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debbiechanclub · 4 years ago

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Best Two Out of Three, Part 26

This is it: the last chapter of BTOOT 😭

I wrote a long, sappy post about what this means to me *months* ago when I thought we would finish much sooner than we did (whoops), so I won’t get into all that again. However, I will say that this is a huge accomplishment for me because I have never finished a multi-part fic until now. But I didn’t do it on my own. I absolutely could not have completed this in the time that I did without @hotyeehawman, and BTOOT absolutely would not be the fic that it is without her. So thank you so much, Lauren. We wrote a whole ass 123,419-word, 228-page mf’in fanfiction novel in less than a year 😳

And, at the risk of sounding cheesy AF, we couldn’t have done it without you all, either. The response to this little wrasslin’ fic consistently blows us away. SO THANK YOU. It means more than words can say. So once you finish reading this last chapter, please come scream at me in your tags, in the comments, in my asks, in my DMs. Because I cannot wait to hear your thoughts.

Alright, enough of that 🤧 I’ll let you get to reading 😉

Best Two Out of Three

Part: 26/26

Pairing: Kenny Omega x OFC, Matt Jackson x OFC x Cash Wheeler, Adam Page x himself

Word count: 7.8k

Warnings: Language; MAJOR angst

Catch up on previous parts here.

Tag squad: @freshlysqueezedmox @comeasyoudar @heelchampbucks @bec0m @betsy-bradock @linziland13 @gabbynorth98 @exe-darbyallin-exe @librathepheonix13 @irish-newzealand-idian-dutch @kingswitchblade

Callie pulled her phone out of her purse to check the time again. 8:57 a.m. She put it back and glanced anxiously around the hotel lobby. She and Cash had agreed to meet there at nine to head to Orlando, and with each passing minute she worried that it would be Matt who stepped out of the elevator instead.

Their conversation had played on a nonstop loop in her head all night. This all happened way too fast. Yeah, I guess it did. Over and over again. Except, in her head, it didn’t end the way it had last night. Instead of Matt walking off she called out to him to wait. She told him that the reason she’d been avoiding him was because she felt guilty about how much she enjoyed being with him. Her brain told her it was wrong, but her heart told her otherwise, and because she didn’t know how to reconcile the two it was easier to just avoid the issue all together.

And that’s exactly what she was doing now: avoiding the issue by going to Orlando with Cash. And she wasn’t just going for the day—she was staying the night at his place.

It had been Cash’s suggestion that she spend the night. It’ll save me a round trip, he’d said via text. It made sense; they both had to be back in Jacksonville for Dynamite tomorrow, so there was no point in making Cash drive four extra hours tonight. So, Callie had agreed.

But, deep down, she knew she’d mostly agreed because it helped her avoid Matt that much more.

She pulled out her phone again, but rather than check the time she opened the camera and flipped it to face toward her. Her double black eyes had worsened from last night, turning an ugly bluish color, but thankfully some full-coverage concealer had made them barely noticeable. Even so, she pushed her oversized sunglasses onto her face. The last thing she needed was people thinking she was a battered woman.

The elevator dinged, and Callie’s chest constricted as the doors slid open. Mercifully, it was Cash.

“You ready?” he asked as he moved toward her. “Sorry I’m a little late.”

She nodded and jumped up from her seat. “Mhm,” she said as she grabbed her suitcase. She couldn’t leave the hotel fast enough.

* * * * * * * * * *

The drive to Orlando was mostly quiet. Cash had asked her if there was anything in particular she wanted to do or see, but she’d just told him she was up for whatever. She knew absolutely nothing about Orlando outside of the fact that Disney World and Universal Studios were there and the little bit she’d seen when she’d stayed with Britt. But Cash didn’t seem bothered by her apparent lack of enthusiasm; he’d just grinned and said, “I got you.” It made Callie’s stomach flutter.

They dropped off their bags at his place and she met his English bulldog, Pawla, before they set off for their first stop of the day. Cash seemed excited as he steered his truck into a parking lot in front of a large complex. Callie, however, was more than just a little confused when she saw what it was.

“Go-karts?”

She hadn’t meant to sound so disappointed, but Cash just let out a laugh. “What? You don’t like go-karts?”

She didn’t answer, looking skeptically out the window at the building. For whatever reason, it made her think of Alex. Go-karts seemed more her speed. She frowned. I wonder if he took her here, too.

“Come on, it’ll be fun,” Cash said. “I think you could use the adrenaline boost.”

“I can think of better ways to get an adrenaline boost.”

As soon as she said it, Callie wished she could take it back. It had just slipped out, implication and all. She looked hesitantly at Cash. He was smirking.

“I’m sure you can,” he returned. Callie felt her cheeks burn hot behind her sunglasses.

“Come on,” he repeated as he unbuckled his seat belt. “I’ll let you pick where we go to lunch afterward.”

He got out of the truck, and Callie drew in a deep, calming breath through her nose as she did the same.

Maybe avoiding Matt wasn’t the only reason she’d decided to stay overnight in Orlando.

* * * * * * * * * *

Alex still hadn’t gotten over what had happened at the Labor Day party. In a word, she felt awful. She wanted to text Callie and apologize again, but between nearly breaking her nose and all but telling her to stay away from Matt, she doubted she wanted to hear from her. So, in hopes of boosting her mood, she’d decided to sit out by Kenny’s pool and soak up the last vestiges of summer while she still could.

But, so far, it hadn’t worked.

Her phone chirped next to her on the lounger, and she picked it up and unlocked the screen. She had a text from Trent.

Hey loser. You have plans today?

She rolled her eyes, but a smile tugged at her lips as she typed back. Not really. Why?

She hit “send,” but instead of setting the phone back down she opened up Instagram. She clicked on Jay White’s story and let it autoplay through a couple more people before it unexpectedly came to Cash’s story. It was a Boomerang video of an indoor go-kart track. Alex recognized it; he’d taken her there one of the first weekends she’d stayed with him in Orlando.

A banner appeared at the top of her screen with Trent’s reply. Because Sam is in town if you want to come hang out.

That caught her off-guard. Sam, the boys’ friend who she’d first met five years ago. Alex had had no idea she was going to be in Jacksonville. Had one of them told her and it’d slipped her mind? But she didn’t think too much of it as she opened the text and sent her response.

Idk. After yesterday I kind of just feel like being a hermit today.

She went back to Instagram and refreshed the page—and her eyes widened at the first picture that popped up.

Callie, a bright smile on her face as she posed in a helmet at the very same indoor go-kart track from Cash’s story.

“Are you shitting me?”

“There you are.”

Alex nearly dropped her phone on her face at the sound of Kenny’s voice. He gave her an amused look. “You alright?”

“Yeah…” she started. But she thought better of it and huffed, “No.”

Kenny cocked his head in concern as he sat down on the edge of the lounger next to her. “What’s wrong?”

Alex let out a sound that was half sigh, half groan. The last thing she wanted to do was to complain to Kenny about Callie and Cash, of all people. But if she couldn’t talk to him about it, who could she? “I’m just frustrated with the whole Callie situation,” she breathed.

She glanced at him from underneath the bill of her baseball cap. He frowned sympathetically at her. “I know, baby. But you didn’t hit her on purpose. If she doesn’t believe that it’s her problem.”

“It’s not just that,” she interjected. “According to Instagram she’s in Orlando with Cash right now.”

His brow furrowed in confusion when she said that. Alex knew exactly what he was thinking. “I don’t give two shits about Cash,” she assured him. “He can do whatever and whoever he wants. Honestly, I expect bullshit like this from him. But I don’t get where Callie’s head is at. Where the hell does she get off blaming me for ruining her relationship with Adam while she’s off driving fucking go-karts with the guy who stabbed him in the back? It hasn’t even been two weeks since she left him!”

“Because it’s what Callie does,” Kenny blithely returned. “She thinks she’s blameless in everything and doesn’t take accountability for anything. This isn’t the first time she’s shown you that’s exactly the kind of person she is.”

“But we were friends, Kenny! Somehow, we got over all the bullshit and became friends, and then fucking Adam…”

She trailed off, her voice growing thick with emotion, and looked to the ceiling. She didn’t want to get upset. But it was hard not to. She felt betrayed. That was the only word for it.

“Hey.” Kenny put a hand on her bare leg, drawing her eyes back to his. “Do you want my honest advice?”

She nodded.

“Stop wasting your energy on Callie and Adam. They’re not worth it, Alex. You’ve given them so much of your time and effort and what have you gotten in return?”

A tear rolled out of the corner of her eye and she quickly wiped it away. She didn’t need to answer him. They both knew the answer. “I know,” she softly agreed. “You’re probably right.”

A corner of his mouth quirked up. “Of course I am.” He leaned over and kissed the side of her head. “I was thinking about ordering sushi for dinner tonight. That always makes you feel better.”

She perked up a bit at that. “Can we get sake, too?”

He nodded. “Yes, I’ll get you sake, too.”

She smiled. “Okay.”

He gave her leg an affectionate squeeze and stood. “Well, I’m gonna go get a workout in. Wanna join me?”

Alex couldn’t help herself. “Is that a euphemism?”

He grinned. “No, despite how much I want to take that bikini off you right now.”

She just playfully rolled her eyes in response.

“Come on,” he said, holding out his hand. “Endorphins will make you feel better, too.”

Alex emitted a dramatic groan as she put her hand in his and let him pull her to her feet. “Not if you try to kill me like you did last time,” she argued.

“But I always take good care of you afterward,” he said. “That was a euphemism, by the way.”

She returned his smirk. “Yeah, I got it.”

* * * * * * * * * *

To Cash’s credit, the go-karts had been fun—but Callie was more than happy to take the lead on the rest of the day. She’d picked out a restaurant on International Drive for lunch (Cash had groaned and said that was where all the tourists went, to which she’d cheekily replied that she was a tourist), and afterward he’d convinced her to ride the Ferris wheel at ICON Park, where he’d pointed out some of the different areas of the city to her (Callie, who was afraid of heights, had kept a death grip on his arm the entire time). Then, at Callie’s request, they’d driven around some of the neighborhoods so that she could get a better feel for them (“Obviously, I recommend my neighborhood,” Cash had said). Overall, it had turned out to be a good day after all, and Orlando was looking more and more like the place Callie wanted to move.

But, the more time she spent with him, the more she started to wonder how much of that feeling was due to Cash.

“What’re you craving?” he asked as they sat on the couch in his living room.

“You pick,” she returned. Pawla lounged between them, and she reached down to scratch her behind the ears. “I’m honestly still stuffed from lunch.”

“Chinese it is,” he decided, and he pulled out his phone to order. Callie did the same, but to open up Instagram—and she found that Alex was the first person in her stories queue. She stared at the little circle of her profile picture, hesitant. But she was too nosy not to look, so she angled her phone screen away from Cash and clicked.

There were only two pictures in her story. The first showed her in sweat-drenched workout gear lying face-down on a gym room floor with the caption, “@/kennyomegamanx tried to kill me again.” The second was of her smiling in satisfaction in front of a takeout container of sushi. “He made up for it,” the caption read.

“I guess Alex and Kenny aren’t hiding their relationship anymore.”

She froze and glanced at Cash out of the corner of her eye. That was the second time that day she’s put her foot in her mouth. “I’m sorry,” she apologized. “They’re probably the last two people you want to hear about.”

But Cash shook his head. “I don’t care. They can have each other.”

Callie frowned. She wasn’t sure how to respond to that, but he spoke up again before she could.

“Do you prefer beef and broccoli or chicken?”

She thought for a second. “Beef.”

A few more clicks and he finished putting in the order. “It says it’ll be here in thirty-five minutes,” he said as he stood from the couch. “You want a drink? I have a bottle of The Rock’s tequila, it’s really good.”

Callie’s nose scrunched up. “Do you have vodka?”

“Yeah. You want it on the rocks or mixed?”

“Mixed please.”

He nodded and disappeared into the kitchen. Callie occupied herself with petting Pawla until he returned with their drinks a few minutes later. “Here you go; vanilla vodka and Coke Zero.”

“Oo, that sounds good,” she said as he handed her the cocktail. She took a sip. He’d made it just right, not too much vodka, not too little.

“So, what’d you think of Orlando?” he asked as he sat back down. “Did I convince you to become my neighbor?”

His choice of words made her stomach flutter again. “I think so. There’s more to do here than in Jacksonville, and a two-hour drive to work is a lot better than a cross-country flight.”

He nodded. “Yeah, I like it. Dax is planning on moving back to Asheville, but I think I’m gonna stay here. It’s grown on me. Plus, I like Disney and Universal Studios too much.”

“Yeah, I definitely want to check those out,” she returned.

“We should plan a weekend,” he smirked. Callie took a sip of her drink to hide her blush.

They fell into silence, and they both turned their attention to the random show Cash had put on the television. But there was something hanging in the air; Callie could feel it. She was about to speak up when Cash beat her to it.

“So, we’ve avoided the topic all day, but I kind of feel like I have to ask now.”

There was no need for him to clarify what he meant. “Matt?” she guessed.

He nodded. She shifted in her seat. “What about him?”

“Well… are you two not together?”

He sounded almost hopeful. She hesitated to respond.

“That was the rumor backstage,” he added.

She rolled her eyes. “Of course it was. But I guess, yeah, at one point it was moving in that direction. But… I actually told him last night that I think we rushed into things.”

“Oh,” Cash said. It was obvious that he expected her to continue, but her confusion over Matt was the last thing Callie wanted to get into right now. So, she deflected.

“There’s something I need to ask you, too.”

Cash arched his eyebrows as he raised his glass to his lips. “That doesn’t sound good,” he joked.

But Callie wasn’t joking. “Why’d you do what you did to Adam?”

He paused to cock his head at her. “What do you mean?”

She shot him a flat look as he took a sip of his drink. “I mean when you stabbed him in the back, Cash.”

Cash made a noise as he swallowed down the tequila. “Damn, not pulling any punches, huh?”

“You didn’t with Adam.”

He looked back at her in surprise. She didn’t waiver. He breathed out again.

“Alright, look,” he started. “I don’t have anything against Adam. I’ve known him a long time. But he and Kenny had what we wanted, and we did what we had to do to get it.”

She rolled her eyes again. That was such a canned response.

“What?”

“You did not have to do what you did,” she returned. “You didn’t have to manipulate him the way you did.”

His eyebrows arched. “Manipulate him? Callie, all we did was point out that Kenny and the Bucks don’t give two shits about him. He did the rest himself.”

“What?”

“I swear.”

“So you didn’t tell him to sabotage Matt and Nick in the gauntlet match?”

“No! He did that because he was upset about you and Matt!”

Callie’s brow puckered in confusion. “What?”

“Yeah,” he confirmed. “He told us at the hotel bar that night that he found out right before the gauntlet match that you were staying with Matt in California, so he retaliated by sabotaging their title shot. Dax and I didn’t have anything to do with that, I promise you.”

The room grew silent as his words sunk in, stunning her. That was exactly what Alex had surmised when Matt had confronted her immediately after the gauntlet match. But Callie hadn’t wanted to believe it, and after FTR had turned on Adam she’d assumed that they’d been the ones to put the idea in his head.

But if Cash was telling her that they hadn’t, then it meant she really was to blame.

“Hey,” Cash softly beckoned. She looked back up at him. His eyes were earnest. “It’s not your fault. I didn’t mean to make it sound like it was. You didn’t do anything wrong.”

Callie stared down into her drink, tapping her fingernails on the glass. She appreciated the sentiment, but she didn’t agree. Not really. “Well, technically I walked out him, so…”

She trailed off and took a long drink. She felt like such a bitch. I shouldn’t be here.

“And?” Cash returned, drawing her out of her thoughts. “I’m sure you had good reason to.”

Callie didn’t answer right away, nearly draining her drink. Once she’d had enough, she looked down at Pawla and scratched her head again. “Let’s not talk about it anymore,” she said.

“Done,” he said, and she sent him a tight, grateful smile. “So what do you wanna do? Watch a movie?”

She nodded. “Yeah, that sounds good. I just have one request.”

“What’s that?” he asked.

“Anything but Mean Girls.”

* * * * * * * * * *

When Matt arrived at Daily’s Place on Wednesday, he had half a mind to go to Tony and tell him to cancel the mixed tag match. He had no desire to wrestle a match with Callie anymore. To be frank, he didn’t want much of anything to do with her at the moment.

He knew she’d been in Orlando with Cash yesterday. He’d seen her Instagram photo at the go-kart track and hadn’t thought much of it. But not long after, Kenny had texted him.

Hey, did you know Callie is in Orlando with Cash right now?

It had caught him completely off-guard. No? he’d responded. Who told you that?

He’d been more on-edge than he cared to admit while he’d awaited Kenny’s reply. Alex. I guess they posted photos from the same place on Instagram or something.

A quick search for Cash’s Instagram profile—Matt didn’t follow that asshole—had confirmed the claim to be true. It wasn’t a photo, but a Boomerang video on his story that gave it away. It was unmistakably the same indoor go-kart track from Callie’s picture.

I just thought you should know, Kenny had followed up. Matt hadn’t responded. He’d tried to put it out of his mind ever since, but he couldn’t. He kept going back to what Callie had said to him the last time he’d seen her.

This all happened way too fast.

He didn’t disagree; they had moved fast. But what confused him was that Callie had been the one to set the pace, not him. He’d thought she’d wanted everything that had happened between them.

But the way she was acting now made him feel like nothing more than a regret.

“Matt.”

“Hm.” He looked up from his phone at Brandon. He, Nick, and Kenny all stared expectantly at him from across the EVP room.

“Do you want me to film the mixed tag match for BTE?” Brandon asked. His tone that conveyed he was repeating himself. Matt obviously hadn’t heard him the first time.

“Oh, no. Sorry,” he replied, and he looked back down at his phone. He saw the three of them exchange a wary glance out of his peripheral vision. Thankfully, they just left it alone.

“Alright, I’m starving,” Nick announced as he stood from his seat. “You guys coming?”

“Yeah,” Brandon agreed.

“No,” Kenny wearily returned. “I got that interview with JR.”

There was a pause. And then, “Matt?”

He looked up again, this time at his brother. He shook his head. “No. I’m not hungry.”

Nick let out a breath. “Alright,” he said, and he and Brandon went out the door, leaving Matt and Kenny alone. The silence in the room was deafening. But it didn’t last long.

“Have you talked to Callie at all?” Kenny asked. “About the match,” he quickly clarified.

Matt shook his head again. “No. I haven’t talked to her period. Not since Monday.”

There was another beat of uncomfortable silence. Again, Kenny was the one to break it. “Look, about yesterday. I wasn’t trying to—”

“Don’t,” Matt abruptly cut him off. He knew exactly what he was going to say, and he didn’t want to hear it. “I’m glad you told me. Let’s just leave it at that.”

He raised his palms in surrender. “Fine,” he said, and Matt hoped that really was the end of it.

But then Kenny added, “But I think you owe Alex an apology.”

“What?” Matt cut his eyes at him in disbelief. “For what?”

“Oh, come on, you know exactly for what. For the whole reason the mixed tag match is happening in the first place.”

That confused him even more. “The mixed tag match is happening because Trent can’t mind his fucking business.”

Kenny rolled his eyes. “Oh, okay,” he sarcastically returned.

“What?”

