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satoruxx · 4 months ago

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THE SPACE BETWEEN COMFORT AND CHAOS.

✧ PAIRING: wolf!toji fushiguro x reader | 3.7k words

✧ SUMMARY: wolfhybrid!toji, hybrid au, grumpy x sunshine, animalistic behavior, bickering, mentions of blood and injuries, survival instincts are non existent, hints at past violence/abuse, toji is an asshole but he's trying !!

✧ RHEYA'S NOTE: ignore that i formatted this part all pretty while part 1 is just an ugly drabble. i just didn't expect to turn this into a series lmao. anyways please read part one before reading this so that it actually makes a lick of sense !! also i added people who asked for part two to the tag list so if you wanna be added/removed just lmk :3

you mutter a quiet curse as you step in a dirty puddle, eyes squinting through the torrents of rain pouring from the dark sky. it's bad enough you got out of work so late, but the heavy storm did nothing to make the journey home easier. you grip your umbrella tighter, even though your clothes have still been dampened by stray droplets, and speed up the pace.

it has not poured like this in your city for quite a few weeks now, and the change in weather would be pleasant if you weren't being hit by it full force—indoors, curled on your couch under a blanket, would be ideal. that's what you plan to do after you get inside, after a warm shower and dinner.

speaking of dinner, you're late for your routine meal drop off for your new hybrid acquaintance. though you're almost sure that toji won't be in his usual spot in the alleyway by your apartment in this weather, probably taking shelter where he normally does when the outside is too harsh. plus even if he decided to take his chances to come for food, he would've left as soon as he noticed his plate wasn't there.

you haphazardly push yourself through your front door, nearly tripping as you attempt to close the umbrella while simultaneously avoiding the rain. you inhale deeply once you're safe, leaning back against the door as you catch your breath. the rain sounds are muffled now that you are in your little cocoon of an apartment, and you immediately pull your wet shoes off with a grimace.

half an hour later you're stepping into the warmest, most comfortable pajamas you own, body now clean and thrumming with the freshness that only a good shower can provide. your stomach growls as you step into the kitchen, the rain still slapping against your window, and you immediately try to throw together whatever food you can find.

thanks to toji's daily rations, you have an assortment of meat in your fridge, but you settle for eating some rice and curry, choosing to leave meat for a day where the wolf is actually around.

you're halfway through your meal when you hear familiar sounds in your alleyway, and you can't help the way your jaw drops.

"oh my god there is no way," you mutter under your breath, hurrying over to your door and slipping on your shoes. grabbing your umbrella and snapping it open, you duck under it to avoid once again getting drenched by the downpour, the splashing sounds of your footsteps echoing through the alleyway.

even though he is soaked to the bone, toji looks unbothered, sitting against the wall lazily. his dark ears are laying low against his head, but they twitch to life at the sound of you approaching. you ignore the normal distance that is kept between the two of you, opting to stop right in front of him so you can hold the umbrella over his head. "what are you doing out in this rain?"

"you're late today." he ignores your question, green eyes sliding up your figure to meet your gaze. you shake your head in exasperation, staring down at him with a frown.

"yeah i got held up at work." you adjust the umbrella a little, and toji's eyes flick towards it, as though just realizing it's there. "i didn't think you'd be out here."

"came by earlier and saw your lights were off and you weren't home," he grunts, shaking his wet hair out of his. "just thought it was weird."

(he does not mention how long he sat and waited for you to get back, ears perking at every little noise that turned out to be nothing. he does not mention that after a while he got up to circle the area, eyes on high alert and a rising aggression in his demeanor, only to come back and find your lights on.)

"oh," you say lamely, blinking through mist. toji gets to his feet, and you reel at the way he towers over you. he shakes his head, the water from his ears and hair splashing haphazardly, before nodding once.

"well i'm leaving." he turns to walk away, and you blanch.

"to go where?" you can't help but pry, looking at his back searchingly. you see him shrug, hands in his pockets. his tail remains unmoving with the weight of water, clothing sticking against his damp skin.

"who knows?" he grunts. he nods his head at you gruffly. "get inside."

"but…" you grimace, glancing at the dark sky. "what if you get sick?"

toji's brow raises, and he throws you a sarcastic glance over his shoulder. "i'm not made of fluff, kid."

you can't stop yourself from rolling your eyes at his brashness. you don't know what you're doing, but the idea of him prowling out in the pouring rain makes your stomach churn.

"come inside."

toji's head whips so fast you think he might break his neck, jade eyes going wide. one ear perks at your statement, oddly endearing, and you would've chuckled if his expression wasn't so aghast.

"the fuck you say?"

you swallow, suddenly nervous. seriously what the hell are you doing? "come inside," you repeat, your grip tightening around the umbrella.

"are you fucking insane?" toji's voice is sharp and accusatory, like you've just said the most offensive thing known to man. "why would you even—?"

"it's pouring." you say it blandly. "and i wouldn't be able to sleep at night knowing you were sitting out here like that."

"i'll live," he scoffs, and you bristle at the harshness of his tone. "i'm not a cushy little human."

"ha ha," you mock him sarcastically, voice cutting over the sounds of rain hitting your umbrella. "even animals get sick in the rain, don't they?"

he grumbles at that, eyes narrowed at your haughty smile, before he turns to face you completely. "why the hell do you care?"

"i—" you pause, not sure what to say. why do you care? "i just do."

toji rolls his eyes, shoulders raised high as he squints at you through the torrents of rain. a beat of silence passes as you stare back, unyielding, and he finally sighs heavily. "you have horrible survival instincts, you know that?"

you can't help but beam, laughing at his disgruntled expression as he falls into step with you and making sure you angle the umbrella to cover his head. "if you wanna leave later you're free to. just stay until the rain stops."

toji glances at you from the corner of his eye, contemplating. he wasn't joking—you really did have the worst judgement he's ever seen. he can't wrap his head around how you don't find it dangerous to invite a ragged animal into your home, especially one that can so easily tear your limbs off. instead, you have this dopey little smile on your face as you walk him into your space, closing the umbrella with a practiced snap and leading him inside.

well, toji isn't one to complain—he can't even remember the last time he's felt the warmth of the indoors, shielded against the bite of the outside world. and if he tries too hard to remember, he'll find that the last time did not have same sweetness that seems to be radiating off of your very person.

the inside of your apartment is small, but cozy. toji can't help but look around, noticing the details that have made this place your own. he inhales deeply, finding traces of the scent of food, of laundry detergent, of an unlit candle.

of you.

"uh…" your voice has gone slightly awkward, and toji's gaze falls on your sheepish expression. you look somewhat embarrassed, consciously looking around at the lived-in messiness of your space—not that toji really cares. "d-do you wanna wash up? i should have some extra clothes for you around here."

toji grimaces at the feeling of his ragged shirt clinging to his damp skin, but he tries not to make it too obvious how much he welcomes the idea. he can feel dirt and grime under his claws, and the thought of an actual bath makes his head spin with feral delight. "i guess so," he mutters, nonchalant. you seem to relax at his willingness, and you nod as you lead him to the bathroom. he shamelessly looks around, eyeing the pictures of you and other people in your life hanging from your walls. he can smell your half-eaten dinner, and his stomach rumbles.

you push open the bathroom door, and he briefly glimpses a pile of clothes on the ground, along with a few other things scattered here and there.

"fuck," you curse under your breath, heat crawling up your neck as you practically trip over yourself to get inside and tidy up. "j-just wait out here for a second please!"

toji snorts out a sardonic scoff of disbelief. if you really believed that he would care about something as trivial as a pile of laundry, you've got him completely wrong. but he guesses it is just slightly funny to see you so stressed over your dirty underwear because of him.

you rustle around inside and then emerge, breathlessly smiling as though nothing had occurred. toji watches you, expressionless, and you gesture to the bathroom. "okay now it should be all good. there's soap and stuff in there so use whatever you need. let me get you some clothes."

you immediately squeeze past him, trying to head for another room, and that's when toji fucks up. it's an accident, but he can't help his reaction. your elbow accidently nudges his abdomen, and he yelps with pain, the sound morphing into a guarded growl. you immediately recoil, eyes going wide in fear and concern—he internally curses.

"what?!" you gasp, gaze darting over his body. "what happened?"

he clicks his tongue. "nothing," he snarls, fist clenched around the fabric of his shirt. you eye him warily, and he can tell you don't believe him.

"what? are you hurt or something?"

"no!" he snaps back, teeth bared, and that's all the reaction you need before you're crossing your arms and glaring at him.

"listen, if you're hurt you need to get it cleaned and looked at." toji has half a mind to laugh in your face because you look so stupid trying to intimidate him when you're barely reaching his chin. he knows there is stock in what you say, but he is not doing this with you.

"like hell," he grunts, mirroring your posture and sneering down his nose. "i'll be fine."

"you squealed like a puppy when i barely touched you!"

he throws you an appalled scowl. "what the fuck did you call me?"

"i'm right and you know it!" you shoot back irritably. you seem to catch yourself, because you let out an exasperated sigh and your voice goes a little softer. "will you at least let me look at it?"

toji eyes you warily, feeling a strange mixture of trepidation and guilt. he knows he is right to be cautious, and he knows he should not be trusting you no matter how sweet you seem to act. but at the same time he hurts, and he does not want to go back outside even though he's used to it now—something about such free warmth is making the rational part of his brain fall apart.

he sighs heavily, grumbling under his breath and shooting you a withering glare, before he carefully tugs his shirt off. he can feel the wet fabric clinging to his opened skin, and he bites back a hiss of pain as he rips it away. when he's got it off, he just looks at you, accusatory—but you aren't looking at him.

instead you have a distinct look of abject horror on your face as your eyes roam over his body. though he is extremely well-built and quite honestly, very attractive, his skin is marred with scars. old and fresh, they litter his body like a barely thought out map, and you seem to experience a minor heart attack. your eyes zero in on the wounds that are causing him the most pain—a shallow gash cutting just over his stomach and what looks like a deep bloodied bite in his forearm.

"how?" your voice is shaky, and you finally meet his eyes again. "what happened to you?"

"don't worry about it," he mumbles, his voice a little less gruff as he studiously avoids looking at you. "i told you it's not that bad. it looks worse than it is."

you conveniently ignore him, taking a step closer to study his body. frustratingly enough he feels heat crawl up his neck because you're looking at him so intently, teeth digging into your bottom lip and chewing with nervous bites. finally, you tear your gaze away from his torso to look at his shirt, a deep frown creasing your features as you notice the contrasting darkness in certain areas of the fabric—bloodstains. "well you can't leave them open like this."

toji rolls his eyes harshly. "i've lived through worse."

you glare at him once more, and he finds that the expression looks quite good on you. "you need to clean them up, toji."

his name slides off your tongue like butter, and he can feel his canines scrape against his lips. a flicker of something akin to embarrassment trickles over his body, and he frowns distastefully. "no."

you click your tongue, exasperation rolling off of you in waves. "are you stupid? they'll get worse. i mean they're probably already infected and—"

"i don't know how to alright?!" he hisses, baring his teeth at you angrily. your expression turns bewildered, eyes darting between his quickly, before it melts into something frustratingly sympathetic.

"that's it?" your voice is like honey, and he can't decide whether it irritates him or not. "i can help you."

help. toji doesn't believe humans are capable of helping—only harming. but you're looking up at him so imploringly, eyes focused and heavy with the foolish need to bring him comfort. why, he does not understand. but he has never been able to understand why humans act the way they do.

he pins you with a wordless stare, and he knows you've realized he's relenting, because your lips quirk upward slightly. with a nod of your head, you motion him to follow you into the bathroom and take a seat on the edge of the tub. he watches you rummage through the cabinets, pulling out what looks like gauze, disinfectant, a small towel, and a sizeable mug, which you fill up with warm water. he's about to stand up to make space, but you kneel at his feet instead, setting everything at your side and pushing your hair away from your face.

it baffles him, how quick you are to yield to a species that is so obviously beneath you.

but you don't seem to be thinking any of that, gaze darting over his body as you try to figure out how to approach this. "i'll try and clean up all the blood first and then disinfect, okay?" your voice is barely a murmur, but his pointed ears catch the words all the same.

"you're the expert," he grunts, nonchalant. "do what you need to."

you smile wryly, dipping the towel into the water. "you said it, not me."

he snorts out a sound that sounds suspiciously like a chuckle, but you don't comment on it. instead, you are focused on his body. you see numerous scars and welts, some fresh and some so old, and you are surprised at how sad they make you. it seems like the feeling is evident on your face, because toji watches your features with an unfamiliar intensity. you can't help but prod. "how'd you get these?"

your voice is gentle, as though you're scared a lack of fragility will shatter him. but toji has dealt with far worse than whatever sweetness you seem hell bent on showing him.

"betting on animal fights is a lot of fun for rich assholes." he doesn't look at you, but his lip curls with a deep rooted distaste—you think you feel it too.

so that's where toji comes from. the underground hybrid arenas that you've seen on the news many times before. a common place for predators who were normally so unwelcome in society to be put to good use. a controversial topic, because despite its popularity amongst the rich, everyone knew the conditions were not the greatest.

but you never thought they'd be this bad—how naive.

"i'm so sorry," you mumble forlornly, gently tracing the towel over the wounds. toji grunts noncommittally, but doesn't say much else. you're fine with that, and you clean him up with a tenderness that makes his stomach churn.

all he can focus on his how small your fingers looked wrapped around his claws, and he think you might be a lot braver than he is.

after you're done with your handiwork, you leave him to wash up in peace, and toji silently stares at your tiled wall as the hot water pours over his back. he does not know what he's doing, and what he's trying to get from this. sure, being fed everyday was a welcome addition, but he never planned on stepping this close to you—the thought makes him queasy. he does not enjoy the idea of being indebted to a human, because all they do is take and take and take some more.

and yet he finds himself slipping into the clothes you've given him, and when he looks in the mirror he's surprised at how much a simple bath could change him. toji wearily runs his tongue over his teeth, before it traces over the scar on his lips. a wave of disgust washes over him—he pushes it aside.

when he find you again, you're in what he assumes is a spare bedroom, tucking a fresh set of sheets into the corners of the mattress. he drops his old clothes in the corner, and then clears his throat to announce his presence. you turn to look over your shoulder and smile at his cleaner appearance. "you're done?"

he nods gruffly, watching as you stand up straight and take a few steps closer. "did the shower help?" you pin him with a curious stare, and he sighs resentfully.

"yeah," he grumbles, and he can feel your smug little smile saying nothing but i told you so. he has the strongest urge to flick your forehead.

"oh, i can take care of these."

he can't bite back his snarl when you pick up his clothes, and you freeze at the unusually territorial look on his face. he seems to pick up on the little fright he gave you, and his ears lose a bit of their tension as he sighs gruffly. "just…don't get rid of them."

you pause, glancing down at the rags in your hands. you stop to think that maybe these clothes are the one thing that toji has had since the start—important in a way that you won't understand. so you just nod with a reassuring smile. "i won't. i'll just wash them for you."

toji's shoulders relax, and his expression shifts, green eyes looking anywhere but your face. he nods once but doesn't say anything else, and you take it as your sign to continue.

