to love you wholeheartedly and truly.”

He wraps his lips around your right nipple, swirling his tongue expertly, biting and sucking. His fingers pinch the other, rolling it between his index and thumb, so damn good it’s scary.

You never thought you’d hear him say the L word, and to you, a mortal, no less. You never thought you’d love him too.

“Luci... you’re still wearing clothes,” your fingers fumble for his shirt, tugging it so hard that the buttons pop off, falling off of him. “That’s hardly fair.”

He grins wolfishly when he resurfaces, “Eager, aren’t we, kitten? If you wanted it rough, all you had to do was ask...”

#lucifer morningstar imagine #lucifer morningstar #lucifer #lucifer morningstar x reader #lucifer fox #as requested #requested #fanfiction #lucifer fanfiction #lucifer x reader #smut #lucifer morningstar smut #reader #fic #reader fic

3K notes · View notes

notes-from-my-journal · 5 years

Text

lover series: london boy - t.h.

A/N: And the fluff continues...

Word Count: 2.2k

I love my hometown as much as Motown, I love SoCal

And you know I love Springsteen, faded blue jeans, Tennessee whiskey

In terms of the phrase “some days are better than others” this was definitely one of the others. You felt the homesickness physically churn in your stomach, thinking of LA and the whiskey you would order at the dive bar on Friday nights to celebrate the weekend. Spending last night with Tom was really tugging at your heartstrings, because the dive bar is how you guys ended up meeting.

“Whatcha thinking about?” he walks up in his Spider-Man suit, smirking at you. Clearly thinking that he was the one on your mind, but you wouldn’t satisfy him that quickly.

“Home, actually.” You smile up at him. That whiskey sure would help right about now.

“Missing it?” he questions. “A little bit. Must be nice for you to be filming in London.”

“Yeah, it actually is. My mum and brothers are going to visit set later today. You should say hi if you, you know, you want,” he stutters the last part out as he tries to cover it with a cough.

You smile back, equally as nervous. “That’s moving a little fast, don’t you think, Holland?”

“They already know you basically…”

Your eyebrows furrow. “How so?”

“I may have told them about you…”

“Tom…”

“No-not like that darling!” Darling. “I just mean, I talk about the cast and crew all the time, and they notice you in particular because you’re the crew member I talk about the most, and I-”

“Tom. It’s sweet, really.” “You think so?”

“Yes,” you chuckle. “I’d love to say hi.”

His eyes widen. “That would be great! I’ll let you know when they’re here yeah?”

You smile and nod, hearing his name called in the distance on the set.

“I gotta run, I’ll see you later darling!” he runs off before you can even give him your own nickname.

It had been less than 24 hours since you had kissed and spent the night just talking about all the feelings you had kept inside for so long until you both fell asleep. You both had to be up at 5am for a 6am call time, but the adrenaline kept you energetic regardless of the three hours of sleep you had gotten.

Watching him run off into the distance, you were glad you both admitted that “close friends” wasn’t working for you anymore. You knew that “just friends” wouldn’t work the second you met him in the dive bar in LA all those months ago, but to have it reciprocated was a new level of relief you didn’t know you’d be able to achieve.

But something happened, I heard him laughing

I saw the dimples first and then I heard the accent

six months earlier...

You had walked in with your roommates, hoping to forget about the fact you had the biggest interview of your life earlier that day and that it could make or break your career in the entertainment industry.

The bar was slightly full, still being early in the evening, and while all the girls went to dance you decided to sit. You had a difficult time bringing yourself to dance with strangers, and sometimes sitting and watching was more relaxing and less anxiety inducing. Turning around, you see one of them already dancing with a tall, gorgeous blonde with the brightest shade of blue eyes. Score.

“You fancy the seats more too, eh?”

And you’d be lying if you said it wasn’t the prettiest voice you had ever heard. The words rolled out of his mouth like honey, quiet and smooth and delicious. You turned towards the owner to see an even prettier set of curls on the warmest face you had come across in any bar.

“A little bit,” you smile. He looked familiar. Why did he look familiar?

“Not ashamed to admit I love them. Dancing isn’t really my thing - unless it’s choreographed anyway. Harrison, on the other hand,” he nods towards the tall boy behind your roommate. “My roommate is entertaining him just fine I think,” you gesture towards her, giggling.

He smiles, the kind that reaches your eyes. He sticks his hand out, “I’m Tom.”

And then it clicks. You grab his hand, “Thought you looked familiar. I’m Y/N.”

“Hoping you’re not going to call the paps on me. Trying to lay low tonight,” with any other guy that happened to be a hot celebrity, you would have scoffed. But he was clearly joking around, trying to be lighthearted. It was sweet. “I actually am not a superfan...I just happened to interview for crew today. For the new movie.”

His eyes light up at the mention of work, “No way! That’s awesome. What do you do?”

You sigh, “Gaffing mostly. Nothing exciting. I really want to produce...eventually.”

“You will be sooner than you think,” he smiles. How could a stranger have more confidence in you than you had in yourself? “Tell you what. If I could just get your phone number, I’ll make sure to put a good word in and then keep you updated.”

“Put a good word in? You barely know me!” you try to be serious, because this was your career after all, but it was Tom fucking Holland. Why would he do something like this?

“Because you seem lovely, dedicated to your job just by the look in your eyes when you said the word ‘gaffing’,” he stops to laugh, “and it does help that you are one of the most gorgeous women I’ve ever met.” You scoff.

Charming.

And the rest was history.

They say home is where the heart is

But that's not where mine lives

You were more than relieved to have your feelings towards him be out in the open, but that didn’t mean it was open to everyone else necessarily. You were starting to get distracted at work not only having Tom there, but also thinking of meeting his family? Who apparently already knew about you.

Shaking off the stress, you continue setting lights and building equipment - something you could do mindlessly while keeping focus somewhere that wasn’t your hot coworker.

Before you knew it, it was your lunch break. Walking back to the trailer, you feel another hand grab yours delicately. And there he is, once again grinning from ear to ear making you breathless - as if his hand grabbing yours wasn’t stressful enough.

“Hey! The gang’s all in my trailer, wanna come over for a few?” You swallow thickly.

You nod and try to manage a smile. “Sounds great.”

You were convinced you had blacked out during the walk to the trailer, just from pure panic. Before you knew it the nicest British family was standing in front of you, with the cutest dog ever. An adorable puppy to add to the fun? Your heart rate was definitely going to set off the Health app on your watch.

“Darlin’, this is my mum, and my brothers - Sam, Harry, and Paddy,” Tom smiles and gestures to each member.

“So nice to meet you Mrs. Holland,” you reach out to shake her hand, which she uses to pull you in for a delicate hug.

“Lovely to meet you darling!” This family and that damn darling. “I’m Nikki. Mrs. Holland is a little older sounding than I like,” she laughs.

“Hi guys, nice to meet you,” you turn to the brothers. Paddy’s eyes had widened when he got a good look at you, and before you could ask why he answers.

“You really are as pretty as Tom described,” Paddy laughs with a blush.

“Paddy!” Tom yelps. You feel your cheeks heat up.

“I’m flattered, thank you,” you chuckle.

“Alright, well I...have to get back to set so you guys can be on your way!” Tom hints through gritted teeth to his family.

“Oh but my dear brother, we have no idea how to get out of here,” Harry chuckles. “Maybe she can show us the way?” he turns to you with raised eyebrows. Well.

“Of course,” you smile. No need to be rude, no matter how nervous you were.

Tom groans, “Please don’t embarrass me anymore. I want Y/N to like me enough to hang out with me tomorrow.”

You whip your head around, “We’re hanging out tomorrow?”

“Might want to ask the girl out before you assume things, brother,” Sam laughs.

“Shut up Sam! Yea-ah I was hoping I could show you around Camden Market tomorrow morning? Since it’s our day off but you don’t have to I know you probably have better things t-”

“Tom!” You interrupt. He whips his head up to look you in the eyes. They’re always pretty, but when filled with hopeful anticipation they glow more than usual. How could you say no to that?

“I’d love to. Tomorrow morning. Now let me show your family how to get out of this maze.”

You know I love a London boy

I enjoy walking Camden Market in the afternoon

The next morning Tom is at your hotel door at 9 a.m. - which is considered sleeping in to you two with your schedules - with your coffee order and a smile. Always smiling, even in the morning.

Tom was probably one of the only people that could cause you to smile in the morning. A morning person you were not. And Tom knew that.

“Vanilla latte,” he hands you the warm cup. You sigh as it rests in your hands. Taking a sip, you close your eyes to enjoy warmth filling your body.

“Thank you,” you smile.

“No worries, pretty girl.” You take a pause.

“That’s the first time I’ve heard you use something other than ‘Dah-lin’,” you giggle trying to mimic his accent.

“Well, darling is common. I’m trying to not use common names for someone special,” he winks. Damn he was smooth. “Also that is a horrible accent!”

Okay maybe not that smooth.

He leads you from the hotel down the streets of suburban London, people barely waking up and opening the curtains. Being up early on occasion was nice, just for the sake of the quiet and low risk of running into fans. Regardless of the time, Tom still wore his signature black hoodie when he didn’t want to be noticed. It was sweet that he wanted to hang out with you as privately as possible, and you feel your sleepiness roll off of you as you smile.

“What’s so funny?” He chuckles.

“Nothing’s funny. You’re just cute,” you giggle - eyes wide and hands covering your mouth after you realized what you had said. He pulls your hand away from your lips (rosy from the cold).

He likes my American smile

“Don’t cover that smile up pretty girl” he smirks as he kisses the corner of your mouth. You could definitely get used to this. You know you’re probably making heart eyes when you realize he’s staring at you.

Like a child when our eyes meet, darling, I fancy you

“Everything okay, Tom?”

He smiles, but it’s not playful per usual. There’s something deeper behind it. “Yeah I just...I fancy you.”

The moment is ruined when you start laughing. He rolls his eyes.

“I was trying to be romantic!”

“That was the most British thing you’ve ever said, I’m sorry!” You attempt to stop laughing while he pouts at you, eventually calming down and kissing his cheek. “I fancy you too, dah-lin,” you giggle.

“You’re lucky you’re cute.”

Took me back to Highgate, met all of his best mates

So I guess all the rumors are true

A few nights later, Tom asked you to come to dinner so he could catch up with his best friend, Harrison, near his suburban hometown a few miles away from set. You reluctantly agreed, hoping that it wouldn’t be too weird (unlikely for you and your social skills) but after realizing Harrison was the tall blonde from all those months ago at the club, your heart rate steadied a bit.

You went to the diner Tom and Harrison would go to when they were younger, and you were surprised at how easy the conversation flowed. By the end of the night, you and Harrison were laughing about how your roommate ghosted him and how much you loved pancakes.

“Guys I’m literally right here,” Tom rolls his eyes.

“I think I might like Haz more, babe,” you laugh. Harrison doesn’t say anything when he notices the pet name, he just smiles and feels confident that you would be around for a long time.

The next morning, paparazzi photos of you three in the diner show up along with you and Tom leaving together. He drinks his tea and slams his phone on the table in his trailer.

“Fucking hell! I can’t get any privacy even in the suburbs,” he groans. Your eyes soften with empathy. Walking over to where he was sitting you try to calm him down. You grab his hands and kiss his knuckles. He glances at you, and the anger slowly dissipates.

“It’s okay. At least they’re not rumors right? We really are seeing each other,” you try to amuse him. He lets out a dry chuckle.

“I guess you’re right. Thank you, pretty girl,” his smile returns and he kisses you gently while you keep your grip on both of his hands.

“Hey Tom?”

You know I love a London boy

Boy, I fancy you

“Yeah baby?”

“I fancy you,” you smile.

#tom holland #tom holland fanfic #tom holland imagine #harrison osterfield

59 notes · View notes

lexiseigneur · 5 years

Text

Part 2 Chapter 1: The disappeared

2800 B.C.

The queen fled through the trees and the cursed thing followed. She cried out in anguish when it struck, leaving a bloody welt on her shoulder. But she escaped its grasp and ran on. When a river blocked her way, she plunged into its tumultuous waters. On the shore, the thing screamed and paced. She swam fiercely because she had to live. For her people and for her unborn child.

----

Quinlan dreamt. It was obvious as soon as he stepped out of the trees’ shadows. They lined a familiar cobbled road. In dreams, the false sunlight never burned. It gently warmed his skin. On the horizon, the hills and vineyards were blurs, like an impressionist painting. Were he to explore further, the details of this imaginary world would solidify around him. He had done it at times, just to see how intricate it could become.

It had dawned on him recently that the ability to control one’s dreams was uncommon. After Lexi had asked if he missed Europe, Quinlan had explained how he often visited his native Italy and sometimes summoned people from his past to talk to. Her answer had been “You do WHAT?”

While she sometimes noticed she dreamt, she could not influence their course. But Quinlan could, for most of his long life.

Fifty years after their deaths, Quinlan met Tasa and Sura at will. They had been his first motivation at acquiring this ability. Then his pragmatism had taken over.

Mostly, he would use dreams to hone his skills in combat or war tactics. Training was training, whether in dreams or in body.

Quinlan picked up a stone which he rolled between his fingers. Looking, smelling or feeling helped stabilize his dream and assert his control. It had taken a great deal of time to achieve that level of proficiency. Still, the dream could slip away.

Today, he would practice opening his mind further. It frustrated him how he still lagged behind Lexi in that regard. He blamed peaceful times. His quest was over, and some of his drive for perfection had fanned.

For this practice, he elected to summon a guide. It was always the same person. It had been for two thousand years.

“Mother?” he called.

“Quintus.”

He turned around. Ancharia grinned. The intense sun reflected in her grey hair. When she appeared, it was always in the clothes she wore the night of their first encounter.

“You have neglected your training,” she said, surprised.

“I have. Would you like to know why?”

“I cannot imagine a valid reason behind such frivolity.”

This version of Ancharia did not know of his success. Her level of knowledge changed between her appearances. Quinlan failed to understand why. This time her ignorance was agreeable. Who did not enjoy sharing good news?

“Because the Master is dead. Defeated forever.”

Ancharia covered her mouth with a trembling hand. Her eyes turned shiny.

“Oh, my son! You did it! You slew the beast!”

Ancharia hugged him. Quinlan marveled at the warmth of her body and the scent of olive oil in her hair.

“We did. It’s over and we won.”

“Thank you! Thank you so much.”

“You taught me so much, could you help me once more?

“Anything! What do you wish to know, child?”

“I cannot open my mind as much as I wish.”

“I see.”

She took his hand and the countryside melted, replaced by a silver world. His own soul lied ahead and Lexi’s next to it. Everything shimmered with their light.

“Yours is brighter but captive. A firefly in a glass bottle,” said Ancharia with a nod.

Lexi’s soul rippled and danced, free. His was tightly enclosed within a transparent armor.

“How can I break the bottle?”

“You wished it here, simply wish it away.”

“If it were that simple…”

“Oh, but it is that simple. You haven’t done it yet because you are afraid.”

What could that possibly mean? She was part of his mind, so she couldn’t be mistaken.

“You let your light shine through and the feeling terrifies you. It feels like falling. You are scared of breaking once you reach the bottom. As she did.”