“You called Alex a slut, Matt!” Kenny burst. “That’s what led to the mixed tag match! You accused her of putting Hangman up to sabotaging your title shot and you called her a slut for being involved with both me and Cash. But where was Callie yesterday? In Orlando with Cash, even though she’s apparently with you. So yeah, I think you owe Alex an apology.”

Matt sat back, physically stung by Kenny’s words. They hurt because there was more than just a grain of truth in them. But, at the moment, he was too stubborn to hear it. “Oh, so Callie’s the slut now? Is that what you’re saying?”

Kenny expelled an exasperated breath. “No, that’s not what I’m saying.”

“It sure fucking sounds like it is.”

“I’m saying she’s making you look like a fucking idiot.”

They were thrown into silence again, their arguing replaced with quiet, palpable hostility as they sat opposed on either end of the room. Matt’s eyes turned dark. He didn’t need this. Not now. Not from his best friend.

“Fuck you, Kenny,” he spat. He stood and stalked toward the door, and as he gripped the handle he turned back, a cutting remark on the tip of his tongue. But in a moment of clarity, he decided it was better left unsaid. The shoe was on the other foot now. So he just went out the door, suddenly glad that he did have a match. He needed to hit something.

* * * * * * * * * *

“Are you guys going out for Jim’s match?”

Alex glanced across the locker room at Trent, looking for him to answer Chuck’s question. He met her gaze before responding.

“I don’t think so,” he said. “We’ll probably stay back here and focus on our match.”

Chuck nodded. “Yeah. I wish it wasn’t mixed tag rules. I’d like to see Alex hand Matt his ass.”

“Oh, she doesn’t even need to touch him to do that,” Trent returned. “Didn’t he train Callie?”

Alex knew he was asking her, but she didn’t look up as she rummaged through her suitcase. “I think so.”

Trent smirked. “So then kicking Callie’s ass will be kicking Matt’s by proxy,” he said. Chuck blinked at him.

“Wow, you actually used that correctly.”

He sucked his teeth. “Fuck off. I know big words.”

“‘Proxy’ is a five-letter word.”

“You know what I meant.”

“Spell it.”

“Are you serious?”

Alex smirked to herself and let them continue to argue while she grabbed the top to her gear and a pair of joggers and went into the bathroom to change. Truth be told, she didn’t want to talk or even think about the match against Callie and Matt. It was a complete one-eighty from a week ago—she’d been aching to kick Matt’s ass then. But now, she just wished the entire situation would go away.

She finished changing and returned to the main area of the locker room. Chuck was still challenging Trent to spell different words. “I’m going to hair and makeup,” she announced over them.

“What gear are you wearing?” Trent asked.

She turned to face him as she pulled on her zip-up hoodie. Her top was a sparkly dark silver-purple with black trim. “This gear. Why?”

“Because we should try to match. I knew I should have brought the gear from Fyter Fest…” he trailed off as he dug through his things and pulled out his dark gray tights with the blue and pink designs. “Do these work?”

Alex gave him a soft smile. “Yeah, those work. I’ll ask Stella to do a blue and pink eye look,” she said, and she went out the door.

Unfortunately, she didn’t get ten steps before she ran into Adam.

He slowed to a stop when he saw her. “Hey.”

“Hey,” she returned, and her brow puckered with concern as she looked him over. He had his ubiquitous glass of whiskey in hand, but he at least looked better than he had when she’d seen him at the hotel on Sunday. “Going somewhere?”

He looked confused at that. “No… why?”

She awkwardly fidgeted with the sleeve of her hoodie. “Well, you just look dressed for TV and I didn’t see you on the card tonight. I wasn’t even sure you were here.”

Adam hadn’t said a single word to her since she’d texted him to ask if he was going to the Labor Day party. But she hadn’t said a single word to him since then, either. Because the more she’d thought about it, the more she’d realized how right Kenny was. It was exhausting putting so much effort into a friendship where she wasn’t getting the same effort in return.

“Oh,” Adam regretfully said as he looked down at his pale blue button-up. “Yeah, I just had an interview with Schiavone.”

“Oh,” Alex repeated. “About—”

“Where I go from here,” he interjected. “I said I was still open to tagging with Kenny if he was.”

He laughed wryly to himself and took a sip of his drink. Alex frowned and looked away. Kenny was not open to tagging with him again; she knew that for a fact. But judging by the look on Adam’s face, deep down he knew that, too.

“Where are you headed?”

She looked back up at him. “Oh, hair and makeup. For the match tonight.”

Realization dawned in his eyes. And then, sadness and hurt. “Oh, right. You have the mixed tag against Matt and Callie.”

“Yeah.” Alex fidgeted and glanced away again. She couldn’t bear the look on his face. But then she wondered: did he know that Callie had been in Orlando with Cash yesterday? Should she tell him?

No, she quickly decided. It’s not your place or responsibility.

“Well, I should get over there,” she said, gesturing in the direction of hair and makeup.

“Oh, yeah,” he nodded as she started walking. “Good luck tonight.”

“Thanks,” she said, and she turned and hurried off as quickly as she could.

* * * * * * * * * *

In the years since she’d started wrestling, Callie had never felt as much of an outcast as she did now. As soon as she’d arrived at the arena with Cash, she’d realized she had nowhere to go. The EVP room was out of the question, and she didn’t want to go back to sharing a dressing room with Britt—she was the one who’d blabbed her business all over Daily’s Place to begin with. Cash had offered for her to share with him and Dax, but she’d turned him down; she could only imagine the rumors that would start if people noticed her sharing a locker room with FTR. No, she needed to keep a low-profile, and so she’d found an empty room away from everyone else. Now, she sat in one of the lounges watching the show as she awaited her match, alone.

Orange Cassidy had just beaten Angelico with the Orange Punch. Callie had expected Best Friends and Alex to be at ringside for the match, but they weren’t. She looked away from the TV and down at her phone as Bryce Remsburg raised Orange’s arm in victory, but a commotion a moment later redrew her attention. Santana and Ortiz had attacked Orange from behind. The assault didn’t last long, however, as Chuck and Trent ran out and chased them off like a pair of guard dogs. Callie couldn’t help but roll her eyes as Trent angrily paced the ring, shirtless in his skinny jeans. She sincerely hoped Matt would get a quick pin on him in their match.

Chuck grabbed a mike to speak, but Callie’s phone buzzed in her hands and she looked down at the screen. It was a text from Cash.

Are you free? I need a favor.

Her pulse picked up a bit as she unlocked her phone to respond. Yeah… what’s up? she typed back and hit “send.” She watched as the typing bubble appeared and, soon after, his answer.

Don’t laugh. I can’t decide on a shirt.

Despite his request, Callie couldn’t help but let out a little laugh. But she couldn’t blame him too much; FTR was having an in-ring celebration in honor of their championship victory at All Out that night. He probably wanted to look his best.

Usual room? she asked as she stood to leave.

Usual room, he replied, and she headed off in the direction of FTR’s dressing room.

The door was slightly open when she arrived, and she knocked to announce herself before she let herself in. Cash stood alone in the middle of the room in a pair of dark navy slacks and socks, shirtless. Callie’s mouth went suddenly dry as he looked over at her.

“Okay, I can’t decide between these two.” He motioned to a pair of dress shirts hung up in the cubby behind him—one white with tiny blue dots, the other with a subtle blue and white checkered pattern. She walked over and pulled them both out of the cubby so that she could hold them up next to him. He smirked at her as she studied them. She did her best to ignore it.

“This one,” she decided, handing him the checkered shirt. But she frowned as she returned the white shirt to its place. “Are those the only dress shoes you have?” she asked, nodding at the pair of black square-toed loafers on the floor.

“Yeah…” Cash slowly returned. “Why? Is something wrong with them?”

It took every fiber of Callie’s being not to blurt out with, “Yes, they’re hideous.” Instead, she said, “Just brown would look better with navy, is all.”

“Oh,” he realized. “I guess I should have asked your advice before we left this morning.”

She smirked. “Is that all you needed?”

“Yeah, thanks,” he answered as he pulled on the shirt. Callie watched as he fastened the buttons, and she realized she was staring. She fidgeted and looked awkwardly away, but Cash didn’t seem to notice. “Are you ready for your match?”

She drew in a deep breath. “Physically, yes. Mentally… not at all.”

He snorted. “Make Matt do all the work. He’s the one who dragged you into this.”

Callie anxiously bit her lip. He wasn’t wrong; of the four of them in the mixed tag, she was the only one who hadn’t been present when the match was made. But even so, she couldn’t do that to Matt. “No, I don’t want to do that. And besides, Matt didn’t ask for the match, either—Trent did. All because he didn’t like Matt mouthing off about Alex.”

Cash rolled his eyes as he tucked his shirt into his pants. “That doesn’t surprise me. I think he has a thing for her.”

She scoffed. “You think he does? Please, it’s obvious he does,” she said. And then she muttered, “It seems like everyone has a thing for her.”

“Not me,” Cash abruptly announced. “I’ve moved on.”

Callie looked up at him, but he turned away to grab his suit jacket. She wondered if he had more to say—it felt like he had more to say—but before she could ask the door to the locker room opened and Dax walked in. He halted when he saw her.

“Oh, hey, Callie. I’m not interrupting anything, am I?”

He glanced between her and Cash. They both quickly shook their heads. “No, I just asked her to come help me pick out a shirt,” Cash said.

“Ah,” Dax nodded. Callie didn’t miss the little smirk on his face. It was her cue to go.

“Well, I’ll go so you can get dressed,” she said to Dax as she started to leave.

“Good luck if I don’t see you before your match,” Cash returned, and she gave him a tight smile and went out the door.

* * * * * * * * * *

Alex’s hands were clammy as she stood at Gorilla with Trent. The mixed tag match was next. Unfortunately, it was right after FTR’s joke of a tag team championship celebration. She did her best to tune out Dax’s egotistical blathering as she rolled her neck and loosened up. She needed to focus. A match was a match, and even though she wasn’t looking forward to this one, she still wanted to do her best.

“You ready for this?” Trent asked.

She looked up at him and nodded. “Yeah. Are you?” she meaningfully returned. She still couldn’t believe that he and Chuck had challenged Santana and Ortiz to a parking lot brawl next week. On top of worrying that they’d murder each other, she was concerned that Trent’s focus was no longer on their match.

“Yes,” he assured her. “Don’t worry about me.”

Alex smirked. “Man, have I got bad news for you next week.”

He gave her a crooked smile; but then his eye was drawn to a spot just past her shoulder. She turned to look. Matt and Callie had arrived.

Trent scoffed. “They don’t match at all. Losers.”

Normally, Alex would have laughed. But it was obvious even in the dim lighting of Gorilla that Matt and Callie’s gear wasn’t the only thing off about them. Callie in particular seemed unsure of herself. Her eyes met Alex’s. She turned away without a second glance.

Back in the ring, the “celebration” came to a screeching halt when Jurassic Express dumped a cooler full of beer cans over Cash, Dax, and Tully’s heads. Thankfully, they returned backstage a different way than through the entrance tunnels.

Alex drew in a breath and shook out her arms and legs as the show went to commercial. But it seemed like no time had passed at all when she heard the distinctive beat of the Best Friends theme song sound throughout the arena.

“Let’s do this,” Trent said as he held out his fist to her. She bumped it confidently with her own, and they walked into the tunnel together.

* * * * * * * * * *

A boulder settled in the pit of Callie’s stomach as she watched Alex and Trent disappear down the entrance tunnel. She didn’t know why she’d expected Alex to be just as nervous as her. On the contrary, she’d looked laser-focused; her and Trent both had. It was glaringly obvious that they were ten times more prepared for this match than she and Matt were. The two of them hadn’t even walked to Gorilla together—they’d just happened to get there at the same time.

“I’ll start the match,” Matt said. “I’ll try to keep your ring time to a minimum.”

Callie looked at him in hurt and confusion. “Why would you say that?”

“Because it’s obvious you don’t want to do this,” he breathed. “So I’ll just make quick work of Trent and get it over with, alright?”

“SUPERKICK PARTAYYYYYY!”

The opening of the Young Bucks theme interrupted before Callie could say anything. Matt didn’t so much as glance at her before he walked into the tunnel, and she had no choice but to follow him out.

The crowd offered a mixture of boos and cheers as they walked out onto the stage, but Callie couldn’t hear them over the music. She stood awkwardly next to Matt and waited for him to do his signature pose, but he never did. He just glared into the ring at Trent, who glared right back.

BOOM!

The cannons on the side of the stage shot fake $100 bills high into the air, making Callie flinch. She looked back into the ring as the paper money floated down around them. Alex rolled her eyes in annoyance and turned to say something to Trent.

She stood stiffly at the top of the stage until Matt moved, and they made their way down the entrance ramp. Trent started jaw-jacking, but Callie tuned him out as she took her place on the ring apron. Matt, however, took the bait; Aubrey had to push him back as they yelled at each other. Eventually, Trent scoffed and turned back to Alex.

“You wanna start?” Callie heard him ask.

But Alex didn’t even get the chance to open her mouth before Matt yelled, “No, we’re starting the match!”

Alex and Trent exchanged a look, but she stepped through the ropes and out onto the apron next to the turnbuckle. Matt removed his leather jacket and tossed it to the floor. Aubrey called for the bell, and the match started.

* * * * * * * * * *

Alex didn’t know if Matt was ignoring Callie, if Trent just wanted to beat the shit out of Matt, or if it was some combination of both. But whatever the case, the match had been going on for nearly ten minutes now, and neither of them had even tried to tag in her or Callie. It was aggravating, but at least it worked in her team’s favor. The match had effectively become a singles contest, and Trent had far more experience wrestling on his own than Matt did. That, and his cardio was better. If it continued like this, it would only be a matter of time before they won.

Matt tried to whip Trent toward the ropes, but he reversed it and pulled him into a side headlock. He pivoted toward a corner and charged, running up the turnbuckle to hit a float-over DDT. He went for the pin—but Matt kicked out at two. Afterward, both men remained still on the mat, taking what chance they could to catch their breath. Alex eagerly stepped up onto the bottom rope and banged on the turnbuckle. She wanted in.

“Trent! Tag me in!”

She leaned into the ring, reaching as far as she could, and he looked over at her. But just as he pushed himself up onto his hands and knees, Matt hit him with a clubbing blow to the back. He grabbed him by the hair and jerked him into a chinlock. It wasn’t a move that Matt typically did. Alex knew it meant he was getting tired.

The crowd started clapping in rhythm for Trent, and Alex stomped her boot on the ring apron in time. Trent wrenched at Matt’s fingers, prying them away from his face. In response, Matt pulled him to his feet and swiftly maneuvered to hit a float-over DDT of his own. Alex bit down on her jaw as she watched him hook his leg. Trent got his shoulder up at two.

Alex stepped back up onto the ropes. She was tired of this. “Why don’t you tag in your partner, huh, Matt?” she taunted. “Worried she can’t beat me?”

Matt glared daggers at her as he climbed to his feet. “I don’t want to subject everyone to having to watch you wrestle,” he spat.

But Alex’s wit was just as quick. “Oh really? You look awfully lost without your little brother out here doing all the work.”

That needled him. She knew it would. But what she didn’t expect was his response.

“Please, you wouldn’t even have a contract if you weren’t on your knees for Kenny every night.”

For a second, Alex was stunned into silence. But then a white-hot rage bubbled up inside her. She ducked through the ropes and charged toward him.

“What’d you say to me?”

“You heard me.”

“Why don’t you say it again.”

“Get out of the ring, Alex!” Aubrey ordered.

“Matt!”

At Callie’s warning cry, Matt instinctively whirled around and dodged—and what happened next seemed to unfold in slow motion.

Trent flew toward Alex like a bullet. He crashed into her and knocked the wind from her lungs, sending her violently back into the turnbuckle. She felt a pop in her right shoulder, and then nothing but searing hot pain.

* * * * * * * * * *

When Trent realized what he’d done, he felt sick.

He hadn’t known Alex was in the ring. That DDT had left him dazed, and he’d been oblivious to his surroundings until he’d spotted Matt with his back turned to him. So he went for a spear. But Matt dodged at the last second. Trent had absolutely no chance to stop himself or correct course, and he rammed full speed into Alex.

He watched in stunned horror as she writhed against the turnbuckle. She clenched her right arm, her face screwed up in pain. She was hurt. He’d hurt her.

“Alex—”

Smack!

He was abruptly cut off by a superkick to the jaw. He crumpled to the mat. Matt dragged him by the ankle further into the ring and pinned him. The count sounded distant and faint.

One.

Two.

Three.

The bell rung. Trent felt Matt throw down his leg as the music started, ringing in his ears. He stared up into the lights, unblinking, while Matt’s arm was raised in victory. He’d hurt her. He’d hurt her and then lost the match.

“Alex,” he said again as he rolled over onto his hands and knees. She was still huddled against the turnbuckle, clutching her arm as Aubrey checked on her. He felt sick all over again.

“Alex.” He crawled over to her and put a hand on her knee. She looked up at him. Unshed tears shined in her eyes. It broke him. “I’m sorry.”

She shook her head. “It was an accident—”

“Alex!”

Suddenly, Kenny was in the ring. He practically pushed Trent out of the way as he knelt in front of Alex. “What’s wrong?” he asked her.

“I think it’s dislocated,” she winced.

Trent looked at her right shoulder. It hung visibly lower than her left. His heart dropped into his stomach.

“Let’s get you to Doc,” he said as he tried to move toward her again.

But Kenny blocked him. “I got it,” he bit. Trent didn’t have it in him to argue.

He watched as Kenny helped her to her feet and ushered her to the ropes; he held them open for her so she could gingerly duck through. As she stepped to the other side, Alex looked back. For a brief second their eyes met. But then Kenny put his arm around her, and she turned away and disappeared into the back.

* * * * * * * * * *

Callie couldn’t stay out there a second longer. She was horrified by what she’d witnessed. The way Matt had taken advantage of Trent’s awful mistake, how he hadn’t hesitated to kick him in the jaw—there’d been a viciousness in his eyes that she’d never seen before. And she didn’t want any part of it.

She stormed off before Aubrey could even raise his arm in victory, marching quickly up the ramp. Kenny nearly bowled her over on his way down to the ring, and she turned to watch as he ran to Alex’s aid. But then she saw Matt coming after her, and she turned back around and hurried through the entrance tunnel.

“Callie!”

She didn’t stop or even glance his way. She just kept walking.

“Callie! What the fuck?”

That got her stop and face him. “Me what the fuck? You what the fuck, Matt? What the fuck was that out there?”

If looks could kill, she was certain she would have been dead on the spot. “Are you serious?” he spat. “I won the match and you just ran off!”

Her eyes darkened. “Well, I didn’t want to be a part of it anyway, right?”

Matt bit down on his jaw. There was nothing he could say to that. She gave him one last glare and turned her back on him again, praying that was the end of it. She just wanted to leave. Alone.

“I want your shit out of my house by the weekend.”

Callie halted. His words were like a knife in the back. They hurt. And suddenly, she wanted him to hurt, too.

She turned around again, her head held high. “That’s fine, because I don’t want to move back to California anymore.”

She held his gaze in defiance. But Matt just laughed, cruel and low. “Let me guess, Orlando with Cash?”

She faltered. He knew about yesterday. But she steeled herself again. “No. I want to move to Orlando for me.”