"you can sleep here. i changed the sheets and put some pillows down too." you nod at the bed, pristine and untouched, and toji's bones suddenly ache with fatigue. how long has it been since he's seen a real bed?

he wonders what exactly your angle is. what do you get from helping someone like him? what sick urge do you satisfy by extending pity to a ragged animal? what do you achieve by passing on glittering smiles like they aren't priceless?

and what do you do to make yourself look so innocent through it all?

you're still blabbering about the bed. as much as he tries, toji cannot smell any malice on you—just pure disgustingly sweet kindness.

"how d'you know i'm not a serial killer or something?" he peers down at you with an arched brow, gaze sharp. "i could just eat you in your sleep."

you blink, before smiling sheepishly. "…do you plan to?"

there's a pause, and then for the first time, you see his scarred lips tug up to one side—a half-smile. a quiet chuckle bubbles forth and he crosses his arms. "nah, you're a little too sweet for my tastes."

you frown at him, watching as he dramatically wiggles his clawed fingers and flashes you his teeth, before rolling your eyes. "how flattering."

he snorts out another laugh, and you take the time to put the extra blankets on the old bed. "i've got more blankets in the closet if you need them, so help yourself." you busy your hands with propping the pillows against the headboard, and you see toji nod from your peripheral.

"i'll uh, be outta your hair soon," he mutters, suddenly feeling out of place.

"relax," you answer, grinning with a shake of your head. "i'm the one who asked you to stay so we could get your wounds all better. you're not giving me any trouble."

"right," he murmurs. there's an uncharacteristic gentleness in his tone, awkward and tense, but you recognize it to be a semi form of gratitude. toji glances at your easy going grin, and his skin prickles uncomfortably—he's not sure how to react to such blatant warmth.

"i'm in the next room over so if you need anything, just knock. i'm a pretty light sleeper." you flash him a thumbs up and turn on your heel, heading to your own room. toji waits until he hears the click of your door before taking a cautious step forward. the clothes you've given him are somewhat tight on his figure, and they faintly smell of some other man, which makes his nose wrinkle with distaste.

though he guesses he should try to bite his tongue and be a little grateful—they're much more comfortable than the rags he'd been in for all those months. toji clambers into the bed, claws digging into the unfamilar softness of sheets, and a heavy wave of fatigue washes over him.

he falls asleep as soon as his head hits the pillow, your stupidly sweet smile burning behind his eyelids.

taglist: @h4wkz @babyblue0t7 @en-happiness @ourfinalisation @lymsfm @jazzy00001 @mahoubitch @deedeeznoots @ghost-buddies @teddybeartoji @onimira @polarbvnny @starmapz @thikcems @nonamebbsblog @echodead @pennameyoruichiii @venussdovess @emi311 @meow-satoru

lmk if you would like to be added/removed <33

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toruskiii · 6 months ago

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Love Delivery!

Synopsis: Balancing part-time food delivery with a busy school schedule is no easy task. One day, while on a delivery, you find yourself awkwardly waiting at the door of a luxurious apartment. Suddenly, the door swings open, revealing a handsome, albeit annoyingly rich, man. Genre: Romance, fluff, slow-burn?? (modern au!) Character: Aventurine x fem!reader Warnings: Hot sassy men apocalypse, maybe this will have a part 2 or smth idk

[masterlist] [about me]

Ding!

Someone has placed an order near your set area.

You glance at the notification on your screen, just as you’re snapping a picture of the food you’ve delivered to the nice granny’s house. The elderly lady smiles politely, waiting patiently as you finish taking the photo.

“Ah, another order, young lady?” she croaks out, offering a small, grateful bow when you hand her the plastic bag of food. “Thank you so much, hoho. I’m sorry to trouble you young folks, but it’s hard for my old bones to get around, you know?” She chuckles, giving your shoulder a gentle pat.

You smile at her and shake your head, waving off her concern. "It's no problem, granny. It's my job, after all." After bidding farewell to the old lady, you put on your helmet, hop back on your bike, and accept the new order request.

Penacony's Clock Diner? Wait-

You quickly check the location set for your food delivery, confused by the address. You're all the way in Aurem Alley, and the customer wants food from Penacony? Ridiculous.

Location Set: Xianzhou Luofu.

How is this guy even able to send his request to you?

You double-check the address, noticing the system listing it as Fyxestroll Garden. What the hell? There aren’t any apartment complexes at Fyxestroll Garden!

Puzzled, you pull over to the side of the road and open the map on your phone, trying to make sense of it. Fyxestroll Garden is a well-known public park, famous for its serene walking paths and meticulously kept gardens. You can’t recall any buildings, let alone residential ones, in the area. You tap on the address again, hoping it’s a mistake or a glitch, but the coordinates remain unchanged.

Maybe it’s a new complex that just opened? you wonder. Or could it be some sort of exclusive residence hidden within the park?

Not long after, another text message pops up on your screen, and it's from the guy.

Frustration boils within you as you read the message, your temper nearing its breaking point. The blazing sun beats down mercilessly, intensifying your irritation as you stand near the dock, contemplating a plunge into the cooling waters below. How could this customer be so careless as to mess up their address, leaving you to contend with this sweltering heat and an hour-long detour?

And curse this app for its lack of a proper cancellation feature!

With a frustrated groan, you glance at the text, feeling the resistance of your bike's wheels grow heavier as you open the GPS. You're tempted to unleash a torrent of curses at the customer for exploiting some loophole in the app, forcing you to exert yourself just to deliver his order. He better be prepared to tip generously for this inconvenience.

To reach Penacony, your best bet is to take the Astral Express train— a mode of transportation you've used before but disliked immensely. The erratic jumps and occasional turbulence make for a nerve-wracking journey. And that conductor… Was it just fatigue playing tricks on your mind, or did they really have bunny ears…?

You sigh heavily as you enter the station, swiping your pass before parking your bike and leaning against it. Your gaze drifts to the TV hanging on the wall, checking the schedule to see when the train will arrive. Fifteen minutes? Well, there's no escaping it now…

You feel like hurling yourself into outer space.

Not only did the restaurant forget to prepare the order, but you're also stuck in a conversation with one of the servers who insists on cracking the most cringeworthy jokes.

"There's no such thing as a bad joke, only lousy comedians who can't deliver them!" the server— Jay, apparently. boasts. Doesn't this guy have other customers to attend to? Good grief. You're tempted to point out that he's no better than those lousy comedians, but you're not that mean— and you definitely don't want to risk losing your job.

"Order number 38! One sarmale and one classic soulglad!" a worker calls out, providing a convenient distraction as you hastily grabbed the food and rush over to your bike— just in time for your phone to start chiming with multiple notifications.

Fuming with frustration, you run a hand through your hair, pedaling away as fast as your legs can carry you to the designated location. One hand grips the handlebars tightly while the other clutches your phone, fingers jabbing at the screen as you send panicked voicemails to the careless customer.

"I'm on my way! I'll be there soon!" you breathe out, your voice strained with urgency, weaving through traffic with reckless abandon. You're so preoccupied that you didn't even bother with your helmet, leaving it hanging on the basket of your bike as you speed along. The wind rushes past you, whipping your hair back as you scream into your phone.

"I'm practically flying to your place. Just hold on!" you seethe, narrowly avoiding collisions with other vehicles. You swear you catch a glimpse of a pair of blue-haired siblings shooting you a skeptical glance as you whiz by. No one's going to meet their demise on my watch.

(Maybe a few might with the way you're on the verge of causing car crashes.)

With determination fueling every pedal, you push yourself to the limit, determined to reach the customer's location before they decide to relocate to another universe altogether.

Upon stepping into the lounge of the apartment complex, you stand there, utterly flabbergasted.

The sight before you is nothing short of opulent. Everyone here is dressed to the nines in fancy attire, oozing sophistication and wealth. I mean, what did you expect? That the guy who ordered the food would settle for anything less than extravagance? 1800 credits for a soda?

But even knowing that, you weren't prepared for the sheer luxury of it all. Marble floors greet you the moment you enter, with plush velvet red sofas arranged in elegant clusters at every corner. The vases of plants adorning the marble countertops probably cost more than your entire monthly rent.

The sprawling expanse of rooms lining the halls seems to stretch on endlessly, giving you the impression that you've stumbled into a palace rather than an apartment complex. You can't help but feel like a humble peasant as you approach the lobby manager, your attire— a mishmash of sweaty clothes and a random jacket—paling in comparison to the impeccably tailored suits of the residents. Are you checking into an apartment or a castle?

What catches you off guard is the realization that most of the people milling about in this opulent setting are students. Students! You recognize familiar faces in the crowd— classmates from the same campus you attend.

"Hello, I'm here to deliver an order for room number ███," you murmur to the manager, noting the slight stress in her demeanor as she punches in the room number to confirm the request. Your eyebrows shoot up in surprise when she directs you to the Platinum room.

The Platinum room? Your mind races with questions as you make your way through the halls, the extravagant surroundings only adding to your bewilderment. What kind of student lives in the Platinum room of an apartment complex like this?

Here you stand, face to face with the imposing wooden door adorned with intricate golden trimmings, feeling as though your bank account is slowly draining with each passing moment. You raise a hand to knock, furrowing your brows in confusion when there's no immediate answer.

"Hey, it's me. I'm here to deliver your food," you call out, giving the door another firm knock. Still, there's no response. Seriously?

Technically, you could just leave the food at his door and be done with it. But something about the luxuriousness of this apartment complex makes you hesitate. It wouldn't reflect well on you to simply abandon the delivery outside, especially in such an upscale setting. (You internally roll your eyes at the absurdity of it all.)

As the door finally creaks open, you're poised to unleash the most scathing side-eye you can muster— ready to give this guy a piece of your mind for keeping you waiting (and running). But as your gaze meets his, you freeze.

You'd seen his profile picture on the app before, but you'd doubted that a man so devastatingly handsome could possibly exist in real life. You'd convinced yourself that it was probably some sort of prank or scam, someone using a fake photo to lure in unsuspecting victims.

But now, standing before you, is a man who defies all logic. His golden, tousled locks frame a face so strikingly beautiful it steals your breath away. His eyes— oh, those eyes— they're like pools of sapphire surrounded by a halo of lavender. You feel your cheeks flush hot with embarrassment as you struggle to find your voice, your words caught in your throat like a lump of lead.

He gazes back at you, those mesmerizing eyes flickering with mild curiosity as he tilts his head inquisitively. "Hm? Ah, it's you," he says, breaking the spell of silence that had enveloped you. But you can hardly hear him over the thunderous pounding of your heart, which seems to be screaming one thing over and over again: He's even more breathtaking in person.

You mentally slap yourself, shaking off the remnants of your daze as you stumble over your words, handing him his bag of food with trembling hands. "R-right, sorry to keep you waiting. Here's your food, sir," you manage to stutter out, inwardly cursing yourself for apologizing. Why am I apologizing? He's the one who's in the wrong here!

He lets out a soft chuckle, and you swear the sun must be finding its way to shine through the walls of the complex as your ears burn at the mere sound of his laugh. It's so calming, so captivating, that you feel like you're floating in a dream.

"No, no. Don't apologize. It's my fault for entering the wrong address," he reassures you, his voice smooth as silk. His fingers brush over yours as he reaches for his food, sending an electric shock through your entire body at the brief contact. You can't help but notice how his gaze softens as he opens the plastic bag to check the contents, a small hum of satisfaction escaping his lips at the sight of the still-warm food. You decide not to question it— perhaps he's just feeling a bit homesick.

You continue to awkwardly stand there, your hands fidgeting nervously in your pockets as you struggle to find something to say. "So, uh, your total is 6500 credits, sir," you finally manage to blurt out, feeling a flush of embarrassment creeping up your neck.

He blinks in mild surprise, a small "ah" escaping his lips before he nods, disappearing momentarily back into his apartment. He returns a moment later, wallet in hand, a mischievous smirk playing at the corners of his lips. "Since I've troubled you so much, how much do you want me to pay you back with, hm?" he teases, his tone playful.

You stare at him, your mouth hanging open in disbelief. Well, he did put you through quite a bit of trouble, making you trek all over town just to deliver two measly items. But still, the thought of asking for more money makes you feel incredibly awkward and embarrassed. "No, that…that won't be necessary," you choke out, feeling your palms grow sweaty with nervousness. "There's no need—"

"I insist," he interrupts, his tone firm yet strangely charming.

Well, damn. You're caught between feeling grateful for his generosity and feeling utterly mortified at the prospect of asking for more payment. But with his insistence ringing in your ears, you find yourself reluctantly nodding in agreement, your cheeks burning with embarrassment.

"1000 credits is fine," you mumble, feeling a pang of guilt at the thought of asking for more money.

"Just 1000?" he repeats, narrowing his eyes at you with a slight frown. "That's quite low, considering the trouble I've put you through," he adds, his fingers skimming through his wallet in search of more credits.

As he rummages through his wallet, you can't help but notice his student card peeking out from among the bills. Your lips part in shock as you realize he's a student at the IPC—yeah, he's definitely rich. You should have haggled for more money.

"Are— do you major in accounting…?" you blurt out before you can stop yourself, your eyes darting to his card. He hums in response, shaking his head. "Nah, fashion. I can't count."

The two of you maintain eye contact for a few moments, and you find yourself staring at him dumbly while he gives you a cat-like grin.

"Did you actually buy that? I'm joking. I major in both finance and accounting."

You can't help but feel a twinge of annoyance at his flippant attitude. This man radiates fuck-boy energy, and you're starting to have second thoughts. Does he get a pass because of his looks, or is it because of his looks that he gets a pass?

"Oh," is all you can manage to answer as he hands you a random stack of credits.

You stare dumbfounded at his outstretched hand, uncertainty flickering in your eyes as you glance back and forth between the stash of credits and his gaze. "Huh? How much is this?" you inquire, still hesitant to accept the payment.

"Does it really matter?" he scoffs, nudging you playfully. "1000 credits is way too little, and I don't like scamming people. I don't stoop that low," he chuckles, his tone light despite the seriousness of the situation. When you don't budge, he feels a twitch in his eye before suddenly grabbing your jacket and tugging at your pockets, causing you to let out a startled yelp. "Hey! What the hell—"

Ignoring your protest, he shoves the credits inside your pocket with lazy nonchalance, letting out a whistle of satisfaction before releasing his hold. "There. Now just think of it as you were robbed in reverse," he quips, a mischievous glint in his eyes.

"That's not helping!"

"It's not like your boss or whoever's in charge of the app will check your pockets, right? I'm just giving you tips, there's nothing wrong with that," he shrugs, struggling to hold back a snort at how visibly annoyed you look. If this were any other person, like an 'actual' adult or man, he'd brush it off and just toss a random wad of tips your way before politely closing the door. Maybe he'd pause for a pretty lady— well, you are a pretty lady.