Ancharia gestured toward Lexi. Quinlan scowled.

“She is not broken.”

“I said she broke, not that she is still broken. Pay attention, child.”

The tone, soft but full of authority sent him into a whirlwind of nostalgia. Those dreams were wonderful. Those dreams were horrible. Her face turned gentle.

“You love her, don’t you?”

“More than anything.”

“Then why do you hide things from her?” she whispered.

A man appeared behind her. Sprawled on a concrete floor, his neck bent at an unnatural angle. Quinlan knew him because he had killed him. Ancharia peered at Quinlan’s face like a mother would look at a disobedient toddler. He took a step back.

He did not wish to continue this. Quinlan shut his eyes and the dream disintegrated. He awoke. It was not fleeing since this was not really Ancharia.

His Strigoi senses informed him that the sun was still high. Lexi slept deeply, undisturbed by his malaise. He preferred keeping it that way and attempted to fall back asleep. Her cell phone emitted a shrill sound. Lexi slammed her hand on the device then grunted when it rang on.

“This was not the alarm, someone is calling you,” Quinlan said.

She dragged the phone across the nightstand then her pillow. The glow of the phone made them squint. The screen was now shattered but still functional.

“Ha crap…not again,” she mumbled.

Gus’ name was barely visible between the cracks webbing across the glass.

“Gus? What’s happening?” she asked after taking the call.

She slurred her words from sleepiness.

“Yo…Did I wake you? It’s business hours ya know? Not very serious if you don’t mind me saying.”

“Screw you.”

He laughed.

“We’ve got a mission. It’s one of those collab settlements. Argentina this one. They had just started building stuff so it’s just a handful of people. They didn't give news for the last three checkups. This morning, their families went to find them. They cracked their car windows open, smelled ammonia and high gated the fuck out of there.”

Due to constant persecution, which had turned systemic after the passage of discriminatory laws, collaborators of the Strigoi regime sometimes chose self-exile. They built villages in remote areas with elaborate anti-Strigoi protections which required considerable preparations. Healthy and capable settlers arrived first and more vulnerable members of their families followed. Lexi looked at Quinlan and grimaced.

“Hey, Gus…I’m sorry but…”

“No,” he said instantly.

“I’ve got to be at the lab tomorrow…”

“You’ve got to be kidding me.”

“It’s not something I can postpone.”

“Fine…fine. You gonna owe me for this one again. What about Q?”

Quinlan took the phone. Lexi buried her face in her pillow, and he stroked her back.

“The locals say there are caves nearby, a whole maze of them. We think they hide in there. A damn death trap.”

“Are those caves mapped?”

Gus had a sardonic snort.

“Not even a little.”

“I can still manage by myself and Eva can take Lexi’s team. When do we depart?”

“In six hours. See ya.”

He hung up which prompted Lexi to bury her face deeper.

“He will forgive and forget eventually. Not that there is anything to forgive. Having both of us for such a simple mission is redundant,” said Quinlan.

“He is so pig-headed…last time I missed a mission he called me ‘ma’am’ for a week.”

“Perhaps I should miss missions more often…”

Just a week prior Gus had called him a “snarky stuck-up party-pooper”. Whatever that meant.

Lexi looked at him with one eye and her cheek rounded from a smile. Of course, she would remember as well. It had been a source of great hilarity.

“I guess I should get ready and leave with you if I don’t want to run to New York,” she said and stretched out of bed. They had only one car.

“We still have plenty of time…if I drive.”

The mission might take anything from two days to a week. It sounded short and in the scope of his lifetime, it was laughable. But every second out of each other’s light felt like an eternity. Quinlan gently pulled her back to bed.

****

Raul was quiet and grave after he picked Quinlan up from Manhattan. He should have been sharing the details of the mission and the plans he had no doubt already devised with his cousin. Something was bothering him, and Quinlan detailed his face for a clue. Unshaven and dull-eyed, the Sun Hunter formed a sorry picture.

“You are distracted,” said Quinlan.

“Yeah, you can say that.”

Quinlan would not ask for more. It did not appear like the issue was relevant to the mission. It was likely a personal matter.

“Eva and I broke up. She wants kids and I don’t. T’was mutual but shit it still sucks.”

There was a moment of silence. Lexi would have described it as ‘awkward’. She also would have encouraged him to support Raul in this trying time. Humans liked to have their choices validated.

“It sounds to me like you both made a sensible choice. Procreation is not a subject that allows for compromise.”

Raul looked at him in complete disbelief then burst out laughing.

“Are you kidding me? You’re the one who actually gets it. Everyone from Gus to my fucking mailman thinks I’m an idiot, and I should just have a kid with her because I would end up liking it anyway.”

His lips rose in disgust.

“What kind of fucked up advice is that? Like what if I don’t end up liking it? I can’t return the kid, can I?”

“No, I do not believe there is such a thing as a return policy on offspring.”

“Thank you! They all act like I’m some kind of monster. And I want to scream at them that they are the messed-up ones.”

Quinlan did not want to encourage Raul’s ranting but this last point picked his curiosity.

“How so?”

“Those guys from Iceland…you read their report? Yeah, so they say we won’t get rid of the Strigoi at this rate. Except if we make a vaccine. And the handful of brainiacs left say it won’t happen. I’m not having a kid if there is a single chance they might end up infected and then they’d have to swallow a fucking pill and I’d have to hold their hand while they die. Or worse.

“They would not swallow that pill and they would turn and I would have to hunt them down and look in the face of my kid, with their brains too scrambled for them to understand who I am. Then I’d have to kill them. Like when Lexi killed Amir. I’m not doing that.”

“You think the others irresponsible for not having such considerations?”

“You bet your ass I do. But I’m not gonna tell them that. Would be social suicide.”

Raul shook his head.

“And I get it, you know? I love Angela, and I would die for her but she ain’t even mine and I worry all the fucking time.”

Quinlan worried about those humans as well. And above all, he worried about the Sun Hunters. But his fear was different. Humans did not expect to bury the children they loved while he lived with that certainty. He worried their ends might come too early or too painfully. Quinlan considered his fellow Hunter under a new light and with more respect.

“You know Amir would have been twenty-five tomorrow?” asked Raul.

Lexi had told him, but he found it too crushing to keep track of such anniversaries. Should he maintain that habit, his entire year would be spent grieving.

The airport was almost empty. Few New Yorkers were willing to leave the safety of their city. After the first checkpoint, Raul and Quinlan waited in the quarantine area for two hours. In that room, the walls were covered with various instructions and information. Posters gave advice on avoiding Strigoi abroad (staying inside at night, avoiding forests and countrysides etc…). In a corner, a smaller placard showed the faces of collaborators on the run, including the two doctors who had so far escaped their execution following the Manhattan trials. The larger posters encouraged travelers to report any person showing symptoms of infection to the dedicated hotline of their destination countries. Such telephone numbers were listed underneath.

Raul took this time to share all that he knew about the mission. Seventeen men and two women were missing and drone sweeps had found nothing. The locals would direct them to the caves but were instructed to remain put for the moment. Quinlan agreed with that order. It would be stupid to send humans to their deaths when this was a trivial task for him.

Nurses came with U.V. lights. Unsurprisingly, Raul was not infected and they did not attempt to check Quinlan for worms. The flight would last fourteen hours and to prevent Raul from opening up about his feelings once more, Quinlan extracted a book from his pocket.

“Watcha reading?”

“A Tale of Two Cities.”

“Dickens, huh? A bit modern for you, no?”

Quinlan looked up, mildly surprised Raul knew about that novel. Then he read on as Raul took out a familiar comic book from his bag.

“You read this drivel as well?”

“Lexi is right you know, this is tight.”

-----

Their New York apartment was small, but the simple decoration made it feel bigger. Though the population in the city had decreased dramatically after the Fall, real estate was still rare despite laws promoting their availabilities. Buildings close to the blast of the atomic bomb had been deemed too structurally unstable and were being demolished one by one. Other flats and houses still required thorough decontamination. No one wanted another plague because a worm had managed to survive in a carpet.

Lexi waited for opening hours by watching TV. Since Quinlan did not care for this form of entertainment, she took advantage of his absence to enjoy shows. Some of them had laugh tracks, and she could only imagine the judging looks Quinlan would have given her. It was soon time for her to go.

The neighbors often rushed to their doors to watch her leave. She pretended she could not hear their hurried steps and their breathing when she locked her door and made her way to the elevator. It was time to abandon this flat. Humans here had grown too curious. Perhaps this time they could find something more isolated. She would insist on it.

A delivery man grunted a hello without looking up from his phone when the doors slid open. Somewhere after they passed the tenth floor he must have looked up because his heartrate became deafening. She also ignored him.

A few years ago she might have attempted a nod or a smile, but she had since learned it was pointless. Adults stared or attempted too hard not to. Children old enough to have seen Strigoi sometimes cried and once a very old woman had fainted.

Fortunately, Lexi could drive from her building parking lot to the one in her office of her company, Lifeline. Her assistant welcomed her with a pile of papers to sign. The red circle logo of the company and its name, Lifeline, was printed on each page.

“Could you get me a replacement phone and send this one out for repair?” she asked.

She took her sim card and memory card out of the phone before handing it out to him.

“At this point, you might want to consider buying screens in bulk.”

“Or they could make them sturdier.”

“I doubt anyone is making anything of this brand at the moment. The prices increase all the time.”

“Thanks for the info. Look up if they are any companies making phones and get me one of those.”

It was a common problem. Qualified workers and infrastructure were used for essentials and as long as old electronics were available from the pre-Fall times, resources were rarely spared to produce more. For her own company, it had also been a struggle. Most of their equipment during the first year had come from local universities whose labs were deserted. Three-quarter of the staff working with this equipment had been trained on the job.

Things were finally running smoothly. Now they were producing blood locally in other countries. Today a German envoy had come to open another lab in Munich. They had the equipment and needed cell cultures and know-how.

Lexi stood behind a two-way mirror, a small microphone against her cheek. The receiver was tucked neatly in her employee’s ear and hidden by her thick dark hair. Her name was Claire. The prospective client entered and they greeted each other then sat on each side of a large desk. Humanity was not ready for a Dhampir selling blood.

“So you are interested in opening a production facility with us…” said Claire with an impassible face.

“I believe there’s been a mistake.”

The man smiled without any sign of confusion. Lexi decided she did not like him.

“You’re not interested in buying blood? We don’t sell anything else,” said Claire without returning the smile.

“We are interested in all of Lifeline. The entire company.”

He took out a folded sheet of paper from his pocket and deposited it ostensibly within Claire’s reach. She didn’t acknowledge it.

“It’s not for sale.”

“My employer has the infrastructure to produce and distribute blood to half the world.”

Lexi rolled her eyes. The half of the world in question being the one that could pay generously for it.

“It changes nothing,” said Claire as she got up and pulled down on her blazer jacket.

“Your unwillingness to expand this enterprise kills people.”

Claire tilted her head and Lexi stopped herself from growling.

“What we’ve done so far has saved plenty, and we‘ll continue doing so by ourselves.”

“Make him leave. You don’t need to be polite,” said Lexi.

“By coming here under false pretenses, you wasted your time. Worse, you wasted my time. Security is on its way.”

Lexi chuckled. Unless Claire had telepathic powers, no one was on their way. The man shrugged, tossed a card on the desk and strutted out of the room. He did not linger in the building but he also did not rush.

Claire sat back down, undid her tight bun and kicked off her shoes.

“We were preparing for this extension for weeks. You should eat him.”

“I cannot eat people just because you don’t like them.”

“Not with that attitude,” she mumbled.

Lexi removed the earpiece and returned to the office.

“Let’s hope the next one isn’t a capitalist pig,” Claire said as she picked up her shoes.

“I’ll close the file and join you at the lab when I’m done.”

Lexi took the card and sat down. It was the man’s name and number as well as the name of his company, Axatus Inc. and its symbol, an infinity loop. She shoved it in a drawer on a pile of dozens of such cards. Lexi ground her teeth. Quinlan had gone on a mission without her because of a dick who thought he could make money on the backs of the sick. She opened her laptop and searched for the next flight for Argentina. Only the next day. At that time, the Sun Hunters would be at the mission site in the middle of nowhere. Possibly already finished. Today would be another day of boring lab work and phone calls. She held her head. It felt so empty. Of all days to be alone, this one sucked. Lexi took a deep breath and went to work.

***

The Belvedere Castle’s exterior had changed since the Master’s head had rolled on its terrace. The Mayor had converted it into a museum about the Fall. Or rather a warning that betraying one’s race would not be forgiven nor forgotten. The only “frivolous” spending authorized by the city’s administration.

With a handful of flowers bought from a nearby vendor, Lexi strolled the path leading to the open-air theater. As the sun set, the clear skies were more golden than ochre. Facing the pond, slabs of granite stood erect. The names of the fallen were etched on the stone. Those who had fought the Master but not lived long enough to see victory. The list was not in alphabetical order. On the first stone at the very top, she read the name Abraham Setrakian. Followed by Dutch Velders, Vasily Fet, Nora Martinez, and Ephraim Goodweather. Next to the names were holes just large enough to accommodate the stem of a flower. When she knew the name, even vaguely, she deposited a white rose. When she reached the last name, a stone weighted her stomach. She spoke to him in her mind, and she imagined the words forever lost in the silver place.

“Happy birthday.”

She could almost hear Amir laugh at her. Others were coming and she left before fearful humans could spot her.

Lexi needed to run an errand then she could return to Greystone. There was no way she would face Gus without an apology. And those worked better in the form of a gift.

Lexi seldom shopped in New York. She also took care to never do so with any regularity or discernable pattern. At every gate leading to the city and at the main exit at the airport once could read the city’s motto: “New York, safest city in the world.”

And it was true by any measure. Little to no crime, no homelessness, and above all, no Strigoi. But Lexi had not felt safe in the city since the Manhattan trials.

Only a handful of people roamed the supermarket when Lexi entered. She made a detour in the aisles to avoid them and reached the back shelves. Bright red and with random goods carefully displayed. Some were secured down with chains, others were attached to bulky anti-theft devices.

Lexi had noticed with the years that while Gus shared liquor or wine readily with other Hunters, there was a bottle he didn’t. In a state of drunken cheerfulness, he had shared how his mother had given him his first drink on his eighteenth birthday in the form of cherry liquor and coke. Of course, it hadn’t actually been his first drink but still. Every birthday, they toasted with it. By Lexi’s estimate, Gus had two birthdays worth of cherry liquor left, and the coke was long gone.

After calling half a dozen shops, this was the only one still stocked with those products. With a satisfied grunt, she grabbed the bottles. Finding the perfect present was always a thrill.

Only one person stood at the cashier’s desk and she waited with her head down. Under those lights even with her hood and her tinted glasses people would notice her skin if they paid attention.

“That’ll be 75 dollars,” said the cashier, a young man, with an empty expression.

“But no…I used my food card. This is all food.”

Lexi sighed quietly and took a step back. This would take a while. The cashier rolled his eyes and pointed at the groceries.

“Green labels go on food cards but not blue or red ones. If you put back the steaks and the pancake mix then you’re golden.”

“But…”

“Look, you can either pay for those or put them back. There is no haggling here.”