He scoffed and rolled his eyes. “Okay.”

“That’s the truth!”

“Was all this just a rebound to you?”

If his previous words had been a knife to the back, those were a blow to the gut. Tears sprung to the back of Callie’s eyes. Her voice came out strained. Apologetic. “No. I care about you, Matt. So much that it scares me.”

He laughed again and looked away. “Coulda fooled me.”

She took a step toward him. “Matt—”

“Have fun in Orlando,” he cut her off, and that time it was him who stormed off and left her behind. Alone.

#aew fanfiction #kenny omega fanfiction #cash wheeler fanfiction #matt jackson fanfiction #trent beretta fanfiction #the elite fanfiction #young bucks fanfiction #best friends fanfiction #adam page fanfiction #hangman page fanfiction #hangman adam page fanfiction #ftr fanfiction

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codename-adler · 4 years ago

Text

Kevin Day and his Oblivious Literature Lover, pt. VI

This bit explores Kevin’s sexual identity and his relationship to Jean, so, you know, not all funs and games... But very cathartic to write. I love them.

>> Table of Contents, TW and other parts are here!

after Juliet’s confession, their little talk does not flow any easier, but despite the rocky start and their dirty secrets, they push through the stuff that matters

it’s like a dam burst open

though, some subjects remain silenced

no parents, no exy, no relationships, no entourage, no names…

it’s just them

Kevin stays well into the afternoon

he has no class on Tuesdays, except in the mornings and, well, for once, he chose to rearrange his priorities

it wasn’t even a difficult choice, it wasn’t even a question: he had to stay, simple as that

he even missed morning practice

morning practice

it scares him, he feels the restlessness running through his veins, he feels guilty, guilty, guilty… and so, so weak…

but that was easier than leaving Juliet in the state she was

that had never happened before

not even with Jean

he’s used to flight, not fight

as for Juliet, either she didn’t have class or she chose the same as Kevin

either way, both were unspokenly grateful

sometimes, Juliet would fall asleep

sometimes she’d go non verbal and simply watch Kevin do his homework

one time he fell asleep

he woke up extremely tense, his jaw hurting from the clenching and his back protesting against his curled up position on the floor (really, an elite athlete should know better)

Juliet was looking at him strangely

“Can I ask for another truth?” she said quietly

he nodded calmly while his heart went racing

“Who’s Jean?”

“You said his name in your sleep. A lot. Are you usually a sleeptalker? I know I sleepwalk sometimes, but I don’t think I’ve ever talked,” she added

Kevin took an awful long time to think

he was looking at Juliet without really seeing her

instead he was imagining Jean’s bruised and battered face

he started speaking without refocusing his gaze, staring in the distance behind Juliet

“Jean is… He’s the one who taught me French. He’s the one who made me discover philosophy, Sartre and Hell is other people and all. He’s the one who listened first. He is the man that knows my shames, my failures, my mistakes, my ugly side, the man who knew and still looked at me as a human being with worth. He’s the one who showed me how to reset a dislocated shoulder. He’s the one I used to talk to in the middle of the night, about future plans or crazy ideas or incredible historical discoveries. He was my crutch when I couldn’t stand on my own anymore. He’s the one who kept my spirits up when times were tough. He is the man who kept me alive without either of us realizing it until it was too late. He is the man that I took for granted, the man I left behind without a second thought when things got too bad. I could beg for forgiveness my whole life and it still wouldn’t be enough to do right by him. He is the only person that has ever left me speechless. He can make my mind go blank, he can make me lose my words, he can shut me up with just a word. He’s the only one I let, at least. Jean is… So much. Too much, sometimes.”

Kevin’s throat tightened as he spoke, fists clenching and unclenching, his stomach twisting into knots of guilt and shame

if he’d been able to cry, Kevin would have shed burning tears

but he couldn’t

it’s as if everything in his system had been ready to cry, only for his body to realize that his water tank was completely empty of tears

and if Juliet hadn’t been looking at him with such intensity and such intent, Kevin would’ve ran away to Jean’s bedside right this second

three entire languages couldn’t even begin to express everything that Jean was to Kevin

Jean was every single emotion Kevin had ever felt in his short yet brutal existence, wrapped in one person as complex as the mechanics of the world

Kevin thought back on that first night when he allowed himself to be close to Jean since his escape from Edgar Allen

he thought back on how, with a single touch, all their entangled feelings came rushing back to the surface

how Kevin had never wanted to let go ever again, but the dark and violent waves of emotions had made his instincts scream with the urge to run away

Kevin had forgotten Juliet was still a witness to his battle

“Jean was… is… you ex?” she asked, something like wariness in her eyes

and what

“What?” he even says aloud

“Jean was your partner? Before… whatever it is you overcame?” Juliet repeats

“No!?”

“Okay… I’m sorry, Kevin… I didn’t mean…” she apologizes

“Why would you say that?” Kevin harshly asks

“Why wouldn’t I? It seems you two shared a very special bond, that’s all I’m saying,” she replies

she couldn’t possibly know

she couldn’t know

how would she know?

only two people in this godforsaken existence knew about these secrets in the dark, one of them being barely conscious in a bed a few minutes away, and the other one being himself

it was impossible that Juliet knew about what had transpired between him and Jean

“Kevin?” Juliet’s voice finally reaching him

“I said ‘Sorry for assuming’, I shouldn’t have done that. We don’t have to talk about it anymore, I’m sorry.”

Kevin considered their exchange

“I think I want to talk about it. To you,” Kevin finally spoke

Juliet nodded slowly, ever so careful, a silent yet binding promise passing between them

and so Kevin told her everything

absolutely everything

everything that didn’t touch exy, Riko, the Ravens, but that still left plenty, enough to cover many pages of poetry

he told her about how it had started between them, how Jean’s resilience had intrigued Kevin and how it had made him discover that there was more to life than his adoptive-brother

how Kevin had wanted a part of that rebellion Jean carried in his heart, how he tutored Kevin in French to share that slow-burning flame

he told her how for the first time in his life, Kevin’s entire focus wasn’t on one thing, but on a person too

he told her how their midnight talks became as important to him as his duty was

he told her how he began fighting for something else without knowing what it was, or why

he told her how on these nights, as Jean was teaching him verb tenses in French, their heads had, inch by inch, made their way closer to the other’s, until their foreheads were touching and their whispers barely made a sound on their lips

he told her how one fateful night, as Jean was teaching him the future tenses, their faces hadn’t stopped moving once their foreheads touched

how that simple touch hadn’t been enough anymore

how Jean had been his first kiss, his every kisses for the longest time

how he had been Jean’s first kiss, too

he told her how they had been each other’s first for everything

how they had been each other’s everything for a long time

he also told her how his fear and his shame, and his ambition, had ruined what they had

how his and Jean’s “situation” made it so, so hard

how once he was 17 and was “promoted”, Kevin didn’t choose Jean back

how it was on-and-off between them even when he showed interest towards Thea, also his now ex

how he had “moved” when shit hit the fan, and how he didn’t bring Jean with him because he was too scared, too self-centered, too weak

he told her how nobody knew back then, how nobody knows even now, because he had denied everything to everyone, including himself

and he told her how Jean was back, now, and how the memories came flooding back in with that same sour, yet familiar taste of shame, guilt, and fear

Kevin talked and talked and talked…

and Juliet listened

and Kevin cried, or rather, tears escaped his saddened eyes without even realizing it

and Juliet cried, too

they both wiped away the mess with the sleeves of their sweaters

“I have nothing to say about guilt and shame, but… If you liked Jean, if you loved him… if you still do… that is so okay, Kevin. It’s just love. You find it where you can. There’s nothing wrong with that, or with you. That’s how I see it… how I- I see you. You’re still you, Kevin.”

“You don’t know me,” Kevin replied fast, without thinking

Juliet just raised her eyebrow in a really, Kevin? way

“Look at where we are… Look at me… This isn’t even my worst. And I don’t believe it’s yours either. But it’s not pretty. Give us a little credit here, Kev; we’re not strangers anymore. Please don’t be a stranger… “

“Okay, Jules”

---

Kevin left Jackie Hall after sundown, with his heart heavy and his mind racing, but his shoulders a little lighter than yesterday

nothing in his life had magically changed into a goddamn fairytale, yet it felt different

Jules had told him nobody could decide who he was, that was his decision and his alone

he held that power, and only he chose who could wield some of it

he could choose what to do with it, and that thing could be outside of exy

at least, it could be for someone, instead of something

someone like Jean

on his way back to the familiarity Abby’s, back to Jean, he began plotting

by the time he was back by the bedside of the person he’d held so close to his heart and his lips, once upon a time, Kevin had formed a plan to give Jean the happy ending he so deserved

he’d have to make a few calls to USC, to the Trojans, to Jeremy Knox, he’d have to be careful of what he revealed, he’d have to convince Jean to leave, he’d have to convince himself to let Jean go, too, but he believed it was worth it

and if once in a while, in his cautious planning of Jean’s second chance at life, Kevin absentmindedly thought of a certain face framed with frizzy hair when the words “happy ending” kept nagging him, well no one could take that away from him either

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sxngshine · 5 years ago

Text

Storm

• Chan x reader (ft. Minho)

• Enemies to lovers Au,college Au

• Requested: no

• Word Count: 2.2k+

• Genre: angst if you look hard, fluff

• warnings: swearing

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

"Why are you always coming here? Do you not have anything better to do with your life?" Chan groaned as you walked into the apartment.

You just looked at him and rolled your eyes. "I'm not here for you asshat I'm here for my best friend. And I can do whatever I want so mind your own business." You said as you walked towards Minho who was in the kitchen.

"Hey Min, what you making?" You asked, standing beside him as he mixed some batter.

"Its my moms birthday tomorrow, I'm baking her a cake," he said.

Minho was always was an amazing chef. The guy made the best food, you mouth water just thinking about it.

"Can I help you? I'm bored," you asked, hoping onto the island.

"I just need to do a few more things, I won't need any hell with it. Why don't you just go sit in the living room with Chan and chill for a bit?" He said not looking at you.

"I'd rather suck a toe" you scoff.

"That's kinda kinky Y/N," Chan yelled from the living room.

"No one asked you!" You yelled back.

You and Chan had a weird relationship. You weren't quite sure why, but you assumed it was because of that one time you were chilling on Minho's and Chan barged in with some random chick. When the girl saw you, she probably thought Chan and you were dating and apologized to you before slapping him before walking out.

After that he glared at you. "Who the fuck are you?" He asked holding his now red cheek.

"Minho's bestfriend. And fyi bud, you're in the wrong room. This is Minho's room." You said, looking up from your phone.

"The fuck you are. I'm his best friend you idiot,"

It wasn't your fault he came into the wrong room. And since then the both of you gave always been at each others throats, even though it was his fault.

Minho sighed as he put his batter into the tin and slid it into the oven.

"Why do you guys hate each other so much?" Minho asked, leaning against the sink.

"Ask him," you grumble.

A few moments later Chan walked into the Kitchen and glanced at you before looking at Minho.

"I'm gonna head out now, I'll be home in a few hours, you want me to get you anything?" He asked.

Minho shook his head and with that Chan left. You and Minho had spent a bunch of time talking and decorating his cake. Afterwards watching a bunch of movies. Getting bored, both of you headed to his room and flopped onto his bed, playing some video games on his switch.

Unfortunately, it was getting late and you decided it was time to head out.

"I'm gonna get going now Minho, It's getting late," you said putting down your controller. Minho nodded and walked you to the front door.

You opened the door and saw Chan standing there, about to put the key into the lock. He looked at you and put his keys into his pocket.

You stepped to the side and opened the door wide for him.

"Your majesty," you bowed teasingly. Chan just rolled his eyes and walked inside. "Thanks".

You waved Minho goodbye before walking out his apartment complex and towards yours which was a few blocks away.

Looking at the sky, it was nice and there were barely any clouds outside. The weather was warm and you were glad.

You made it home and went about your business and did some house work and then sat down on your bed to watch some Netflix.

You were so into your show, you didn't realize that it started raining until you heard a loud thunderous sound.

You screamed, covering your ears. Peeking outside you saw the dark clouds covering the night sky. The rain was falling at a fast pace and the winds were blowing.

You quickly grabbed your phone, wondering why your roommate hadn't returned yet. But then you saw that hours ago she sent you a message saying that she was spending the night at her parents.

You jumped when another thunderous sound echoed through your apartment. Then all of a sudden the power went out. You let out a groan.

"Why the hell did the weather take a 180? It was so nice a few hours ago. Freaking has worse mood swings than I do." You grumbled to yourself.

You quickly messaged Minho and told him you were coming over before getting up and putting on a large sweater.

You grabbed your umbrella before rushing your way towards Minho's complex. You rapidly knocked on his door, waiting for him to open it.

You really just needed to be near your best friend to keep you safe. But what you didn't expect was for Chan to open the door.

"What're you doing here? It's late," Chan asked, looking at you confused.

"Uh... where's Minho?" You asked, crossing your arms.

"He left a little while ago for his moms birthday, he said it was a long drive there so he wanted to leave early," Chan answered, leaning against the door frame.

Your eyes widened. Shit. You forgot about that.

"Oh.. okay thanks, bye" you said quietly, turning around and slowly making you way towards the lift.

"Hey Y/N?" He called out. You turned around to look at him.

"Ah.. never mind. Get home safe," he said before closing the door.

You walked into the lift and made your way out of the building, preparing yourself for the harsh rain and loud thunder.

You opened your umbrella as you quickly walked outside. The winds blew very hard, completely ruining your only from of staying dry. Now you had no umbrella and were freezing to death.

The rain was drenching your clothes, you shivered as you barely made it down the street when the sky's roared with another loud clap.

You crouched and covered your ears, tears falling from your eyes and mixing in with the rain.

On the other hand, Chan was a bit worried about you. You had walked all the way here and were only wearing a large sweater and leggings. The winds were blowing like crazy and when he looked outside, rain was pounding against the windows.

All of the sudden, Chan's phone had started ringing. He went to see who it was and saw Minhos' name on the screen.

"Hello?" Chan said.

"Hello? Chan?" Minho said frantically.

"Yeah man what's up, did something happen?" Chan asked.

"Did Y/N come by?" He asked.

"Yes, how'd you know?" Chan asked, feeling confused.

"Is she still there?"

"No, she left a few minutes ago. Why what happened," Chan asked, getting a bit worried.

"Shit, can you please do me a favor and look for her? She's not answering my calls and in l'm worried. Y/N is petrified of thunderstorms. I'm normally with her so there's never much of an issue but I don't want to leave her alone." Minho said quickly.

Chan's eyes widened. No wonder you came over so late looking for Minho. He noticed you looking uneasy but he didn't put much thought into it.

"I'll go right now," Chan said grabbing his jacket and umbrella.

"Thanks man, I owe you one," Minho said before hanging up.

Chan felt like shit for letting you leave. He ran outside, frantically looking around to see if you were near before running down the street.

As he ran, he noticed a figure crouching with a broken umbrella beside them.

He quickly walked up to you, placing the umbrella above the both of you.

You looked up and saw a blurry Chan through your tears.

"C-Chan?" You asked. He held his hand out, which you took. The moment you were standing he pulled you into a hug.

"Idiot, why didn't you tell me you were scared? I wouldn't have let you leave if I knew." Chan said softly, taking off his jacket off and draping it around your shoulders.

You were in a state of shock. Whether it was because of Chan's actions or the loud thunder, you weren't quite sure. Maybe it was both.

Chan pulled you into his apartment and quickly walked you into his room. He went to grab you a towel and handed it to you.

"Go take a warm shower, you'll get sick if you dont, I'll grab you something to wear," Chan said, pushing you into the bathroom.

You took off your clothes and turned on the shower, letting the warming water hit your body. you sighed as your cold and tense muscles relaxed.

Once you finished your shower, you wrapped the warm fluffy towel around your body. You peeked out the door and saw a pair of shorts and a sweater which you assumed were his laid out for you on the bed.

You walked out the bathroom and put on the clothes, but the shorts were too lose so you just left them, keeping on the pair of boxer shorts he gave you and throwing on the sweater which went down to your knees. The sweater was like a dress so you didn't care about your legs showing.

You walked into the living room and saw Chan sitting on the couch with two cups on the coffee table in front of him, looking deep in thought.

You cleared your throat and his head snapped up to where you were standing.

He couldn't help but think you looked adorable in his clothes. But right now wasn't the time to gush about that.

"Come sit, I made some hot chocolate." Chan said. You sat next to him and thanked him, quietly sipping your hot chocolate.

After a few moments, Chan spoke up. "Why didn't you tell you were scared of storms? I would've let you stay over."

"I don't know, I felt awkward. Plus we aren't exactly the closest of friends," you said.

There was a loud thunder in the background and you jumped, letting out a scream. Whatever awkwardness Chan felt at that moment was gone as soon as his protective instincts kicked in.

He pulled you into a hug, pressing your head against his chest and whispering things in your ear to keep you calm. Chan started singing in a soft voice and you instantly felt safe,wrapping your arms around his waist.

The both of you stayed in that position, feeling rather comfortable in each others arms. You slowly started dozing off and it didn't go unnoticed by Chan.

He carefully picked you up and walked into his room, setting you onto his bed, tucking you in. Chan started to get up when you quickly grabbed his hand.

"Stay please, or at least till the storm passes?" You pleaded, not wanting to be alone.

Chan simply nodded and got into his bed beside you. You cuddled into his chest and Chan wrapped an arm around your waist. Neither of you spoke for a bit.

"You know, I don't actually hate you," Chan said.

"Neither do I," you mumbled.

"Then why do you always argue with me?" Chan asked you.

"Because it's amusing seeing you all riled up," you smirked and glanced up at him.

He just chuckled at your response. You pulled Chan closer and shut your eyes tight when you heard a loud clap of thunder and Chan prayed you didn't hear his heartbeat speed up a little.

After calming down, you spoke softly. "You know, I don't think of you as a bad person. I'd like to get to know you better if that's okay with you."

"Sure, I feel the same way." Chan replied quietly, playing with your hair.

The storm had passed a while ago but neither of you wanted to move. So you and Chan had continued to talk for a bit before the both of you fell asleep in each others arms, both feeling happy and safe.

Fin.

Bonus:

"You guys SLEPT TOGETHER!?" Minho yelled into the phone. You let out a groan.

"You little shit stop saying it like that, YES, we shared a bed but that's it. I've done that with you plenty of times." You scoffed.

"Yeah yeah yeah but this is so surreal. The two people who hated each others guts are now all happy and cute with each other. Literally just yesterday you guys were at each others throats." Minho said.

"He's not as bad as I thought. I guess we just had a bad first impression of each other. Also I heard from Chan that you called him late at night and begged for him to look for me," you smirked.

Minho cared deeply for you but he never showed it a lot. So having been told that he called Chan like that was pretty embarrassing for him.

"Shut up, be happy I did otherwise your lonely ass would've never been able to SLEEP WITH CHAN" Minho laughed like an idiot on the other side of the line.

"Minho you're an actual hoe I swear-"

Now Fin.