But he can tell you're a student, just like him, probably working your ass off just to make ends meet. Hey, he doesn't judge. Plus, it's kind of fun to tease people occasionally, and you remind him of another acquaintance of his who's majoring in medicine.

"So, anything else?" he murmurs, leaning casually against the doorframe, a small smirk playing on his lips.

You can't help but feel a mix of irritation and amusement at his nonchalant attitude. "No, that's it," you reply tersely, your voice tinged with annoyance. You can't wait to get out of here and put this bizarre encounter behind you.

He nods in acknowledgment, his smirk widening ever so slightly. "Alright then. Take care, pretty," he says, offering you a lazy wave before shutting the door gently behind him.

As you make your way back to your bike, you can't help but replay the encounter in your mind, wondering just what the hell just happened. This guy is definitely one of a kind, that's for sure.

As you swiftly exit the complex and pedal back to the train station, a dull headache begins to gnaw at your temples. You have other pending orders waiting for you back in Luofu, and the thought of having to navigate through the city once more only adds to your growing exhaustion. Yet, amidst the fatigue, a small swell of warmth tugs at your heart at the thought of not getting his number.

Sure, he provided his contact information when he placed the order, but with a guy like him, you're almost certain it's just his business line or something equally impersonal. Besides, it would feel a bit creepy to text him out of the blue. What would you even say?

'Hey, I thought you were cute after making me run laps around the city and deal with an annoying server, hmu?'

No way, that's beyond pathetic. Plus, you'd risk losing face.

Lost in your thoughts, you arrive back at the train station, your hands absentmindedly reaching up to touch your flushed cheeks, still tingling from the encounter. He's undeniably attractive, and you can't shake the nagging feeling that he probably already has a girlfriend— or several. Besides, you should be focusing on your studies, not getting involved with some rich fuck boy.

Ding!

Huh?

You're snapped out of your reverie by the sound of a notification chiming on your phone. With a curious frown, you unlock your device to see what it is.

Your heart leaps into your throat as you read the notification, your eyes widening in disbelief. What the hell is wrong with this guy? 10,000 credits? Is he insane?

With trembling hands, you quickly fish out the money he gave you from your pockets, counting through the stack under your breath to keep your panic in check. "6, 7, 8… 9…" you mutter, your voice barely above a whisper as you realize he gave you thrice the amount needed.

Your fingers tap frantically on your phone screen as you type out a response, your words rushed and panicked. "Dude, you gave me thrice the amount needed already—stop."

As you stare at the screen, your mind reels with disbelief. He just willingly gave you his phone number— and he thinks you're cute?

It's a little funny, in a surreal sort of way, that the entire conversation is still ongoing within the food service app. Here you are, exchanging private messages with each other despite the platform's intended purpose.

You gulp, feeling the heat rise to the tips of your ears. Your brows knit together in a mixture of disbelief and slight annoyance, the memory of the earlier encounter still fresh in your mind. After all, he did put you through quite a bit of trouble with that address mix-up.

Should you add him?

"…"

You're caught off guard as a strong gust of wind rushes past you, fluttering your hair in its wake as the Astral Express train arrives. The station immediately becomes crowded, and you struggle to maneuver your bike into the passenger compartment as people squeeze past you. Finally, you manage to park your bike and squeeze yourself into an empty corner to avoid blocking anyone.

As everyone settles into their seats and grips the handles, the doors of the train shut, and the conductor announces the next stop. You let out a sigh, knowing it'll be another 20 or so stops before you reach Luofu…

Glancing back at your phone, your fingers tap onto it mindlessly, the cabin now quiet save for the occasional cries of children or chatter between friends.

Your gaze softens as a new notification pops up.

Aventurine (loser of a customer) is now saved into your contacts.

Ding!

"Good evening to you again, pretty delivery lady."

#honkai star rail #hsr x reader #hsr fluff #aventurine x reader #honkai star rail x reader #aventurine honkai star rail #hsr aventurine

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it-happened-one-fic · 4 months ago

Text

One Thing At A Time - Leona

Author Notes: I wrote this so fast, I can't even lie. I honestly just put on Leona's playlist and boom, this happened. Anyway, I though it would be fitting to post a Leona fic (one top of the Vampire AU update) since tomorrow (or maybe today in some time zones) is Leona's birthday! As per usual, reader is gender-neutral. I hope you enjoy!

Type: Gender neutral reader/ sfw/ fluff/ romance/ flirtation

Word count: 1346

It was honestly a miracle that Leona hadn’t thrown you off his bed yet, considering you were sitting next to him and pushing on his shoulders like a pushy child. Completely ignoring the way he stubbornly kept his eyes closed as he did his very best to ignore you and instead nap.

“Look, you just do your part for the presentation, and I’ll be out of your hair. Easy as that,” You coaxed without even the slightest bit of subtlety as you leaned over, all but cooing at him and finally succeeding in getting him to open one annoyed eye that slid over so that he was glowering at where you looked down at him with a winning smile on your face.

“Who let you in here?” His words were growled, but you merely continued to smile, shaking your head amusedly as you refused to tell him that it was, in fact, Ruggie who’d let you in and had even laughingly wished you luck.

But it wasn’t like you could sell out your partner in crime, and, knowing Leona, he already had a pretty good idea of who was at fault.

Plus, even if Ruggie hadn’t let you in, you probably would’ve waltzed right in anyway. Such was your relationship with Leona, after all. If he could march into Ramshackle dorm and nap on your couch, then you could come into his room and harass him.

“Come on, it won’t even be that bad. Most of the work is done anyway! All you have to do is show up, stand there, and look pretty,” You smiled at him brightly, earning yourself a glare in response as he finally sat up. His motions causing you to scoot backwards slightly.

He barely glanced back at you as he spoke, “Why is it always you that shows up to ruin my plans?”

You watched as he ran a hand through his slightly tangled hair as he continued, not even bothering to pause for you to respond to his previous question, “All I wanted was to nap, but you-”

He paused, pointedly looking back at where you sat. Not feeling guilty in the slightest as you all but beamed at him, causing him to roll his eyes as he continued, “-Simply can’t leave well enough alone.”

You blinked slightly at his words, recognizing the warning signs as he turned to face you fully, and you realized a little bit too late that you were a little bit too close to him to be totally safe as he smirked, “An herbivore like you should know better than to waltz into a lion’s den.”

You crossed your arms though, not quailing the slightest bit and even snorting at him slightly, “Oh, please. As if I haven’t been here plenty of times without having any issues.”

He twisted, planting his hand on the mattress in an almost final manner as he shook his head, his tail whipping around behind him in an almost ominous fashion, “You usually don’t interrupt my nap.”

Despite his words, there was no bite there. In fact, the best description for his tone was threateningly playful. But even then you felt yourself start to edge backwards as your confidence that there would be little to no recompense to your actions failed you even as you shook your head, “I do usually pester you without any issues, though.”

He snorted at your words, and you chanced a smile only to feel your final hopes flag as soon as he spoke, “Looks like you went too far today, though, Herbivore.”

You hardly even had a chance to try and make a dive off the bed with a shriek as you got tackled in a chaotic torrent of Leona, you, and a veritable pile of incredibly soft blankets.

But then, Leona was a prince, so he probably could afford ridiculously expensive sheets if he wanted to.

You let your head flop against the unfairly comfortable bed in defeat before you looked back up to see a far too smug Leona grinning at you from where his head now rested on your stomach. His arms locked around your waist like a vise-grip that you knew you couldn’t break.

“Little dramatic for one nap interruption, don’t you think?” You reached down and pushed at his smug face as you scolded him. Frowning down at him even as he remained wholly unbudged, only turning his head so that your hand rested against his cheek rather than the front of his face.

“You knew better,” He didn’t even bother to sound guilty as you shoved against him. In fact, he sounded just as smug as he looked. But both of you already knew how this was going to go.

You flopped backwards again, looking up at the ceiling as sarcasm filled your words, “Fine then, Your Highness, what is the punishment for my grave disrespect to your exalted person?”

He snorted at your sarcastic tone, and you felt yourself grin despite the position you were in.

His grip on you shifted, and you felt him relax against you, using your stomach as a pillow as he let himself flop fully, no longer holding his weight off you and causing you to cough slightly at the sudden heaviness, “You’ll stay put and behave for once.”

You smacked at his head weakly, and you could all but feel him smile against your stomach as you spoke, “Leona... Too heavy…. You're crushing me.”

He huffed out a laugh, his shaking shoulders jostling you slightly before he adjusted himself once more, and you felt yourself relax once more as he spoke in an amused tone from where he continued to use you as a pillow, “Remind me to have Jack start training you. You couldn’t get any more feeble.”

You sat up slightly, propping yourself on your arms as you looked down at the prince who currently held you captive, “Not willing to train me yourself, Your Highness?”

He didn’t even move, apparently far too comfortable to rise to the challenge, “Not worth it.”

You felt yourself grin as you reached over and poked him, all but cooing out your words, “Worried I’ll get too strong for you?”

He outright snorted at your words, his hot breath blowing across you before he squeezed you slightly in retaliation to your teasing, “Hardly.”

You gazed at him for a moment in silent amusement, half-wondering exactly how you’d gotten to be this comfortable with the Savanaclaw housewarden.

To say the two of you had come far from your first meeting would be the understatement of the century. If you’d been told then that you’d been dating this man, of all people, you probably would have called whoever had told you that insane.

But he hardly seemed as fearsome now as he had then.

At this point, your relationship might as well be a masterclass in the fact that first impressions didn’t mean everything, though they certainly were important. Because here you were toying with Leona’s hair rather than fearing him attacking you.

Though he had just tackled you, so perhaps your initial impression hadn’t been entirely off.

You sighed slightly, watching as he smiled at the sensation of your fingers sliding through his hair and fondly pressing his head into your hand as you shook your head, “I hope you know you're still not getting out of that presentation.”

He let out a huff and, miraculously enough, let go of you with one arm long enough to grab your hand in his as he opened his eyes to look at you. Pressing his thumb against the center of your hand as the rest of his fingers curled around your wrist “Don’t rush me, Herbivore.”

The growl had returned to his voice, but you just grinned, knowing perfectly well that it was in no way threatening or even a warning.

You nodded though, almost shaking your head fondly at the young man that continued to maintain his hold on you even now, “Fine, one thing at a time then. Cuddles first and presentation later.”

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ant1quarian · 8 months ago

Text

DUSTVERSE - CHAPTER 1

The battlefield was a raging torrent of water and Dust was drowning. A reality-tearing ripping noise had completely shredded through the air, giving everything a static-like buzz that threatened to choke out any who were out among it.

No one had expected Nightmare’s magic seals to be able to be broken– least of all by his brother, Dream.

But things never really went to plan, huh?

--- OG Dust Sans, upon having his SOUL fragmented when getting attacked mid-shorcut, must now go through all of his alternate selves' universes in order to gather up the SOUL fragments.

However, he doesn't anticipate one key thing:

He has to accept and care about himself before he can return to the Bad Sanses.

Come on down and follow Dust as he gets tossed from AU to AU and is forced to learn that he's worth something.

( No, Dust will not have a "redemption arc" don't worry- he'll still be a murderous silly guy by the end of it. Only difference is that he'll be a murderous silly guy that knows his worth and cares about himself )

#Dustverse #Dustverse Chapter 1 #Dust Sans #Undertale fandom #Undertale fanfic #undertale fanfiction #Dustverse Fanfiction

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blackkatmagic · 5 months ago

Note

Do you have summaries for the unpublished stories (in the last patreon poll)? I would love to hear more about them!

Absolutely! I realized belatedly and while not massively sleep deprived that I should have put the summaries in the heading part, whoops. :'D

Feral/Plo - identity porn/sugar daddy/biology made them do it AU:

Canon goes AU in that Talzin handed all three of her children over to Sidious instead of just Maul. Fast forward to the middle of the Clone Wars and Feral has grabbed his brothers, both of whom are in a bad way, and skipped out on Talzin/Sidious to hide on a planet that's mostly under Republic control, where he makes a living collecting information/carrying out assassinations for the local crime lord. Enter Plo, who's in the middle of like. the Kel Dor version of a horny season. Not quite fuck or die, but fuck or be distracted and miserable and horny for months. Feral, thinking this will be a good opportunity to gather info on the Jedi, volunteers to help him out by being a sex partner whose sturdiness can stand up to Kel Dor physiology. Except that Plo is nice and Feral is maybe not prepared for that.

Jaster/Granta - Sith empire vs. Mandalorian empire AU with lots of daddy issues:

Xanatos is the Sith Lord ruling over Telos, and Granta plays assassin/weapon for his father, right up until he makes a mistake, a Jedi gets away, and Sith Emperor Sidious demands that Granta be punished for failing. Xanatos promptly sends Granta to murder Mand'alor Jaster, who manages not to die but does clock the daddy issues at 20 paces. When Xanatos completely disavows Granta and leaves him for the Mandos to execute, Jaster offers a deal - he'll let Granta live, but in return Granta will be his consort as a fuck you to the Sith Empire, and use his skill at killing Sith for the Mandalorians. Granta accepts, and they have a lot of messy sex and even messier feelings about it.

Padme/Rex - Time travel/time slips/identity porn/fake Jedi!Padme:

Canon divergence in that Obi-Wan's remarkably stupid escape from Vader's base in Kenobi doesn't work, and Reva ends up kidnapping Luke and Leia both at the same time to bring them to Vader. Padme, vaguely a Force ghost by sheer force of will, realizes that her kids are in danger and gets so angry that she quite literally tears time itself apart, throwing herself, her kids, and Vader back to the start of the Clone Wars. They all end up scattered, though, and Padme, with a brand-new Force sensitivity and Obi-Wan's lightsaber, makes a plan with her past self and goes to find her kids, pretending to be a Jedi to let her move through the front more easily. Which goes great, right up until she falls in with Torrent by accident as they're looking for a vanished Anakin. Rex, for his part, has no idea what to make of this angry, driven Jedi lady who tears her way through the CIS like she's aiming to bring them down all by herself, but is also devastatingly sad and kind when there's no enemy to fight. He does know that he very much needs to keep her alive, though, and given Padme's recklessness and Vader making plans in the shadows, that's the furthest thing from easy.

Tae/Fox - CIS!clones AU/spy shenanigans/fake relationship:

AU with CIS!clone troopers under the command of whatever Sith Dooku can vaguely train/pull out of the mud, wherein Fox is the Marshal Commander of a newly-captured Coruscant under Dooku's control. Tae is a new Knight, following in Nico's footsteps as a Shadow, and when Nico goes missing on Coruscant, he decides to go undercover to look for him. Of course, the best way to do this is to volunteer to help the infamously difficult Marshal Commander, who chews through aides like it's a sport and defies even the Sith. When Dooku starts getting a little too suspicious of both of them for comfort, though, Tae comes up with a plan - fake a relationship and pretend to hide it, and then no one will look any deeper. Fox agrees, still unaware that Tae is a Jedi and an enemy.