“Fine,” he said and tossed the two items toward the cashier. Then lower he added “stupid commie system.”

The cashier looked at him with the wounded pride of a New Yorker.

“You can go back to Chicago and starve with the rest of them.”

The customer turned bright red, almost swelling from his anger. Until the security guard walked by as if taking a stroll. After scanning the food card once more, the total fell to zero dollars but a warning appeared.

“Are you aware this will max out your card for a week?” said the cashier in a rehearsed tone.

“Yeah, fine.”

“Are you aware your choice of items lacks sufficient intake of a vital nutrient?”

“That’s ‘cause you took my damn steaks.”

The cashier clicked another button and a table listing vitamins popped on the screen.

“We advise you to consider switching to the iodine enriched bread or including serving of seaweed salad. Both those items are currently available here, for your convenience.”

“Fuck you,” said the man and left with his groceries.

“Charming,” whispered Lexi.

For a moment the cashier nodded in agreement until he looked at her face. He made a strange strangled sound, but still scanned the items.

“It’ll be 205 dollars,” he said. “Please.”

His voice was suddenly high-pitched. She paid and left quickly. With a stone in the pit of the stomach, she rushed out of the city.

-----

The situation perturbed Quinlan. Details stood out as soon as they reached the cave.

Its entrance formed a wound in a wall of sharp stone and bled a trickle of water. The Sun Hunters stayed behind and stared at the wet sand with similar apprehension. The soil stretched undisturbed, save for Quinlan’s boot prints. For good measure, he closed his eyes and focused. Sterile water and the mineral scent of old places. In the depth of the cave, the rushing of an underground river. Strigoi could not inhabit that maze and he would not risk venturing deeper.

“Is there another entrance?” asked Quinlan as he returned to the hunters.

“The locals say that’s the only one,” said Gus.

“They assumed the villagers were gone but I doubt they searched their houses thoroughly. If their first idea is that Strigoi are suddenly able to cross streams, I’d think twice about trusting their every judgment.”

Raul waved over their local guide and asked him in Spanish if they had searched the village. He looked at them with incredulity.

“Ni en pedo,” he said. He maintained a good distance between him and Quinlan.

“What did that mean?” asked Quinlan, unfamiliar with the expression.

“Don’t know but it doesn’t matter, we’re gonna check anyway,” said Gus.

Then he grumbled about “weird-ass vanishing Strigs”.

A dozen houses surrounded a hangar. The buildings nestled within the confines of high fences surmounted by U.V lights. The gate hung wide open. The Sun Hunters divided into units to search the habitations. Piles of beams, bricks and power tools stood by most. Half the buildings lacked windows. One didn’t have a roof.

Quinlan squinted despite his sunglasses and hood. Sunlight fell mercilessly on his head. In the distance, a chain of mountains appeared almost as blue as the sky. Not a trace of civilization as far as he could see. The vegetation was sparse but the settlers had had no intention of cultivating the ground classically. Even with more regular sunlight than up north, indoor farming remained more reliable.

The teams emerged from the houses empty-handed. Unsurprising. The ammonia scent was diffuse and he could not hear the savage sounds produced by Strigoi.

Only the hangar remained unsearched.

“Get the spikes,” he asked a Hunter.

For Strigoi hiding in soil, they used javelins coated with silver. The hangar reminded him strongly of the lowest level of the bunker. It smelled of wet dirt and fertilizer but not of sap. They had not yet planted anything. Soil filled half a dozen elevated beds deep enough to accommodate trees. And slumbering Strigoi.

Eva and Raul’s units had the spikes. It satisfied Quinlan to see them work together without a trace of awkwardness. When he glanced at Gus, he could tell he was making the same observation. Quietly, a dozen hunters spread and lifted the metal spikes above the black dirt. The rest stood at the ready with carefully aimed rifles. Quinlan also prepared, wounding up his leg muscles and drawing his sword.

Eva and Raul looked at each other, and she raised one finger, then two then three. At that mark, the Hunters stabbed down as one. The spikes pierced the soil. Quinlan tensed, his gaze sliding across all the visible earth. Nothing happened.

Strange.

Gus pinched the base of his nose and exchanged a look with Quinlan. He slashed at his own neck with his hand and Quinlan nodded.

“Listen up, guys! Pack all the gear except for the drones. Marcus, we do a last sweep, I’ll drive.”

The Hunters just as disappointed as their boss returned to the SUVs and loaded back all their equipment. Marcus tweaked with his drone by the jeep.

“You can smell them, right?” Gus asked.

“I do but only in the settlement and its repartition is unfocused. Rather unusual.”

“This shit ain’t right.”

“Agreed. I will investigate the houses.”

Gus departed with Marcus. The buzzing of the drone soon crisscrossed the clear sky.

The houses were Spartan and all identical. Merely blocks of wood and concrete built for safety without any regard for aesthetics. Inside each finished house, he found signs of struggle. Broken furniture, smears of dried blood already swarming with flies and the diffuse stench of ammonia.

Something about the blood also bothered him. He could not put his finger on the exact reason until he reached the kitchen of the last house. There had been a fight in there. The table was broken across the middle and the floor spattered with the remnants of an uneaten meal.

Quinlan ignored those distracting scents. He followed a faint trail and found his target under the fridge. Without much effort, he tossed the piece of furniture aside. Underneath, he found dust, more spilled food and a thin metal cylinder the size of a battery. It ended in a vicious barb covered with blood. The probe of a Taser.

Quinlan brought the object up to his nose. Now he knew. This was what he should have been smelling until now. Pure human blood, this one O negative. In the other houses, the blood had been what he expected from a bag. Old blood with the tinge of a mild anti-coagulant used for preservation. He had spent so long consuming such treated blood that his nose had grown accustomed to the perfume of the drug. Quinlan put the probe in his pocket and went back to the SUV. He hailed Raul.

“I need a UV lamp.”

Raul, without question, rummaged in one of the trunks and tossed him a heavy torchlight.

Quinlan returned to the kitchen and closed all blinds. He switched on the lamp and the purple glow filled the room. Fluorescent yellow specks covered the floors and the lower parts of the walls. Strigoi guano. Like a mist. It made little sense for a Strigoi to release its waste that way. It also made little sense for Strigoi to use weapons on their prey.

“Call Gus and tell him to come back,” he told Raul as he handed him the UV lamp back.

“You found something?”

“I found evidence that no Strigoi ever stepped inside this settlement. This is a simple case of human on human violence. Not our problem.”

“What the fuck?”

He showed him the Taser probe. Eva stared with keen interest.

“I don’t recognize the brand. Must be a new one,” she said.

“Someone sprayed Strigoi guano inside the houses as well as bagged blood. This was staged.”

Eva made a wry face.

“You think someone didn’t like the idea of collabs living the high life?”

“A highly trained and resourceful someone then,” said Quinlan.

“Yeah, so they won’t ever find them and if they do it’s gonna be in tiny pieces.”

“Possibly, but it does not involve us.”

When they informed their Argentinian guide, he was relieved.

“So there are no Strigoi here? It’s safe?” he said in Spanish with an accent that made it difficult for Quinlan to follow.

“Yes, but you might want to call the police since…” said Raul.

“Of course,” said the guide insincerely.

“Give them this,” added Quinlan and he handed the probe which the guide took reluctantly.

He held the object as if ready to toss it away as soon as he was free of their gazes.

“We’ll call in a few days to check that you do,” said Raul.

The guide waved impatiently and after more pushing from Raul, promised to inform the local authorities. Quinlan doubted the investigation would amount to anything. After all, who cared about a handful of missing collaborators?

***

Quinlan was not in a pleasant mood when they landed in New York. None of the Sun Hunters were. They dragged themselves out of the plane and toward the luggage retrieval area. No satisfaction of a job well done counterbalanced their fatigue.

“Maybe I should just retire,” Gus said after sipping at a cup of cheap coffee bought in the airport.

A few white hairs peppered his temples and looked away. By human standard, Gus was young, merely in his thirties. By Hunter standards he was well within his rights to quit and enjoy a comfortable pension.

Of the Sun Hunters who had celebrated the cleaning of New York, few remained. The crowd of Hunter attracted looks, friendly nods and a few cheers. Quinlan cared little for such attention but it helped his human companions.

When they made their way to the parking lot, they stood straighter. Quinlan took the wheel and Gus sat in the passenger seat while in the back Raul and another Hunter snoozed.

“Will you? Retire?” asked Quinlan.

“Dunno. I always feel like that when something goes to shit. Let me finish my coffee. When my brains start back up, maybe I'll know.”

He raised his cup and took another sip. When Quinlan pulled up in front of the Sun Hunter headquarters, he could not feel Lexi within the city. Quinlan checked his phone. She had gone back to Greystone as her work deal had come short. On the last line of her text, she wrote,

“If you focus I'm sure you would be able to see me from New York.”

He borrowed a car then left the city. The canals running through the streets had been decommissioned threes year after New York’s clearing. It was dark but the streets were bright and bustling with life. It was always jarring when they traveled to other cities. In most of the world, humans stayed inside their homes at night. Most shops opened and closed depending on sunlight hours.

New York was free of those concerns. While here humans felt safe, it did not change how hideous those buildings and streets were.

He stopped in a deserted road still hours from Greystone, cut the engine and used the silence of the countryside to look within himself. Dream Ancharia’s words distracted him for an instant but he succeeded in pushing them away.

Lexi had told him to find the door that would lead to the silver place. But its doorknob was round and smooth and slippery. The whole exercise frustrated him. Through this door, he would be able to see but most of the time he didn't. He simply attempted to relax until he felt warm all over. When he did that near her then he felt her as though touching her with invisible hands.

He tried both. Failed at the first then also at the second. He tried again until the frustration made him growl. It was pointless. Quinlan took the road again.

When he reached the familiar forest of Greystone, he still could not feel Lexi. He was surprised since at that distance the Bond should have been back. The deeper he drove, the more his surprise morphed into worry.

“Lexi?”

There was no answer because she was not there. But her car was. When he entered, her bag sat in the entrance.

The wooden floor of their bedroom creaked. He focused on that sound and found another. A heartbeat. Someone was in the house. He tried again to find the Bond and failed.

This was his home and someone had violated it with their unwanted presence. A burglar? Or someone with more nefarious intentions? His thought went to the terrorist who had almost blinded Lexi.

Quinlan growled lowly, unsheathed his sword and ran up the stairs. A body smashed into him and his sword left his grip. As they tumbled down the stairs in a mess of limbs, Quinlan noticed several things.

White hair, inhuman strength and the perfume of limes with a sweet finish. Their fall ended abruptly as they collided against a wall. Both jumped to their feet in a eerily similar fashion. She stared at him with wide eyes and he gawked back. It made no sense.

As thought in pain, she touched her temples and shook her head. She looked the same, smelled the same but she could not be here because the Bond was not. Their home, the real one, the only that mattered, was gone. If he had been able to vomit, he’d have done so.

“How?” whispered Lexi.

----

The woman tossed a piece of paper on the table. It was a police report in Spanish.

“They were sloppy. This can’t happen again.”

“If this new formulation works, there won’t be any need for more subjects,” said the man.

“You actually think we are going to find a formulation that works?”

“Well, yes…you don’t? Why the hell did you accept this then?”

“Because I was tired of hiding and if another rich idiot wants to waste his money on this wild goose chase, who am I to refuse?”

He shook his head.s

“If we manage we won’t need to run. It would dwarf the invention of vaccines or the discovery of antibiotics. We could help peop…”

“Shut up. Don’t give me the help people crap or I swear I’ll kill you.”

“Fine. But at least tell me you understand this is our way out of this mess.”

“I do, I also think it’s not the only way out.”

#Mr. Quinlan #mister quinlan #Quintus Sertorius #The Strain FX #The Strain #The strain fanfiction #part2

8 notes · View notes

miu-paras · 5 years

Text

Lvl. 6 ⋮ Den Of The Raiju

Request for Entry – Approved. ♪ - Grimes / Violence

Red says all noble-born children in Essa were given titles once they reached a certain age.

I always wondered what mine would’ve been. You’d have to do something noteworthy to receive one, right? Something worth being immortalized. Kalar was the Scourger, simply because of how much raw power they possessed. It made people fear for the day they’d leave nothing but a desecrated wasteland in their wake. Sula, on the other hand, was Stormer’s Bane, a moniker earned for their superior hunting skills against the massive, metal beasts. Aesir was Breath of the Golden Serpent, a reference to an electrifying creature with a wicked tongue from old Camerian legends. Then there’s my mother, who was Dancing Blade, named for the swift elegance of their movements in battle. A fighter with deadly precision and grace. Only to later become Silent Dagger, once their… occupation changed.

The names were all so… menacing. They imposed a specific image that the Aedonnoe family wanted to uphold: one of power. Of fear. They were a family of warriors, after all. They valued strength above all else, so of course they would want their granted titles to reflect that.

Over a year ago, I would have said such a concept didn’t suit me. Only because, up until then, I’d never thought of myself as a warrior. I’d never been in situations that relied solely on the power I possessed to get what I needed. I never had to fight to defend myself. Never needed protecting. I was… just a girl. A normal girl with normal fears, desires, and dreams. I wasn’t the Aedonnoe I would’ve been had my homeland not been destroyed by corrupted forces. Instead, I was the odd one out. The end to a generation of fighters.

That is, until Red came into my life… and now I’m constantly faced with chaos and strife at every turn. Constantly fighting my way through conflict after conflict. Constantly pushing myself, making strides to become a better tsanagar, to be stronger, to be a better Aedonnoe.

And constantly surrounded by aliens.

Aliens in Shinjuku…

It sounded like the title of a very bad sci-fi serial, but somehow it adequately describes what my life has been for the past couple of months.

Aliens in Shinjuku. Ulterians, to be exact. Sai, Miki, Barr’lo, Vhiska, and Yarrna. The small team that made up Vitriol. The one and only answer to the violence in the slums of Gan’em.

And now there was me: their “techie.” A renegade mechanic, fighting in a war against the vile and corrupt, a war I hadn’t known even existed until very recently. A war I had to be a part of, to save someone important to me. Or rather… to my mom.

But it was worth it. Because now I was closer to answers than I ever was before. And I was closer to seeing a new side of myself. Closer to revealing just how much I was truly capable of achieving.

But first, there was work to be done.

It was December 1st, 2019. We were making plans for our first big supplies run.

Sai was our leader when the time came for raids. He conducted stakeouts on warehouses across Gan’em, organized a strike team and assigned roles. Plans were always centered around whatever materials or resources I needed, so my input was always necessary. We had many differences, Sai and I, both in approach and ideals. But over time, we became a pretty dynamic duo. My impulsivity was tempered by his more strategic brain, and in turn I inspired him to take more risks. The real benefit of two leaders, I suppose. Bringing out the best in each other through even are worst habits.

Then there was Miki, our resident expert on stealth and silent infiltrations. She had an aptitude for lurking around corners, squeezing through tight spaces, and knowing just where to strike so that her opponents went down without a sound. She’d signal to us in Talurian sign language once any perimeter was secure, which allowed for the strike team to move in.