#skz angst #skz fluff #skz au #skz scenarios #skz chan #skz blurbs #bang chan #bang chan fluff #bang chan fanfic #bang chan ff #fluff #angst #chan angst #au #enemies to lovers

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missingartist · 4 years ago

Text

The Witcher’s Mate- Chapter 20

In his 350 years, he had thought he had seen it all. Vesemir the unofficial head Witcher had spent years traipsing up, and down the country, he knew every path and detail of any town worth knowing to a Witcher. However, in his lifetime he did not foresee having to deal with a Witcher’s mate. Barmin, his master had glossed over it in training, dismissing the idea of it being any use. In his training, he and other fledgeling Witchers had become intrigued with the concept, but the master had been dismissive enough to toss them a copy of The Witcher- A History. With a whole chapter dedicated to the Witcher’s Mate. Being privileged enough to witness the building of the Witcher home he knew every book placed in the library and this battered copy preserved the only mentions of soulbonds in the entire Witcher section of the library. Barmin had mentioned that it was a Witcher’s Curse to be bound to another who would wither and die or who would face dying of a broken heart as the life of a Witcher was a dangerous one before placing the book back on the shelf where it gathered dust for the past 300 years. Till now that was.

Making his way up the gritty staircase, books wedged underneath his arms, he let the soft glow of the candlestick light his way from the archive and through the winding halls. Mermaid literature held little room in the main library; Witchers had no dealing with Merfolk for 400 years, he himself only met two. The first was a stunning female, long green hair and pale olive skin, a tail of metallic blue scales, pulling the fresh Witcher from a stormy sea when drowners pinned him down in the murky depth. She had all the makings of the predator, savage and vicious yet in the cave which she dragged him, she had all the tenderness of a maiden. She was inquisitive and powerful, and to the newly made Witcher, she was direct in her wants, spending the night and day making very extensive use of his body. A smile stretched across his feature, and he remembers the dalliance of his youth. The other had been a Trition, the male of the species, while not a beautiful as the female he had been majestic in his airs. He had been just as predatory as the female but seemed to lack in power of the female, it did not have the sharp barbs of teeth, or the ability to walk on earth demanded help to free a water sprite from a tree curse. If indeed the Adva girl was a mermaid it would cause a lot of difficulties. Mermaids where predators plain and simple, with very complex social structures and even more complicated mating rituals, one that they kept closely guarded. This was going to be near impossible. Witcher bonding was going to be difficult enough to get their heads around it didn’t really need the extra stress of figuring how a mermaid bonded. He envisaged many nights slaving over a manuscript.

The library fire is dying. The low flame dominated the dwindling wood giving the room a soft light. He had, on being regaled with all the details excused himself to the archives, Barmin having moved all the Merfolk down there to add a room to the main collection. It had taken the best part of the afternoon to weedle through the mass of papers and books that had chaotically thrown into to achieve with no accord. Dropping the various scrolls and manuscripts, he settled himself into his leather-bound seat and placed the candlestick back in its holder—the soft flare of flame illuminating a slim figure perched on the window ledge.

‘Dove, I thought you would be in bed.’

‘Not sleepy…been an eventful day.’ Ciri rolled her shoulder, standing.

Moving from her perch, she fed the fire three thick blocks of wood, watching as the room was lit up with the roaring orange flame. The food she had gathered of dried meat, cheese and wine still sat untouched, Jaskier had tried to tempt Adva with the cheese and wine to no avail. Picking up the jug, she poured two generous helpings into the spare goblets and sat opposite the master Witcher.

‘I don’t think I would be able to sleep if I had seen Geralt finally put it to Yennefer. I would have properly celebrated so hard I would be drunk for a fortnight.’ The older man laughed picking up his goblet and throw back his contents, red droplets staining his white beard pink. ‘It would be Geralt that got mixed up with a soulmate who had to be a mermaid. He can’t live simply, even as…Has someone fixed the wall.’ Vesemir gawped at the wall by the window. The peeling stone wall had been replastered and the drafted that has previously whistled through the library on a cold night was no more. He had meant to repair it for the last fortnight, but the north-west staircase was in need of refurbishing, the barn needed to be mended, three chimneys needed sweeping and renovating and the long list of other restorations.

‘Adva and she reputtied the windows.’ the answer was tense and dry as she brought her cup to her lips and took a sip of the strong liquid.

‘She’s been her ten hours, and she replastered a wall and fixed a window? At least Geralt has the brains to pick a useful mate; I wonder if she does roofing.’ Vesemir gruffed, filling his goblet and downing it once again.

Ciri could feel annoyance rise within her, Vesemir was always dismissive and so distant from his emotions he couldn’t understand her concern. Since arriving, Adva had used the plaster in the hallway, despite their protest she spent most of the day fixing the wall and cleaning, Jaskier had tried to pull her away, but she looked near tears and battered their concerns away. Both Jaskier and Ciri sank back and watched Adva flit around the room, dusting, mopping and polishing. Ciri had never seen the library look so clean. In the space of ten hours, she had fixed the library and cleaned three full rooms before her eyelids began to droop, and Jaskier scooped her away before she could protest and tucked her tightly into a bed in one of the many rooms while Ciri searched through many garments that had cluttered up closets and chests from long forgot herbalists and Witchers that had come and gone to replace her outfit.

‘Vesemir! I am worried about Adva; a person doesn't start repairing buildings when they learn that they are a Mermaid and a Soulmate.’

‘And you know the extensive guide on how someone needs to react when they discover they are a Mermaid or a soulmate, was hardly worth me spending all day in the archives with such an expert already here.’ Vesemire scoffed, his eyes glancing against the bundle he had gathered with some concern. The few books that he found would have little in them to help with their… unique situation.

‘That not what I meant.’ the young woman sulked, pushing her bottom lip out as far as it could go.

‘Do you remember when you discovered your bloodline? It took us three weeks to stop you hacking the dummy to bits. People cope with things differently. If I had to meet Yennefer again, I probably devote myself to fixing the whole castle. You care a lot about Adva, don’t ya? Empathy is the downfall of a Witcher.’ Vesemire scolded. He didn’t know how many time he had tried to drum that into her and Geralt.

‘I…I do I see a lot of myself in her. Alone and confused, betrayed and powerful but scared about it.’ Ciri sighed.

It hurt to admit; it was traumatic. The early years of her life had been so lovely, but the last decade, wave after wave of people had tried to claim her for themselves. Kings seeking power, Witches seeking power, Cults seeking power. They were all the same, trying to imprisoner, impregnate or kill her. It left her feeling insecure and uncertain; she had been betrayed so many time she had lost count. That unlimited power made her a target for every crazed group that emerged from the shadows, but it also made her scared, the power within her had a fine line between chaos and control, and with that enormous pressure to remain in control. Her deepest fear was herself, and what she could do or become, she sensed that same fear in Adva.

‘You have only just met her, don’t get too attached. Yennefer will find a way to get rid of her if not that she’ll turn into a she-daemon knowing Geralt's taste in women.’ Vesemir scoffed dryly.

Geralt was the son he had never had, but his taste in a woman was shocking, there had been that redhead succubus who tried to eat him. The doomed princess in the tower, Renfri. Three herbalists, Triss and Yennefer. He should just stick to a whore like everyone else, it would save a lot of time and effort, and the damage Kaer Morhan would be minimal, the amount of time Yennefer had destroyed something because of a petty argument was unbelievable. Ciri stood abruptly and started to pace.

‘Dove, what troubles you?’

‘I…Yennefer has been….I dunno. She has been difficult…’

‘Yennefer difficult? Never?’ The laughedffff trickled from the witcher lips.

‘Before they…parted. Yennefer did something….horrid and tried to get Geralt to finish it… he refused, and Yennefer was vicious, and then the spell broke and….’

‘Went batshit?’

‘Batshit is an understatement…. I thought Geralt was wrong… that he should have but I dunno; I was so angry I was blinded.’ Ciri winced at her confession.

For the most part, she never admitted when she was wrong; she was too stubborn for that; her pride would not allow her the humiliation of accepting it. But there were times, time like these when things became a cluster fuck that she could admit it. Her love for her mother figure, her nurturer and teacher had blinded her to the sheer despicable nature of Yennefer plan, so much so it had made her hate Geralt. But with every passing day, she realised how stupid she had been. Looking back made her wince with shame as she recalled all the unpleasant thoughts that went through her mind and the things she said. Ciri felt ashamed of herself, more so now she was in the Witcher’s Fortress where the memories of their relationship[ resurfaced, all the times Geralt had protected her from the violent tongue lashing of Vesemir for wondering off and training on her own. The times when he gave her a silent hug because he knew what she needed.

‘Don’t blame yourself, Yennefer has a knack for playing on one's emotions.’ The master witcher soothed in his gruff voice.

Looking up, she felt herself smiling. For all his stubborn grumpiness Vesemir was the kindly grandfather figure she needed. The bias spectator, guiding her through Geralt and Yennefer many, many arguments with a scoff and an eye roll.

‘I worry about what she will do to Adva. She already seems resigned to being cast aside, and Yennefer will play on that.’

The confession was not something she needed to say out loud; all of them were worried about what Yennefer would do; even Adva could sense it. Yennefer was capable of being truly malicious especial again those who had wronged her,

‘Maybe that is for the best. A Witcher’s life is one fought with danger having a soul mate would be even more so.’

‘You should have seen the way Geralt was with her Vesemir. The way he looked at her was…’ Ciri paused for a moment in thought ‘it was worshipping…I don’t even know how to describe it and when she flinched away from him, I thought he could break down. When she went through the portal, I thought he was going to roar in after her. I love Yennefer, I always will, nothing and no one will change that, but at the minute I don’t even what to be near her.’

A dull pain began to throb in the corner of his left eye; there was not enough ale and wine in the whole of the castle to get him through the next couple of weeks. Damn Geralt. First, he had brought Yennefer, who destroyed every room she stayed in and threw furniture carved by their Witcher founders out the window. The elder had lost count of how many times in the past decade, Geralt had found himself at the end of a difficult situation. And this situation was the worse; soulmates were messy, and for Witcher, mates were rare and unpredictable. Geralt would be a muscle-bound mess of raging hormones, worse than when he first mutated and with Yennefer roaming around, lurking in every corner, he could feel the annoyance and irritation begin to build.

‘It will work out, for better or worse. But from what I know about soul bond, they are very powerful, and it would take more then Yennefer to do that….besides if she is that good at repairs, we need to keep her around.’

If he survived this, it would be a miracle.

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Kaer Mohen was beyond anything that she had ever believed. Nestled in the middle of a vast valley, built into a mighty mountain, the almighty structure was awe-inspiring. Surrounded in greenery and limpid pools as far as the eyes could see, it was the most beautiful thing she had ever seen in her life. Inside did not disappoint; it was elegant, chequered marble flooring, latticed woodwork, majestically carved furniture, and rugs that while worn and dusty were exquisite. However, it was sure that the castle had seen better days, gaping holes in the roof leaked into the rooms letting in the local wildlife. Plaster was coming off the wall in large chunks, and a sharp draft came whistling through the castle. Still, it the most amazing place that she had ever seen. The library included. The vast collection of books held in sturdy mahogany shelved held behind thick sheets of glass, it was an extensive collection, most in languish she had never seen before, and the desire to pull each one out and read was overwhelming. The library seemed sadly empty just one large table and one comfy chair perched in the middle, books and quills surrounding the work area.

Vesemir seemed to be making the most of her, giving her a list of chores in the morning and then after their midday meal they would group together and spend the rest of the afternoon and evening in the library. In all honestly, that was fine with her, she didn’t want to think about soulbond or Geralt. A sickness bubbled in the pit of her stomach. Waking up in the bed in a musty room brought back that only the day before she woke in the warmth of the Witcher. At least the chore distracted her from the churn of emotion that built inside of her and the anxiety that came with letting her mind wander.

‘How can you read this.’ Ciri slipped down next to the women who was engrossed in a book that contained mostly scribbled lines and dots. Just looking at the page was enough to give the former princess a headache.

‘Lunch’ Vesemir called slamming what could only be loosely described as a strew on the table. Four clay bowl slide into the various place, as they stared down at the brown slop. ‘That is my famous stew.’

The elder Witcher glared at the bard who grimaced at the pot in front of him. The mixture was brown and gritty, whatever meat was unrecognisable, the smell of a mixture of fermented broth and fried meat, it was not unpleasant, but it was not particularly appetising especially with strange unknown bits floating on the top. Jaskier twisted his face in disgust as he poked at it with his wooden spoon.

‘Famous because it kills anyone who eats it?’ Jaskier question letting the food slide off his spoon with a spatter.

Vesemir stared daggers at the bard as he is inhaling another spoonful of stew, most of it coating his beard.

‘Don’t you have any more books on Merfolk Vesemir?’ Ciri asked, leafing through the pile of red books scattered over the bench.

‘Mermaid isn’t the sort of thing Witchers deal with.’

‘But aren’t they supernatural creature.’ Jaskier retorted his right eyebrow inching up his forehead.

‘Aye, bard they are but never given us cause. Merfolk sticks to deep water and out the way of humans and creature alike. Humans have tried to wage war on them in the early days, but it futile. You aren’t ever gonna win against a creature that can sink whole fleets of ships in one go.’ Another heaping spoonful of stew smeared across his mouth. ‘Time from the time they appear near land but never bother anyone; it does not like they would abandon one of their pod on land…especially a child. I will have enough look in the archive but the literature of the Merfolk in rare. Not many have ever got close enough. I know a while back Geralt helped some duke marry Sh'eenaz, a mermaid, but she became sad, and the couple went back to the sea kingdom.’

‘So we have no idea about anything.’ Ciri spoke, slowly eyes resting on the deflated other woman.

‘You are more than welcome to search down in the archive, but most merfolk literature is hoarded by private collectors.’

‘So we don’t know anything.’ Ciri bite out and throw a thick book across the room, pages fluttering across the marble floor.

Jaskier reached a hand across and took Adva’s giving her a reassuring squeeze. The brown-haired woman closed the book, shoulder sagging.

‘Adva If you promise to cook from now on I will go in the archives myself and battle the army of spiders in search of anything else.’

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Vesemir brought down the axe forcefully as he broke down the log and tossed it into the giant pile of firewood. From his place on the verge, he watched Adva.

Though, not the most skilful and hone in her technique Adva was accomplished. For a simple kitchen, she had a strong stance which made it hard for Ciri to break through her defence. There was no obvious contest between the two, Ciri was the more skilled and her magic more adaptive, there had been several points in which his young ward had the upper hand, but Adva managed to put on the defence, which she played well. The master Witcher didn’t see that predatory creature that he had met in his experience, just a determined young woman, strong and sweet. He found it hard to believe that she could be a mermaid. Her ability with water being the only real characteristic that they shared. There was no killer insisted, no savage passion within her, no flailing tail or hissing fangs, just a scared little girl that he now had to keep safe.

Slamming the axe down Vesemir took himself to the side to watch the pair closely. Ciri seemed to tire of being pushed back, stepped up her attack by using her blink power, teleporting her way around her. The gruff Witcher couldn’t help but smile, the little girl who would sneak off to practice on her own was no a skilled warrior. Adva’s movement became panicked and jilted as she dodged the attack, frustration ebbing in her every movement. Collecting his roofing tools, he made his way across the stall and once against back to the field to collect the ladder. This time Ciri seemed to be on the back foot. Adva’s attacks were precise and direct, one after the other. A water blast threw the young Witcher off her footing, causing her to stumble back, and whip of water then appeared out of nowhere lashing itself across her side and wrapped itself around her wrist slamming her into the dirt.

Vesemir stilled, his body is tensed his eye trained on the pair, grabbing for the axe he embedded in the tree stump. He saw it, the killer instancing, the way her eyes shone that little bit brighter. Ciri recovered well, shifting her body to the left in a blur of blue light escape the confines of the water vines before rolling up on her feet and brushing the dust off.

Adva blinked, several times swallowing heavily as she took a step back as she felt the adrenaline still racing through her vein.

‘Good attack. Never really seen anything like that.’ Ciri smiled, standing to her full height. ‘Next time I won't go so easy on you. I better go see how Jaskier is doing. The spiders have properly cornered him in archives. We will pick this up again tomorrow…but you are going down’ Ciri smirked, nodding at Vesesir before ascending the step of the balcony.

‘I see Ciri found you some clothing, more practical for doing maintenance. You can help me patch up the roof, get the tar and meet m by the ladder.’

Looking down, she pulled at the outfit she had been given from a large box of items left by the various people that passed through. The bottoms were a pair of duelling trousers made from a shammy leather material, making them soft and stretchy, that held her tight across the arse and allowed for free movement. They were at least 50 years old but kept pristine by the mothballs packed in the trunk of clothing. The deep red material suited her and at least didn’t show the dirt from the unkept castle. The top was an oversized tunic that fell to mid-thigh; it was thick enough to keep the chill that had started to cling in the air. A cracked old belt clinched tightly around her waist to keep the oversized garments from slipping off her body completely.

Pushing her way up the steep bank to the courtyard, Adva pulled the bubbling tar from its fire. The courtyard held the shed and the stables it was up at the top of a sharp incline; it leads all the way round to the training grounds which Ciri had been handing her ass to her for the best part of the day, a sense of pride swelled within her as she laid the foul-smelling tar into a bucket. She had managed to keep upright and had a few good hits, she was improving, and her powers had developed in the passing weeks with Triss. Training with Ciri proved that.

When the bucket was full, tentatively she pulled it up the ladder on top of what she thought was a storage shed beside the kitchen. Vesemir was already hard at work, hammering in think sleet slate into the missing patches. Wordlessly, the master witcher tossed her a tarring brush, a thin stick with a rag attached to it and nodded toward the slates. Between the old tiles was a thick layer of tar, filling any minute gaps in which the water to seep through and flood the room beneath. Adva swilled the brush into the thick liquid and plastered around the edges of the shingles.

The height was not her favourite, the mere thought of going any higher made her head spin. They worked in silence for the best part of an hour, as soon as he finished one, she would swoop in and slather the thick goop on the slabs. It was clear to see where Geralt got his mannerisms, the way they both puckered their brow when they were concentrating. The way their eyes shifted as they worked, head shifting at every noise. These features were not different that Geralt could not pass for his son, but Adva had made a deep study of Geralt, his features where sharper, more defined. Both men had strong physic, after years of training and monster hunting, but Geralt's frame seemed bulkier, shoulders broader and arms solid with muscle.

A deep wave of shame consumed her. She had promised herself she wouldn’t think of him, but he crept into her mind. A melancholy fell over her, it was a numbness, at gnawed at her core.

‘Next is the west staircase, I will teach you how to tack and shave down the boards.’ Vesemir grunted as he threw the hammer into the dirt as he made his way down the ladder. Holding out his hand to help Adva down, grabbing the bucket and brush and tossing it to the side.

Adva nodded, thankful for something to do.

‘Never thought a little girl would be much good a roofing you are a strange little thing.’

Adva laughed awkwardly, wiping her hands on her piny. ‘You know what brothel is like, all hand on deck. I cooked, cleaned, mediated, fix roofs, walls, beds.’

‘Not much of a life for a little girl.’ Vesemir stared down at her; it was an uncomfortable gaze, that pierced through her.

The master witcher looked at her, his medallion didn’t vibrate, but there was a warmth to it, just enough to heat the skin beneath the wolfs head. He wasn’t sure that she was a Mermaid, but there was something. Something strange. Something different that he could put his finger on. But now she looked like a scared little girl, a girl being dragged from one bad situation to the next. Tough and hard-working but most of all, frighten of that power within her. It bubbled under the surface, threatening to rear its head.