Cody/Maul - identity porn/Force-sensitive!Cody/canon divergence

Cody touches the wrong artefact during the destruction of the Jedi Temple and the building of Palpatine's palace, and wakes up back at the start of the Clone Wars, still fighting the influence of the chip. Not willing to trust himself enough to go to the Jedi, he instead picks the next best thing: Maul. Except that as soon as he touches Maul, lost in the depths of Lotho Minor, it's not spider!Maul who crashes down on top of him, but Sith apprentice!Maul, pulled right out of his fight with Eldra but with all the doubts about his path that it raised. He immediately assumes that Cody is a Sith Lord challenging Palpatine, and Cody goes along with it, hoping that Maul will be able to teach him to control all of his unsettling new abilities. He very much doesn't expect the mad sort of devotion Maul brings with him, or the fact that he's suddenly the whole Jedi Order's number one target, thanks to Palpatine also assuming he's a rival.

#kat answers #wip list #my writing

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respocked · 3 months ago

Text

I'm thinking about work anyway so fuck it

Star Trek Public Primary School AU 🛸 !

Kirk

-the headmaster!

-went into education because of his own unfortunate childhood

-has an uncanny ability to tell which student has a bad home life

-remembers everyone's name, even if you went to his school 5 years ago for 2 months

-misbehaving teenagers send to his office get some candy and a motivational speech that changes the course of their lifetime

-most days can be found hovering suspiciously outside of spock's classroom

-way better with older students, 12-13 - has absolutely 0 idea what to do with young children

-which is awkward when while waiting for spock outside his classroom he tries to make small talk with them (-so... son... read any good books lately? -i can't read!)

Spock

- teaches early education, 6 to 9 year olds

-greatly overqualified for the position, had a human psychology degree, interspecies child development degree, highly regarded in scientific community

-could be teaching university but prefers to spend his time sitting on carpets with children drawing clouds

-his class is extremely nontraditional - no desks, sitting on the floor, tons of meditation, classes in nature

-does not adhere to the program at all but somehow his classes always score the best on all exams

-turned down a position in a trendy montessori school for a public one

-parents either go out his way for their child to attend his class or request someone else - either from homophobic or xeniphobic reasons

Uhura

-the school's cultural assistant!

-also runs student exchanges with other countries and planets

-speaks every minority language that has representation in the student body

-also a substitute teacher

-she can give a super interesting lessons

-but takes 0 shit from students who won't respect her

-runs an extracurricular activity with spock when she teaches immigrant and refugee students to express their emotions with music

-is the best at pitching a project idea for funding, which is why her office and spock's classrom are the best equipped ones in the school

-spock's bestie, they hang out after work (gay/lesbian solidatity)

-still lives with her parents, they're super close

-wants to date but it's too boring compared to writing another lesson plan

Bones

-the school nurse! & in charge of nutrition

-teenagers are afraid of him

-small children absolutely love him

-takes his daughter to work and lets her draw with crayons on his important papers

-also constantly in spock's classroom, but to complain

-"damnit, spock! give them all the vulcan cuisine you want, but don't send them crying to me after they get an allergic reaction!"

-"meditation? maybe have them meditate on doing some real work for once"

-but when parents with pitchforks come to complain abt spock's methods he defends him like a lion

-he sends them piles after piles of scientific proof of why spock's method are actually the bestest and most efficient

-when kirk thanks him for stepping in he pretends like he doesn't know what he's talking about

Chapel

-teaches sex ed!

-the sweetest teacher ever

-one of those teachers that noone is intimidated by but noone disobeys because noone wants to makes her upset

-uses her Blonde White Straight Pretty Woman priviledge to convince reluctant parents to sign up their kids for sex ed

-goes All Out on halloween tho

-you know she is there, dressed like a witch, running an educational halloween themed activity! paper bats hanging from the ceiling!

-has gluten free and vegan candy in case the winners have a food sensivity!

-has a secret crush on Uhura and Spock both

Chekov

-teaches IT

-burned out miracle kid

-graduated university when he was younger than his current students

-lets students play roblox on the computers

-and teaches them how to torrent

-somehow noone from the faculty knows where he lives

-background check turns up nothing

-"did you know computers were invented in russia?"

-puts 0 effort in but somehow his students love him

-little girls take sneak photos of him to edit in a flower crowns

Scotty

-teaches a woodworking & engineering class and does janitor duties on the side!

-like kirk, absolutely 0 idea on how to treat younger kids

-strict

-has to be, no joking around power tools!

-but you know praise from him hits different

-will tell students he's proud of them when they make theit first little table

-can fix everything

-say "this interactive blackboard is broken!" three times to summon him

-marries to his career, teaching fulfills his paternal calling

Sulu

-teaches biology!

-rule follower

-stressed out about exams 3 years before his students

-not very inventive but everyone wants his class because there is a hamster in the classroom

-classroom full of houseplants

-if you agree to water them when he's away you will receive a 50 page manual on proper misting techniques

-not strict at all but will give a dressing down to a student who is seen treating a living thing badly

-can be bribed with plants

#disclaimer - this is not consistent with american schools #idk how they work ive never been #star trek tos #star trek the orginal series #spock #kirk #star trek AU #star trek headcanons

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sincerely-sofie · 4 months ago

Note

which zelda game is the TPiaG's casts favorite

WE'RE RUNNING ON HUMAN AU TERRITORY Y'ALL LET's GOOOOOO

Twig likes Wind Waker, but specifically the original GameCube version. She appreciates the quality of life improvements that the HD remake included, but she doesn't like the changes to the visuals they made in it.

Ark is bad at video games and is the designated Walkthrough Reading Consultant whenever someone is playing a game. He enjoys watching Ruby play her favorite, which is Skyward Sword.

Opal loves watching her family play the various Zeldas, and while she doesn't enjoy most video games as much as one might assume, she ADORES the Hyrule Warriors series.

Spindle likes A Link Between Worlds. He has the special edition 3DS that comes with it pre-downloaded and it is his pride and joy.

Ruby, as mentioned above, enjoys playing Skyward Sword the best--- specifically the HD remake, because she's into speedruns and that's the best version for doing them. She and Ark get super into her various attempts to beat her personal best time. The Phantom Hourglass and Spirit Tracks duo are a close second, though!

Kip enjoys Tri Force Heroes and was absolutely crushed when the 3DS servers went down.

Sen has never played a Zelda game, but she once made a 1-to-1 reconstruction of The Adventure of Link in Python with loving attention to detail after hearing people describe it as the black sheep of the series and feeling bad for it.

Lucky is a big fan of Wind Waker, but grew up with the HD remake instead of the original. She and Twig bond over it and she is endlessly horrified by the difficulty of certain parts of the original.

Calypso is a MASSIVE Zelda nerd and can’t pick a favorite. She would sooner give you a top twenty-nine than a top three.

Torrent likes Ocarina of Time and acknowledges that it’s his favorite because of nostalgia and not because of it being the ultimate Zelda game.

Gengar likes Ocarina of Time and swears that it’s the best game in the series.

Celebi likes Majora’s Mask and feels a spiritual connection to Tatl.

Grovyle is a mobile gamer and thinks that Link’s name is Zelda.

Dusknoir was given a Switch and a copy of Breath of the Wild by the Sableye one holiday. It was mainly so that they'd have something to play party games on whenever they visited his house, but they figured they'd at least give him one singleplayer game. He hasn't beaten it but he has made all 118 recipes.

Darcy hasn’t been able to think of anything but Echoes of Wisdom since it was announced.

Bennett is the same as Darcy, but he was the one who played the Link’s Awakening remake that got Darcy into the series.

Clara likes Tears of the Kingdom and hasn’t been able to even look at Breath of the Wild since she started playing it.

Eve is a huge fan of Minish Cap and has the Four Swords companion manga volumes in a stack on her nightstand at all times.

Chatot and Wigglytuff were huge fans of Link’s Awakening DX as kids. Chatot still plays it every once in a while to calm down after the work day, and Wigglytuff has been trying to convince him to give the second remake on the Switch a shot.

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guzhufuren · 2 years ago

Text

Favourite VegasPete Fics pt.2 (pt.1) (in alphabetical order)

1. Black Velvet by @kerrikins https://archiveofourown.org/series/3158706

Vegas notices Pete watching him during the torture scene. Intrigued and more tempted than he expected to be, he stalks Pete and succeeds in taunting him into coming with Vegas so they can fuck.

It starts off as a cat and mouse game for sex, but when the two of them are finally forced to reckon with the fact that they're on opposite sides, they both find themselves more conflicted and drawn to each other than ever.

2. cause and effect by @sapphicblight https://archiveofourown.org/series/3234285

“Don’t you have better things to do with your time? Other virgins for example,” Pete asks him one time over a guerrilla warfare style lunch date. “Not until next semester,” Vegas laments. “I’ve already exhausted our current student body.” Pete doesn’t even know where to begin unpacking everything wrong with that statement.

Or: the college au in which Vegas is a manwhore with a weird innocence kink and Pete is an inexperienced painslut.

3. Drowning, and other Metaphors https://archiveofourown.org/works/44171761

Vegas has never experienced an afterglow that burns like an oil fire, a sudden and dangerous thing that he can’t quite remember how best to put out past the panic. It doesn’t help that Pete’s smile is like a torrent of cool water on his feverish skin, making the flames jump higher. It makes Vegas want to do something dangerous that he’s never really been good at before – it makes him want to take care of Pete. Problem is, he doesn’t really know how.

4. Holy Palmer's Kiss https://archiveofourown.org/works/41273907

"By the way," says Vegas in English. "Interesting scars you’ve got on your chest." Pete doesn’t tense – he doesn’t – but the leveled manner his gaze slides back up must be enough of a tell because Vegas… "What ? Don’t tell me you thought it wouldn’t come up."

The begining of episode 11 but Vegas zeroes in on Pete's top surgery scars instead of his hip tattoo.

5. i want to wear his initial on a chain round my neck by @dage-mingjue & @stratumgermanitivum https://archiveofourown.org/series/3352987

Pete picks up the chain leash and offers it to Vegas. “So, you never did tell me what you were getting this for.” Vegas takes the chain from Pete’s hands and fixes a dark and sultry look on him. “This? Oh, it’s for bad boys who misbehave.” And with that he gives one last smirk before walking out the front door, leaving Pete an absolute mess behind the counter. *** “Pete,” Porsche says, in a very slow voice, like Pete is a particularly small child. “He was hitting on you.” Pete blinks. “He what now?” — Or; Vegas adopts a puppy.

6. Sharing Different Heartbeats by @raelle-writing https://archiveofourown.org/works/40549581

Of course Vegas noticed Pete. But not with much weight. Sure, Pete was hot. But so were all of the rest of Kinn’s bodyguards. That wasn’t notable. It wasn’t worth more than a passing once-over, or an absent glance at the man’s ass in those suits they insisted on wearing. He had a nice ass, but it didn’t stick in Vegas’ mind. It was passing lust, nothing more. And he certainly wasn’t hotter than the other bodyguards– not Porsche, for example. The only thing notable about Pete was that he had a surprisingly soft, cute face, and a sunny, disarming smile. He looked far too soft for his job. But he was Tankhun’s head bodyguard, and one of the men that Kinn often tapped for important missions. Which meant that the cute, soft face was hiding real talent and skill. So yes, Vegas noticed Pete. But it didn’t mean anything.

OR: a retelling of the story from Vegas' POV, from first impressions until after the hospital.

7. The King Must Die https://archiveofourown.org/works/41144892

“It’s fine,” Macau assures Vegas, whose very soul feels plunged into turmoil. Tear-bright eyes, a faint handprint on his sheltered face, and Macau tries to comfort Vegas. “It’s fine, I promise.” Vegas would kill for his brother, indiscriminately. He’s just now realising quite what that means.

(The queer experience of having an ill-advised one night stand with your cousin's head bodyguard and then ending up in hiding with him while you plot to kill your father.)

8. The Last Thing Left to Break by @blackwatervial https://archiveofourown.org/works/41053809

Hatred ran deep between the Theerapanyakul and the Saengtham family. It was common knowledge that the two leaders, Khun Vegas and Khun Pete, despised each other and used every small excuse to initiate yet another bloody conflict. Only that no one was really aware what happened behind closed doors…

9. the mortifying ordeal of falling in love by @dage-mingjue https://archiveofourown.org/works/41659146

“If I had to rate you?” Pete pauses and tilts his head with a low hum, considering. “I dunno, a six out of ten? I thought you were a sadist, but you didn’t really give that impression. Are you actually kinky? That didn’t feel kinky. It didn’t do it for me.” Vegas looks like someone punched him. Hard. His cock is still out and his hair is rumpled and he looks devastatingly disheveled, like Pete was the one who just took Vegas apart and not the other way around. “I’d worry that it was just a fluke,” Pete continues, ignoring Vegas’s flabbergasted sputters, “but I also don’t think I’d give you a second time to prove me wrong.” Pete shrugs and fixes his shirt, petting back his hair. “Anyway, see you around.” — Or a fic in which Vegas fucks through all of Kinn’s bodyguards and lands on Pete, but Pete uno reverses it on Vegas leaving Vegas wanting so much more. Vegas gets humiliated and has to work for it.

#kinnporsche #vegaspete #vegaspete fic recs #kinnporsche fic recs #kpedit #fic recs #recs #fics #mygifs #mine #userboots #taggingmarion #usertph #kinnporschesource #dailyvegaspete #thank you ficwriters for saving my life i adore these so much #i actually have more fav works already and they will go in the next list

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fairy-writes · 9 months ago

Note

I would like a medium mocha with sugar and Edward Elric please!!!!!

-🪐

WITHOUT YOU

Reblogs and Comments are greatly appreciated!!

__________________________________________________________________________

Prompt: Paranormal pirate AU scenario with Edward Elric

Word Count: 0.9k (so close to 1k rip)

Fandom(s): Fullmetal Alchemist

Pairing(s): Edward Elric x Reader

Genre(s)/Tag(s): Female!Reader, Pirate!Edward,

Notes: You guys love giving me difficult requests lmao

This is also a female reader as opposed to my typical gender neutral :)

Trigger warning for death and drowning in this fic!

__________________________________________________________________________

You were awoken in the night by hands roughly grabbing your arms and hauling you from your hammock. You let out a scream, and someone shoved a wadded-up ball of cloth in your mouth as you struggled.

It was your fellow crewmates. You recognized their stink.

You were dragged, kicking, and muffled screaming up to the deck where the rain was coming down in torrents like knives. Your hands were bound, your legs tied together. A cannonball is tied to your ankles, and you are heaved to the ship’s side.

They’re going to throw you overboard. That much is obvious.

“STOP!”

Until…

You see him.

Edward Elric.

The captain of the ship. One of the youngest in pirate history.

And the love of your life.