Barr’lo and Yarrna: the bruiser and the marksmen. Barr was our demolition expert, gifted with knowledge of both destructive weapons and explosive entrances. They had no problem with making noise, or causing a ruckus. It made them perfectly fit for taking the lead during more… direct encounters. Yarrna, however, chose to hang back, as it always worked in his favor. Long distance was always best for sharpshooters, after all; the more shrouded in the shadows they were, the more effective they could be. And Yarrna never disappointed, always making his shots with such expert precision it almost looked effortless.

He also claimed to have trained Pixul in the past. And judging from her skill alone, it only put my faith in his abilities even more.

Unlike the rest, Vhiska rarely participated in the raids. Her skills weren’t always suited for the field, with hands made for tinkering rather than battle. but what she lacked in physical prowess she made up for with brilliance. She was a security expert, and a prodigious engineer. It made her perfectly suited for the job of further fortifying our hideaway, and an even more excellent workshop hand. I ran all my designs through her, and with little coaching she was able to recreate them with ease, with or without my assistance. She may not be Camerian by blood, but she certainly had a mind like one.

We were a small team, yes, but an effective one. We’d have to be, with the task we were taking on tonight.

Kanda Voks. A large conglomerate specialized in the selling and distribution of building materials, including Talurian alloy. They had their hat thrown into several other rings as well, including military suppliers, Vaanen manufacturers, and the surveillance industry. Warehouses were located in various parts of the continent, the largest of which was situated in the heart of Gan’em. It was also very heavily fortified and guarded.

There was no room for error with this mission. We had to be careful.

“Does everyone remember the plan?” Sai and I whispered in unison, followed by several nods from the rest of the team. We were situated on a rooftop maybe a block or so away from our target. Everyone was preparing, gearing up their weapons and tools, sharpening their blades, setting up our comms, and adorning our faces with reflective metal masks to confuse their facial recognition software. There was an eagerness in the air, a strong desire to get moving, to get this over with. But the more Sai stressed caution, the more our impulsive inclinations were tempered.

About two hours had passed. Miki and Yarrna were busy surveying the patrol of the guards, while Barr made plans for our strike on the inside. Sai went between the three of them, making sure everything was in order, and everyone’s heads were where they should be: focused on the goal. We only had one shot at this, after all.

But me… I stared up at the sky. Watching as the evening turned to night, as the two suns that hung in the air sunk behind the clouds, replaced by six moons and a sky blanketed in darkness.

It was time to move now.

Miki moved in first, leaping from building to building in exceptional bounds, the only sound coming from her being the whistle through the wind as she swiftly made her way towards the perimeter. The guards had begun their usual rotation around the warehouse, which Yarrna monitored carefully from afar through the scope of his rifle. It was Miki, however, that would make the first strike. She singled out each guard, one by one, picking them off too fast for them to respond. Once the first wave of guards was taken care of, our marksmen was able to assist with the second wave, who were far more on edge than the last due to the unseen threat.

Yarrna truly was as good of a shot as he boasted. He incapacitated guards with as much speed and precision as Miki did with her blades, and just as quietly, too. Within a few minutes, our first part of the raid had been completed without a hitch. Not only that, Miki and Yarrna had provided us with a secure way inside.

“Move in.” Yarrna’s thick, Northern Talurian accent echoed throughout the comms, and immediately we set out from our perch and towards the warehouse. Sai and Barr matched Miki’s quickness as they bounded for our desired destination, while I flew in closely behind.

One by one we all shuffled through the vent wrenched open by one of Miki’s swords, while Yarrna maintained watch on the outside. There was a cold dinginess we were met with compared to the busy metropolis outside these walls. It was perhaps the first place I’ve visited in Nuva filled with nothing but complete lifelessness. Not that it mattered, anyway. We weren’t here to sightsee.

“Barr…” Sai whispered as quietly as he possibly could, leaning in close to us, “Go with Miu, make sure she gets what she needs. Miki and I will do a sweep.”

The both of us nodded in response, then the group split in two, Barr and I climbing down from the stack of large, heavy boxes of materials we’d settled on. There weren’t many guards around, as far as I could tell, and the few that were there were taken out before I had a chance to do so myself. Not that I would want to. I was more than comfortable with leaving the more… violent parts of the job to the rest of the team. I was still quite averse to it, considering everything that happened a few months ago. For now, I preferred focusing on what I needed. And that didn’t involve a fight.

We traversed the maze of a warehouse for what felt like hours but was actually a mere thirty minutes or so. Eventually, luck found us as we stumbled right into the center of the maze, met with loads upon loads of crates that doubled us in size, each full of Talurian alloy alongside of a plethora of other materials. Exactly what we needed.

“Quick… your stick-ons.” I held my hand out towards him, gesturing for his bag. He tossed it to me, and from it I pulled out four transporter devices. But these were unlike the transporters I’d come across previously; they were an invention of my own. Each worked in unison with each other, connected through transmissions. They created a barrier around whichever object—or objects—they were attached to, transporting everything inside that radius at once. It was more advanced than the simple handheld version, and offered more flexibility than advanced models. I was quite proud of it, despite the awful name: Stick-ons.

…It was a work-in-progress.

Each of the four gadgets were latched onto every side of the heavy crate, a thin blue light emanating from either side of each to form an illuminated ring around the cargo. Once every stick-on was in place, we took several steps back, and I retrieved a thin, silver tablet from my own bag. I started rapidly tapping in coordinates to our base back home while Barr continued surveying our surroundings. And withing a few seconds, and a flash of light, the large crate of materials was gone, transported back to Earth for Vhiska to intercept from the other side.

“It worked!” I whispered a bit too loudly, then turned to high-five Barr. But instead of being met with a matching smile and an upturned palm, I was instead greeted by Barr’s long, pensive stare towards the ceiling, and a single finger pointed upwards.

I tilted my head up in the same direction, and immediately my smile faded.

The ceiling was covered in them. Androids, somewhat humanoid in shape but more spider-like in the way their limbs stuck outwards and their bellies rested against the surface they clung to. Like the lickers from Resident Evil. They were perhaps, and by a large margin, the biggest oddity I’d seen since I began visiting this planet.

And even worse, Miki and Sai were fighting to get free from their web of tendril-like wires.

Barr’lo is the first to react, quickly unholstering the pistol from his belt. Aiming it above us, a smile slowly graced his lips as the gun rapidly unfurled itself, geometric machinations multiplying and expanding until the small weapon became massive launcher. He shoots the rocket forward, and immediately the android lickers screeched and scattered as it made a loud, shattering impact.

That fight I was avoiding? It was here now.

{ Well… you ready, Red? }

[ I always am. ]

My tsanista stretched across my form in full-body armor as I launched myself at the ceiling. I began picking them apart the same way I did the Vaanen, reaching in until my influence found purchase, slowly tearing away from the inside until their bodies malfunctioned, sputtering and whizzing until they loss control of themselves and fell to ground in a shattered mess. I was only able to take out a few. Androids were quite difficult to control, after all. But it was enough to give my teammates enough leeway to break free.

Barr’lo, however, was far less meticulous in his approach. As soon as the other two wrenched themselves free, the demolitionist continued his targeted assaulted. Rocket after rocket shot at the ceiling, causing more of them to crash against the ground and leaving large, noticeable craters in their wake. I rushed to start clearing them away from the rest of the cargo we planned to take, pulling and tearing at them with much more fervor then before. Sai and Miki were busy dodging their lightning-quick attacks, rolling away from their lunges and slicing at their whip-like tongues with their blades.

At some point, we’d gotten overwhelmed. The sheer number of them far exceeded the enemies we took on at Pixul’s club. And even with the two extra fighters on deck, being outnumbered to such a degree wasn’t going to work in our favor.

“We need to pull back!” Sai commanded, with one last swipe at a wiry tongue with one of his blades. “Walk away with what we have—"

“Yeah—except we don’t have a lot to begin with! We only transported one crate!” I shouted back, pushing some of the robotic creatures away from me and Miki. Barr continued blasting away with the weapon he’d now fashioned into a shotgun as we ascended the many boxes surrounding us in an attempt to elevate ourselves. I stayed floating in the air, searching tirelessly for a quick solution to our very messy problem…

That’s when I spotted them. There were still a hefty number of guards that were left. And they’d been alerted by our raucous battle.

“We’ve got more company…” I warned the rest of the group, to which they replied with heavy sighs, tortured glances, and curses under their breath.

I didn’t want to waste time anymore. Not on fighting, not on dodging bullets, and definitely not on killing. I came here with a purpose. And I intended to fulfill it.

It took everything out of me to do it, to extend my influence across multiple devices, multiple moving, mechanical parts, multiple living entities trapped inside shells, programmed to rip and tear through their enemies with no remorse. It took so much out of me that I felt even my hold on Red slipping, and I struggled to maintain my levitation in the air. In the end I chose control—complete and utter control—over my flight and landed my feet on the ground. Ground that was no longer dangerous, as the horde of bloodthirsty bots were frozen in place, and starting up at me awaiting command.

{ Holy… }

[ Shit… that actually worked. ]

{ I know, right?! }

[ You have gotten stronger… I am proud. ]

The small bit of praise brought a smile to my face, one I quickly wiped away as I returned my focus to the task at hand.

“They’ll help us now,” I whirled my head around to face Sai. “Handle the guards. They’ll follow you out. I’ll stay and get as many supplies as needed.”

Sai looked around, wary at first. I grabbed his arm tightly and shook it, bringing his attention back to me. Back to reality.

“Trust me.”

There was a long pause, and a number of glances that flickered between me and the army of lickers surrounding us. But he eventually nodded, directing the team to move out. I gave a nod in return, and as the team and their new swarm ran in the direction of danger, I continued looting as much as I could. Scouring through the endless towers of cargo until I found what I felt was enough—and what I felt we could manage space wise. There were a few stray lickers, possibly some that shook off my control and others that were simply out of my range, but I handled them quickly and quietly. Enough to not arouse any attention as I started making my way out.

Everything seemed to be working out, despite the massive hiccups. But the thing about getting too comfortable when things go your way is that the universe is always ready to throw something else at you.

Guards flanking around the corner. But they weren’t androids like the flock I’d just handled. They were living, made of flesh and bone. Flesh that was warm to the touch as they caught me by surprise, easily and quickly defending themselves against my meager attempts at fighting back before pinning me against the ground by my neck, strangling me in the same manner Pixul did. Flesh that wrapped tightly around my wrist as another assisted in pinning me down. Flesh and bone that turned hotter as I got angrier, as light enraptured me in sizzling, white heat. Flesh torn asunder as that very light enveloped them, and in a flash left behind nothing but charred corpses.

I think I may have stared too long at the burnt bodies. The gaping hole left in one of their chest, cooked flesh and purple blood dripping from where their rib cage should be. The second guard who was left without half their body, and the other half—or at least what was still left of it—turned black as coal.

I stared for far too long. Motionless. Voiceless. In shock of just how destructive I could be. It was like the summer of 2018 all over again, standing in the middle of my bedroom, shaking and crying over a pile of ashes.

There was a rough grab of my arm, and a shake so violent it triggered me again. I was lucky enough to meet his eyes before I blasted him away.

“Don’t think about it,” Sai said calmly, eyes flickering between me and the bodies, nervously despite how much he tried to hide it.

“Let’s go.”

At the words, I nodded once, and followed him out of the warehouse. Yarrna covered our trail as we ran back to our starting point. Once we were there, everyone exchanged smiles and high-fives with one another, congratulating each other on a job well-done and a bounty successfully required. More celebrations awaited us at the hideout, where V greeted us with a fist shot in the air and an excited holler as we transported ourselves back.

Everyone was satisfied.

All except for me.

They all wanted to celebrate with the best desserts Earth had to offer. So naturally, I treated them to conbini ice cream.

They all sat amongst each other, either huddled on the floor or sitting atop the stacks of cargo. They were all laughing and speaking a mix of Talurian dialects—both native and Nuvassi. Vhiska joked about how one of the massive boxes almost crushed them. Miki signed a number of seemingly playful jabs at Barr as he boasted about his valor during the mission. Yarrna was already mapping out future plans.

All I did was watch, managing a soft smile occasionally but not really saying anything. After a while, I asked to step outside for some fresh air. Wanting to be alone for a while. Wanting to hear nothing but the business of the city and my own thoughts, which were nothing more than twisted and dark right now.

After some time, I was eventually joined by Sai, who’d left the small party inside to join me in the peace and quiet of the night. Wordlessly, he leaned against the side of the building as well, staring up at the sky in the same manner I did. No words exchanged, not asking questions. Only offering his support in complete silence. Until I was the one to break it.

“Does it get easier?”

The words came out almost as soft as a whisper. Sai turned his head towards me, an expression of concern coming over his face. He opened his mouth as if to say something, then stopped himself, hesitating. A short silence returned before he sighed.

“Yes,” he responded. “Yes it does.”

The words were earnest, which only made it even more painful to accept.

“I, umm…. I feel like the only way I can be good enough for this is if I become the complete opposite of myself.” I stated, arms crossing around my torso even tighter as I curled into myself. “Who I am… who I am isn’t cut out for all of this, I think… I’m a weak-willed person.”

His expression turned stern. “Miu… I saw you, in a streak of light, tear apart cop cars through the sky. You knew how to take down the Makalden. Hell, you blasted them through the sky. You—” He paused again, looking away. “You stopped Pixul…”

The image of her bloody stub for an arm filled my head again, and I closed my eyes as tightly as I could, breathing out heavily as I wished the thought away. Sai probably realized this and fell silent again, back resting against the wall as he concentrated his gaze on the pavement.

Wordlessness took over once more, both of us searching for something else to say. Unlike Sai, I was failing to do so. Failing to find the words to express just how I felt. But Sai seemed to understand me even without an explanation. As if these feelings were all too familiar to him. As if he were looking in a mirror, at a reflection of his past self.

“You’re stronger than you know, Miu. Stronger than all of us… and you don’t need to be anyone else.”

He placed a hand on my shoulder, and I looked up at him for the first time all night.

“You’re exactly who you need to be.”

He patted my shoulder twice and returned inside. I slumped to the ground, hugging my knees close to my chest as I took in his words.

Maybe he was right. Maybe I didn’t need to change. Maybe I already did. All I knew for sure was that the girl I was before and the girl I am now are the same. They always have been. I’ve always had this within me, no matter how much I tried to run or hide from it. I had to strong. I had to be daring. I had to be a beacon of hope to my new friends. The warrior to follow in my family’s legacy, even though it took me so long to realize it.

I needed to be something new. Something vicious. To awaken that side of me I kept locked away for so long, no matter how scared of it I was.

I had to be a beast, made of light and fire. Streaking through a black sky.

And whether I wanted to be that or not… didn’t matter anymore.

[ ⋖◈⋗ ] Now Accessing… Permission Granted. Welcome to: THE DEN

#p: raiju

0 notes

clarenecessities · 7 years

Text

The Dread Pirate Ladybug, Ch 10

Chapters: 10/13 Rating: General Audiences Warnings: Implied death, may contain horses

Chapter Summary: have you ever gotten the impression that everything around you is trying to kill you? if you’re not australian, you may be in a fire swamp Chapter Warnings: Actual violence, blood tw, blade tw, attempted murder, animal death, fire cw, poorly written romance

AO3

Marinette held her sword in one hand, and Adrien’s clammy palm in the other. She tightened her grip in reassurance as she peered into the twisting maze of the fire swamp.