‘Last time I check I was a woman…well, Mermaid.’ Adva shot him a steely determined look. He wasn’t sure what she was determined about, but it made him give out a snort, it reminded him of Ciri when she first stumbled into his home.

‘Well, Mermaid…we better get back. I think Jaskier is dying for more of my cooking.’ The older man gave her a small smile as he guided them through the courtyard.

For once, he was as near as excited as a Witcher could be to see Yennefer again, as he could tell that sweet little maid was going to give her a run for her money. A deep smirk set into his features, if he had anything to do with it, Yennefer would definitely have a run for her money.

This was supposed to be out last weekend, but drama has got real. I work in a school, and it’s a mess. I have been trying to sort out all my evidence for a qualification I have been doing, which is draining, and family are having health issues. But I am happy to announce that smut is insight. I have been planning out future chapters, and they are looking good.

For those of you who are confused about Adva’s coping strategy, I sort of based it on me. When I get stressed or anxious I turn into a clean freak. Recently, I got so stressed I actually put up several shelves, despite not having anything to put on them. I thought it would make her a little more realist.

I am also having flashes of inspiration for a GeraltxOCxEskel story if anyone is interested. I love Eskel he is like a giant cuddly teddy bear! It properly won't be out till I finish The Witchers Mate, but I am also playing with a squeal which is just a series of one-shots.

Please let me know what you think!

@threepupsinapuddle @broco8 @introvertedmouse @luxyash @vikingsbifrost @pastelblogsposts @wastingmypotential @whitespring21 @ayamenimthiriel @wonderlandfandomkingdom @shesthelastjedi @fandom-lover-4 @sageandberries-png

#geralt smut #geralt x reader #geralt of rivia #witcher geralt #Geralt #geralt imagine #the witcher #netflix the witcher #witcher netflix #geralt x oc #geralt x smut

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clockworkdragonffxiv · 4 years ago

Photo

Not sure if the rest of you do this, but I kind of sometimes turn my characters’ retainers into supporting characters. Like one of Zakuro’s is her estranged sister Sayuri. I was tinkering around and didn’t really like the eye color of one of Kriss’s retainers, and next thing I knew I had overhauled them into Kriss’s parents and two of her sisters (Kriss is the youngest of seven daughters).

For reference, Kriss hails from Aerslaent. While the canon tells us literally nothing what it’s like, from my supposition and basing on how the map depicts a Viking-esque longship in that region, in my head Aeslaent’s environment is much like the islands and cultures of the North Sea (Scotland, Ireland, Norway, Sweden, Iceland, and the Faroe Islands) and the Northern Empty is the North Sea. So kind of this mix of northern Gaelic and Scandanavian, a bit like the Hebrides or the Isle of Skye, and just as rain-soaked and storm-battered.

Okay so I’m really just tinkering around with the character creator and want to show off because I had fun making these little people only I can see. :p

Also, it’s really friggin’ hard getting screenshots of retainers. >:(

So from top to bottom we have:

Ryssuwil: The Old Bear of the Mountain and Kriss’s father. A titan of a man whose rages literally shake the earth around him, he rarely speaks more than he needs to and more than a few think his only words are “[disapproving grunt]”, “[grudgingly approving grunt]”, and “[intimidating growl].” Preferring to live out in the woods and mountains of his island and caring little for most people, his tempestuous romance with the sea witch Syggswys gave him seven daughters, all of which he typically refers to as simply “girl.”

Syggswys: The Storm Witch and Kriss’s mother. A dangerous and wild woman who is technically not a pirate, her strange branch of conjurery and geomancy focuses on the waves and storms that plague the region. Her magic can see a ship through a hurricane or navigate a reef, or likewise hide them from the kraken and sea serpents indigenous to the Northern Empty. It can just as easily hex or bring down maladies upon a man who offends her, making her an object of fear and respect among the locals. Having no small talent for rolling the bones and reading omens such as birds, stars and animal entrails, she comes ashore only when the portents tell her is right, which only contributes to the complex - and often stormy - relationship with Ryssuwil and the seven daughters she’s born him.

Iyrngeim: The Grey Siren and Kriss’s eldest sister. A proud woman who prefers civilization far more than either of her parents, Iyrngeim makes her living as a skald, a local variety of bard, at the local jarl’s court. While she does posses some small talent for magic, she prefers music and the finer things. She thinks of her youngest sister as hotblooded and far too much like her father with Kriss’s berserker ways and affinity for animals.

Skoeflona: The Golden Oak and Kriss’s youngest sister. Somehow not inheriting either of her parents’ proclivity for bloodsoaked carnage and violence (note that their entire courtship was a whirlwind of fire and blood), she serves as a wandering healer and conjurer. A kindly and sweet tempered woman that Kriss is fiercely protective of, she has been seen tending to wounded animals as much as humans. Some stories put her command of magic as rivaling that of her mother’s, while others claim she can speak to wild beasts. Most of these are probably just superstitious locals.

#ffxiv #roegadyn #ffxiv roegadyn #mateus #aerslaent #ffxiv retainers #no sir I didn't see you playing with your dolls again

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expolikestoart · 5 years ago

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Fam-ILY au headcanons post!

listen I love them a lot and I want to talk about them even if no one else really cares

Character Designs

Sleepover/Movie Night for the boys

The Picani Family

the Picanis have a day once every week where they all watch a few episodes of Avatar together. tis law.

Emile is genderfluid!! So sometimes they're Patton and Dee's dad, sometimes they're thier mom, sometimes they're their ren. Patton and Dee tend to just call them their dad though, just cause it's easier to explain to the other kids. And it doesn't cause Emile any issues so they don't mind. They were a pronoun braclet a lot. (tbh they're really just happy their kids sees them as a role model.) (He/Him, She/Her, They/Them, depends on the day)

Patton likes to play with his stuffed animals a lot!

his favorite blanket is his weighted blanket

Dee is HoH so the entiree family knows ASL and he wears hearing aids.

Dee's very passionate about octonauts and his favorite episode was the coral reef snake one. (his favorite character is tweak)

Patton and Dee are bio siblings but they're both adopted by Emile. Emile had a partner during the adoption but they broke up a few years later and he(the partner) never offically had any custody.

at the start of the storyline (maybe writing a fic) they just moved and Emile and him broke up.

Emile keeps pictures of them in his wallet and Will talk about them whenever someone asks.

Emile is a children's therapist in this AU, and specifically works with kids who deal with learning disabilities.

The Kingsley Family

When Remy was like. 17 he got in a relationship with this one girl and they did the do. When the twins were born, she left. He hasn't heard from her since.

His family wasn't that supportive except his Great Aunt Becca who's a wonderful woman. She lived with her partner for years until she died a year or two before Remy moved in.

So they all live with her now.

Roman likes to sew little costumes for his stuffed animals. Remy helps.

Roman begged Remy to let him join dance classes. Remy doesn't currently have the money to take so he's saving up to let him.

Remus is in that weird kid phase? You know the one where they're weirdly obsessed with like. Death and witches and shit? He's in that phase.

He also makes "potions" and shit outta stuff in the kitchen. 50% of them are probably poisonous. Remy lets him drink absolutely none of them.

Remy's Bi and proud. He hasn't really dated anyone since he was 17 but. He's open to dating again. But only if his boys like them.

Remy works at a few different places. He's the manager at a coffee shop when the boys are at school and at night when they sleep he works at a gas station. Neither has great pay but he's doing his best.

Roman and Remus have very active imaginations. It has led to them waking up Remy or Becca due to monsters in the closet more than they like.

Disney! And! Pixar! Movie! Nights!

Remy and Aunt Becca have most definitely made scrapbooks of the boys together. (even though Remy might deny it to keep up his tough guy image)

The Cogsworth Family

Brian showed the boys some of Star Wars: The Clone Wars and Logan fell in love with the show immediately. Virgil doesn't like it as much but he likes to see Logan excited so he watches it too.

Virgil freaking Loves Gravity Falls though. He likes to try and find monsters in the apartment complex and nearby park. He swears he heard a hide behind once. (Brian played the sound effect on his phone and placed a speaker in a tree to make him happy)

Logan only likes certain textures with clothes so Brian makes sure that when they go clothes shopping Logan feels them first.

Logan has a prosthetic foot (it doesn't show in the family portrait because his socks and shoes cover it up) ((he also has a barbie doll because her leg was a prosthetic))

Virgil likes to draw a lot, especially monsters and stuff that he sees on tv. It's really cute looking half of the time but sometimes it kinda worries Brian.

Brian is Trans! And Aro/Ace. The kids are his. He had them pre-transition. His family wasn't supportive of him transitioning so he doesn't really talk to them. Has been on T for 5 years. (He/Him)

Brian's a bit of a space nerd so he likes to watch documentaries on them and the kids will often curl up on him and watch too.

Brian's compiter has a metric fuckton of baby photos of the boys!

They go to the park because he tries to keep them as healthy as possible and hopefully his kids will make friends. Both are painfully shy.

He's a security guard/Janitor for Walmart's l a t e shifts.

The Sanders Family

Thomas isn't adopted y e t but god is Anton working on the paper work for that because bitch that's their son now and they love him.

Thomas still is the goofy guy we know, happy, enjoys Disney, likes to sing and stuff.

Since Thomas is old enough to join the school choir he did and he loves it.

Anton and Thomas met the others because Emile was Thomas's therapist and once Anton asked Emile the best thing he could do for their kid and Emile commented on how that they knew it was scary, cause they had the same thoughts when they adopted their kids.

Emile is no longer Thomas's therapist due to him no longer being impartial since that's his kids friend and that's kinda iffy so now their friend is.

Anton is nb and pan-romantic ace. (He/Him, They/Them)

Both of them are kinda chaotic at times and sometimes you can find the two of them trying desperately to bake but there's batter on the ceiling and flour in Anton's hair. (they can't bake but anton can cook so it's okay)

When Thomas gets adopted all the others will be invited to see the signing.

Thomas didn't get to watch most Disney movies while in Foster care so Anton is showing him everything.

He also didn't get to see the Barbie movies so guess what else he's watching because Anton insists.

Anton still has an appreciation for fine arts and has a painting hanging up in his Living room framed and right next to it in just as fancy a frame is a drawing Thomas made. (it's a family portrait that Thomas made with stick figures. When he gave it to Anton, Anton c r i e d.)

Thomas has two friends from before he writes to, Joan and Tayln. He writes them letters every few days. They write back and everytime he gets one he's like!!!!!

Anton's the most well off of anyone in the squad so he tends to give gifts to the others when they find something.

All of them

The Parent Group are all very supportive of their kids interests, and also have meetups while the boys have playdates where the drink they're preferred hot drink (Emile likes Tea, Remy and Anton like Coffee, and Brian likes Apple Cider) and bitch about the shitty PTA moms and work (not emile though he loves his job and has patient confidentiality so... no)

Roman and Logan both love Percy Jackson but in different ways. Logan read all the books. Roman read the comic book adaptions and listened to the Lightning Thief Musical.

Virgil and Patton like to hunt for monsters together in the apartment complex and park but everytime it happens they both get a little scared and run if something actually looks spooky.

When all the kids became friends they had Patton teach them ASL secretly for a couple of months to surprise Dee. They showed Dee and he c r i e d. Happy tears of course but he was so surprised that all of them learned that for him.

Virgil, Dee, Remus, and Roman all have the same Recess break on the little kids playground so they play pretend together a lot. Usually it's Roman and Virgil vs Remus and Dee, but sometimes they switch it up.

Patton, Thomas, and Logan are the Big Kids, but also are kinda the weird kids too so they don't have much friends outside of the group. But it's okay, because they got each other and they like to hang out.

Patton has punched some kids cause they made fun of either his friends or Dee or maybe his Dad. He will throw hands. Logan might hold him back. Thomas will hold him back but only after a punch or two.

Remy once joked about having one brain cell in front of the kids and all the kids who weren't his got very alarmed and started to make him realize he was smart but Roman and Remus went: yeah you do. He's never been so heavily burned before or since.

Roman and Remus don't do the weird twins finishing each other's sentences thing but Logan and Virgil do.

Patton still makes puns but not good ones because kid's humor is nonsensical so half of the time he'll go up to Logan and Thomas and try them on them and every time they're both like "???? what did you just say????????"

They will all go and do fashion shows where Roman and Remus will take the others and drape them in sheets and cutains and blankets and have everyone walk the fake runway while someone sits out and judges.

Remus, Dee, and Virgil try to do magic together. It doesn't always go well but they try.

Roman, Patton, and Logan will try to play demigod but Patton has no clue what he's doing.

Roman and Remus showed Thomas some Disney sing alongs he could play on his tablet. Anton thinks their son has a lovely singing voice but also. they doesn't like hearing him sing at 6 am when they're barely awake. Can someone hold a grudge against a kindergartner? Ask Anton.

#sanders sides #cartoon therapy #family au #emile picani #patton sanders #deceit sanders #remy sanders #roman sanders #remus sanders #brian sanders #ts brain #logan sanders #virgil sanders #anton sanders #thomas sanders #All of them are babey and i love them a lot okay. like #please love them too I just have feeling

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realityhelixcreates · 5 years ago

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The Saga Begins (And She Doesn’t Stop)

Chapters: 44/? Fandom: Thor (Movies), Marvel Cinematic Universe Rating: Teen And Up Warnings: None Relationships: Loki x Reader (Someday) Characters: Loki (Marvel), Additional Tags: Post-Endgame: Best Possible Ending (Canon-Divergent), Loki Is Really Starting To Lean Into Those Fantasies, You Really Want To Attend An Avengers Party, No Ulterior Motives, None at all, Phil 2 Will Not Start Singing Anytime Soon I Promise, Summary: You gain a new teacher, Loki gains a new anxiety.

Loki held your hand in one of his, the other on the small of your back, steadying you as you walked slowly across the room. Standing no longer made you as dizzy, but if you moved to fast, your head still spun, and Loki was not willing to let you fall again.

He hadn't really wanted to allow you out of your chair yet, but you had heard that Thor was throwing a bash for his friends, and there was no way you were being consigned to your room, or stuck in a chair, while there was an entire Avengers party going on.

You definitely didn't want any of them seeing you like this. You still checked in once a week, and each one you talked to-Captain America, Falcon, a young lady with an accent you couldn't place and who didn't bother to introduce herself, even Doctor Banner once-they all held your situation in negative regard. There were plenty of questions about your treatment and your captor. Nobody had a gentle word for Loki. The kindest had been Banner who had told you Loki was a 'bag of cats', but had bid you luck in 'finding the kitten'.

You couldn't let them know an Asgardian had injured you. Who knew how they might take it?

So you walked until you simply couldn't anymore, and Loki had led you back to your chair, showering you with gentle praises for your strength and perseverance.

Today he had magicked you into more modest clothing, the kind you had started considering 'normal'. A deep, blue-green dress, hemmed with ribbon woven with black and yellow chevrons. Tan apron overdress, embroidered with horned snakes and the phases of the moon. Warm, soft felt trousers underneath, comfortable padded slippers. The domed brooches on your shoulder straps were fancy today, with curling dragon patterns, and strings of gold and pearl beads to hang your little trinkets from.

You'd found out from Saldis during one of your baths, that the clothes you wore were Asgardian versions of attire once found on Earth. The clothiers who worked in the palace had only very old book illustrations to go off of, and did not know that humans didn't wear these things anymore; Asgardian fashion moved and changed far slower than Earth fashion did. They'd been trying to make you clothes that would help you feel comfortable, as a guest of the king.

That was actually pretty thoughtful of them, you thought. And you'd told Saldis that the humans out in the believer's camp wore dresses like this, or at least some of them did. It was a process known as reconstruction, where modern humans tried to bring parts of the ways of humans from generations past into their own lives. Some did it in little ways, like learning an ancient language, and reading texts those people left behind, if any. Some did it in big ways, like trying to live entirely like they did. Others participated in reenactment, where they lived, dressed, and acted as people from times past, but only for a little while every week or month, then went back to their regular jobs and homes.

“So it's not all that unusual for me to wear clothes like that, I guess, since the last humans who interacted with Asgardians in any numbers were all wearing them. And the people out in the camp are probably trying to get in touch with the thoughts and feelings of those people.”

“Can you tell me about them?” Saldis had asked you. “I never get close enough to the gates to see them, and obviously, they aren't allowed in.”

“Well, I was only out there for a short time, but they aren't all that different from me.” You said. “They come from different countries, and they feel a connection to the Aesir. Some of them worship them, some of them came to study, I'm pretty sure. Some probably came just to be a part of all this.”

“All this?”

You gestured around you. “A whole new alien species, now permanently residing on Earth. We're a really isolated species, you know? We didn't know for sure there were other people out there until, like seven years ago. And we haven't shared the planet with another intelligent species for tens of thousands of years at least, and that was just another species of human.”

“There were more than one kind of human?” Saldis exclaimed excitedly, prompting you to explain the human family tree to the best of your ability. She left vowing to find more books on the subject.

When you had been dressed and finished with your exercises, Loki wheeled you out into the palace complex, Andsvarr following close behind.

“Since we cannot practice magic or self-defense today, I will be leaving you in the library with a new teacher.” He informed you. “She has a 'Seidkona Express' curriculum laid out for you, or so she tells me.”

Once in the library, he took you to a smaller room that held even more library. The books here looked especially old and important. Some were made of metal, their covers crusted in gems and pearls, some were scrolls inside climate controlled cases, and some were no more than clay or stone tablets. There were even a few staves of weathered wood, carved all over with foreign symbols.

Obviously, you would be keeping your hands and feet inside your ride the whole time. There was no way you were allowed to touch anything in here. Some of these things might be older than the entire human race.

What a thing to realize: that there might have been some people writing epics, even before yours had figured out how to bash two rocks together.

There were a handful of ladies in the Special Library, all beautiful, dressed and coiffed very similarly to the unfinished murals of the Queen. They were all very friendly with Loki, and somewhat less reverent than most of the other palace workers.

You couldn't help but to side-eye him a little. Loki didn't seem like a philanderer, but that didn't mean that he had no history, and it definitely didn't mean that he didn't get around at least a little.

To think that one of these ladies-or more!-could be a former flame...or even potentially a current one...It made you feel strangely bitter. You held it back from showing though, after all, it wasn't like it was any of these ladies' fault that you'd gotten spoiled by being the sole recipient of all of his attention for all these months.

At least, you thought you were. But there were times when the two of you were apart, and who knew what he was up to then?

It was none of your business.

“Oh, you've finally brought her!” One of them exclaimed in perfect American English, startling you. She didn't even speak with the vague accent Loki and the King used when speaking; it was like hearing one of your old neighbors. She even had the very slight Midwestern drawl you were used to.

“It is a pleasure to meet you, dear! Loki has kept you away for way too long, especially for a new Seidkona trainee! My, it's been ages since we had one. My name is Saga, and I am going to be teaching you about the history of Asgardian law for the next little while.”

“Saga is an Aesir.” Loki explained. “All of them are, actually. These ladies all used to be my mother's handmaidens, and are an elite force of stored knowledge. They will be able to teach you all of the things-”

“-That he hasn't got the patience for.” Saga finished. Loki pursed his lips in slight annoyance.