He shoves his way through the growing crowd of pirates. His bright crimson coat had already darkened to a deep maroon in the hurricane of rain.

“What the hell do you think you’re doing?!” He demands, shrugging someone’s hand off his shoulder and smacking someone else’s away as they try to pull him back.

“‘s bad luck to have a lady aboard, Cap'n.” At this, he scoffs,

“And I thought we didn’t put much stock into fairy tales.” He snaps, and you can see his metal hand curling into a fist.

You begin to struggle again, trying to wriggle toward your savior’s side.

That ends up being your downfall.

Seeing as you’re perched on the edge of the ship, only your crewmate’s hands holding you aboard, you begin to teeter over the side.

Right as a massive wave hits and sucks you overboard.

It feels like you are being pulled down for miles and miles by the cannonball at your feet and the waves pulling at your skin. Dragged down and down and down until you can’t see the bottom of the boat or Edward’s grief-stricken face.

You feel as if your lungs are about to pop. The pressure from the water builds and builds. Behind your eyes, in your nose, under your tongue. You claw at your throat with bound hands, try to swim up, try to stop the sinking, but the cannonball is too heavy, and you are growing weak.

You hit something. Maybe a rock. Maybe a whale. You can’t tell. But you inhale out of reflex, coughing and inhaling more water as it invades your mouth, your nose, your lungs, your entire being. It feels thick like tar as your throat burns and constricts. Your lungs balloon and feel like they are bursting at the seams. Your body convulses. You couldn’t breathe, couldn’t see, couldn’t—

And everything goes black.

Edward sits with his head in his hands at his desk. The ship rocked back and forth. Usually, it would’ve put him to sleep, but not anymore.

You were gone. Drowned. Dead. Never to come back.

He had always prided himself on being a man of reason. A man of science. Ever since he was a boy and his mother passed away, his father lost at sea, leaving him to raise Alphonse with little help.

But now?

He thought about putting the tiniest bit of thought into the same superstitions that killed you. Wasn’t there one about the Elixir of Life at the end of the world? He had no idea. After all, he wasn’t supposed to believe in that stuff.

It was only then that he realized something.

His room was illuminated by a bluish-green glow.

He got up, turned, and felt his jaw go slack.

Was this a prank?

You were in front of him!

You were glowing blue and green with your hair floating as if you were still in the water and water running in rivulets down your body. But it was you!

He whispers your name like a prayer to a god he didn’t believe in, and your eyes open.

You were crying.

“Eddie?” You murmur, and he feels his knees go weak at the nickname. You were the only one who could call him that. Not even Alphonse could call him that.

“Wh—How are you here right now?” He barely manages over his thundering heartbeat. You take a shaky step forward, and he rushes to catch you before your knees buckle.

You’re cold. Freezing even. His hands are soaked instantly by your tears and the mysterious water that’s dripping down your body. But you're here and now.

Edward gathers you in his arms and presses his nose to your soaked, floating hair. He doesn’t care that his clothes—which were drying slowly—are now wet again. All that matters is the fact that you're here.

“I don’t—I don’t understand… how—how am I here?!” You whimper, and his heart cracks at the sound. It’s like you can’t stop crying.

“I don’t know. I’m sorry. I’m sorry. I’m—”

Sorry?

Sorry for what?

Sorry for failing you?

For bringing you aboard when he knew his crewmate's superstitions?

For watching you sink instead of diving in to pull you out?

He realizes he’s crying. And your hand is on his cheek, looking at him with red-rimmed eyes and tears streaming your cheeks and dripping down your chin.

“Don’t cry.” You weep silently, and he smiles.

“How can I not?” He asks, voice cracking, and you shake your head,

“Because you are still alive.” His smile drops,

“But without you.”

You begin to disappear, but not before you press a chaste kiss to his lips.

“I’m never too far away.” Your whisper is but a butterfly on the wind, and he’s left alone in the dark of his quarters.

#edward elric x reader #fma x reader #fmab x reader #fullmetal alchemist x reader #edward elric #fma edward #fma #fmab #fullmetal alchemist #fullmetal alchemist brotherhood #fairy writes #fairy1300followers

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ariadne-mouse · 5 months ago

Note

(hey there! augentrust from main) I'm very curious about the unhinged AU part 7 and the star trek crossover -- whichever you haven't answered or have a particular fondness for!

hey there augentrust from main :D

The Unhinged AU is the original working title of The Kitchen Sink, a modern AU comedy in which Essek is a fashion supermodel and Caleb is a jack-of-all-trades, and the tone rollercoasters between earnest and absurd. I have been stalled on Chapter 7 for a while now, but I will get over it! Here is a snippet:

Essek was a man alone in a torrent of sound. “So at first I was thinking, maybe we should try something NEW you know but what if it’s bad and we’re having this special time and the food is ruining it? And with you knowing Caleb already and this whole thing being like, so star-crossed you know, we have to go see my mama. She’ll love you! And you'll love her, obviously.” (Okay, so technically he wasn’t alone, because the sound was coming from somewhere, and that somewhere was Jester.) He was used to Jester’s peppy texts and, as of today, growing familiar with her vivacious demeanor in person. But she had reached an intensity now that he could only ride out like rapids in a river. “I don’t know that star-crossed is the right descriptor here, Jester, unless you mean we are part of a conflict between two families that ends in death and tragedy?” Caleb, now dressed, strolled up while applying sunscreen to his nose and ears. (Fine, fine, Essek wasn’t even a man alone, because Caleb was here too. However, with a day so full of excitement, Essek thought he might be excused for his internal dramatics.) Automatically, Essek clocked Caleb’s outfit: a tacky floral shirt in pale pink, worn open over a white tank top, paired with cut-off jean shorts whose hems suggested Caleb had done the modification himself. Gone were the good leather shoes, replaced by the same squeaky flip-flops he’d been wearing in the studio, which were blue and cheap and yes, continued to squeak a little on every other step. There might not be familial conflict or death occurring amongst them today, but there was a tragedy, and it was this ensemble. He'd looked far better with nothing on at all.

#thank you for the ask!#i am looking forward to getting this one in motion again once I'm done with my two front burner oneshots #fic: the kitchen sink #asks #wip ask game #shadowgast #ariadne writes CR #critical role

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squad-724 · 5 months ago

Note

I'd love to know what your Vampire AU wip is about! :)

“Tech, we're pinned! Can't you cut off this part of the facility?!” “It's a prison Hunter! Their controls have multiple safety components that I need to override manually for each individual corridor!” The five clones, members of Bad Batch, were currently running from the droids of the Citadel. Ironic, wasn't it? A few months back Echo ‘died’ during a mission here. Now, with his new squad, he was once again running through the dark gray halls, this time his enemies were the Jedi, the same he sacrificed himself for. But not anymore. When the Batch received a coded message from Rex they got themselves into the craziest mission they have ever heard about. Torrent’s general had been killed less than a year into the war, protecting the chancellor from an assassin. His secret was never revealed to the public, only known by the jedi Order and his family, the 501st. That he was a vampire, a sith made species created to hunt down Jedi, believed to be exterminated with their masters. Over millennium after one was recorded a Jedi of the name Qui Gon Jinn found a young boy, able to transform his arms into bat wings, being used as an execution pet by a Hutt. After killing the slug the Jedi took the child to the temple. Anakin always said the Jedi were reluctant in him joining the order, the reactions to him trying to find friends raging from fear to outward hostility. It took the vode weeks to make their general spend his free time outside his quarters, eating and training on his own. If not for Rex catching their Jedi rummaging through their synth blood freezers they would probably never know what he was. And none of them cared. Not for his inability to stand in the sunlight, his wings, long fangs or how his eyes shone in the darkness. Every clone knew how their general would slice the palm of his hand to feed them his blood when the medics weren't able to arrive in time. None of them flinched when a shadow flew over their heads in the night sieges. They knew how to calm him down after his senses went haywire, wrapping him in blankets and shutting down the lights. The information of his sacrifice for the chancellor hit the 501st hard. They were assigned to many Jedi after that, all quickly resigning from the leadership of the chaotic battalion. The clones that served under Skywalker had a small bat painted on their buckets, to honor their late general. After a dozen Jedi refused to lead them, the leadership was assigned to Rex, who made them one of the most efficient night legions, specialising in battles taken in darkness. Thanks to that the troopers of 501st were immediately able to recognise their brothers on Umbara, preventing a bloody friendly fire Krell sent them to. The traitor was their last Jedi general. The captain turned commander was hit by Skywalker's death the hardest, the symbol of the bat taking most of his chest plate, over his heart. Only the closest of troopers to him knew how close that relationship was. That's why, when commander Fox called him over a year after Skywalker's death to tell him his cyare was alive, Rex began to act immediately.

Part 1 >:]

Rexwalker vampire Anakin au

#snippet #ask game #rexwalker

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f1tyreslightmyfyre · 1 year ago

Text

Immortal Artistry - Ch. 2

Series Main List

A Vampire AU F1 Fic Featuring Charles Leclerc x Fem!Reader, George Russell x Fem!Reader, hints of Max Verstappen x Fem!Reader, Lestappen, Sebchal, and Sainzell (or Russainz?)

Also on AO3

Ch. 2 Warnings: Language; sexual content; non-major character death; stalker behavior; vampire blood violence and thrall; WWII references to Hitler and Nazi regime; non-graphic violence, murder and death

2023

Stepping back into your boss’ executive conference room the next morning, you have a mild heart attack. The table’s surface is clear of all the paperwork that Charles signed last night and even the canister of pens has been straightened up. You blink down, still stunned by the sight. Filing paperwork is one of your job responsibilities. Why would anyone else be in your boss’ private, securely-locked conference room touching paperwork for a case that isn’t theirs, unless…

You don’t hesitate to knock on your boss’ door, opening it wide when he bids you entry. “Good morning, sir,” you say, careful to keep your voice even. “I met with Mr. Leclerc last night to sign the power of attorney paperwork laid out on your conference room table, but this morning –”

“Ah, yes,” Xavier cuts you off with a stiff attempt at a reassuring smile. “Yes, I took the liberty of filing the paperwork myself this morning. There were… some finer points that I wanted to handle personally.”

None of that sounds right. Why would your boss stoop to such a menial task? Especially for paperwork on standard forms that you’ve seen dozens of times on other cases. Despite the confused torrent of your thoughts, you offer a slow nod. “Oh, well, glad to hear that they’re not missing. Erm, thank you for… taking care of that.”

“Not at all.” He placates with another disconcerting smile. “Thank you again for taking the meeting last night. I have an appointment to meet Señor Leclerc at his office in three days from now, but I’ve been reassured that it’s not to discuss anything negative from last night’s meeting.”

Your conversation with Charles flashes in your memory, and again, all you can immediately summon is another nod. “Sounds good, err – thank you for clarifying, and for letting me interrupt.”

“Not at all.” He says again, turning back towards his laptop, and you close the door behind you.

You can’t make heads or tails of it. Something about the entire situation feels so incredibly off, but you can’t place your finger on it. Taking a deep breath to try and displace your unease, you walk back to your office and unlock your laptop.

Unbidden, the memory of George’s smiling, handsome face flashes in your mind. You remember your new days at this firm all too well, and maybe that’s what you need to feel normal right now – commiserating with a fellow new paralegal about the woes of work.

Clicking open the office chat program, you search for ‘George Russell’. Your brow furrows as nothing comes up. Perhaps you misheard him and instead, you just search ‘George’. Several names appear in the results, but there’s no last name that even comes close to resembling Russell. Had you really misheard him that bad? You debate going to ask his boss, Musconi, about him, but you don’t need to stalk him like that.

You just need to drink your coffee and get on with your job, no matter what weirdness has transpired in the last twelve hours.

But four days later, you nearly spew coffee all over your kitchen when the news breaks.

SENIOR PARTNER AT PROMINENT MONEGASQUE LAW FIRM FOUND DEAD

Senior Partner Xavier Marcos Padros at the prestigious law firm of Hunt & Lauda was found dead in his home during early hours this morning. Authorities have already launched a full-scale investigation into his death that sources are calling a homicide. There were no immediate signs of forced entry at Padros’ residence, but the victim was found in the kitchen in a pool of blood believed to be his own.

Authorities also paid a visit to Padros’ office at Hunt & Lauda, and found the place ransacked. With papers strewn about and drawers ripped from cabinets, sources suspect that a theft has also taken place, but are careful to note that no such scene of destruction was observed at Padros’ residence. At this time, it’s unconfirmed that the two incidents are linked but authorities are investigating all leads.

You have to read the article twice to fully understand it. The shock of it slams through you, and your hand trembles to think of your boss just suddenly… dead. Murdered, even. Again, you scan the mention of homicide and your stomach sours. Especially as you do the quick math and realize that last night was his meeting with Mr. Leclerc. Though, didn’t he say that the meeting was at Mr. Leclerc’s office?

Just what the hell had happened last night?

Closing the article, you open your work email and look for any sort of corporate announcement. But there’s nothing new in your inbox at the early hour and with shaky motions, you go about getting ready for the workday. The sight of the office building twists your gut as you park and the buzz of the sodium-vapor lights does little to reassure you. As you ascend the floors in the elevator, you decide to stop in the main lobby and confirm that your floor is even still accessible. If the authorities are investigating Padros’ office vandalism, then maybe, they’ve closed off the whole area.

A scene of pandemonium greets you as you step out of the elevator. A cordon of building security and police hold back a horde of clamoring journalists as harried employees and clients try to get through the front door. The receptionist at the main desk looks frazzled and teary eyed as she contends with all the commotion while still trying to do her job. People form a line in the elevator lobby – and goodness, it’s just barely 0630 hrs, but it might as well be midday for all the activity that flurries around you.

A cry of your name rises over the din, and you look around with wide eyes. It sounds… oddly familiar, and you stare in wide-eyed surprise as George works his way through the crowd. “Oh, my goodness,” he comments, glancing around, “this is far too much.” Searching your face, he places a supportive hand on your forearm, steering you towards an open space along the wall. “How are you doing? Are you alright after such tragic news?”

“Wait,” you exhale uneasily, shaking your head as you still try to process what’s happening. “How… how do you know that I’d be upset about Padros’ –” your voice sticks in your throat as you realize what you’re able to say aloud. “... death?”

George’s eyes soften with kind concern. “The office chat program lists your supervisor, and I saw that it was Padros.”

“That’s funny. I tried looking you up and couldn’t find you at all.”

He shrugs, completely unbothered. “Sounds like all IT departments are the same in that they move at a snail’s pace. I’m sure it’ll be updated soon, but you still haven’t answered my question. How are you doing?” His fingers give your arm an encouraging squeeze, and it’s more comforting that you realize.

Slowly, you nod. “I’m alright, I think… in shock more than anything, I suppose. He was just… I mean, I just saw him yesterday. And now he’s… dead? And they suspect homicide?” It’s still a lot to process, and despite yourself, a tear stings the corner of your eye. “He was a good guy – he helped people. I mean, who wants to murder a lawyer?”