The trees were everywhere, massive and gnarled and growing so close together that walking beneath them felt like descending physically into night. The vegetation was scant, but a thousand varieties of fungi curled and sliced from every surface, and lichen draped itself from the cathedral of branches overhead. A reek of sulfur and smoke lingered in the air. The ground wasn’t very swampy at all, hard and dry and carpeted with fallen leaves and an inauspicious bramble or two. A faint orange glow suffused the entire forest, but it grew more concentrated beneath this crust of debris.

Marinette pushed a small patch of blackened and decaying leaves away, revealing a network of phosphorescent fungus that seemed to pulse under the toe of her boot.

“Foxfire,” she said aloud, looking to Adrien. He was watching the ground with fascination, his bright green eyes shining in the reflected light. The eager curiosity on his face, which had been reluctant and heavy with fear mere minutes ago, filled Marinette with a fresh rush of affection.

“There’s an oxidative enzyme in the fungus,” she explained softly when he turned to her, unable to restrain her smile as he watched her with undisguised interest. “It’s the same process as fireflies. Don’t eat any of them though; a crewmate of mine did once thinking they were chanterelles, and regretted it… rather fiercely.”

Adrien pushed at the leaves with his own foot to expose a larger swath of the underlying variegation. The patterns shifted as he swept his sole across them, dancing like light reflected off of water. He gave a small laugh of delight, beaming at her.

“You’re right,” he told Marinette, a little breathlessly. “We can do this.”

“And what makes you say that, all of a sudden?”

“We’re standing in the middle of the Guilderian Fire Swamp, surrounded by poisonous fungus, and, quite likely, snow sand, spurts of flame, and smoke cats.”

“So we are,” she said cautiously, more than a little concerned about where he was going with this.

“In less than a minute, you’ve not only rendered the fungus harmless,” said Adrien, stepping closer to her, “you’ve made it beautiful. I don’t know how long we’ll be in here, and I honestly don’t think it’s going to be much fun, but we can at least survive. You, evidently, can survive anything.”

“Death cannot stop true love,” she repeated, with a wry smile. “And if I survive, I’m damn well taking you with me.”

He chuckled and pressed a lingering kiss to her forehead that warmed Marinette to the tips of her toes. She’d never get tired of those kisses, of these moments. She felt as though she’d been in a blizzard for five years, frozen and frostbitten, and she’d finally been welcomed back inside. The small and tender gesture was a warm drink pressed into thawing fingers, and her earlier rush of affection became a torrent.

He loved her.

He loved her and he hadn’t forgotten her, he hadn’t given up on her or found someone he preferred. He had been swept up by circumstances outside his control, as she had been, but he still loved her. In spite of—well—everything. Just about everything. She was honestly having a hard time understanding what she’d done to deserve it, given her behavior in the past 24 hours alone.

“I love you,” she told him, because it was the most important thing in the world that he know that. She couldn’t remember if she had said it earlier—she certainly hoped the kissing had been a clue—but even if she had just finished saying it, it wouldn’t have been soon enough. So she said it again, for good measure. “Adrien, I love you.”

He drew back from her forehead and looked at her with so much raw emotion that she wondered how she could ever have doubted his feelings for her.

“I love you too,” he whispered, “Let’s kick the fire swamp’s ass.”

They set off at a slow pace, Marinette slightly ahead as she was the one with the sword, their hands still tangled between them. Adrien wove as he walked, stepping on the patches where the foxfire glowed brightest, still excited by the phenomenon and the caustic ripples he could elicit. Marinette swept lichen and vines from their path with the flat of her blade, watching carefully for movement ahead. She sawed through an especially long and sturdy vine with the knife at her side, winding it around herself like a rope. It seemed a handy thing to have, given the circumstances.

Almost immediately, they discovered the flame spurts. Preceded by a low rumbling, the ground would break apart from below, and instantly erupt into a blazing column of fire, spewed from the crack for anywhere from a few seconds to longer than Marinette and Adrien waited around to see. The sulfurous smell intensified as these spurts roared to temporary life, revealing the flammable gasses that were their source.

Skirting one of these pyrophoric vents, Adrien began to look nervous again. His eyes watched the flickering geyser and he strayed a little closer to Marinette’s side, his free hand reaching out to clutch at her forearm.

“So,” he began, in a failed attempt to sound casual, “Dread Pirate Ladybug, huh?”

She smiled at him, the same smile she’d given him when he’d first made that connection.

“The one, if not the only.”

“…You lost me.”

“Pop quiz,” said Marinette, “how long has Ladybug been sailing?”

“Twenty years, give or take a few—” Adrien paused mid-sentence, frowning. “Wait a minute.”

She continued to smile, letting him work the timeline out on his own.

“So you’re… not Ladybug?” he asked, brow furrowed in confusion.

“Oh, I am,” said Marinette. She released his hand to wave her own through the air, gesticulating vaguely. “Let’s start at the beginning, I guess. I did promise you an explanation.”

Adrien kept one hand on her elbow, his eyes fixed on her with burning curiosity instead of watching where he was going.

“What I told you earlier—that was all true. And at first it didn’t really make a difference.” Marinette continued to sweep and slash the lichen and vines from their path as she spoke, watching where they were going so Adrien wouldn’t have to. “Ladybug was fairly apologetic, but still very firm: I had to die. Matter of principle, you know.”

“What changed?”

“I started talking about you,” she told him. “I don’t know that she felt guilty so much as she wanted to hear more, to be quite honest. She didn’t really believe me. Although I can’t blame her: You are a bit too good to be true.

“She had me go on describing you bit by bit—‘Eyes the color of summer,’ I said, ‘and hair like the autumn sun.’ I mean, you know me, I’ve no great gift for words, but I could wax poetic about your face for years.”

“See, I could probably, uh—wax pathetic about it. It’s more trouble than it’s worth,” said Adrien good-naturedly, tossing his short hair as dramatically as he could. “Wait! Wane pathetic. Final answer.”

Marinette laughed, curling her wrist so they walked just a bit closer together. Even this, simply talking, felt somehow more complete with him at her side. There were no awkward little gaps in the conversation, no haltingly explaining a joke that had failed to land—he encouraged her to speak the way he did everything, gently and earnestly, and what she had been sure ten minutes ago was the strongest love she’d ever felt now seemed only a vague fondness compared to the depths of her current affections.

“Anyway,” she continued, rolling her eyes at him, cramming her emotions away for a more appropriate time and venue, “she was interested now, at least a little, and by the end I knew I had her. She was unfortunately still pretty set on murdering me, as a pirate really can’t afford to let people think they’ve gone soft—particularly a pirate whose whole spiel is ‘No Survivors.’

“So I said, ‘I swear I won’t tell, that seems a pretty fair price for the whole not dying thing,’ or something to that effect, ‘and if you let me live, I will be your personal valet for five full years, and if I ever once complain or cause you anger, you can chop my head off then and there and I’ll die with praise for your fairness on my lips.’ And, you know, she seemed pretty interested. I don’t think anyone could frame five years of captivity and servitude as soft. She didn’t give in immediately, of course—she said, ‘Go below, I’ll most likely kill you in the morning.’”

Marinette stopped talking abruptly, and pretended to clear her throat to cover it up, not wanting to alarm Adrien or alert him to the enormous smoke cat she had just spotted following them.

Smoke cats, while rumored to be incorporeal and thought by some to be a will-o’-the-wisp variety of apparition, were unfortunately very real. They were named as much for their exclusive habitat—fire swamps—as for their coloration. With dusky fur that paled to silver at the roots, and a coal black marbling along the lengths of their bodies, they haunted the fire swamps like living shadows. Though it was often said they grew to be as large as lions, most were only the size of an especially big dog. They were principally ambush predators, drifting across the flickering forest floor or lurking high in the treetops as they stalked their prey. They almost exclusively had bright yellow eyes, and it was these that alerted Marinette to their presence as they watched she and Adrien pick their way through the swamp.

They glowed like embers, intent on their quarry, as the smoke cat sat perched on the bough of massive tree, its tail—the same length as the rest of its body—swinging like a pendulum beneath it. Though solitary creatures by nature, smoke cats had a deep partiality to fresh blood, and a tendency to frenzy. Marinette looked at Adrien, inspecting the healing wound on his temple to insure it had scabbed enough to keep him safe. Her wrist had stopped bleeding, and would be safe for a while, but she could protect it more easily than someone else’s head.

“Go on; what happened in the morning?” he urged, meeting her eyes.

“I cooked the crew breakfast,” she said simply, pulling him along so that she was in between him and the smoke cat, but still leading. “Their previous chef had been using pepper instead of salt, so they were thrilled with some reasonable pancakes. Ladybug ate seven of them and thanked me, said she’d most likely kill me in the evening.”

“But she didn’t,” said Adrien, smiling again.

“No,” she confirmed, smiling back. God, he was adorable. He was so excited. “By evening I had found ways to make myself useful. I reorganized their storage room, and fixed up a very poorly patched sail, and had a talk with the chef about seasonings. I worked out a plan for cleaning the whole ship, so the rest of the crew could cut back on time spent doing chores.”

“And that’s when she decided to let you live?”

“Honestly, I think she decided that the minute she didn’t kill me outright. But she kept saying that to me for years—‘good work Marinette, delicious pancakes, I’ll most likely kill you tomorrow.’ Except eventually I ran out of things to do to improve the ship, so she started me on ways to improve myself. Taught me how to fence, and sail, and somewhere along the way, we became friends.

“And then one day, she called me into her cabin. I was half-convinced my luck had run out and she was finally going to kill me, but instead she told me there was something about her that no one knew yet: She had a secret.”

Adrien squeezed her hand, his eyes sparkling and wide as dinner plates. “What was it?” he whispered, as if the fire swamp was full of eavesdroppers.

“’I am not the Dread Pirate Ladybug,’” Marinette told him, biting back a giggle at his enormous gasp. He clapped both hands over his mouth, and she thought it was only half theatrics—he seemed as genuinely shocked as she had been.

“She said, ‘My name is Bridgette. I inherited this ship from the previous Dread Pirate Ladybug. She wasn’t the real Ladybug either; her name was Jeanne, and she’d inherited it from a woman named Hippolyta. The real Dread Pirate Ladybug has been retired fifteen years and is living like a Queen in Kaokoland.’”

“But—why?” asked Adrien, lowering his fingers from his face only slightly.

“The thing about piracy—for-profit piracy anyway—is if you’re good at what you do, and you don’t get caught, it’s a very lucrative business. I mean, I barely keep anything, and I’m richer than our whole hometown combined. Bridgette went after a different class of ship than I did, and she got even richer even faster. And once you’ve made your fortune, why bother, you know?” She shrugged as she walked ahead, peering contemplatively up into the dense branches overhead. “They were all fairly eager to enjoy their spoils, but a reputation’s a difficult thing to come by. No one is going to surrender to the Dread Pirate Marinette.”

“I mean, I might,” said Adrien, chuckling at her heels.

“You’re biased,” she told him with a laugh. “You’d surrender just for a shot at flirting with me.”

“Well, true,” he agreed, a crooked grin splitting his face, “but I’d just as soon surrender out of blind terror. You’ve quite a temper, my lady, and…”

“And?” she prompted, tilting her head expectantly.

He didn’t answer.

“Adrien?” she asked, turning around to look at him.

Where he’d been standing a moment before, there was a blank expanse of sand.

Marinette swore loudly, ripping the vine off of her shoulders and tying a swift knot around a tree, wrapping the other end around her wrist and clenched hand, springing immediately into the bare earth.

Snow sand, a variety of dry quicksand, is found only under very specific conditions.

The Guilderian Fire Swamp has these conditions in abundance.

The finest grains of sand, silky and innumerable, were tossed and tumbled by the jets of marsh gas that wove under the hardened crust that composed the majority of the surface. Anywhere the ground was looser or lighter, it was fluffed up by these vents—anywhere it was thicker, they tended to result in flame spurts.

Moving through the snow sand didn’t feel like swimming, or even falling; it felt like floating. Eyes squeezed shut, a sailor’s lungful of air to hold, vine wrapped around her wrist, Marinette moved blindly through the powder. She’d dived in like an arrow, and though Adrien had doubtless been vertical while entering, he would know to spread himself flat as quickly as possible—or at least, she hoped he knew.

She swept her arms wide, feeling desperately for the slightest hint of her beloved. Did he have enough air? Had he kept his eyes shut? What if she found him and he couldn’t be saved? Had she come so far just to lose him now?

Her fingers brushed something hard and smooth, and she reflexively snatched it up, only to drop it as though scalded.

It was a hand, distinctly human, desiccated and detached from whatever pour soul had fallen into the snow sand’s pitiless grasp.

Gross. Gross, gross, gross gross gross.

She had to find Adrien. Immediately.

As though summoned by her renewed resolve, Marinette’s searching hands found something soft and warm, heavy and familiar. She drew him to her chest, pulling the vine in her other hand taut, wrapping it around her forearm as she hauled them both to the surface.

She broke into the open air with a dry gasp, Adrien’s head slightly ahead of hers. She pushed him onto solid ground as her legs kicked uselessly for traction, eventually flipping herself onto the mulch beside him. She brushed the sand impatiently from her eyelashes, breathing hard through her nose to dispel what had accumulated around her nostrils.

Adrien was lying still, his entire face caked in snow sand.

Marinette swore again, swiping what she could from his eyes and nose with one hand, while the other felt for a pulse at his throat. She sagged in relief when she found one, and felt the ragged breath in his chest.

She opened his mouth to check for any sand, finding it mercifully empty, though she could see a few grains in the back of his throat. He must have inhaled through his nose at some point, which explained the sound of his breathing.

She bent his left knee, drawing his left arm up towards his face, and rolled him gently onto his side, thumping him between the shoulder blades with the heel of her hand.

Adrien came awake with a deep cough, a plume of sand blossoming from his mouth as he hacked and convulsed with the effort. He opened his eyes as it subsided, a sliver of green amidst crusty blond lashes, a muddy tongue flicking over his chapped lips.

“Marinette?” he croaked, reaching for her automatically, his hand shaking as it curled into hers.

“Shh,” she hushed him, brushing the hair away from his face. “You’re alright. I’ve got you. Can you close your eyes for a minute?”

He did as she bade, probably more out of exhaustion than compliance, and she drew the canteen from her belt, pouring a slow trickle across his face. His expression screwed up as it passed over his eyes, and he licked his lips again on instinct. Without the sand in the way, his face was pale as a sheet, and Marinette rubbed comforting circles on his back as he wheezed on the ground.

“Thirsty,” he managed after she had finished cleaning his face. She helped him sit up, and after having him gargle and rinse, he took a long draught of water.

“Alright?” she murmured as he lowered the canteen. He nodded in response, dull eyes flickering to hers. He lifted his hands to her face, brushing the sand from her cheeks with shaking fingers. She laughed at him for being worried about her when he’d almost died, but closed her eyes obligingly beneath his ministrations.

“Thought I’d lost you,” she told him while he swept at her jaw, pressing her forehead against his with a small sigh. Her heart rate was only just beginning to slow.