“She also will not hesitate to sass anyone who crosses her path.”

“I like her already.” You proclaimed.

“Of course you do.” He grumbled, but patted you softly on the shoulder before leaving you there.

“Now,” Saga began. “I have several translated manuscripts of law declarations made by our kings. Let's read and discuss the history and reasons behind them, starting with Allfather Buri's Declaration of Sovereignty Over Nornheim...”

*****

Loki arranged foodstuffs on a platter: dark bread, a pot of jam, cold sliced lamb, and a cup of skyr. You would be in lessons for several hours at least and, knowing Saga, potentially quite a bit longer than that. You would need something to eat, and it would be a good excuse to check in on you.

And to make sure Saga was teaching you to be as subversive as a good Seidkona should be.

Buridag would be coming soon enough, and he could not wait to pin the cloak of office to your shoulders. A powerful message would be sent that day, many centuries of tradition would be broken. But it needed to happen, and if something needed to be broken, he was the ideal candidate. Things would change, even if he had to shove them through with a battering ram.

And you, so important, so central to it all...and he didn't think you really understood how vital you were. You still had a shy streak, a deep down belief in the bedrock of your being that you were somehow not worthy of what was happening to you...Well. Loki understood that feeling implicitly, but he did not know how to alleviate it in you. Loki had been through every possible stage of life and death, but relating to the feelings of others was still sometimes difficult for him.

He felt as though he could not court you properly, though, until you had removed that self doubt, and accepted your worth. If there was anything he could do to help, he would, without hesitation.

He also felt that it was becoming important for him to get to the bottom of the strange, quasi-real dreams you were sharing. It seemed to him that they were becoming more frequent. It seemed also, that something that should be within his grasp was being purposefully kept out of it, which was frustrating. There were many clues before him, and he either was not seeing them, or he was not connecting them.

He knew he was close, dancing right on the edge, which frustrated him all the more.

“My prince.” An errand runner approached him, breaking his train of thought. “There is a Midgardian man at the north gate who says he has come from Reykjavik. He says he is with Íslandspóstur, and that he has a package for your Seidkona. Well, he did not call her that, but that is who he meant, my prince.”

“Is that so?” Loki asked suspiciously. “She is not available. I shall see to it. Andsvarr, please take this tray to the library. I shall be away for a short time.”

He dismissed the errand runner and stalked through the half finished streets all the way to the north gate. The person waiting there was certainly dressed as a postman, in his red and black, although that was not a difficult uniform to procure. He waited anxiously, being heckled by a group of nearby protesters. When he noticed that it was Loki coming to greet him, his anxiety seemed to skyrocket; he couldn't wait to be rid of the package-a large, light, very taped up box, signed by Tara Miller, your irritating friend.

Loki took the package and let the postman escape with haste. They would have checked it for dangerous things, such as explosives or venomous animals, but he was going to check it again, in the safety of his chambers.

He took a different route back, stumbling across a road crew whose work had ground to a halt.

“Is there a problem here?” He asked, as the supervisor rushed up to him with relief washing over his face.

“Your Highness! Perhaps you can put to rest a disagreement we are having, if it does not waste too much of your time.”

“There is little of more importance to a city than it's roads.” Loki said. “Tell me of your problem.”

“It's this bloody great stone.” The supervisor pointed to a large boulder, jutting out of the dirt. “Those Midgardian fellows are very odd about their rocks and hills; they refuse to muck about with them, and they don't even break them or build over them. They advise us not to either, but this one is right in the middle of the road.

Now, I know we're not Midgardian,” He continued. “But I want to stay on their good side, since they're trying to help us out. So we're having a bit of a debate as to whether we should just smash the thing and incorporate the rubble into the road, and leave the Midgardians none the wiser, or if we should respect their superstitions and try to move the thing whole, out of the city, or into some courtyard somewhere.”

“I see. I suppose there is nothing wrong with not wanting to offend our allies. If you can move it, do so.”

“Thank you your Highness.” The supervisor said, turning back to his crew. “You heard him! No more debating now, we dig it out and move it!”

The workers approached the stone with shovels and levers, Loki leaving them to their job. Funny, the things that seemed to require a Royal Opinion.

Far down the road, almost out of earshot, Loki heard the crack of breaking stone, and rolled his eyes. At least they had tried.

*****

Loki set the large box down on the sheepskin rug, in front of the fireplace. Knife in hand, ready to throw the entire thing into the flames if he had to, he slit the heavy wrapping of tape, and peered inside.

Loki was not inclined to feel guilt over going through someone's mail, especially not where your safety was concerned. Just because it was signed by your friend, did not mean that it really came from her.

There was a bright green, stuffed...creature, that did not resemble any earthly creature he knew of, which he checked for hidden dangers. It proved to be free of needles or poisons, or secret compartments, so he set it on the 'safe' side. There were several packets of snacks, which he set on the 'unsafe' side, to be sent to Bjarkhild for checking. There were several books, which he checked for hidden razors or pins, and of course, more poison. A tiny USB labeled “Music”. A knitted throw blanket. A few of what must have been your favorite articles of clothing and jewelry, all of it ratty and cheap.

Within another box was a very carefully wrapped leaf, large and variegated, its thick stem enclosed withing a vial of water. New roots were already growing. It was labeled “Phil 2: Electric Boogaloo”, a reference he did not understand, though he did remember you speaking of a cherished houseplant you had named Phil. This must be its offspring, a way to circumvent the extreme difficulty of shipping an entire live plant of the size you had indicated.

Beneath it all was a collection of papers, mostly keepsakes from the places you had visited with Tara, as well as a diploma from some place known as a 'High School'. Odd. You had told him that you had not been able to receive higher education, yet here was proof that you had not just attended, but graduated from a High School. Maybe there was a school that was even higher than that. A Greater or Grand School, perhaps.

Beneath that, were the calendars. THE Calendars. Tara had sent you all three, including the newest one. Loki hadn't even known it was available yet. There were still months to go before the Midgardian year ended.

Ugh. The calendars. How humiliating. He flipped the new one open, finding his picture on the month of November. How they had joked and teased each other, so friendly even though they were debasing themselves for money.

They had wanted him to put oil on his skin! He'd refused of course. If they wanted to glisten like sweaty, filthy, slime farmers, that was their prerogative; if he absolutely had to show skin like a trollop, then he wasn't going to do it like a common one.

They had eventually relented...then they had stuffed him into prisoner's clothes, opened them to the waist, tousled his hair, and handcuffed him to the prison bars! Everyone had had something scathing to say, some sly, insulting jest at his expense, their jeers bouncing off the walls.

After the photographers had gotten their shot, he'd snapped the cuffs with barely any effort, and had to be persuaded by his brother not to wreck the place.

He doubted he would be invited back for next year. He doubted he would want to go. But just imagine if there was a demand for it? A clamoring for pictures of Loki, outstripping even the desire for photos of the Noble Captain? The Playboy Philanthropist? Even his illustrious brother?

Did human women in fact, like a 'bad boy'?

Probably not.

Did you?

Definitely not, given the scoldings you had rained down on him.

But maybe...maybe if you came across him, in this particular situation; chained, unbuttoned, ostensibly helpless...what would you do? Would you help him out? Or would you 'help him out'?

He picked up one of the older calendars, idly flipping through as he floated on the thought of your sweet hands on his skin, right up until he noticed that for the months where Captain America was the feature, you had marked out all the days with hearts instead of crosses.

His heart sank in his chest, the reverie entirely broken.

#lasabrjotr #loki x reader #loki (marvel)

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idkthisisjustforfanfic · 5 years ago

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Part XI - The Untimely Downfall of Strangers

read parts 1-10 here

NOW - Day 1710

I could feel the warmth of his body in my sheets, and it took my brain a second to realize where I was, who he was, and what had happened. He was turned completely around--his back was to me as if there was still some sort of block between us.

This wasn’t one of those movie moments--you have sex, you wake up the next morning and everything is so romantic. Instead of that, I heard the buzzing of my phone and the sound of his breathing beside me.

Which terrified me and soothed me at the same time.

It’d been a while since I’d woken up next to him, and in a way, the warm sheets and his sounds of sleep felt comforting. But at the same time, in a brain that’s wired anxious and over thinks even the smallest things, the buzzing on the nightstand of Sinead’s phone call and realization that my ex-boyfriend was in bed beside me set off a few alarms. The call went to voicemail, I looked over my shoulder to see if Harry was awake.

He wasn’t.

I reached for the phone and pulled open a text to Sinead. Before I could even start typing, she sent a message.

Just came by and Harry’s car is in the driveway. Let me know if I should come back later.

Great. Good. Okay. So Sinead knew. There was that.

“Morning,” his voice sounded behind me--slow and deep and barely even awake. I dropped the phone on the sheets and shifted to get a good look at him.

“Hi, hey, what’s up?”

His lips pulled into a smirk--the scene in front of me felt similar to so many of my past mornings, only this time Harry’s hair wasn’t as long as mine. “Y’okay?”

“Yeah,” I said quickly. His eyes scanned my face and he raised his eyebrows a bit, somehow insinuating that he knew I was lying and that he didn’t want to fall back into that pattern. I cleared my throat. “Sinead called. She saw your car. I don’t know if anyone else did.”

He thought on this for a second, his eyebrows furrowing into one another as he plucked at his lower lip. He was propped up on an elbow, he let out a long breath that didn’t seem nervous or angry or anything. He was just thinking. “Do you not want people to know that we’re spending time together?”

I rolled my eyes a little bit. “Spending time together and having sex with your ex-boyfriend are two very different things.”

“We don’t have to tell anyone if you don’t want to.”

It wasn’t that I didn’t want to. It wasn’t that I wanted to keep this a secret. If anything, really, it was that I didn’t have the words to quite explain the last two weeks. In a matter of days, Harry had come full force back into my life and I was forced to take a hard look at the end of our relationship. He was finally back and things felt okay and I wanted to protect our relationship. We’d always had third parties sneaking a peek inside. All of that felt pretty overwhelming.

“Margot,” he said, pulling my attention back to him. “Can you think out loud?” He smiled up at me, causing my lips to pull upwards as I let out a laugh.

“I don’t even know where to start if anyone asks about us. And I don’t want a thousand other people in our business.”

He nodded, appreciating my words as he let his head fall back to the pillow. My bedroom--this room that we were in--had been free of Harry. When I bought this house last summer, I realized that it was likely to be the only place in my life that hadn’t been touched by him. The sheets, the couch downstairs, the front door.

None of that held true anymore. I didn’t really mind. It just felt strange.

“We don’t owe anyone an explanation. I mean, so people will find out. People have already seen a few photos.”

He was right--there’d been pictures of us at Geoffrey’s and at the release party and there was even one of us in his car the night we got In N’ Out. People had speculated, people had come up with their theories, but neither of us had said a word.

He’d long become the King of Promo--any question about me was answered with a swift and thoughtful diversion. He’d been asked a thousand times what happened to our relationship and I got to hide away in the woods of Tennessee and in the rocky hillside of Malibu. Now he was getting questions about it again--the break up, the time apart, had I heard the album?

“I guess I don’t know what to say because I don’t know what this means,” I motioned between us, to the non verbal agreement that apparently, this was a thing. When I kissed him on the couch through tears, when I finished my wine before bringing him upstairs, I somehow, some way, made a decision that this was certainly a thing.

“We’ve had sex before, Marg, it’s fine.”

“I know, I know,” I said, bringing a hand up to hide my eyes. “I guess, what I mean, is that I want to take it slow.”

Harry let out a laugh and smiled up at me under his eyelashes. “You? Take things slow? I would have never guessed.”

Sinead seemed to walk around like a deer in headlights when I opened the front door. Harry, who was in the kitchen fixing some pancakes, shot her an obnoxious grin over his shoulder.

She turned to me quickly, her eyes still wide and her face still pale. “Did you--did you have sex with him?”

I closed my eyes quickly, feeling more than uncomfortable at all the sex-talk I’d endured so far. Sinead was no stranger to the intimate details of my life--after all, she was the one who filled and picked up my birth control prescriptions and she regularly scheduled my gynecologist appointments.

“I don’t see why that matters,” I challenged her playfully, turning to lead her towards the kitchen. She followed behind, dropping her bag on the island as Harry poured batter into a pan. I would have been fine with cereal, but I guess getting laid made him feel generous.

“This is weird,” Sinead nodded confidently, causing Harry to look over his shoulder again with a pout. Her words were true, but her tone was playful.

“What’s that supposed to mean?” He pulled his head back, pretending to be offended by her words--falling right back into their typical banter.

Sinead let out a dramatic sigh. “Oh, I don’t know. Maybe the fact that this,” she motioned between the two of us, “hasn’t been a thing since 2015.”

“Alright, okay,” I held a hand up in protest, the sinking feeling in my chest getting the best of me. “Let’s not make a big deal out of it because that feels really stressful,” I said.

Sinead seemed to look from me and then to Harry--apparently me voicing my feelings was something they both weren’t too accustomed to.

“Yeah,” Harry said with a nod, the spatula in his hand. “Not a big deal,” he said. “Taking it slow.”

THEN - Day 1185

I hadn’t really noticed him at first--he was just a face in a group of people who seemed to watch my every move. I don’t know if they thought I was going to kill myself or try or maybe they were just wondering what on earth Margot Jones was doing in a rehab center in Tennessee--but he seemed to pay attention.

And I think that’s why this all started.

I think the way he seemed to watch me move through the dining hall and the way he seemed to offer me a smile whenever he crossed my path--it felt different than the others and it certainly felt different than Harry.

It’d been three weeks since I’d seen him. Three weeks since I’d heard from him, three weeks since he didn’t have any words for me.

With each day that passed I felt more alone, more annoyed, and more desperate.

Most of the other women on my floor seemed to ignore me--I think the weight of my name made them uncomfortable and unsure of how to interact with me. Almost as if my name made me less human.

I wasn’t all that surprised. I spent most of my time in groups or in therapy with Rita, and the time I wasn’t in either of those was normally spent in the group room by the window. Instead of spending time with the other patients, I felt more comfortable letting the silence sink in around me. After all, it’d been a few years since I’d really been alone.

He’d approached me from behind and at first I felt unsure. He worked here as a floor manager. He wasn’t a therapist, instead, he spent his time babysitting the group of us women who were deemed too broken for reality--was he allowed to talk to me one-on-one?

“Whatchya lookin’ at?”

I turned to face him--his eyes were blue and his hair was light, almost blond--more so now in the sun than I’d noticed before. The thought crossed my mind--what did he think of me? What did he think of my music? My reputation? I pushed it out of my head.

I let out a laugh when I realized that I didn’t have a good answer. “Nothing, I guess. Just looking.”

He nodded. He crossed his arms over his clipboard, his eyes out the window like mine had just been. He was in scrub pants and a t-shirt, I could see my name on his clipboard, next to the others who seemed to be avoiding me like I had something contagious.

Andrew--that’s what his name tag said, definitely no older than 25. He was quiet for a second, his eyes still on the trees at the edge of the field that seemed to surround the entire complex. “Is it weird to be here?”

I didn’t know what to make of his question at first. For a moment it felt like he was prying, maybe he’d get a payout for anything he could tell them about my life on the inside. When his eyes met mine, it didn’t feel that way.

Instead of looking like he had a reason to ask, he just looked curious. He watched me with soft eyes, and for the first time in a while, with someone other than my therapist, I felt like he actually wanted to hear what I had to say. Not because I was Margot Jones, because I was human.

“It’d be less weird if people didn’t look at me like an alien,” I shrugged a little, letting a laugh escape my lips.

He nodded--I don’t think it was a secret to anyone that the rest of the women seemed to keep away. Maybe they wondered if I was too broken for them.

“They probably just didn’t expect to meet a celebrity here,” he laughed quietly, his voice low enough so others couldn’t hear us.

“I bet you didn’t expect it either,” I corrected him, a smirk tugging at the corner of my mouth.

“That’s fair,” he smiled. He walked to sit in the chair opposite me. “Any idea when you’re done?”

I ran a hand through my hair. Rita and I had been talking about next week, before the holidays--hopefully when the rest of the world would be too busy with Christmas shopping to notice that I’d returned from my time away.

“Before Christmas,” I told him. “Escape back to L.A. and hope no one noticed I was gone.”

He offered a sympathetic smile, but it didn’t sit right with me.

“What’s that look for?” I asked, watching as he shifted in his seat. He still held his clipboard in his hands, but he moved to sit next to me for a minute--careful of the distance between us.

“I dunno,” he shrugged. “I just--I think people know.”

I sat with that for a second. People probably did know where I was. I mean, it was 2015. People had cameras and cellphones and twitter and facebook and my every move was pretty much tracked down by the second.

But the reality is that I was locked away, safe inside the walls of these buildings in which I now spent my time. I didn’t have access to a cell phone or the news or the internet. I could watch rerun episodes of COPS and I could maybe watch Ellen.

My seat in the day room was a lot different than the seat opposite Ellen in her studio.

“They probably do,” I nodded. “Fuck it, though.”

He laughed at this, a small smile pulling at his lips as he watched me--seemingly interested by my words and my thoughts and my mannerisms. I still couldn’t tell if it was because of my name or because of me, but his blue eyes made me hope it was the latter.

“Fuck what they think and fuck what they know and fuck H--” I cut myself off, I figured it was better to not name drop and accidentally let this kid--Andrew--know something about my previous relationship. Maybe his payout would double if he had any insider gossip about Harry as well.

“Sometimes it’s nice to just say fuck it,” he laughed, his eyes still on my face.

It was uncomfortable for a second--it felt like Nick and Sinead and Harry all watching me. It felt like he watched on to see what I’d say, what I’d do, if I’d break again.

But when I realized that everyone else had left the room, and when I realized that there wasn’t much more I could do to fuck things up, I decided that I might as well kiss him.

Maybe we both got something out of it. Maybe we both got something out of sneaking around for the last week I was there--locking lips and feeling our skin touch in dark closets or in empty rooms.

But I think--in all honesty--he filled a void that I knew was there from the start. He filled a void that was left by the person who’d tried his best to fill it before.

The thing that sucked was that neither of them really worked.

THEN - Day 1202

I sat on the floor of the living room where he first kissed me. In fact, Maya sat in the spot on the couch where it happened. Ben was beside me--still clad in his festive pajama pants that matched mine and Maya’s, a Christmas tradition since Maya could walk.

“Open that one next,” my mom handed a gift to Ben, her handwriting made it clear that it wasn’t from Santa, though she still wrote it on the tag of each box.

Ben shook it slightly, ripped at the paper, and smiled as he pulled out a pair of adidas sweatpants. Simple, yet exactly what he asked for.

Christmas hadn’t changed much--sure, the money I made helped us buy each other some nicer gifts--but it was still a day of family and food and presents.

This Christmas, though, was different. I still had the nail polish on my fingers that I’d painted in the group room the night before I left. I still had Rita’s face in my mind as she hugged me goodbye and promised to email.

I could still hear the yelling of the paparazzi that greeted me at LAX with their big lenses and cold hearts.

“Margot? Honey? You okay?” My mom’s voice was soft, and it took me a second to realize that they all had their eyes on me.

“Yeah,” I nodded quickly. “I’m good.”

It wasn’t necessarily a lie--I wasn’t about to break down, if that’s what she meant. I was holding it together, holding together the reality that the entirety of my career was over.