George chuckles gently, and really, there is something beautiful about his crystal blue eyes. “Did you really just ask that question aloud? Aren’t lawyers always the bad guys?”

“They’re just messengers. Representatives, really.”

“They’re also the keepers of secrets and lies. The twisters of words and the weavers of tales.”

Your brow pinches in mild affront. “And yet you work for them?”

George shrugs with a modest, boyish smile. “I didn’t say that those are necessarily bad things, but things that someone – an aggrieved party, perhaps – might be willing to kill for.”

“But none of his cases were so contentious…” Your words trail off as you try to quickly think through his open case files. Honestly, you don’t know how many in total he handled via his team of paralegals, but you know that none of your case files were so intense. And if not, intense… then, maybe there was just the one unusual case… with Mr. Leclerc.

“You know the police will come asking.” George says, glancing around the bustling lobby with a wary eye. “That’s probably what the reporters are all waiting for, either that or they’re waiting to see if anything is positively identified as missing from his office.”

“God, I can’t even imagine how anyone could ever confirm it for sure, he has so many case files.”

“Then, maybe it wasn’t a file.” George’s brow furrows in thought. “Do you know if he received any packages lately? Or items from a client?”

You purse your lips as you shake your head. “Nothing that I can recall, but I can’t see his office from my desk, so it’s possible, I suppose.”

George nods silently in acknowledgement, giving your arm another gentle squeeze before letting go. “Well, I’m sure the police will turn up something… they won’t be able to live it down otherwise. But I should stop wasting your time and let you get on with your day.”

Your mouth curls to a soft smile. “You’re not wasting my time, George. And it is good to see you again.”

“Yeah, you, too.” He agrees, offering a brilliantly handsome smile. “Take care.”

“Same to you.” You turn in the direction of the elevators, surprised as he moves back down the corridor. “Hey,” you call out after him and he turns back around, “aren’t you heading up to your office?”

“Nah, I want to get a coffee first. You go on ahead.”

Nodding numbly, you offer him a farewell wave and join the elevator queue. You still don’t know if your floor is open or not, but when the elevator dings and the doors open, your day upends.

A team of investigators swarm the floor, leaving no stone unturned as forensics conducts their business and employees are questioned. After confirming your name and job position, you’re instantly swept into your office with an officer for what seems like an endless stream of questions. Hours pass and your brain is a puddle of mush when they’re finished, but really, you don’t know what else to say.

Well… perhaps you could have been a little more truthful about your unease with the Leclerc meeting earlier in the week. Perhaps you also could have mentioned that your boss supposedly had a meeting with Mr. Leclerc last night, but once they gain access to his phone and schedule, they’ll learn that for themselves. Besides, you only have an unfounded hunch and that’s no basis to pin the suspected murder of your boss on a relative stranger, no matter how unusual some of the finer details are.

“There were… some finer points that I wanted to handle personally.”

Just what had Xavier meant?

When the police finally leave you to the silence of your office and the tumult of your thoughts, you wonder if maybe… just maybe the Leclerc paperwork is still in the building. Maybe the police haven’t confiscated it as part of their investigation, and you can see just what you might have overlooked.

In the meantime, the contents of your inbox have exploded, and you lose several more hours answering emails and reassuring clients that more information about the status of their cases are forthcoming. The sun slides below the horizon before you realize the hour – a common habit in your profession – and with it, the hum of investigative activity has also decreased.

In fact, as you head for the break room to refill your water bottle, you notice only one or two other fellow employees on the floor. The path to the filing room is clear and now seems like the perfect time to make your move. Pulling open the filing room door, the automatic lights overhead illuminate the rows of filing cabinets, and it doesn’t take you long to locate the ‘L’ section.

The Leclerc folder is thick from decades’ worth of business that Hunt & Lauda has handled for them, but the newest forms signed by Charles Leclerc, III, sit on the very top. Now, they bear the official embossed seals of authenticity, and you start reading through the rows of printed legal agreements. None of it looks unordinary. None of it looks unique. None of it looks like… some finer point that Padros would need to handle personally.

His words make even less sense now. Putting the paperwork back, you leave the filing room behind and return to your desk. A dull ache throbs in the back of your skull, and you power down your laptop. You don’t know if the main lobby is still a media circus, but you bypass it entirely and head straight down to the parking garage.

Your heels clack off the concrete, approaching your car as a yawn hinges your jaw and pinches your eyes closed.

When you slowly open them, your heart stops at the sight of a man suddenly standing between you and your car.

1940

“You lack finesse,” Sebastian’s voice carries over the rush of blood in Charles’ ears. “But you have remarkable control.”

Charles swallows the last mouthful of invigorating elixir, feeling the warmth of the man’s blood mix with the ice in his veins. It surges through him with a vitality that transcends everything he thought he knew about being alive. But now he understands just how naive he was. How naive the rest of the human race truly is.

The human in his grasp falls limp from blood loss, but Charles has no intention of killing this one. Just because he needed a snack doesn’t mean this man has to die. Sebastian made that clear from the beginning.

Once the red fog of bloodlust passed and Charles adapted to his newfound senses, Sebastian started to teach him so much. And proves to be the most curious person that Charles has ever known, his nationality notwithstanding.

At first, hearing those German syllables rankled him. How could it not when Hitler was hell bent on Germany conquering all of Europe?

“That’s where you couldn’t be more wrong.” Sebastian countered, staring him down as fire blazed in his icy eyes. “One man does not speak for a whole nation, and my countrymen are severely misguided for their belief in such a notion. It would appear that humanity has learned no lessons since the Great War and remain more focused than ever on their self-destruction.”

“Then, why are you here?” Charles asked. “The Allies are fleeing the continent, and Hitler’s forces are conquering everything in their path. So, why are you right in the middle of it?”

Sebastian’s mouth curled with an enigmatic gleam. “War evolves as humanity advances and supposedly betters itself. And war creates opportunity. We just have to find it here, but it does wait for us.”

Charles shook his head against the pillow, letting himself sink further into the plush, downy mattress. “You say ‘we’... but why me? You… could have chosen anyone. You could have given me the choice to willingly…”

“It’s not something that one can explain.” Sebastian coolly dismissed as he pressed up against Charles’ side. “Knowing what you know now, would you choose to remain mortal?”

“Would you?”

Sebastian’s eyes gleamed with mischief. “And miss out on the last 592 years? Miss out on meeting you?” He leaned close, brushing kisses along the slope of Charles’ throat. “Never, schatz.”

A delicious shiver raced down Charles’ spine and his spent cock twitched with renewed interest. As a mortal, he never had stamina like this… nor did he ever dare to indulge such taboo proclivities so brazenly.

With a nip on Charles’ collarbone, Sebastian continued. “As for your other question…” he paused to press a kiss over a sensitive nipple. “Do I really need to stroke your ego again?”

A drunken smile came to Charles’ face as Sebastian’s fingers danced along the curve of his hip. “But I do so like having my ego stroked,” Charles teased, gasping as Sebastian finally cups his burgeoning erection. “Among other things…”

Charles lost the ability to blush when his heart stopped pumping blood, but the memory still triggers a lingering sense of embarrassed modesty. Seb keeps telling him that those notions will fade with the centuries - that eventually Charles will realize that so much of the inner-conflict he experienced as a mortal serves no purpose and has no bearing on the meaning of one’s existence.

Even now, it's still a lot to take in.

He loosens his grip on the soldier’s uniform, lowering the slumping man down to the ground. They’re somewhere in Poland, largely untouchable by the war-waging mortals around them (unless a bomb lands on top of them) and largely unnoticed in the chaos as they move around the continent.

It’s strange in so many ways, and yet… if the world must be embroiled in global warfare and if Charles must now experience it as an immortal bloodsucker of legend and myth, then maybe this isn’t too bad.

Approval glints in Seb’s eyes. “I do mean it,” he continues. “For one so young, you have excellent control of your thirst.”

“Did you not?”

“Goodness, no.” Seb shakes his head as they continue down the street. “My master scolded me all the time for it. I left more bodies in my wake than I probably should have… but in hindsight, those were far more merciful deaths than leaving them to perish from the Black Death.”

Charles struggles to recall the finer points of his history lessons. “That was the bubonic plague, no? The first time it swept through Europe, taking almost half the population with it.”

“Yes. Centuries of progress and growth just grinding to a halt. Dark days as illness held sway, endemic warfare ran rampant, and the unity of the Catholic Church shattered.” A sigh sounds in Sebastian's words. “At the time, though, life didn’t seem quite so bleak. How could it when you have nothing else to compare it to? I suppose that’s one advantage to being what we are now - stewards of humanity’s legacy, eternal historians among those destined to create it.”

Charles glances over with a bemused smirk as they round a corner. “You’re oddly poetic, you know.”

“How dare you.” Sebastian glares over in mock-indignation. “The Italian Renaissance was absolute torture. Give me the Age of Reason any day.”

Laughter bubbles in Charles’ throat but it quickly dies as a squad of Nazi soldiers march onto the street ahead. They file out of the half-bombed cathedral, arms laden with golden and glittering relics. Looting has always been the privilege of the victorious, but this war is far from over.

A primal growl stirs in Sebastian’s chest and he leaps into action before Charles can blink. That’s also something Seb has reassured him about - that Charles' lingering respect for life will fade. After all, without the prospect of damnation, why should Charles worry about stains upon his soul?

The soldiers don’t stand a chance against Sebastian’s speed or strength. Necks snap and bodies drop to the ground with dull thuds. He doesn’t even need to bare his fangs to finish them off and by the time Charles strolls up the stoop steps, Sebastian is already rummaging through the looted goods.

“Don’t tell me that you killed them just to take the spoils for yourself?” Charles asks even as he is unable to resist looking over the admittedly impressive collection of wealth strewn amongst the carnage.

“Religious relics hold little interest for me, but they do not belong as spoils of an army who have so little respect for life and tolerance of religion.”

Charles nods gently, stepping over to a large, folded panel. Crouching down, he unfolds the first pane, and his mouth drops open at the sight. “Mamma mia….” He hisses under his breath as he unfolds the remaining panels and stares down at the revealed masterpiece. “It’s a van Eyck…”

“What is that?” Sebastian steps around to study the painting.

“It’s a Jan van Eyck painting - his signature and motto are unmistakable since he’s the only one of his time to sign his work.” Charles raises a hand, skimming over various aspects of the painting. “And his blending of the spiritual and material worlds through symbolism is all here.”

“How do you know all this?”

A wistful sigh escapes him. “I wanted to study art at university, but my father said that wasn’t a suitable degree - but in my spare time, I attended every lecture that I could and painted just….” He trails off, shaking his head, still stunned as he stares at the painting. “This is a classic and must be worth a fortune… I can’t believe it was almost destroyed..”

“We don’t know if they were going to destroy it.” Sebastian’s near-silent footsteps sound behind him. “Perhaps they were taking it for themselves-”

Heavy footfalls echo inside the church and Charles glances up just in time to see a German officer step out onto the stoop. Above his crisp uniform, his face holds a heavy frown as he glowers at Charles and Sebastian.

“Hände hoch!” He bellows, reaching for his sidearm.

“Nein,” Sebastian holds a hand up as he strides forward. “Schau mich an… schau mich an…”

The officer’s face falls slack as he succumbs to Sebastian’s thrall, and a stab of envy shoots through Charles. Seb makes it look so easy, but he has also reassured Charles multiple times that it will come more naturally to him as time passes. There’s just so much Charles has yet to learn.

Fortunately for him, Sebastian is a master.

A low conversation in German occurs, and for all of Charles’ trilingual skills, German isn’t among his repertoire. Instead, he turns his attention back to the painting, still marveling at what he’s seeing, even as it lays so pristine on the battered ground.

"They're under orders," Sebastian suddenly says. "Direct from the Führer himself. Acquisition of all cultural artifacts for the glory of the Nazi regime."

The words drop like rocks in Charles' stomach as they echo in his mind. "What on earth will he do with all that art? He can't possibly hope to sell it all…?" He stands up, glancing back over at Sebastian just in time to watch him soundlessly drop the officer. "Maybe he'll ransom it, or worse…"

"Somehow, I very much doubt that he wants all this artwork for his bedroom." Sebastian agrees as he draws back up to Charles' side. "But whether he means to ransom it back or privately sell it, cash flow like that would energize his war machine beyond comprehension." He pauses in a moment of contemplation before an impish smile brightens his face. "Like I said, war creates opportunity, and my dear Charles," his hand falls to Charles'shoulder with the heavy weight of approval. "I think we may have just found our opportunity."

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miraclesnail · 2 days ago

Text

kronus AU, title still pending

chapter 16, 17, 18, 19

First chapter, previous chapter

@oopsies-i-did-a-thing

To add/rewrite later

Travis zones out

Shadow travel

Build a portal

make the clovers/fix the door?

Will try to heal the wound

Percy and travis look at the window and buildings

Travis tells percy to shut up.

Setting sun

House rules.

End call.

After making sure Bianca is okay, the other-him continues with a hesitant “Get some sleep, guys. We’ll figure out the game plan then. Call me once it’s daylight. Or call me if any problems occur. Call me if you want to talk actually. Second thought, maybe I should just stay on the line and—”

“We’ll be fine. You’re going to grow gray hair with all this fretting, Travis,” Bianca jokes with a trembling voice.

Bianca ends the call and immediately plops down and curls into an impossibly tiny ball. She’s trying to stifle it, but Travis can tell she’s crying. He doesn’t know Bianca all that well. Well, he doesn’t know her at all. Today is their first meeting, but it’s not in Travis to leave someone in distress. Should he… comfort her? How does he comfort her? The same way Nico likes to be comforted? How does Nico like to be comforted? Or should he just wing it and go from there? Maybe he should call Will. Will’s bound to know what to do in this situation.

Silena stops him with a gentle hand on his wrist, shaking her head just slightly. She tucks a thin blanket around Bianca’s shaking body and then passes him his own thin blanket.

Sleep.

They want him to take a nap when he just got delivered the worst bombshell of his life.

No way can they be serious.

But Silena lays down beside Bianca and pats beside her and well… he can’t say no, can he? So he bunkers down and stares at the ceiling and listens to the torrenting rain that once had not stopped.

A minute passes in complete, utter silence before he breaks it.

“So about the zombies—”

“Our Travis will tell you in the morning,” Silena says without facing him.

Alright.

He waits some more and then asks, “So about Annabeth and Lou Ellen—”

“In the morning,” is all Silena says.

“Okay, but how about Michael—”

“Morning,” Silena stresses, rolling over to curl up against Bianca, her back to him now, message loud and clear.

So Travis goes back to staring at the ceiling, definitely not pouting and fuming.

This sucks.

xxxxxx

As soon as Bianca hangs up, the questions start. From Clarisse and Nico and Piper and Leo and Will and Perseus and Connor, about Bianca, about Silena, about him, about their world, about the differences, about the zombies, about this person, about that camper, about Chiron, about the gods, about the camp, about this, about that, about about about and it’s too much. Their voices overlap. Their words bounce and crash off each other. Some go in one ear and out the other. Some stay and linger and he remembers dying screams and pleads of mercy that no amount of blinking pushes away.