“Doesn’t feel too great, huh?” he rasped, his voice still raw from the sand and coughing.

She felt a fresh wave of remorse for her actions over the past few years. “I’m so sorry I put you through that,” she whispered, opening her eyes. “I thought… I thought you loved her. I thought you were happier without me. Marquis of Carabas, free of his childhood fling, off to conquer the world. I couldn’t begrudge you that, no matter how much it hurt.”

“Chloé came to me and said I could either marry her or die,” said Adrien. “Honestly at that point I was pretty ready to die, but she set your parents up with a castle in Carabas, and I never had to pretend I cared about her or anything, so I figured hell, why not? Just because I’d never be happy again didn’t mean I had to take everyone else down with me.”

“I had my parents moved yesterday,” Marinette confided with a small smile. “I sent some of my crew to pick them up. They’re all set up with a little house in Guilder, never have to work a day in their lives again. Provided they believed I was alive, I guess.”

“I’m sure they did,” said Adrien, returning her smile. “They never really accepted it. We got the news and I just sort of… shut down, but they didn’t buy it. Your mother especially.”

“We’re a stubborn sort,” she said softly. She didn’t like the way he was talking; he was blaming himself for believing she had died. “Adrien, listen: It’s not your fault. None of this is your fault. You did the best you could, you stayed alive—I’m the one who jumped to conclusions and left you all to fend for yourselves while I was off gallivanting across the seven seas.”

“You say that like it was easy,” he whispered, “but I can’t even imagine… if I had been in your place, and—and I came back to find you’d all moved on, that you were engaged to someone else—”

His voice broke, and she pressed her forehead into his more firmly.

“It wasn’t easy,” she admitted, because he needed to know that she cared. That she hadn’t just run off and abandoned him like his father, or gotten over him as quickly as she’d assumed he’d gotten over her. “When we got the news, I… it felt like I might as well have died, like what was the point? If I wasn’t doing anything worthwhile, if no one needed me, if I was just existing to be forgotten—”

“No one could forget you,” he broke in.

“That’s sweet,” she told him with a smile, “but grossly overestimates my significance. Not everyone is as aware of me as you are, you know.”

“They should be,” said Adrien, unapologetic, “but I’m sorry, I interrupted.”

“Well, I decided I was just going to be the best pirate I could be.” She shrugged, trying to play it off in spite of herself. He needed to hear it, and she probably needed to say it, but—it was hard to talk about. Just thinking about it had put a weight in her chest. “It was really the only way forward I could see. I’d… if I was never going to be with you, then I’d just take whatever road was at my feet. I had informants keep an eye on you, and my parents. I did what I could to make sure you were all safe. I hadn’t needed to get involved personally until yesterday.”

“You didn’t give up,” he murmured.

“On you? Of course I did,” she disagreed with a small, bitter laugh.

“No,” said Adrien, “on… living. On finding a way for yourself. I just did what other people told me, but you kept moving and learning and getting better and better. I only got prettier, and sadder.”

“It helped that I could still look out for you,” Marinette admitted quietly. “That I could still do things for you. Even when I was hurting, when I was so mad I wanted to turn up at the palace and scream at you—it helped that I knew I could. You didn’t have that.”

He shrugged, not meeting her eyes, swallowing thickly. They were so close she could hear the rasp in his throat.

“Besides,” she went on, voice growing a little stronger, “from what I hear, you were learning quite a lot. You weren’t just getting prettier and sadder. They were teaching you etiquette and politics and all that.”

“It’s not like I cared about it,” he laughed. “I know like six different ways to bow. It’s useless.”

“I certainly didn’t care about the things I was learning,” she told him. “I think we both did our best with our worst case scenario. We believed terrible things of each other, and—well—went a little off the rails, emotionally speaking, but we did our best. We tried our hardest. Sometimes all that meant was getting up in the morning, or eating enough, but… we did it. We made it, and now we have each other.”

The smile he gave her was radiant.

“We have each other,” he echoed breathlessly, returning her earlier pressure on his forehead. His eyes were half-closed, and Marinette’s own were having a hard time remaining open. Her blinks were slow and languid, lids heavy simply from his proximity.

The second kiss since their reunion was unlike the first, which had ultimately been a joyous affair, overflowing with emotion and affection and a fair amount of tears.

The second was slow, and sad, and carried the weight of what they had been through, the sharing of a burden they could never fully express.

Remorse heavy on the back of her tongue, Marinette pressed against Adrien’s chapped lips with a wordless catalogue of her every transgression. The years she’d spent doubting him, or cursing his name, or even wishing they had never met at all. The lies she had told him through her silence, the fate she’d led him to believe she’d met, the blindness she’d inflicted on him under the hands of his kidnappers.

This kiss was a question, an appeal for forgiveness she knew she didn’t deserve.

Forgiveness she received anyway.

Adrien sighed into the kiss like he was the one who needed absolution, so ready to welcome her back with open arms and an open heart that still showed the scars she had left. Her guilt beat into her with each thrum of her pulse, eating away at her, pulling her away from the beautiful creature before her. He deserved so much better than what she had put him through on the basis of an assumption—she left him with his own assumptions, to believe her dead and gone.

She began to draw away, opening eyes that had fallen shut and meeting Adrien’s gaze. She stilled at the weight of it, at the guilt she saw mirrored there, the desperation for her understanding, the strangled adoration he could never suppress. He followed after her, asking his own questions, seeking his own forgiveness.

She was only too ready to give it.

▬▬▬▬▬▬▬▬▬▬▬▬▬▬▬▬▬▬▬▬▬▬▬▬▬▬▬▬▬▬▬▬▬▬▬▬▬▬▬▬▬▬

“I’ve had it,” Chloé announced, reigning in the great white horse beneath her.

“Had what, Your Highness?” asked the Countess, almost absently. Her eyes were trained on her hounds, milling about the corpse they’d discovered.

“It,” said Chloé, throwing her hands in the air. “We’ve been at this for hours. Do they have the scent or not, Lila? We’ll never find him at this rate!”

“They have the scent,” said the Countess. She dismounted to inspect the body alongside her dogs, pulling off the silver cowl to reveal a shock of silver hair, and blue eyes clouded by death. “So this is the great Papillon. He’s not much in person, is he?”

“He looks to have been awfully tall,” said one of their guards, when she looked to him for an answer. He seemed nervous to even speak in the presence of the Countess and Princess Chloé.

“No one’s tall when they’re laid out,” said Countess Rossi with a disinterested sigh. “It’s a pity. I would have liked to take at least one for questioning.”

“There’s still whoever’s got my fiancé,” Chloé supplied with a sour pout.

“True,” the Countess agreed, brightening. “And if the forensics are to be believed, they’re even better than those we’ve passed. We might be in for a truly glorious bout of scientific discovery, Your Highness.”

“Let’s focus on catching them first, shall we?”

The Countess hummed thoughtfully.

“They’re heading into the fire swamp,” she said, pointing ahead of her baying hounds where they whined and paced to resume the chase. “Take a portion of the guard around to the other end.”

“Excuse me?” said the Princess, voice dangerously sweet. While the Countess was the closest thing she had to a friend, station was not to be forgotten, and she was not to be spoken to that way.

“I humbly suggest,” said the Countess, with a bow a little too elaborate to be anything but sarcastic, “that Your Highness and the most dedicated of her retinue move to cut off the escape of the fiend which has most recently stolen her beloved.”

“You should learn to curtsey,” said the Princess, signaling the guard to accompany her as she wheeled around to face the far end of the Fire Swamp. The Countess smiled. The Princess tended to criticize that sort of thing only when she had nothing else to complain about.

“I know how to curtsey,” said the Countess, “but it’s rather difficult when one’s not wearing skirts.”

“Perhaps I’ll have some better dresses made for you,” said the Princess.

The Countess stayed a while with her hounds, sousing out the order of events. Whoever they were tracking, whatever their motive: They were a fearsome warrior.

▬▬▬▬▬▬▬▬▬▬▬▬▬▬▬▬▬▬▬▬▬▬▬▬▬▬▬▬▬▬▬▬▬▬▬▬▬▬▬▬▬▬

“Ow!” said Marinette, clutching at her forehead where it had banged painfully into a low-hanging branch.

“Are you okay?” asked Adrien from behind her, chuckling. She turned a half-hearted scowl his way, sticking out her tongue.

“I’m fine,” she grumbled, “just got a bit distracted, is all.”

“By?”

“I was… checking for snow sand.”

The look he gave her was deeply skeptical. “Be honest: Were you thinking about me?”

She blushed in spite of herself. “No.”

“Oh my god, you were,” he said delightedly, brightening.

“Nope! No!”

“My lady, I’m flattered, but do watch where you’re going, won’t you? You can’t very well kiss me if you’ve knocked yourself unconscious.”

“Can’t very well kiss you if I’ve knocked you unconscious either,” she threatened weakly, laughing as he wrapped his arms around her waist. She leaned back against his chest, looking up at him over one shoulder.

“I’m sorry,” he said, though he grinned unapologetically in her face, “I didn’t think you were really thinking about me. I was curious.”

“You know what they say about curiosity,” she muttered, poking his nose with her own.

“Well hey, if it can kill smoke cats, we’ve got it made.”

“Maybe we won’t see any smoke cats,” Marinette suggested hopefully. The one she’d seen earlier could have been a fluke. “Maybe they’ll know better than to bother with us.”

“Maybe we’ll get lucky!” said Adrien, almost as if he believed it.

“When have we ever gotten lucky,” she groaned.

“We’re together again, aren’t we?” he pointed out with a grin. “That’s all the evidence I need.”

“Well, if that’s luck, I think it’s safe to say we’ve taken more than our fair share,” said Marinette. She stretched up, kissing his chin before wriggling free of his arms, walking a few steps ahead of him.

“Considering all the bad luck, I’d say we’ve yet to break even,” he disagreed with a faint chuckle. “I suppose meeting each other at all was quite a stroke of fortune, but the things we’ve had to put up with…! It’s ridiculous. We’re owed a bit of a respite from bloodthirsty wildcats, don’t you think?”

“The way we’re talking, it’s more likely we’ve jinxed it,” said Marinette, laughing.

“What, like I’m just going to turn around and there’ll be a smoke cat?” he scoffed, spinning on his heel and swinging his arms in an exaggerated double take. He then paused, doing an actual double take. “Oh. Uh.”

“Don’t tell me.”

“We might have a, uh—problem.”

Marinette sighed, turning back, find Adrien locked in a staring contest with a reasonably small smoke cat, the former grimacing, the latter bristling.

“Shit, are—are you not supposed to look them in the eye? Is it like a dominance thing?” he asked Marinette, taking a nervous step back but not breaking the stare.

“I don’t know!” she groaned. “It doesn’t seem to be attacking, so maybe it’s just gonna let us pass? I’m sure it doesn’t want trouble any more than we do.”

“It’s so little… It’s like actually cat-sized. I thought they were supposed to be as big as lions,” murmured Adrien, edging back closer to her side.

“Yes, it’s adorable, now let’s get out of here before—”

Marinette’s words broke off in a startled yelp as she was suddenly pitched forward, twisting awkwardly mid-fall so that she landed on her left shoulder instead of her sword. Her back erupted in pain as something hooked and long and sharp sliced through her shirt and skin. Hot blood ran down her spine like sweat. She skidded across the crust of leaves and fungus, leaving a trail of smooth orange foxfire to illuminate her assailant: A colossal smoke cat, as long as Marinette was tall, with blazing yellow eyes and a furious snarl contorting its face.

Adrien squeaked, half a step closer to Marinette than he had been. The smoke cat’s glare flickered to him, and then back.

“Okay,” Marinette breathed, now locked in a staring contest of her own. Very, very slowly, she began to lift herself up with her free hand, turning so her saber was between her and the smoke cat. “Don’t move.”

The smoke cat hissed and spat, swiping at the toe of her boot. Every piece of fur on its body was standing on end, its bottlebrush tail out stiff behind it.

“Are you okay? What do we do?” Adrien whispered, frozen as he awaited instructions.

“Check and make sure your face isn’t bleeding.”

“What?”

“Please!” she pleaded, rocking slowly onto the balls of her feet, her knees resting against the ground with the barest pressure.

He obliged, his fingers coming away a little sandy, but dry. “Okay, I’m not bleeding. Now what?”

“Now go stand by that tree,” breathed Marinette, pulling a dagger about the length of her forearm from her baldric with her left hand. It glistened in the light of the foxfire too, much cleaner than her saber, which was coated in grime from their journey. Her back burned as she moved, muscles stinging where claws had torn through. “And maybe cover your ears.”

“What—” he started to ask, but Marinette lunged before he could finish, slashing the smoke cat’s parrying swipe with a backhanded twist of the dagger, what would have been a clean slice turning ragged at its recoil. Screaming in pain and fury, the smoke cat reared backwards, momentarily bipedal as it lurched away from a low thrust of the saber. Marinette swore as, having committed to the attack, she stumbled forward, losing precious seconds regaining her balance.

She struck again with the dagger, carving another piece of the smoke cat’s forelimb away. Tatters of bloodied skin and flesh dangled like ribbons from the joint of its wrist, and Marinette saw the white flash of sinew as it continued to hammer feverishly against her. She rolled her own wrist, securing her grip on the saber for another attack, eyes flicking to Adrien to make sure he was safe.

He hadn’t moved to the tree.

…She had gotten a little too used to people following her orders.

She let out a frustrated huff of breath as she rammed the saber forward and upwards, into what would have been the smoke cat’s ribcage—if it hadn’t sprung over her head.

It twisted acrobatically in the air above her, dripping gore across her outstretched arms, and landed on all four paws, only for its front right to collapse under the strain. It didn’t cry out, but the dulling of its eyes betrayed the pain. Marinette flashed it a fierce, victorious grin, daring it to attack again.

The smaller smoke cat, the one they had first seen, was now at the larger’s back, and was watching with wide yellow eyes, kneading at the branch it was perched on with eager claws that looked more like talons against the pale wood.

Marinette swore again, taking a pace to the right to get between the smoke cats and Adrien, who was watching somewhat anxiously, unwilling to cower but unsure how to help.

“There’s too much blood,” she told him, voice strained. “There’ll be more.”

“More blood?” asked Adrien, audibly gulping.

“More smoke cats,” she corrected. “Any of them that can smell it. They frenzy. Like sharks.”

“At least they’re not like eels,” he muttered. She heard him shift behind her, but couldn’t afford to turn around and see what he was doing.

Her shirt was sticking to her back as the blood soaked through the fabric, and her baldric sat heavily against the edge of one wound, chafing the broken skin. It’s just pain, Marinette reminded herself, settling lower into her fighting stance, it’s just your body complaining. She buried the sensation in the back of her mind, focusing instead on the memory of Adrien’s touch, gentle and soothing. Her heart was still beating frantically in her chest, but her breathing was deep and even. Panic and adrenaline made for clumsy mistakes, which she could ill afford.

The smoke cat tried to circle her, but as it moved she lunged once again, unwilling to make Adrien a closer target, even if the smoke cat wouldn’t attack him. It leapt onto its hind legs as she approached, surging forward with its claws splayed wide.