Nick and Sinead and my mom had all agreed that I couldn’t work for a while. Apparently a stint in rehab suddenly turns you back into a child who’s capable of getting grounded. I didn’t know what would happen if I called Nick up, demanded he get me into a studio, on a talk show, anything. I was an adult, after all, I could decide to work if I wanted to. But in all honesty, I was too tired to put up a fight. And at least a small part of me felt like I didn’t want to. I didn’t want to answer their questions and fake another smile and give them things they didn’t deserve.

Maya looked at me with sympathy--she’d laid in bed with me the night I got home, helping me take down the photos of Harry that filled the frames on the surfaces in my bedroom.

“Let’s take a break,” my mom said. “I’ll check on the ham.”

I let out a sigh, watching as Maya reached for her phone and Ben stood to give Sara a call. I knew this game well--they were all walking on eggshells as if I was fragile enough to break at the slightest gust of wind. For a while I was, but it felt somewhat different now.

“We don’t need to do this,” I said, watching as Pete fiddled with the Apple TV that I’d gotten him. He looked up, his eyebrows raised as he waited for someone else to respond to me.

“What do you mean?” my mom asked, turning on her heel to face me once more.

I groaned--annoyed that I had to explain it, verbalize it, acknowledge that we were all doing the same exact thing as before.

“Today sucks, okay? My life sucks right now. But you don’t need to tiptoe around me.”

They all paused, somewhat frozen--and likely concerned that I’d truly lost it--until Maya spoke. “Have you heard from him?”

“No,” I said. “And you don’t need to ask anymore. It’s not going to happen.”

THEN - Day 1274

Sinead was behind me, both literally and figuratively. It was her idea, really, to move out. She stood with a clipboard in her hands--which was extremely characteristic of her--and watched as two men lugged a bed frame through the front door.

The house kind of fell into my lap. Sinead came by for lunch one day at my mom’s, everyone was out. Ben was back at college, Maya was at school. Pete was at work and my mom had gone out to see a friend. Sinead pushed a real estate booklet in front of me in the kitchen.

I’d always wanted to live in Malibu. I wanted a house with private beach access and a view of the ocean from the kitchen. Open floor concept. Dining room. Hardwood floors, granite countertops. Marble bathrooms.

Sinead had already seen it in person when she handed me the booklet.

“Y’okay?” She asked, holding her hand over her eyes to shield the sun. I watched, somewhat skeptically, as the men maneuvered large structures through the door and up the stairs.

This was a good idea.

I needed my own space. I needed room from Maya. I needed distance from my mom. I could swim and write and find new hobbies here.

Best of all, it had no traces of Harry.

The hardest part about being home were the pieces of himself he’d left at my mom’s. A sweatshirt in the bottom drawer, the toothbrush he’d kept in my bathroom. I’d lived in that house since I was 13--it was the first thing we bought when we moved from Raleigh. Yet somehow--though the span of the house had long outlasted Harry--he still inhabited every room in it.

His seat at the dining room table. The spot where he hung his car keys when he was in town. The soccer ball in the garage that he’d kick around with Ben in the summer. The side of my bed that he’d claimed as his own.

I nodded back at Sinead, forcing a smile. I was fine. I saved the crying for therapy and the anger for nighttime. I wasn’t writing much--I’d strum a chord and nothing would come out. Or worse, too much would come out. I’d cry and cry and soon my vision was too blurry to fret the strings and I’d give up.

I stared up at the white house--it was empty. It was big (four bedrooms, one would become a home studio) and had no memories and, I guess, that made it a clean slate. The idea of a clean slate almost felt disappointing. Having one meant I needed it.

NOW - Day 1712

Harry was the type of person who did everything with his whole heart--so when he started spending more time at my house, he really outdid himself. His car keys sat beside mine in the dish in the entryway, his jacket hung in the front closet. He even seemed to buy a few things to keep in the fridge when I wasn’t looking.

He was adamant about making the most of our time together before his departure--his untimely and somewhat cruel departure.

Of course, because there’d be no other way to rekindle an old flame, Harry was set to leave for tour an exact week after we slept together. I suddenly felt like we had a ticking clock hanging over our heads that threatened to undo all the work we’d done in the last two weeks.

So, naturally, I asked him to come to therapy with me.

“Like, couples counseling?” his brows were furrowed together as he sat at the island in my kitchen having a bowl of cereal. We’d decided that we’d shut ourselves in tonight--draw the curtains and pretend that the internet wasn't swirling with rumors whether or not we were back together.

The answer--according to the tabloids--was yes. The answer--according to us--was maybe.

Neither of us had addressed it or really told anyone much of anything, but the paparazzi were relentless and fans seemed to create their own theories of who the two smoothies Harry picked up this morning were for.

“Yeah--Amanda said it can’t be her, though. We’d have to find someone else.”

He thought on this for a second--he blinked a few times while taking a sip of the milk at the bottom of the bowl.

I didn’t know how he’d respond. Harry--as far as I knew--had never been to therapy. I didn’t even know if he knew what really happened inside. The night he came over for dinner--the night we slept together--I told him about Amanda’s office.

A room with green walls and a tan couch. Throw pillows and artwork on the wall that seemed to match her personality. It felt like a safe place to talk about everything that had happened.

Harry cleared his throat and looked over at me. “Yeah, I mean, if you think we should, let’s do it.”

I let out a breath, relieved that he was so agreeable. I leaned against the counter opposite him--we’d watched a movie and Nick had stopped by just to say hi. Now we were likely headed to bed--it was an unspoken agreement that Harry would stay the night until he left.

“Where do you find a therapist?” He scrunched his nose and seemed to look up at the ceiling.

I let out a laugh, which he returned as he stood and brought his bowl to the sink. “Amanda can probably recommend someone. I’ll email her.”

He turned around from the sink and walked up to me, the look on his face slightly apologetic. “I wish I didn’t have to leave.”

I nodded slowly, unsure of what to say in response. It felt eerily similar--the forced goodbyes and the slipping feeling because neither of us knew what the future really held.

The last time we were in this spot, there wasn’t a future. I think we both knew that.

THEN - Day 1402

Maya was dying to be a senior in high school. I couldn’t blame her. She had a mother and a step-dad who were overbearing, an older brother who’d rub it in her face of how cool it was to live away from home, and a washed-up, older sister who used to be a popstar.

She was in a shitty mood most of the time. And maybe I was depressed.

Maybe I’d never be the person I was before Tennessee. Maybe this was my new normal--sitting on Maya’s bed as she tried to determine what clothes she wanted to keep and what she wanted to get rid of.

It was the dead of summer, and spending all of my time with a 17-year-old didn’t really do me much good. But Maya’s honesty and sarcasm were a welcome change from the previous world I lived in of people who walked on eggshells.

That was the good thing about Maya--I could always count on her to keep me grounded. When she was 13 years old, she told me to get my head out of my ass when the rumor that I’d gotten a nose job had me crying on the floor of my bathroom.

I had a garbage bag beside me as Maya dumped things inside. Contents of her drawers, clothes from her closet, pictures and mementos from her dresser. This was a big summer for her, she’d told me. Being a senior in high school meant you weren’t a kid anymore, and apparently, that meant she needed to deep clean her room.

Maybe I was depressed, and maybe I was bored, but I wasn’t really sad--and I certainly wasn’t really angry. I was more just existing. That’s how my days seemed to be now.

I’d heard their last album. The month I was in Tennessee I got to avoid it--pretend that there wasn’t an album out there in the world that seemed to hold pieces of our story. I had heard a few songs in passing over the summer a year ago, bits and pieces here and there as they recorded it and shaped it into what they wanted.

At Christmas, Maya told me that she liked it. I didn’t have the courage to listen.

So finally, last week, I decided that I’d listen to it in my car as Maya drove us around the hills of Malibu. I skipped the ones I knew, listened to the few that I didn’t. It almost felt like it wasn’t real--like I was on autopilot, not really taking in the words and the messages.

Instead, the music floated around me and when it was over, I unplugged Maya’s phone and offered to buy us lunch. Then we pretended it never happened.

It was all written before we broke up. It was written over the spring and summer, recorded throughout and crafted carefully as my life fell apart. I hoped I’d never hear it again.

That’s why, now, as Maya cleaned her own room, I decided to throw out most of my belongings that seemed tangled up in him. My clothes, my jewelry, my books, my pictures from tour, my One Direction merch.

I didn’t know who I was, really. And in some ways, that felt okay.

Maya was kneeling in front of her closet, sorting things into piles of what she’d donate and what she’d simply let go of. Another hot day in Los Angeles made us stay inside in the air conditioning, and apparently, cleaning out our closets was the most entertaining thing we could find.

I noticed that she had a stack of picture frames in front of her when I put my phone down, she picked up the first and then turned to me.

“These are yours,” she said simply. She turned it around, showing me a picture of Harry and I from 2014. We were on his bus, it was after a show one night in Texas. His arms were draped over my shoulders from behind and we both offered huge grins to the person behind the camera--likely Niall. It had originally been sent as a snapchat, I think. He mailed me 24 printed pictures of us from for our two year anniversary.

I leaned forward to reach for it, she handed it over to me and then stood up with the others in her arms, bringing them over to set them on the bed in front of me. She watched as I looked over them.

There was one of me and Niall and Maya, one of our family and Harry on Thanksgiving in 2013--another of me and Harry all dressed up in the front yard for the Billboard Music Awards in 2015. The absence of normal prom photos like most teenagers meant that my mom tried to take nice photos of us whenever she could.

“Why do you have these?” I asked, still confused as to why they’d been on the floor of her closet.

“You made me ‘get rid of them’ when you came home from Tennessee. I guess I never threw them out.”

I couldn’t take my eyes off of them--they seemed to serve as a sad reminder that it’d been a whole eight months since we’d spoken. A whole eight months since he walked out of my hotel room, and a whole eight months since he told me he loved me.

Maybe Maya had saved them in hopes that we’d get back together. Maybe she felt guilty throwing them out. Whatever reason she kept them didn’t matter, I picked them up in my arms and carried them back to her garbage bag.

“No point in reliving it, right?”

She offered me a small smile and shrugged. “As if you haven’t been reliving it every day.”

NOW - Day 1714

Harry sat on the couch to my right, close enough that our knees touched as Hillary--the woman Amanda had recommended--smiled politely at the two of us.

I wondered if she’d ever done any celebrity couples counseling before. It sounded like it could be the name of a bad reality show.

“So,” she spoke suddenly, her smile was sweet. “I think a good place to start is for both of you to tell me, in your own words, what brought you in.”

Harry nodded eagerly, his eyes flashing to mine in an attempt to encourage me to speak. I figured--if only because I was the one to initiate this--that I should at least set the stage.

“Uh, sure, yeah,” I shrugged. “We met in 2012, and we started dating right away, really. And we dated for three years, and then we broke up.” I looked to Harry, almost to ensure he didn’t have anything to add. When he nodded, I continued.

“I wasn’t doing too well, like, the year leading up to our break up, and when we did, I went to treatment in Tennessee, and so we didn’t speak for a year and a half, and now we’re--” I cut myself off, wondering how to label the relationship between us.

The boy next to me on the couch was someone who had been my best friend, my confidant, and someone who I thought was the love of my life. As far as I was concerned, he still had the ability to be all of those things, but I wondered if labeling him as anything right now was appropriate.

“We’re trying to work things out,” he said.

Hillary nodded, her hair was tied up in a pony-tail and she seemed to focus intently on both of us as we spoke. She nodded slightly, “and was it a mutual decision to end the relationship?”

Harry shook his head slowly. “No, I ended it,” I said quietly.

“Did you want the relationship to end?” She brought her eyes to Harry, who was now tracing a circle on the black denim of his pants.

He shifted uncomfortably and let out a small laugh. “No--I, uh, I would have stayed together, absolutely. But things weren’t really going well.”

“What do you mean they weren’t going well?”

Harry pursed his lips in thought and I checked the clock. Fifty-six minutes left.

“We were very distant, I think, and I knew that something was really...wrong with Margot--but I didn’t know what to do about it.”

Hillary nodded thoughtfully and turned her attention towards me. “Does that feel accurate to you, Margot? That you were distant?”

I nodded. “I think I felt distant from everyone and everything.”

“Did you tell Harry that?”

“No.”

Another nod from Hillary and another uncomfortable shift from Harry.

“So what are some goals in terms of being here, together? Have you talked at all about that amongst yourselves? Have you ever been to therapy before, Harry?”

He nodded and tugged at his lower lip, which caught me off guard.

“You have?” I asked him suddenly, the surprise evident in my voice.

“Yeah--I went a few times in December of that year. With you and Zayn and the band and everything, it felt like a good time.”

It wasn’t that I was totally shocked--I mean, Harry had always been one to reflect and want to talk about things. If anything, it was more the thought that I had fucked him up enough that he felt like he needed therapy.

“You look like you didn’t know that, Margot,” Hillary prodded, a small smile tugging at her mouth.

I shook my head. “I didn’t.”

“We didn’t exactly talk for a while,” Harry shrugged simply, his words not meant to hurt, but they strung a bit as he ran a hand through his short hair. Translation: you don’t know things about my life because you left.

“You asked about goals,” I changed the subject, bringing my eyes back to Hillary. “I think for me it’s learning how to communicate better. I don’t think we ever did too well with that.”

Hillary nodded, moving her eyes to Harry to see if he had any input.

“I would agree with that. And I’m leaving soon--for tour--which feels like incredibly bad timing.”

“Most things are,” Hillary smiled sympathetically, her eyes darting between us.

Harry reached a hand out and placed it on my knee. “But I hope that we can handle it.”

THEN - Day 1449

“This place is huge,” Niall looked around the foyer, taking his sunglasses off of his face to admire the tall ceilings.

I shrugged nonchalantly--definitely proud of my house, but more excited to have one of my best friends in the same state for a minute. Niall and I would FaceTime, meet for lunch, text back and forth--all the while pretending that my relationship with his bandmate, his best friend, hadn’t gone south as the colder air came into New York that year.

“It’s beautiful, Marg. When did you move in?”

“I did it kind of slowly over the spring. Officially been here since March, really.”

He dropped his keys on the console table and then put his hands on his hips. “Does it feel better?”

“What do you mean?”

“I mean--you know, new start, space from him?”

Fuck. If there was anyone who’d be able to see through me, it was Niall. Sure, Sinead and my mom and Maya and some other close enough people in my circle knew that buying a new house was a good way to find that space. It was a good way to start fresh, move away from the memories and towards a future that was--decidedly--Harry free.

“Oh,” I said. “Yeah. I guess so.”

“Still haven’t heard from him?”

“No, Niall.” I walked towards the kitchen and he followed me in. He took a seat at the island, watching as I took out some tea for him. “You don’t have to keep asking.”

“I’m just askin’ ‘cause he asks about you every time I talk to him. Asks what you’re up to and what you’re doin’. He’s just as much of a mess as he was at the end of the year.”

I was thankful to have my back to him--that way he didn’t see the fact that I had to pause and collect myself before responding. What was I supposed to say to that? Was I supposed to admit to Niall that I fucked up and that I missed him? Surely that wouldn’t change the last nine months.

“Sorry--m’not tryin’ t’be annoying. Just--” he trailed off, and when I turned around, he offered an apologetic smile.

“Just what?”

He shrugged, running a hand through his hair. He’d been dying it for years, but it was less blonde now than it was in the band. “I just think you two can get through this.”

I braced myself on the counter, leaning forward to let him know I was serious. “He hasn’t called me, Niall. He can ask you as many questions as he wants--but if he really was curious, he’d ask me himself.”

I think he disagreed with me--the quick eye roll as he stood from the stool told me that he did. I turned back around to make the tea, hoping that one of us would find a new topic for our friendship.

Niall knew me just as well as Harry in some ways. And in others, he knew me better. He didn’t have the added stress of being my boyfriend, but he still got to see me at my worst and now he saw me in the current stage of rebuild. He stood by throughout all of it, which was more than I could say for Harry.

“Look at this, by the way,” he turned his phone to show me a picture of a blonde-haired baby. “Freddie’s almost 8 months.”

I smiled at the photo--I hadn’t met the baby, but I knew Niall had. “How’s Louis doing with it?”

He shrugged his shoulders and clicked his phone shut. “Dunno--alright I guess. Busy and whatnot. Have you spoken to him?”

I let out a quick laugh. NIall was the only one to actually keep in touch. Sure, Liam had reached out to wish me a Merry Christmas and a happy birthday after his initial text when I was in rehab, but Louis had only sent a “hope all is well x” text when I got back from Tennessee.

And I couldn’t be mad, really. They were his friends. I was lucky that Niall and I were still as close throughout all of it. He’d made it clear that he took my side--not because he hated Harry or anything like that--really it was because he knew I needed the help and he cared enough to make sure I got it.

He was the one to FaceTime me when I got home before Christmas and he was the one who talked to me late at night on the phone when I felt like my lungs were caving in without someone beside me in bed.

“I haven’t spoken to anyone but you, doofus. They all hate me.”

He smiled at this--likely somewhat smug about the fact that he’d always been my favorite. I wondered, though, if he felt at all bad for me. A lot of people decided a stint in rehab was too much to handle.

“They don’t hate you,” he shook his head, waving off my statement as if it were completely false. “Liam’s been with his mum and dad a lot, Louis has the baby, and I mean, Zayn hates all of us so--don’t wait around for him to call you.”

I couldn’t help but laugh at that. Zayn kind of did hate all of us. He’d been so quick to leave and so quick to take a strong stance against the band that I don’t think I ever expected to speak to him again--especially if I didn’t have Harry as a reason to do so.

Niall’s phone buzzed on the counter in between us, I looked down quickly to see an obnoxious picture of Harry light up the screen. His name scrolled across and seemed to stare up at me. Niall looked up at me quickly and seemed to hesitate.

“No, you--you can take it, if you want. It’s fine.”

“Nah, all good. He’s fine. Dunno what it’s about.”

“Niall, it’s fine. I’ll go outside.”

“It’s your house,” he reminded me.

“Then you go outside.”

“No, Margot, it’s fine. M’not gettin’ it.” He clicked the phone to silent and I watched as the screen went black.

It struck me as strange, really, that buttons on a phone stood between us. I could undo the days apart with one phone call or one text. A quick dial of the familiar number that I’d memorized so long ago--and his voice could be in my ear. The distance between us--the months of pretending like I didn’t miss him--would be gone. Undone as if there’d been a bow tied around our past lives. But then again, I couldn’t undo it at all.

NOW - Day 1718

It was his last night before he left to go back on tour. His last night of living in this private fantasy world with me--hidden away in Malibu as if we didn’t have the public to answer to. He’d wanted to go to a nice dinner, but instead, I suggested we bring a nice dinner to us.

He’d ordered a chef, let me pick out the menu, and so we sat on the deck of my house drinking pinot noir and a salad as we waited for the main dish.

He was excited for tour and I was excited for him--but we both seemed to dance around the topic that he was leaving and I was staying. A reversed version of the past. He got to run away this time--and I think both of us knew that if he wanted to, he could do just that.

I was hopeful that he wouldn’t, that he’d listen to the words that Hillary had said. That he’d take it seriously and come back in two weeks and we could meet with her again. I think it was important.