He sighs, rubs the heel of his hand into his eyes, and debates running to the forest and hiding until he’s needed.

He wonders if that would be a bad look.

[it would be bad. Especially since you establish some kind of understanding]

Understanding? What understanding?

[That you mean no harm]

Then take over. Answer for me. You basically know it all.

[But what if they ask about what happened before the titan? And I'm wary of Annabeth to be honest. I rather not be near her.]

Well, I want to hide so what is it going to be?

“Hey,” Annabeth’s voice, strong and clear, cuts through the chaos.

He peeks an eye to find the room dead silent now for some reason. They’re all still here, all looking at him, but none of them talk. Annabeth’s kneeling on one knee in front of him, her eyes searching his own with a careful intensity he doesn’t like.

“Are you okay?” is all she asks with an earnest face.

What a ridiculous question. He would laugh if he had the energy. He would laugh if he had the spirit.

“There’s not something else you'd rather ask about?”

He winces when Annabeth’s eyebrows crease with concealed concern.

“Of course, I have other questions. But I can’t interrogate you if you’re feeling unwell. So are you okay?”

“I’m fine,” he lies.

“Liar,” Annabeth says without pause, eyes cutting straight through him. “Nectar? Ambrosia?”

He grimaces as a stab of white hot pain punches through his temples. But nothing more. He goes to rub his neck but at Annabeth’s scowl, at Will’s frown, at Connor’s worry, he stops and instead digs his nails into his wrist hidden from everyone’s eyes.

“No thanks. I’m good,” he mumbles, looking down at the floor.

“Right. Sure, you are,” Annabeth says without an ounce of belief in her voice. She stands and pats her knees free of dust. She rests her hands on her hips, staring down at him for a moment with inquisitive eyes. Eyes searching his that makes him uncomfortable.

After a few moments, Annabeth says, “You said the Titan lost his powers? Just that? He’s not scattered into a million particles in the dust like he is here?”

A… million particles? How does that even happen? Sounds like a fever dream. Sounds like a good dream. What he would do to have that… Annabeth reads his face and clicks her tongue, arms crossing over her chest. Her eyes grow a slight bit colder and he can’t help but freeze [fight back] under her gaze, can’t help but be reminded of his Annabeth and her determination for the kill.

“So he’s still whole in your world. Are you still working for the Titan then? Are you here to start another Titan War?”

He shakes his head.

“No.”

Annabeth stays silent, waiting for more.

He should say more.

Everybody stares at him. Someone coughs. Someone else taps their foot.

He needs to say more.

But his mind is blanking on what to say, on where to start, on what actually needs to be said. It all happened years ago. None of it is relevant anymore. So he was Kronos’s spy. So he lost his brother. So Bianca and Silena are alive. So Annabeth is dead. So his world is a mess. Knowing that history won’t help them even a little bit get their Travis back.

So what’s the point of telling them anything?

“Travis. Hey. Are you still with us?” Annabeth says, a hand reaching for him. A hug? A head pat? A light punch on the shoulder? It doesn’t matter. He thinks of sharpened needles and reacts, flinching and halting her by grabbing the wrist. Annabeth immediately withdraws her hand.

And he blurts, “I'm sorry.”

It's the wrong thing to say. He watches Annabwth’s face grow furious and he squashes the urge to run and hide. Not her not her it's not her so don’t attack don’t attack don’t attack.

Annabeth inhales and her face goes emotionless, turning her back on him.

“What are you sorry for?” Annabeth asks. Sorry? What is he sorry for? For Existing. Fucking up. Not being enough. Not doing enough. Never succeeding. Never amounting to anything. Not—

“Nevermind,” Annabeth says, scowling at nothing, “Forget I said anything.”

He could feel her disappointment like a crushing weight and it makes him sicker than he already is.

[I don’t think that’s disappointment.] Then what is it? [Anger. She’s angry but not at you.]

“Everybody out. I need to talk to him alone.”

The awkward silence comes again. Nobody moves. Perseus opens his mouth but shakes his head like he thought better. Clarisse growls, “Are you stu—” but shuts up too. Nobody dares disobey or challenge her. They just file out through the hacked open wall made by Perseus earlier.

When the last demigod leaves through the door, Annabeth turns to him, crouches on one knee so they’re eye-level again, almost hesitantly, asking quietly, “You’re not really… all Travis, are you?”

Oh. [She figured that out fast.] Of course she did. It’s Annabeth. How could he expect anything else? [though I guess it wasn’t really subtle to begin with]

“You’re hosting the titan,” she says, not as a question but as a fact. “And there’s another person in there with you.”

Is it that obvious?

“It’s pretty obvious,” Annabeth announces, tucking a strand of hair behind her ear. “I’ve known you since I was seven.”

He grimaces and immediately wipes it from his face. [you are easy to read]

“Travis, I know you’re overwhelmed right now and want nothing more than to sleep. I have dozens of questions but I'm willing to hold back until tomorrow if you just answer me this. You said you won’t start another titan war. But the titan inside you, is he going to try? If he’s not a million particles then what is his condition?”

“The Titan.” he winces at the spike of pain. “The Titan is weakened, not as bad as when Zeus chopped him up the first time but not as healed when he first started talking with Luke. He’s linked to me and all he sees is what I see. Sometimes, if I'm tired, he can control my body but we have ways around it. It’s not a problem as long as nobody interferes.”

Annabeth's gray eyes harden and he cows a bit under her glare. Even her turning away doesn’t make him feel better.

“What’s his goal then? If it’s not to bring the Olympians down, then what does he want?”

[tell her the truth]

He thinks desperately of a lie that will work.

“Don’t,” Annabeth says without hesitation. “Your eyes are wandering like they do when you’re being dishonest. Tell me the truth, Travis. Stop trying to spare my feelings. What does Kronos want?”

He bites his tongue and considers continuing trying to think up something. [Tell her the truth. You’re the one that ended him. Own up to it. Don’t ruin the fragile peace with secrets] But Annabeth and him are unrelenting and he hates how similar both of them are. He gives in, pathetically, like he always does, shoulders drooping as he leans his head back on the wall.

“Revenge, not against the Gods, but me for burning Luke alive while he was still hosting the titan.”

17 ANNABETH

“Are you fucking stupid?”

Is what Annabeth hears first thing when she steps into the conference room where all the counselors are present. She had Chris and Miranda switch with her to keep an eye over their dimensional guest.

“Hey,” Percy defends, shooting Clarisse a warning glare. “I’m sure Annabeth has her reasons for trusting Travis.”

But Clarisse slams her fist on the conference room table and repeats herself again, louder, angrier, fear disguised as rage. “Are you really that fucking stupid?”

“He had several opportunities to kill us,” Nico says, “Especially that time he froze all of us on the spot. He could have taken a couple of us out before he passed from exhaustion. He had me in a chokehold too. If he wanted, a snap of his leg and I would have died. Plus, he tried to save our Travis from being kebabed by the other-Annabeth.”

“I second Nico,” Will says, “I think Travis is harmless.”

“But he was a spy,” Butch inputs. “He worked against the camp. Who knows who he killed or what he did in that world.”

“Maybe he had a change of heart like Silena did here,” Percy starts but Clarisse’s death glare stops him.

“Silena is different. She died a hero. I don’t see that traitor dead.”

“There’s ways to prove you changed sides without dying, Clarisse,” Percy argues.

“Are we forgetting he tried to kill Percy and attacked two immortals when he first got here,” Leo says.

“How are Mr. D and Chiron doing by the way?”

“Travis,” Annabeth finally says after watching the counselors argue back and forth for minutes. All eyes turn to her, the room quiets. There’s a tumult in the room, Connor is watching her with hope in his eyes, and she watches it disintegrate when she says.

“Travis is hosting Kronos.”

Everybody spoke all at once. Chairs scoot back. Someone drew a sword. The room grows hotter and smoke fills the air.

“Then we should kill him then.” “Are you sure?” “Maybe he’s lying to us?” “No way. I don’t believe it.” “Why did you leave him alone then?! Someone go watch him so he doesn’t escape!”

It’s expected. Her feelings flew through the five stages as she tried to process her thoughts when Travis confessed.

“Travis was the one to deal the final blow to Kronos,” Annabeth says and the chaos comes to a screeching halt.

Percy stares at her, pale. “Not Luke?”

Annabeth nods. “Not Luke.”

“What were you and I doing then?”

Annabeth narrows her eyes. “You’re alive but I’m dead in that world. I don’t look younger than 16 and assuming zombies don’t age, maybe Luke did end up killing me that day.” At Percy’s horrified face, Annabeth rectifies. “Or maybe I died earlier in the war. It’s hard to say unless we asked.”

“Let’s go back to Kronos first,” Katie cuts in, “So Travis dealt the final blow. But Kronos isn’t a million pieces? He’s Kronos’s host now? And without bearing the Achilles’ Curse? I don’t get it.”

“I don’t get it either,” Annabeth admits, “We would have to ask Travis once he wakes up.”

“How do you know he’s harmless, Annabeth?” Clarisse asks, voice strain. Her fist shakes minutely and there’s a desperate glint in her eyes, like she wants to believe too. “How do you know he won’t start a war again? How can you just trust him like that?”

It’s something she asked herself when she left him in the room. There’s a benevolent titan in her childhood friend who already showed signs of violence. He’s not completely in control either. Travis even said it himself. So why did the more she looked at Travis, the more her worry disappeared? Why was it her worry turned into anger the more she looked? Why did she feel a burning rage and the violent urge to eviscerate whoever hurt him?

Even with the unknown powers. Even with a titan and someone else inside him. It’s still Travis. He’s still that same protective, goofy, sweet, impulsive liar she met all those years ago. Even in pieces and fragments, Annabeth can see him underneath the confident and competent facade he has up.

“Because it’s Travis,” Annabeth states confidently. “And I know Travis wouldn’t hurt us.”

Alright.

Yes.

Yeah.

Definitely.

Of course.

After two solid hours of listening to the rain drops and staring at the barely visible, very moldy and leaky ceiling, Travis can safely say with 100% certainty that he absolutely cannot sleep in these conditions. Shocker, he knows. Totally unbelievable. It’s not like he was delivered one of the worst news one can ever get. Him? A traitor. Connor? Dead. Hotel? Trivago.

Travis pushes up upright, glancing down at his two companions illuminated with the occasional lightning outside. Bianca is curled into a tight ball, face buried in to her knees. Silena is on her back, a frown on her face as she tosses and turns.

But both are asleep. Both unable to stop him from taking a quick walk. Just a walk. All he needs is a walk to clear his thoughts.

So Travis stands and tiptoes out of the room, shutting the door behind him. It’s pitch black in the contained building. Not cool, but not a problem. Travis takes out Silena’s cellphone he snatched before leaving. There’s still Bianca’s phone so it’s okay if he takes Silena’s, right? If Other-Him wants to contact them, he still can through Bianca. Besides, he’s going for a quick walk. There’s going to be exactly zero troubles!

Now to activate the flashlight… all phones have some kind of flashlight right? Travis turns the device in his hand over and over but can’t figure it out so he taps on the screen to turn the screen on and flips it around so the dim light illuminates the way.

Just a quick walk. Should be fine, he reasons.

Just to clear his mind. Then he can finally sleep.

Without looking back, Travis breaks out into a run into the abyss.

xxxx

Rest.

Annabeth left him almost alone to rest and recuperate.

Rest…

Like he has the time and the right to do that. He already took an hour nap. That’s plenty of rest.

[I think you really should though. You still feel exhausted. Your body feels like it’s running on fumes. And—]

“I have to use the restroom,” he announces to his two bodyguards fidgeting awkwardly beside him. He glances at Chris, waiting to see if this version of his half-brother can pick up on lies. Guess not, because Chris isn’t calling him out at all.

“Oh. Sure,” Miranda says, tucking a loose strand of hair behind her ear. She glances at his alive-again half-brother. “Chris will have to be in there with you if that’s okay.”

“Yeah. That’s fine.”

He stands from his spot against the wall and immediately his head spins. [see?] He grasps the wall for support. [Rest. Please. If not for you, then for me.]

Just let me steal a couple Ambrosia squares for Bianca and Silena. There’s a stash underneath the sink for easy access. Then I’ll sleep. [Promise?] Promise.

So he pulls himself to his feet and walks outside with Miranda and Chris meandering behind him. He passes by the conference room. He can hear Annabeth’s voice and others. Yelling. Arguing. Complaining. And he really doesn’t like the thought of it being about him.

He reaches for the door of the restroom, but it opens on its own from the inside. A body nearly collides with his, but he swerves to the side in time. The yelp of surprise is still grating on the ears though.

“Jesus Christ, Travis. You’re so quiet,” Leo Valdez says, with a high-pitched laugh that borders more on the fearful side, “We need to get you a bell, man.”

He smelled it first before he saw it. The acrid, volatile stench of smoke. And fire.

The smallest of fire, barely a wisp that's snuffed out faster than it's been alive, but fire still the same.

The barest of heat touches his skin. It’s automatic. He could feel the other person shy away from the surface and shut down and go unconscious. The burning on his neck goes from aching and manageable to excruciating and unbearable.

His knees crumple and he hits the floor hard.

Leo’s yelling now. A hand shaking his shoulder. The Titan’s power leaks from his body, manifesting memories into visions. Leo, 14 and scrawny. His push didn’t even make him budge an inch. But fire goes from his hands and onto him. A beautiful, painful array of red, orange, and pink as he burns alive. Leo, 15 and unyielding. Even with him holding a knife against his throat. Even with him pleading to stop it, to let it go, to just live without revenge. Leo, dead, throat slitted, the knife still drips wet with blood and he’s throwing up and why couldn’t Leo just listen to him why did this have to happen this isn’t fair this isn’t fair this isn’t —

Stop it.

He squeezes his eyes shut but he still hears it happening, the memories playing out loud.

Stop it.

[When we’re having this much fun without that wet blanket? Not a chance.]

Stop it, go away, die, drown, disappear like you did here you goddamn stupid loser of an immortal

The ground vibrates with running feet. There’s new sets of voices.

“Leo? What happened? What did you do?”

“I didn’t do anything! I just came out of the toilet and bam! He just fell over.”

New memories come forth. New visions that burst into reality.

Annabeth, fighting against Luke and pleading for him to fight against the titan and come back to them. A blast of magic that goes astray and hits the wrong target. Annabeth, crumbling in a heap, dead in an instant. And ah. He sees this scene enough times, thinks about this moment more than enough, has it embedded to the memory but still he squeezes his eyes shut and covers his ears and pretends he can’t hear Connor screaming Annabeth's name and Luke freezing in horror, gold eyes finally fading back to blue, and Lou Ellen clinging to him with trembling fingers. It was an accident. It wasn’t supposed to hit Annabeth. It was an accident. It was an accident.