They met over the bare patch of foxfire where its initial pounce had landed her, the already disturbed leaf litter flying under their feet as they collided. Rather than using her saber, she pressed her advantage, slamming into the smoke cat with the full weight of her body. It yowled at the unexpected move, and they tumbled to the ground with their arms on either side of one another.

Marinette’s saber was jarred from her grip as her elbow hit the ground, but she kept a hold of the dagger, which had buried itself partway in the ground. As she yanked it free a spurt of flame burst into life, and she and the smoke cat instinctively rolled away from it, putting her saber out of her reach.

The smoke cat was slashing uselessly at her shoulder with its ruined paw, its left pinioned between them. As they rolled it managed to work it free, immediately scouring the side of her arm. Marinette bit down on the scream, forcing the pain away again; her left arm still worked, that was all that mattered. They stopped rolling as the flame spurt died, the smoke cat pinning her with its weight, snapping awkwardly as it tried to work its neck into a manageable position to rip out her throat.

With all the strength she could muster lying on her back, Marinette slammed the dagger in her hand into the smoke cat’s stomach.

It choked above her, yellow eyes widening as it wrenched away, taking the dagger with it. She struggled under its weight, still pinned, her right arm burning and numb all at once, her left still free. She pounded its side with a fist, trying to find the hilt of her dagger without being able to see it. The smoke cat reared its head back like a serpent poised to strike, and Marinette reached up to squeeze its ruined forearm, trying to loosen its hold as its teeth flashed above her.

There was a horribly wet tearing sound, and suddenly everything was hot and coppery and dark, and she couldn’t breathe—

“Marinette!” Adrien’s voice broke through, hoarse from stress and their earlier misadventures in the snow sand. The weight of the smoke cat vanished abruptly, and suddenly she could breathe again, and see again, and Adrien was kneeling over her and his hands were covered in blood, and he looked so distressed that it might well have been his.

“Please,” he was saying, begging, and she blinked up at him, “please, Marinette—”

“What?” she whispered, struggling into a sitting position, pushing herself up with her left hand, mindful of her wounded back. “What is it? Are you alright?”

He relaxed immediately, closing his eyes as he let out a shuddering breath. He bowed his head to press against her hand, which he clutched with both of his, and through the icy coldness of her fingers she felt the warmth of his breath.

“Am I hurt,” he murmured into her palm. “You’re lying on the ground, half ripped to shreds, and you ask if I’m hurt.”

“Are you?” she pressed, anxiously, fingers flexing weakly against him. She could feel the agonizing burn in her upper arm, but if she compartmentalized it, she wouldn’t be able to feel his hands around hers.

“I’m fine,” said Adrien, a little miserably. “I’ve never been so scared in my entire life, but I’m not actually injured.”

She looked around, piecing together what had happened as she scooped up a handful of dirt and began rubbing it vigorously into her wounds. The smoke cat lay a few feet away, her saber buried in its ribs, the smaller smoke cat cautiously circling as it tried to decide whether or not to approach the carcass.

Adrien had recovered the saber while she was pinned.

Adrien had saved her.

“Thank you,” she told him, looking back to find him frowning at her arm.

“What are you doing?” he demanded, ignoring her gratitude. She grabbed another fistful of mulch and rubbed it into the fabric of her shirt itself. “You’re going to get an infection!”

“Better than bleeding to death,” she countered with a breathy laugh. “Besides—we can’t walk around here reeking of blood.”

“Oh,” said Adrien, releasing her hand and getting to his feet, moving behind her, “the frenzying.”

“Right,” she said, fighting not to twitch as he began to press dirt into the wounds at her back. “That smoke cat should distract them for now.”

Adrien made an unpleasant noise in the back of his throat, dusting off his hands as best he could and standing back up. He helped Marinette to her feet more delicately than strictly necessary, steadying her with a hand against the small of her back. She rolled her eyes at him fondly, earning a broad wink in return.

Adrien set about dislodging her saber and dagger while Marinette scrounged up some lichen from a nearby tree, scrubbing halfheartedly at the drying blood on her uninjured skin.

“Are you sure you’re okay?” Adrien asked softly, returning to her side with blades in hand. He’d wiped them somewhat clumsily on the fur of the dead smoke cat, but it was enough that she could clean them with the lichen and sheathe the dagger. “We can rest a while.”

“I’ll be alright,” she promised, smiling up at him as reassuringly as she could. “Besides, I don’t want to wait around and watch them cannibalize each other—or be stuck here when it gets dark. We should keep going.”

“Alright,” he murmured, eyes lingering on her injuries. His eyes were duller than usual, though not as dull as they had been when she’d first seen him that morning. He looked sick and scared and haunted, and it pulled at Marinette’s heart in unexpected ways.

“I’m sorry for scaring you,” she said, stepping in closer and wrapping her arms around his waist. She pressed her face into his chest, breathing in the smell of him, avoiding his eyes with renewed guilt. Was she ever going to stop breaking his heart?

He leaned his forehead against the top of her head, arms hovering carefully over hers to avoid her injuries. “It’s okay,” he whispered. “I’m sorry I couldn’t—that I didn’t—I’m so sorry. I couldn’t protect you.”

“Could too,” she mumbled into his shirt, rubbing her nose playfully under his vest. “That would have gone much worse without you, Adrien.”

“I’m still sorry,” he said.

“Me too.”

They walked in silence for a time, Adrien taking the lead now that Marinette was injured, following her directions through the swamp. They were filthy and exhausted, but Marinette hadn’t been so optimistic in years; they were together again. Nothing could stop them if they were together.

They reached the edge of the fire swamp in the early evening, before the sky darkened but after the temperature had cooled, and together breathed a sigh of relief. The trees began to thin, and the reek of the marsh gas dissipated, and the world seemed somehow lighter in the balmy air.

“My ship is waiting in the bay,” said Marinette with a weary smile. “Admittedly I was planning on going around, but we did alright, all things considered. Didn’t we?”

“We lived,” he acceded, laughing faintly. He was swaying on his feet, still staring at her like she was the only thing he wanted to look at. Her smile widened, and she leaned in, pressing a brief kiss to his cheek.

“Excuse me!”

They sprang apart at the sharp shriek, Marinette pointing her saber automatically at the shrill sound, Adrien reaching instinctively for a sword at his empty belt. Marinette, searching for the source of the noise, found herself facing a small army, headed by two very fine women, in very fine dress, on very fine horses.

The first, evidently the originator of the scream, was sitting sidesaddle on an enormous white stallion, and looked absolutely furious. Her long blonde hair was pulled into an elegant braid, her blue eyes were flashing with rage and indignation, and her lily pale hands were clutching the reins so hard her knuckles were white as bone. She wore a dress of loose, flowing gold that accented the color of her hair, and shone in the sunlight against her horse’s fur. Even in this alien setting, she looked like the princess she was.

The second was significantly calmer; the only indication of displeasure was her pursed, painted lips, and a disdainful light in her eyes. Where the first woman’s face was soft and even naïve under her fury, this second woman was sharp and keen and intelligent. Marinette perceived more of her countenance than her outfit, registering only that she wore browns and reds, practical breeches, and leather gloves over six-fingered hands.

“You’re excused,” said Marinette to the first woman with a genial smile. She did not lower her blade. Her free arm (the injured one) snaked around Adrien’s waist, drawing him closer to her side protectively.

The Princess’s eyes bulged. “That happens to be my fiancé you’ve got your grubby little hands on!”

“Oh, really?” drawled Marinette. “And here I’d scooped him off a bloodthirsty crowd of criminals. I would expect one to keep a better eye on their fiancé than that, wouldn’t you?”

“Surrender,” hissed Chloé from her seat, face beginning to turn red. “Or prepare to die.”

Marinette laughed. “Die,” she said back, her left hand flexing around the saber’s hilt, “Or prepare to surrender.”

She heard more than saw the archers taking up a flanking position; the sound of crossbows cocking was unmistakable, even over the distant sounds of the fire swamp. Beside her, Adrien was looking around wildly, but Marinette kept her eyes trained on the Princess, watching the Countess in her peripheral vision.

“I will not repeat myself again,” said the Princess, in her shrill, angry voice, “Surrender!”

“Nor will I,” said Marinette, “Die!”

“Wait!” yelled Adrien beside her, his voice cracking at the sudden volume. Everyone—Pirate, Princess, and Countess alike—stopped and looked at him. His face was drawn with anxiety, his scab from the eels crusting over, particles of sand still dusting his scalp—and, as ever, he was beautiful.

“For what?” demanded the Princess, scowling down at him.

“Will you—will you promise not to hurt her?” croaked Adrien.

“What?” asked Chloé.

“What?” asked the Countess.

“What?” asked Marinette.

“If we surrender,” he clarified, licking his lips, “if I go back with you, will you promise not to hurt her?”

“She kidnapped you!” said Chloé, gaping between them.

“She rescued me,” he corrected. He leaned further against Marinette’s side, his warmth radiating throughout her—almost enough to thaw the chill of her disbelief. “Please, Your Highness—we were children together, and she means a great deal to me, and I ask your mercy. As—as thanks, for my safe return.”

Chloé frowned down at him, looking Marinette over as if trying to come up with a way to articulate her disgust.

“The Princess is not renowned for her mercy,” said the Countess, raising one eyebrow.

“All the more reason to exercise it here,” said Adrien. The desperation in his voice was palpable. “It’s—it’s a great story, isn’t it? The noble princess following her fiancé across the channel, rewarding his rescuer? The commoners would think so highly of you, Your Highness.”

Chloé looked pensive. “They would love that,” she mused, smiling faintly.

“There’s a hitch,” Marinette interjected, heart pounding in her chest. “You can’t very well bring me along, Adrien. I’m a pirate.” To say nothing of the romantic competition she so obviously posed.

“You’ll be safe,” said Adrien. “They’ll get you some medical attention. You will, won’t you?” He turned pleading green eyes to Chloé, swallowing thickly. “Promise?”

“Of course,” she said primly. “We wouldn’t want our dashing friend here to succumb to her injuries.”

Marinette narrowed her eyes.

“They’ll take you back to your ship, and—and grant you a pardon,” Adrien continued, looking back to Marinette. He looked so scared. “You’ll be safe.”

“And what about you?” she asked softly. “You’ll go back to Florin City and marry the Princess? We’re speaking of love, here.”

“I can live without love,” said Adrien. He pulled away from her grip, crossing the short gap to Chloé’s side. She helped him climb in the saddle behind her, smiling primly, her earlier rage vanished.

“See to it that her wounds are tended immediately,” she bade the Countess.

“Of course, Your Highness,” said the Countess, bowing her head respectfully.

“I thank you for the return of my fiancé,” said Chloé to Marinette, her eyes flashing so smugly and victoriously that Marinette felt like the smoke cat she and Adrien had defeated earlier. “You are of course invited to the wedding.”

They rode away, most of the horsemen following in their wake.

Adrien didn’t look back.

Marinette’s shoulders slumped as she watched them go, all the fight running out of her, her heart chasing after the fading silhouette of everything she’d ever wanted.

“Well now,” said the Countess, her sharp voice piercing Marinette’s reverie like a blade. “Come along. We must return you to your ship.”

“Spare me at least your lies,” said Marinette, rolling her eyes. “You’ve about as little intention to return me as I have to buy them a wedding present.”

“Truth, then,” said the Countess, spurring her horse forward a few paces, so that Marinette had to tilt her head back to keep her eye. The black and tan hounds swarmed around them, some whimpering excitedly. “I hope you enjoyed your time in the Guilderian Fire Swamp. I guarantee you that you’ll soon look back on it fondly as a deeply relaxing experience.”

“Are nobles naturally this dramatic, or do you have to take a class?” Marinette asked innocently.

The Countess gave an audible sigh, and clubbed Marinette with the pommel of her sword.

Her vision swam, and Marinette swayed on her feet and crumbled backwards into darkness.

#miraculous ladybug #clare's writing #the dread pirate ladybug

10 notes · View notes

haleashcroft-blog · 7 years

Text

Challenge 001 - Q&A

Date: September 3

Location: Santa Cruz Police Station

Closed

The crisp air of the air-conditioned police station caressed his skin, forcing flesh to raise with unwelcome goosebumps. Apparently, those charged with maintaining a comfortable temperature for the station had not noticed the shorter days finally succumbing to the persuasion of the changing season, or perhaps they did it on purpose, discomfort was a telltale sign of guilt and many would say anything – even the truth – to escape such an uneasy environment.

“Mr. Ashcroft,” an authoritative voice belonging to whom Hale assumed was the lead detective brought his attention away from the trivial thoughts entertaining the motivations behind the too-cold temperature and back to the present situation. A nod confirmed his identity to the stranger as a friendly smile spread over his features. He was used to wearing a mask of innocence, hiding the guilt of his past crimes behind the fun loving nature of a fool. No one questioned someone deemed unworthy of the intelligence of malice associated with murder.

“Please follow me,” the man said before moving further into the station. Hale allowed himself to be led through the short maze of hallways making up the station, restricting his posture to one of relaxation and ease under the scrutiny of those populating the precinct.

The interrogation room was both exactly what he expected and nothing like he expected. Despite the cold walls enclosing the lonely table and chairs in the middle of the linoleum floor, the room held a warmth to it that could only be achieved by the presence of chosen company. The detective gestured to the chair facing the mirrored wall, politely inviting him to take a seat.

Watching as the man took out a pen and notepad, Hale attempted to keep his hands from fidgeting on the cold table. Calloused fingertips longed to dance across the table if only to release some of the excess energy thrumming through his veins with the threat of exposure.

“Okay, Hale, your last name is Ashcroft, A S H C R O F T?” Another nod met the detective’s inquiry, the smile previous stretched across his face fading a bit under the intimidation of a simple question. “And your date of birth is April 3rd, 1981?” Another affirming nod pulled his chin up and down with a quick motion.

“Describe your night at the fundraiser.” The detective began.

Folded hands unfurled to twist his fidgeting fingers together, tracing the cracked lines of dried knuckles. “It was a pretty normal night until well… you know.” He said, gesturing vaguely to the heavy tension invading the atmosphere surrounding the pair. “I went to the fundraiser with my boyfriend and girlfriend –“

“Audra Velasquez and Leyton Velasquez?” the detective interrupted. Hale nodded and the detective signaled for him to continue his story.

“Anyway, I went to the fundraiser with my boyfriend and girlfriend. Everyone was drinking, judging each other, not as dramatic as Real Housewives but the same general atmosphere when you put a bunch of people who hate each other but are still trying to impress each other together.” A shrug moved through his muscular frame, signifying the absence of any crucial information pertaining to Clara’s murder.

“Did you see anything suspicious?” The man asked, attempting to obtain more details of the night.

A slight shake his head only seemed to bring more scrutiny. “Not really,” Hale asserted, noting the curious gaze that met his vague words. “Her and her husband – Dalton - were getting into it at some point, caught a few people’s attention…” he trailed off, knowing he was directing any suspicion toward the man who, most likely, bore no more guilt than Hale. “I don’t know what they were fighting about but Dalton seemed pretty upset. Not beat the shit out of my wife upset… but I guess you never really know what will set a person off.”

Satisfied with Hale’s answer, the detective continued his questions without looking up from the chicken scratch scrawled across the notepad. “Where were you at approximately 11 pm?”