“Holy shit. Lou Ellen killed —”

Perseus, bursting into the room, seeing Annabeth’s dead body, Connor’s right beside her, the stupid titan charm dangling on his brother’s wrist, and he doesn’t know why Percy just assumed that they could ever — that Connor could ever hurt — when they knew Annabeth twice as long as Percy and she’s their friend too. They would never hurt her much less kill her. His body moves the instant Percy draws his sword. But Lou Ellen holds him back with an iron grip still muttering (It was an accident. It was an accident) and he could only watch as Connor scrambles back against Percy’s onslaught. When he finally pries her fingers away from his shirt, Connor’s dead, there’s blood on Percy’s blade. Sea-green eyes turn to them and Lou Ellen whimpers, crawling behind him. Connor is dead. Annabeth is dead. Luke ran off to who knows where. Lou Ellen is still here, still clinging to him. Percy is asking if they’re with the titan and he’s coming closer and Lou Ellen is still shaking and Connor is dead, Connor is gone, Connor was killed and he just stood there. He just stood there and let his brother be killed.

“I… killed Connor?”

“Travis? Travis! Will, can’t you do something!?”

Connor. Nothing more than a stumbling corpse, patches of flesh and meat sewn and held together by threads. The lopsided smile they share is off and cold. “What do you say? Wouldn’t it be better if you’re dead with me too? You’re lonely all by yourself, aren’t you? You can’t do anything without me, right?”

“I don’t know what to do here! This is the titan projecting the memories. How am I supposed to stop that?”

Will. Nose missing. Left eye gone. His intestines held inside by his hand. Minutes away from death and high on their last supply of morphine. Don’t cry. Don’t cry. Don’t cry. Is what he recites to himself as he listens to Will says his final wishes.

“Well, do something! I don’t want to see these crappy images anymore!”

Clarisse’s hand on his shirt as she shakes him hard again. Her eyes are pained but determined, a fire that isn't dampened at all by the rain around them. “Live,” is all she says with defiant eyes. Live? When Connor’s dead? How could he live without his brother? She shakes him again. Harder this time. Almost desperate-like as she sneers with fake belligerence. “Don’t make that pathetic face. Your only option is to live. I don’t want to hear anything about giving up.”

“Let him go. Touch him again and you'll regret it, Clarisse.”

Nico. And Bianca. Both in Manhattan and both wearing armor from the head to the toe. Yelling and shoving at each other. He should break it up. But Will, alive and whole, is asking him what happened, where’s Connor (dead), where’s Annabeth (dead), where’s Perseus (who cares). Michael is pointing at someone stranded in raging waters and seconds away from drowning. Clarisse is shaking him by the shoulders and yelling what the fuck is wrong with you, stop zoning out (everything. Everything is wrong. Connor is dead.). Chris is pleading with Clarisse to drop it. There’s about a dozen more things going on, a dozen more emotions he hasn’t even begun to process, that he just ignores the two children of Hades’ screaming match. Then the ground rumbles and cracks and the undead claw their way up from below.

“Can’t we just knock him out? That’s relatively fast and almost painless.”

Piper, quiet and despondent and hurting and mute and clutching the front of his jacket, not speaking, just mouthing the words, over and over and over. I’m sorry.

Lou Ellen, a hand on his shirt, mumbling, “Why did you protect me? You should have let Percy kill me.”

Chris, pulling him out of rubble, pleading, “I can't do this without you. Don’t give up. You can’t give up on us. Please. Travis, please.”

Luke, a crispy corpse still somehow alive, eyes shifting between gold and blue, looking at him, begging him with pained eyes to do something about the unbearable pain.

Chiron, face weary and resigned as he draws his bow and aims at them as he and they, Katie and Michael and Will, begs for Chiron to please help them, to please side with them and not the gods.

Michael, face hardened, dried tear tracks rubbed away, now the sole remaining child of Apollo, a hand extended towards him, the gauze at his wrist fresh with wet blood. “What do you say? Do we have a deal?”

Connor, humming a song as he dangles from the pipes by the intestines. “Are you mad? Does it hurt? Sorry. Next time, it’ll be instant.”

Connor, grinning as he lops the head off with a single swipe of his machete, body moving without his input. “I’ll make it painless. I swear. Pinkie promise.”

Connor, laughing as he hacks up the bits and pieces of limbs and double-bagging them to toss into the ocean. “I heard free falling isn’t a bad way to go if you land head first. Pretty painless too.”

A tower of water, clashing against New York City. Buildings, toppling like dominoes. Bodies upon countless bodies, in the dark murky water amongst the debris.

A golf-size hole that becomes a giant chasm the size of a football stadium. Spirits that clamber out of the pit and to their broken, destroyed bodies, their screams of agony all starting together.

Their voices all cascade and grind against each other. Snapping back and forth. Overlapping like glaciers trying to stay afloat. Just a constant barrage of memories that refuse to be drowned out.

He can feel the titan grinning in his mind, can practically see his sneer.

He likes it when you’re in pain, Hermes told him once upon a time. So don’t react or give him fuel, is all the advice he gets before the titan’s soul was pulled from Luke’s and pushed onto his.

So he curls up tighter, presses his hands over his ears harder, and pretends he doesn’t hear it at all.

Then somewhere in the middle of it all, he hears someone humming.

19 ANNABETH

“You have bacterial meningitis,” Annabeth, 7, says rather frankly and lowers her book about the myth of Niobe. “Connor has it too. Probably from when you guys were living in the streets. Kind of bad timing. We’re out of nectar from treating the newcomers 5 days ago. Luke went to get more from Mount Olympus. He should be back in a couple more hours.”

Travis, 7 also, stares blankly at her with glassy eyes, fever-ridden and probably delirious and definitely not all there. All of Annabeth’s words probably went over his head and she opens her mouth to recite it all again when Travis’s eyes move past her and around the room. He squirms and tries to rise, falling weakly back to the bed.

“Connor? Where’s Connor?” camp’s newest addition croaks.

Annabeth shifts and juts a thumb to the bed beside her. Connor, 6, is unconscious with a frown marring his features.

Travis stares at his little brother with conflict.

“Do you think I would be a bad brother waking him up?”

“Why do you need him up for?” Annabeth questions with an eyebrow quirked.

“... because I want him to tell me everything will be okay,” Travis mumbles, looking away with shame.

“Yeah,” Annabeth says, “That would be pretty selfish. If I were him, I would punch you and go back to sleep.”

“Okay. That’s what I thought too,” Travis says miserably and Annabeth flips back open her book. She can’t focus on the words though. Travis tosses and turns every few seconds, and it’s hard to focus when someone whimpers and whines every other second.

“Why don’t you go back to sleep? It’ll pass the time faster until Luke gets back.”

“I’m trying. I just can’t sleep,” Travis groans on his side, head tucked between a pillow and arm, eyes squeezed shut.

“Well, close your eyes and try harder. I want to go back to my book.”

“Everything hurts though.”

And Annabeth, 7 and not really good with her emotions, not really good with displaying concern, just in general not good with other people that’s not Luke, sighs and puts her book aside. She stands and ignores Luke’s and Chiron’s warning of not getting too close, else she’ll get sick too. She gets up right to the bed, right next to Travis’s face, arms crossed across her chest.

“Well, what will make you feel better? You’re annoying like this.”

“Connor usually sings for us,” Travis says with his face in the pillow before flipping around then to his side.

“What kind of song?”

“Any song.”

“And if I sing a song, you’ll sleep?”

“Yeah.”

“Promise?”

“Promise.”

Annabeth takes a second to think and sings.

xxxxxx

It was a gamble, a chance, based on the fact that this Travis seems similar enough to theirs. A stupid song she made up on the spot to appease and lull the stupid son of Hermes back to a painless sleep. She doesn’t even know why she thought of it now. Maybe because Travis isn’t responding to any of them, maybe because he’s curled up like how he was when he was sick, maybe because Travis is whimpering and whining just like how he did all those years ago that Annabeth remembered the song and sung it out of desperation.

The images of Manhattan being destroyed by a wave of water, of Percy with dark, hate-filled eyes and a bloodstained Riptide, of Connor hacked and slashed and dead, all of it disappear, replaced with an infirmary and 3 children.

Annabeth watches the memory play out exactly how it happened all those years ago. Everything’s the same. Right down to her little grin when Travis’s eyes started drifting close. To the little pats she gave to Travis’s messy, uncombed hair. To the little sag of her shoulders she did right before Travis fell asleep.

In reality, in the present, Travis’s erratic breathing slows and steadies. A hand grips her wrist tightly, not enough to hurt but enough to be an anchor.

“Jeez,” Her 7 year old self sighs and rests her arms on her hips with the beginnings of a fond smile. “You really can’t do anything by yourself, huh, Travis?”

The memory ends.

Annabeth stops singing.

Travis blinks once. Twice. Focus coming back into his glassy eyes. His eyes roll over to meet hers and a new memory appears. This time of her, 16 and neck bruised purple, her knee on his chest, her hand on the knife digging through Travis’s shoulder, and her other hand pulling that knife out.

“Fight?” Travis whispers in a quiet, heartbroken voice. He stares at her dead counterpart emotionlessly. Not a semblance of pain. Like his shoulder isn’t stabbed. “Without you or Connor?”

“Yeah, that’s right,” other-Annabeth grits out behind clenched teeth.

“You’re going to live.” The knife comes down. It veers off course and shatters against the tile beside Travis’s unflinching ear.

“And you’re going to fight.” A hand snaps to Travis’s throat and squeezes for a second before she lets go.

“And you’re going to try.” A hand fist itself in dirt-caked, brown hair, pulling back and stopping short of slamming down.

“No giving up. Promise me. Promise me you won’t give up, Tr-Tra-vis.”

And Travis, squeezes his eyes shut, tears slipping from the corner of his eye, and nods before he slips his feet under her and kicks her off him and out the open window. She sees Travis’s grief-stricken face mold to something not so fragile, not so open as he turns to the outlines of 4 others running to him.

The memory shifts. To Travis with a pitchfork through her collarbone and pleading as he pins her throat down with his foot. “Please, Annabeth, I know you’re in there. I need your help. I tried like you asked but … but it’s not working out. Nothing I do works out. I can’t plan ahead like you and Connor. I can’t help anyone without you and Connor. I need your help. I-I need Connor. I need—” Travis’s head lowers, but the way his shoulders shake, the way his voice cracks, the rain and thunder does nothing to hide the sob that erupts from Travis. “I need you guys. Connor’s never himself so it’s only you. You’re the only one I can ask… so please, Annabeth… please help me.”

It shifts again, to Travis standing in front of a broken mirror with a messily wrapped gauze around his neck, already saturated with blood. His eyes are a darker shade of blue. A more electrifying shade of blue as hands raise to grip the edges of the bathroom mirror.

“Let’s make a deal,” Travis says to the fractured mirror, voice brimming with uncharacteristic conviction and determination. “I’ll help you. Bianca. Silena. Chris. Lou Ellen. Nico and the others. The undead. I’ll lend you my strength. I’ll help you find safety and peace for all of them. In return, you just keep your head straight.”

Travis blinks and his face falls, conviction turning to uncertainty, eyes a paler shade of blue, the shade of the ocean surface rather than electric-blue. The hands lower to hug his arms. “That’s all you want from me? Seems unfair on my end but I guess I can do that,” Travis mumbles, eyes wandering away from the mirror.

Another blink and Travis with the electric blue eyes is smiling. A sweet and soft smile as Travis’s fist rises to the mirror for a little tap and a spark of electricity flies from Travis’s closed hand.

“Alright, then, partner. It’s you and me. Let’s do our best.”

It cuts to Chris with an arrow flying through his chest, to Lou Ellen tying a tourniquet with blood-slick fingers over her thigh, to Connor as his head is sliced off, to Piper with a hole where her heart should be, to Leo with a knife in his throat, to Holly with a dent in her head, to Laurel blue tinged skin and soaking wet, to Cecil with black veins running all over his body, to Will gored and bitten and in pieces.

To Travis on top of the Empire State Building, soaked under the torrenting rain and frighteningly still with a blank stare to his pale blue eyes as he stare quietly out into the horizon,

To Travis falling off a building head first, eyes closed, body relaxed, falling, falling, before his eyes snapped open, irises electric blue, and the air whirling around him.

To Travis hesitating before a zombie, weapon lowering, stance loosening, eyes wide as the thing stumbles closer and closer and closer. It was a whisper, but Annabeth heard it loud and clear. Connor? Before the thing leans forward and sinks its teeth into Travis’s neck.

To Travis stumbling back with half his neck torn off as Chris rams a baseball bat in between the two brothers.

To Travis writhing and screaming, to Chris frantically pressing a towel against the wound, to Silena cowering in a corner, to Bianca on Travis’s other side, to Lou Ellen standing frozen and Hermes yelling for everybody to shut up, that it’s going to be fine, that Travis isn’t going to die from something as small as that, not with the titan inside him.

And that’s enough.

She has seen enough.

“Travis,” Annabeth grits out behind clenched teeth.

When the memories don’t end, Annabeth shakes Travis by the shoulder. The memory cut to her digging a knife through Travis’s shoulder.

“Travis!” Annabeth shakes harder. A new memory of her snapping Travis’s arm.

“Travis!” Annabeth yells. Another memory of her swinging a shovel and hearing a kneecap shattering. “Look at me.”

Travis does as she asks, ocean-blue eyes staring back at her with barely held back tears and she’s reminded again of her earliest memory of Travis, sick and desperate for his brother.

“I’ll help you,” Annabeth says, hand going to pat Travis’s dirty, unkempt hair. He doesn’t flinch away this time. If anything he clings tighter.

“Jeez, you really can’t do anything by yourself, huh?”

“Your problems, your goals. Whatever they are, leave them to me, Travis. I’ll fix them for you.”

xxxxxx

Hours pass. What used to be all the counselors present is now a select few. Her. Piper. Percy. Will and Nico. Connor.

Exhaustion takes its toll finally and Travis’s eyes droop, little by little slowly closing. Travis digs his nails into his forearm in an attempt to stay awake. Ah, that’s what he’s concerned about, Annabeth realizes.

“Don’t worry,” Annabeth tells him, clasping his hands in hers tightly. “I understand what we have to do. So sleep and trust us.”

Travis is doubtful and he manages to stay awake for five more minutes before Travis’s eyes close and his body slumps over. When they reopen, they’re tinted gold.

The titan barely had time for a second blink before Piper is on it.

“Sleep.”

#watch me post the rest within two or three tumblr post because this thanksgiving break is the only time I have to do so #apparantly the next section for school will be rough :(#but it's fine it's fine it's going to be fine #pjo #my fic #my writing #rereading this kiiiiinnnnddaaaaaaa made me realize what my strong points and weak points were #i wished google doc history showed me when I type this so I don't have to scroll a bajillion version #It's kinda like a time capsule #i have an inkling of what show i was watching based of the style I had at the time

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