Hale looked at the man with raised eyebrows. “Do I look like the kind of guy who wears a watch?”

The deadpan look painting the man’s expression showed his dissatisfaction with Hale’s answer.

“I don’t know,” Hale relented, genuine ignorance underlying every inflection. “I wasn’t keeping track of time. I spent most of the night with Leyton and Audra, so I was probably with them or avoiding the company of some of Santa Cruz moms.”

The man’s doubtful gaze showed just how much he believed Hale, but Hale refused to reveal more details.

“You’re rather new in town. Had you encountered Ms. Caldwell before?” Yet another nod answered his inquiry. “What was your relationship like?” he continued when Hale offered no more information.

“We didn’t talk,” he said, knowing even the vaguest form of the truth would indict him. “Honestly, I don’t know if I’ve ever had a full conversation with her. She spent most of her time glaring at me if I ever managed to cross her path; not exactly an invitation for friendly conversation.”

“Can you think of anyone who might want to hurt Clara?”

“She wasn’t exactly well liked,” Hale said, knowing that anyone in the town could easily take blame for the crimes committed against Clara. “But I don’t think anyone really is. Anyone who has spent more than five minutes in this town can see how much the people hate each other. They won’t say it to your face, but they all talk about it with each other at book club. I mean, I got here six months ago and it only took people a week to start whispering. It’s a small town, that’s just how things go.”

“What do you mean by that?”

Hale sat back in his chair, allowing the previous tension to seep from in limbs in an attempt to once again appear uncaring and relaxed despite the detective’s scrutiny. “I mean that people being awful to one another is kind of the norm here, and Clara was the queen bee. Yeah, it doesn’t typically go as far as murder, but if you’re looking for someone with a motive then you’re going to find a lot of someones. Clara pissed off a lot of people from what I understand.”

“Clara’s campaign against the Velasquez family begun just as you arrived. Do you ever hold yourself responsible?”

A small intake of breath, vile and sour on his tongue, stuttered between his lips in an inaudible sign of surprise. Regret and grief alike dug beneath his skin, spreading through his veins and seizing his heart at the detective’s blunt question. “Responsible?” The words fell from his lips without permission, echoing through the stagnant air of the interrogation room. “Are you fucking kidding me?”

Of course he held himself responsible. Yet despite the glares and slurs thrown by those who deemed his relationship with Audra and Leyton as something sinful, Hale could never regret his decision to stay in Santa Cruz.

“What we have… Yeah, it’s not exactly the cookie cutter family Santa Cruz prides itself on producing, but that doesn’t make it wrong. People just don’t understand it, and Clara was one of those people; I’m not going to hold that against her. Yeah, she was awful to me, but she was awful to everyone.”

The skeptical gaze running over his vulnerable words with the careful consideration only an investigator could possess made a heavy weight of unease settle in Hale’s gut. The cracks of vague details and unanswered questions fracturing his story were obvious beneath the harsh light of the interrogation room, and Hale had no doubt the detective could see every defect in his statement.

“Thank you for your cooperation, Mr. Ashcroft.” The detective finally said. "We'll be in touch."

#lwlchallenge #i: self #//this was written during finals so be gentle

3 notes · View notes

gotospageddiekaspbrak · 8 years

Text

One More Time (Newt x Reader)

One More Time (Newt x Reader) -Angst

Summary: You were in love with Newt from the moment you met him, but he was unavailable to you. So you settled for being best friends. Newt has a bad habit of saying I love you to you and nothing pissed you off more.

Word Count: 2520 - I know short haha :)) -

Characters: Reader, Newt, Alby, Thomas, Winston, Gally, Chuck Teresa, Minho, Ben, Frypan, and Aiden (OC)

Warnings: light swearing, homophobia, gayness, character death, use of gun, slight gore, implied mentions of sex, and slight pyromania

Author's Note: I know this took me forever because I'm a shitty person and a procrastinator plus I mean I started all over again. Anyways props to @writing-obrien to helping me edit and for being literally the best person ever.

I remember the day I fell for him vividly. There was a huge bonfire in the name of my arrival in the glade. While on the tour Alby had told me a big bonfire was befitting of such a beautiful girl. I had blushed. That was back when I took compliments without a fight. It had been the Track-hoes' turn to build the fire. The stack of wood was far above my head, towering over most of my fellow Gladers as well.

It was massive. Just as Alby finished giving me the tour, Minho lit the timber. I watched as the logs burst into dancing flames. I couldn't help but admire the red-orange blaze curling up the wood. The flames ate it’s fuel like a hungry monster leaving black streaks in its wake. I stood still while keeping my eyes on the blaze. I felt as if I was experiencing fire for the first time all over again. For all I knew it could be my first time, my memory was just as gone as all of the boys'. I was stunned by the beauty and the comfort of this destructive element. The sight of the flames licking the wood had mesmerized me. I didn't notice how all the boys had gathered around the fire; some wrestling, some drinking, some sitting by themselves, some talking in clustered groups.

"Hey there, greenbean, you okay?" A large, calloused hand clapped down on my shoulder as a voice with an unusual accent I didn't recognize interrupted my thoughts. The gesture startled me, I jumped and spun around with my fists raised. The blonde boy backed up, putting his hands up in surrender and I sighed in relief. Putting my hands down, I smiled at the boy who I recognized from earlier, when Ben had helped me out of the box.

"Uh, yeah...it's just weird, it's like I'm seeing everything for the first time." I studied the boy's features. He had fair skin almost clear of freckles except for a few scattered on his cheekbones, jawline, and neck. His jawline was sharp, his cheekbones and collarbone were prominent as well. I wanted to reach out and see if his hair was as soft as it looked.

"You don't have to look at it from this far away, let's go experience it up close." The boy moved his hand from my shoulder onto the small of my back. He pushed me towards one of the few logs placed around the base of the bonfire. "I'm Newt, Alby's second in command."

"Oh yeah, he told me about you." Alby had described him as a kind boy with an attitude and a big presence. He wasn't wrong. The second in command gave off a gentle vibe layered with sarcastic and powerful undertones.

Soon it was like we had been friends for years. It probably helped that both of us had a bit of Gally's recipe, I was almost positive it was really moonshine, to drink.

"So you're telling me that a bunch of horny teenage boys trapped in a maze without any girls never fooled around with each other?" I laughed, tipping my head back and giggling.

"Well actually," the serious nature of his tone surprised me and I snapped my head back to attention,"Um you see him?" Newt pointed out a tall boy talking with Alby, he was a brunette and his hair was swept up into a wave. "That's Aiden. We...we're kinda- we've fooled around more than once. Nothing too serious or definite but, if I'm honest with myself I think I'm gay." And that's when I knew I was in love with him. There was a sharp sting in my chest as if someone was squeezing my heart. Why else would I have felt so much pain?

"Oh." His face fell. I automatically felt a pool of guilt building in my stomach.

"Are you- are you not okay with that?" His shoulders were hunched and he looked hurt.

"No, no, no." I put my hand on his cheek, tilting his head so he could see my soft smile. "I have no problem with it. I want you to be happy whether that's with guys, girls, anyone in between, or with no one at all. If you're happy, I'm happy too." His face brightened and my stomach wrenched.

"I love you," He blurted. I let out a stiff laugh and shook my head at him.

"Don't you lie to me mister, you love that Aiden over there." I teased.

From then on we were attached at the hip. We were the best of friends. I protect him from everyone and everything while he provided me with all the comfort and generosity one could. I loved him even more for that. He was intelligent enough to tell I had feelings for him and that it was a painful topic for me. So he never brought it up or bothered me about it. I loved him even more for that.

"You're disgusting! You probably watch us all while we are changing, you shank!" The black-haired homophobe yelled in my best friend's face. I could hear him all the way from my position across the garden from where they were. I stomped over to him, latching my fingers on to his arm and yanking him down to my height.

"You leave him alone, got me?" I stuck my pointer finger in his face, the pad of my finger less than a centimeter away from his eye. I was not a force to be reckoned with and quite a few of my fellow Gladers had learned that the hard way with either a well-placed punch to the stomach or a kick to the junk in their trunks.

"But he's a fagg-" I cut the boy off.

"Oh no you don't! I'm not afraid to steal one of Winston's knives and gut you." The supposedly ‘macho’ bigot nodded his head frantically in fear. I released his arm and let him straighten up to his height which towered above mine. "Now scram!" He did as I said and trotted away with his tail between his legs.

"You're bloody terrifying." I giggled and Newt hugged me. "I love you."

"Don't lie to me." I pretend smacked his chest with a playful smile.

We were cuddling after a long day. I was curled up, my back to his chest. His arms were loosely laying around my waist and his head was on my shoulder. I was playing with a bracelet Gally had made for me with a few spare scraps of metal he had found laying around. We had been sitting in silence for what felt like hours but I didn't mind. I felt safe and water. He was warm. He was encasing me in his scent of fire and cinnamon apples. He was home.

"I love you." He broke the silence, nuzzling his face into my neck. I could feel the smile on his face. My own smile faltered for just a second and I let the tin, braided bracelet fall from my fingers.

"Don't lie to me." I murmured.

I tapped my foot impatiently. Alby was taking particularly long time opening the Box and I had the patience of a small child who had missed their nap. I wasn't the only one annoyed, the boys were excited to see their new arrival and whether it would be a girl or not. Somehow, not to my surprise, I ended up staring at the back of Newt's head. I couldn't help but wonder if he wanted the Greenie to be another girl or a boy. Probably a boy.

Whilst I was a daydreaming, the Greenie had been taken out of the Box. He was generally good looking but I didn't care for him. Newt's voice snapped me out of my trance. "I think I'm in love with the Greenie." I watched my best friend admire the new boy, his eyes traveling from the boy's brown hair, down his figure, to his feet. I swallowed.

"You got thing got a thing for brunettes, huh?" I questioned, only half joking. I studied Newt's brown eyes as they studied the greenbean.

"Apparently." We watched at the new boy broke away from the crowd gathered around him and sprinted towards the maze doors. Minho was on his heels, practically about to catch him before the Greenie tripped falling face first into the ground. I snorted.

"You know you should probably help them get him to the slammer, lover boy." I punched him on the shoulder then strolled away.

A few hours later, I was in the garden working my ass off. I had weeded every row of tomatoes and now I was working on the lettuce. I was drowning myself in the weeding, trying to keep my thoughts on anything but Newt. But it was impossible. Like trying to get a catchy song out of your head, or at least that's what I imagine it would be like. Per usual Newt's voice pulled me out of my thoughts.

"How do you know you're in love with me? I want to be sure I'm not just bullshitting myself." I sucked in a breath at his insensitivity. Then I grunted in agitation, turning to him, and slitting my eyes at him in anger. He shook his head as if it helped him to realize what he had done.

"Oh god, I'm sorry. I didn't mean it. You know I didn't. I love you." He stammered, trying to patch his mistake up as quickly as he could.

"Don't lie to me," I spat. I got up and stormed away.

I would regret refusing to talk to him later on but I didn't know what was going to happen. Thomas, the greenie, who Newt was in love with, had led our escape from the maze and into some strange lab.

We were looking around but before anyone could find anything a voice echoed through the room. "You'll all be grateful." Everyone in the room's attention jumped automatically to the speaker. It took me a second to recognize the speaker; it was Gally. His voice was so raw and coagulated blood was smeared all over his face. His whole body trembled, his mouth twitching, his eyes moving around in a jerking manner as if he couldn't control them. The tension in the room was unbreakable. Gally and Thomas were unable to break eye contact. Teresa was gripping Chuck's shoulder. Newt's eyes were on Thomas and mine were on him. Minho's hand was holding his spear tightly, ready for action.

"Gally?" It was Thomas. He had somehow suppressed his hatred for the other boy, managing to sound concerned.

"You'll be grateful for everything." His lips pressed themselves together again. The muscles around them seemed to spasm like they were trying to gain control of his mouth. Our group naturally filtered together around Thomas, even me. Before anyone could say anything, the seemingly possessed boy spoke again."It's not me.....Controlling me."

Before anyone could do a thing Gally whipped out a gun. He had it pointed at Thomas' chest and a finger on the trigger. We all watched the insane ex-Glader in front of us for the slightest bit of movement that might signal he was going to shoot.

"Gally, please. Just, please I'm begging you, just put it down Gally." Thomas' voice broke as he extended a flattened hand Gally. "You're okay Gally. I, just, I mean put the gun down."

For a second it seemed like Gally was going to listen. A twitch of his shoulder gave him away. His finger came down onto the trigger. Without thinking, I dove in front of Thomas. I wanted Newt to be happy even if it wasn't with me. Thomas makes him happy. I had to save him. I exited my thoughts just in time to hear the gunshot and feel the impact of a bullet burrowing into my side.

I heard a scream bouncing off the walls back to my ears. It took me a few seconds to realize it was mine, that configuration only happening as my body crumpled and three people gathered around me. It was Minho, Frypan, and Newt. Newt bent down slowly until he was sitting on the ground. He pulled my limp body onto his lap gingerly.

The look of utter calm on his face was contrasted by the tears streaming down, the dangerous waver in his normally confident voice, and the fear his eyes showed. His eyes were screaming at me, a desperate silent cry for help.

Everything was quiet except my wheezes and his voice. "Look at me, love. That's it. Stay with me. Darling? Look at me." His voice cracked as I stared at him blankly. I could feel his hand pressing against the gunshot wound trying to stop the blood, the other was grasping my own sweaty palm. My vision focused and unfocused making it harder for me to do as he said and keep my eyes on him.

"I....It doesn't hurt. No...no pain." I gasped. What I said was true, everything was numb. I could barely feel the warmth of his hand, the wet of his tears, or his breath fanning out over my face. I knew I was lucky. I from what I could tell I was hit in between my fifth and sixth rib. The force of the bullet had probably caused at least one of my ribs to crack. And guessing from my inability to breathe properly my lung had been either hit or penetrated causing it to collapse. I was glad I couldn't feel anything.

"Hold on, love. You'll be okay. I've got you. You're safe in my arms. Nothing can hurt you anymore." I tried to lift my free hand so I could stroke his cheek and wipe away his tears. It hurt me to see him in pain.

"Newt, I -shuck- lie to me one more time." Even if they weren't true, I wanted to hear those three words one more time before I died. A look of realization fell onto his face. Newt choked out a sob. He nodded, one of his tears dropped off his face onto mine. It ran down my face and I shivered.

"I love you." He whispered, raising our hands to my cheek. I smiled up at him, feeling blood seep in between my teeth and bubble up onto my lips like soda foaming out of a shaken can. I coughed, my body spasming. Coughs, one by one, pushing their way out of my throat. My body was spastically convulsing repeatedly like I was a fish out of water. I closed my eyes as breathing became harder and harder for me. I could think of only one thing. Say it back, say it back. His crying was fading out and so were my gasps. I could barely hear his angry, damaged scream of my name as I heaved out one last breathe.

“I love you too.”

Tags: @ohnozombiesateherbrain @writingsofawaywardnerd @writing-obrien

#Newt imagine #angst #fluff #newt X reader #the maze runner #maze runner #thomas Brodie-sangster #boy x girl #sarcastic wannabe writes #laurel writes

268 notes · View notes