But my mind seemed stuck on words he’d said earlier as I slid the half eaten tomato on my plate towards the edge, watching as Harry pushed his sunglasses up on his nose.

Of course, due to the fact that we hadn’t been intimate in a year and a half, we both felt like we’d had catching up to do. Harry had sat on the couch as we watched TV and told me, you’re the only person who’s made me feel so at home.

I knew I wasn’t the only person Harry had slept with. I knew about the girl he dated in high school before the band, I knew about the two women he’d told me about during his first year in the public eye. And if that was all that had happened, that made me number four.

But now, with eighteen months between us, I didn’t know if there had been a five or a six or even a seven and eight.

The reality of my relationship with Harry was that there were always people throwing themselves at him. One of our first--and biggest--fights was about different meet and greet photos I’d seen of him kissing girls on the cheek. Call it stupid, but at 19, it made me feel terribly insecure to realize that there were tons of girls out there that didn’t really respect our relationship.

And maybe that was selfish of me--maybe it was asking too much of his fans to not want to touch him and hug him and press their lips to his skin. Maybe I was taking it personally and maybe I was overreacting. But one thing I’d learned in therapy was that if I felt it--it was there. There wasn’t really much use running from it.

Harry was only the second person I’d slept with. And it didn’t matter to me that our numbers didn’t match--what mattered was that we got to a point where I was the last person he slept with and vice versa.

He cleared his throat across the table. He could tell that I was thinking--and so far, we’d done a good job of trying to communicate more when I felt the need to pull back. That made sense, right? If the problem the last time around was that I was too in my head, maybe being more verbal would do the trick.

“Y’alright, love?” he picked up his wine glass and took a sip, smiling as the chef came to deliver our entrees.

I thanked him quickly, switching my salad plate for one that looked more satiating, but then brought my eyes back to Harry. “Uh--I just,” I blew a breath of air out of my lips, giving myself a silent pep talk to verbalize my emotions and fears--if only for the good of our relationship. “You made that comment earlier when we talked about,” I shrugged slightly, feeling awkward discussing our sex life with a chef and a few other catering staff within earshot.

“Having sex?” He asked, his voice somewhat hushed so as to not draw attention, but a playful smirk tugged at the corner of his mouth, only making me more anxious and uncomfortable holding in the thought.

“Have you had sex with anyone since we broke up?”

He sat across from me, his face hesitant and his eyes were locked on mine as if the world had stopped turning. For a second, the only sound was a bird overhead and the water beneath us.

“Margot, I--” he let out a sigh, setting his fork down on the table. I couldn’t tell if he was mad--he didn’t look it. He looked tired and confused and unsure. “I was going to tell you. I thought maybe you...assumed because of the lyric.”

“The lyric?” I asked him, my voice barely coming out above a whisper--the reality settling into my bones that the answer was clearly yes.

He let out another sigh, breaking eye contact for a minute as he recited the words that he--apparently--knew so well. “Woke up the girl who looked just like you,” he didn’t finish the last line, but he didn’t need to.

I nodded, trying to process the flood of thoughts and feelings that seemed to clog my brain. Could I be mad at him for sleeping with someone when I’d been the one to leave? Could I be mad at him for trying to move on and forget about me?

I stood from the table, our uneaten plates and the half-drank wine glasses clinked when I slid my chair in with force. “I need a minute.”

“Margot,” he said my name again, this time with more anger. He stood from the chair and when I turned to face him again, he stalled. He looked like he wanted to move, to speak, but like he couldn’t find the words.

“I’m allowed be to upset by that.” I said the words confidently. I didn’t say if I deserved it, I didn’t say that he shouldn’t have done it--I said that I was allowed to be upset.

“At that point I thought you’d never come back,” he nodded, his voice more calm. “I thought that that--meaningless sex--would be the rest of my life. I didn’t know that this could be a thing and I didn’t know that you were even thinking about me.”

I shook my head, still unsure of what to say--so I said the truth. “I was thinking about you every day.”

He closed his eyes for a second, as if it would give him the retreat he needed. “I know that now.”

“Who was she?”

He broke eye contact at this, he reached a hand up to rub his neck and he pushed his lips out in thought. Was it someone I knew?

He shrugged and shook his head, bringing his eyes back up to mean mine again. “I think her name was Katie,” he said.

“You think?” My voice was more angry now, my heart beating faster as I thought about his legs intertwined with someone else’s. Did he kiss her forehead like he did with me? Did he give her the lazy smirk that always seemed to follow a mutual finish?

“She was someone in Jamaica, Margot, okay? I don’t know who she is and I only saw her once and I was incredibly drunk.” His arms lifted and then fall against his side in a show of emotion. “She was staying at a resort with friends and I never spoke to her again.” His voice was raw, and when he finished his sentence, he swallowed and licked his lips. “Did you sleep with anyone?”

“No,” I said quickly, my mind instantly retracing the steps from my room in Tennessee to the group room where I kissed Andrew. We didn’t have sex--in fact, we never moved beyond making out in a supply closet--but I didn’t feel the need to explain all of it to Harry in this moment.

He nodded, not pushing me any further. How was I supposed to have a romantic night with him now? How was I supposed to send him off on tour and feel like this was a good idea? How was I supposed to trust that each and every girl in the audience wasn’t an opportunity for him to put more distance between us.

And here I was--the girl who’d spent the last year and a half thinking she’d been the one to ruin everything. I was blaming myself for the downfall of our relationship and everything that seemed connected. Yet he’d been the one to put the nail in the coffin.

“Margot,” he took a step forward, causing me to look up at him hesitantly. “I’m sorry. I was hurt and confused and I was willing to do anything that would make me forget you.”

Maybe it was a stupid question to ask, but I couldn’t help myself. “Did it? Did you forget about me?”

He let out a sad laugh, his eyes on the deck beneath our feet. “No--that’s why it was so stupid. When I woke up in the morning and she was still there I went and cried in the bathroom. Then I got my shit together and told her to leave.”

A strange feeling of comfort washed over me with that--the thought and image of him feeling so empty and broken--just like I had been. But it didn’t fix it. It didn’t change the story and it certainly didn’t change the aching in my chest.

“I don’t want you to stay here tonight.”

“Margot,” he said my name in a sigh, his eyes searching my face desperately--begging me to take it back and not send him away and lock him out again. “What are you feeling? Please just tell me what you’re feeling.”

“I’m fucking angry!” I yelled now--unperturbed by the chef and the two servers who were loitering just inside my house. “That was always my fear, Harry. I was always worried that eventually you’d realize you had all these people willing to fuck you whenever you wanted that dealing with me and my brokenness would just get old. But it sounds like it did!”

“No, Margot, don’t turn it into that,” he said, his voice more angry and stern as he looked up at the sky. “You’re the one who walked out. You’re the one who gave up and left and you’re the one who backed out of this.”

I shook my head--I wasn’t willing to have the same conversation about how everything fell apart. We’d both lived it--we both knew what happened. But, when I brought my eyes back up to him, I suddenly felt like there was more to say. Like I had the words to explain how I’d been feeling in the summer of 2015 when everything around me seemed to be spiraling out of control.

“Because I was fucking terrified, Harry, okay? The band was splitting up and I was supposed to release another album and do another tour and there were still all these people in our business and all these girls who hated me for no reason and I was terrified that if I didn’t back out first, you would.”

He seemed to pull back, the anger on his face was gone and his expression softened, apparently this was news to him. “Why didn’t you tell me that?”

I let out a sigh, feeling guilty for all the things I’d done wrong. The list only seemed to grow.

“Because I didn’t tell anyone anything.”

Harry hung his head and walked to sit back down at the table. He pushed his plate away from him, before reaching for the glass of wine and taking a sip. He swallowed, reached up to wipe at his lips, and then spoke.

“I would take it back, if I could. If I could go back in time I’d change a lot of things,” he laughed sarcastically. “But I would certainly change the fact that I had sex with someone in an attempt to get over you. But I was feeling pretty desperate.”

I took a deep breath, unsure of where to go from here. How was he supposed to get on a plane tomorrow and spend two weeks away from me? How were we supposed to keep in touch and decipher the past when his life was moving full steam ahead?

He looked up at me from his seat at the table. “I know you want to walk away right now. I know you’re angry and upset--but please, come and sit down.”

I stared at him--slightly bothered by the fact that he knew me well enough to know my exact thoughts.

“Don’t put up another wall,” he said, “we’ve got enough to take down.”

#udos #harry styles fanfic #Harry Styles Fan Fiction #harry styles fanfiction #harry styles fiction #harry styles fic #harry styles writing #harry styles blurb #harry styles story #harry styles jamaica fic #harry styles hiatus fic #the untimely downfall of strangers #idkthisisjustforfanfic

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sunshinelikesstarwars · 5 years ago

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Day 5: Endings

I struggled with thinking of something for “endings,” so have some different “endings” all rolled into one situation!

—

There are some things that can only be explained away by, “It was the will of the Force.” Even then, even for those who believed in the Force and knew that truly comprehending its complexity was impossible, it was pretty unsatisfying.

In this situation, especially, Obi-Wan would have appreciated some measure of understandability. Because he was currently looking at three men who all vaguely resembled him, if he had at any point decided on being a cyborg pirate, a dapper politician, or a guerilla warrior.

The massive Force migraine definitely wasn’t helping anything.

“The kark is going on?” the cyborg pirate growled out, his one cybernetic eye seeming to scan over all of them warily as he drew a gun from its holster at his side.

The dapper politician looked uncomfortable as he eyed the decidedly-less-than-clean temple ruins they were in, pulling his cape up from the ground and draping it over an arm. “Yes, if anyone knows, do tell. I was in a rather important dinner meeting, and I really need to—“

“Oh, shut your trap, you wretched Core socialite,” the guerilla warrior scoffed, checking the communicator on his wrist with a scowl. “It’s not like those meetings actually help anyone, anyways. Probably just gabbing about the latest scandal while your constituents starve in the streets.”

Which started an argument, which Obi-Wan could only watch in horrified stupor.

“Anakin,” he whispered after he had a moment to remember how to speak, “please tell me I’m not watching myself fight about social functions and wasteful food practices.”

“Um,” Anakin eloquently responded.

“Um,” Ahsoka helpfully added.

The cyborg finally stepped between the two arguers and pushed his arms out, the added power of his artificial limbs forcibly separating and distracting them. “Shut up, the both of you.”

They didn’t, and now there were three loud, almost identical voices echoing throughout the temple and Obi-Wan tried not to wince. Was this place made to exacerbate headaches?

Which is when Satine came through the door. Obi-Wan sagged with relief. Someone competent. He’d almost forgotten she was standing watch for them on this rather deserted planet in Mandalorian space.

“I was under the impression that this was a stealth—“ Not surprisingly, she stopped when she took in the increased number of people in the room. The arguing also stopped and the three not-Obi-Wans (and one Obi-Wan) stared at Satine.

—

Satine turned to Obi-Wan (the Jedi one) with a scowl, stalking towards him. “You said this was an easy mission. A retrieval. Simple, you said, it just needed more people to be there. A sort of vacation mission.” She threw her arms out as if to showcase how exactly this mission was not a vacation.

“Yes. Well.” He seemed too shell-shocked to say anything more.

It was a bit awkward as they stood in silence. The well-dressed Obi-Wan stepped forward, hand slightly extended and a tentative smile on his face as he looked into her eyes. He let his hand drop after a moment. “You...you’re not my Duchess, are you.” It was less of a question and more of a resignation.

Satine managed not to blush (my duchess, in Obi-Wan’s voice). “No, I’m afraid not. I am Satine, though, and a duchess. Satine Kryze, Duchess of Mandalore.” She gave a quick curtsy. “Nice to meet you all, I suppose.” She noticed now that the man was wearing the colors of the Kryze Clan, in an outfit that would not look out of place on a man standing by her side in one of her evening gowns, and her traitorous, dreamy heart fluttered.

The scruffy cyborg Obi-Wan spluttered. “Duchess? You...oh, that explains so kriffing much.” He ran a metal hand through his shaggy hair. A Satine that wasn’t a duchess? And that knew this...battered Obi-Wan? Again, her heart fluttered as she imagined daring feats, of lovers high on adrenaline and the thrill of being alive after a narrow escape, of running her own hands through that messy hair.

She wanted to smack herself. Thirty-five was far too old for those kind of fantasies, especially for a man who was a Jedi (at least, in her universe).

Obi-Wan glared at the man “Language, if you don’t mind.” He was ignored as the man continued muttering to himself, shaking his head.

The armor-wearing Obi-Wan scoffed (was that his only method of communicating?). “She’s Mandalorian. If she’s anything like my Tina, she can curse the hide off a Mivin dragon and still tell a squadron what for.” It was true, of course, although the look of mischief on his face as he shot her a smirking glance was too familiar to be anything but disturbing.

My Tina, he’d said. Although she didn’t like the implication that she was in charge of and cursing at a group of warriors. What sort of reality would force her to fight (because she certainly wouldn’t be fighting willingly)?

“I was more concerned for the fifteen-year-old,” Obi-Wan responded dryly. “I’d like to not completely corrupt her before she’s an adult.”

(Ahsoka was watching the talking like a sports match, wide blue eyes bouncing from person to person.)

Anakin seemed to recover from his stupor. “So, wait. Do all of you guys know Satine?” He seemed far too eager to know the answer, but Satine had to admit she wanted to know for sure as well.

There was some looking around and shrugging.

“I suppose.”

“Looks that way.”

“Kriffing married her. Be in trouble if I didn’t know her.” Married!

“Language.”

“I’ll give you language, you—“

Satine stepped forward.

All Obi-Wans ceased talking.

“Why don’t we focus on getting all of you back where you belong?” She turned to the Jedi in the room. “Well? What happened?”

—

The others were figuring out the logistics of what and how and why, but Anakin was plotting and trying to keep the grin off his face. There were three Obi-Wan Kenobis. He had so many questions. Like, what had happened in these three presumably alternate realities? To those Anakins? Or the Jedi? Or the war?

Or, most interesting at that moment, what exactly was the relationship between all of the Obi-Wans and their Satines? And what were the respective ladies like? As far as he could tell, there was a possible pirate (maybe a pirate Queen!), a Lady of some kind, and a Mandalorian warrior.

It would probably be best to take each interrogation of Obi-Wan on one by one. Surely it wouldn’t be too hard to get them to talk about their lady loves. Maybe he could recruit Ahsoka.

This was too good a chance to miss!

#obitine #obitine week #obitineweek #obitine week 2019 #obitineweek2019 #obi-wan kenobi #satine kryze #obitine fanfic #sunshine writes

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jercythesiscrying · 6 years ago

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And I promise every day (to make you feel this way) | Poly first-years, PG, 2.4k

NaNoWriMo Day 24: Soulmate AU Day Seven of AU Week! Posting a new AU fic every day for one week. LOL. At least I finished??? ¯\_(ツ)_/¯

Summary: Sappy sweetness with five soulmates, but not because of morning pancakes. Generally takes place after high school where all five Karasuno first years are in a loving, polyamorous relationship.

Read on Ao3

A/N: AND FINALLY. THE LAST FIC OF BOTH THIS AU WEEK AND NANOWRIMO PROMPTS ARE DONE \o/ I HAVE NOTHING ELSE TO SAY OTHER THAN HALLELUJAH.

Title from Written in the Stars by Wendy and John Legend. Beta’d by the ever wonderful Patrisha and shout out to @omgrandomwords for the idea throwing<3<3<3 All other mistakes are my own.

They’re sleeping over at Tobio, Shouyou, and Hitoka’s apartment because they have the most space. Everyone had agreed they wanted to spend the night together before their anniversary the next day, despite their living circumstances.

(They have yet to find a place that could comfortably fit all of them living together while also giving them room to breathe. Even though they could prove they were soulmates, apparently it was still rare for places to house a bond with more than two people. Who would’ve thought finding a home for five would be so difficult?

“Of course it’s going to be hard,” Tsukki had grumbled, “nothing this good ever comes easy.”

“Aw, Tsukki!” Tadashi had cooed. “We’re good things in your life?”

Tsukki scoffed, but the blush painting his face red said otherwise. Shouyou and Hitoka cooed along with him, and Tobio had a sweet smile on his face.

So, until they could find and afford a place in the city, Tadashi and Tsukki lived in one apartment, while the other three lived down the hall from them.)

He and Tsukki arrived a little after dinner with their things in hand. Rolling their sleeping mats across the floor into neat rows had been for nothing because they ended up shifting towards each other anyway, limbs overtop one another.

Listening to the soft breathing of all his soulmates, Tadashi looks at his arms. His soulmarks are beginning to fade, like all marks do once a person has found and bonded with their soulmates. Though he’s excited to let them settle, part of him wants to have them fresh forever, to see his tattoos as vibrant and bold as his soulmates for the rest of his life.

On the inside of his left wrist is Tsukki, the oldest and most easily recognizable mark. Further up his arm is Tobio with the simplest yet darkest mark. On his bicep is Hitoka’s beautifully complex design, and at the point of his shoulder is Shouyou’s sun. All four of their tattoos are connected with intricate lines that remind Tadashi of tangled vines, weaving and braiding over his skin.

Hitoka mumbles in her sleep, and Tadashi’s gaze immediately flicks to her. Since most nights she spent with Shouyou and Tobio, she’s sleeping in between him and Tsukki tonight. She mutters something else before rolling over. He smiles, pressing a kiss to her hair.

He adjusts his sleeve back over his arm and, pulling the blanket to his chin, falls asleep.

He wakes up to the smell of pancakes in the morning. He squints an eye open, the world fuzzy with sleep.

He sniffs. God, he hopes that’s Hitoka cooking.

Tadashi sits up while rubbing his fists to his eyes. Tsukki and Tobio are still asleep, but Hitoka and Shouyou’s sleeping mats are abandoned, sheets rumpled and untidy. He stretches his arms over his head before standing up, making his way to the kitchen.

Both Hitoka and Shouyou are cooking, and he’s only barely stepped into the kitchen when Shouyou looks over his shoulder.

“Morning!” His boyfriend grins at him.

Hitoka turns around too, smiling softly. “G’morning!”

“Morning,” Tadashi says around a yawn. He walks up to his partners, giving them each a kiss on the cheek. “Pancakes?”

“Mhm!” Hitoka hums. “We only started making the batter, but so far we’re planning strawberry for Kei, blueberries for Tobio, cinnamon for me –”

“And chocolate chip for me and you!” Shouyou finishes.

“That sounds amazing,” Tadashi moans, an arm curling around Shouyou’s waist. He pulls Shouyou in for a chaste kiss on the lips. “Thank you so much, you two.”

“Bleh,” Shouyou whines. “Go brush your teeth, Tadashi. You still have morning breath.”

“Rude,” he mumbles while he kisses Hitoka.

“But it’s true, Tadashi.” Hitoka at least has the decency to blush.

“My soulmates are the meanest,” he complains, but stalks off to the bathroom to brush his teeth anyway.

When he returns from the bathroom, Hitoka’s starting up the rice cooker. Meanwhile, Shouyou’s meticulously pouring a bag of chocolate chips into a measuring cup, tongue adorably sticking out in concentration. Tadashi can’t help but plant a kiss into his unruly hair when he passes by.

Then, he walks up to Hitoka, peering over her shoulder. “Rice cooker pancakes?”

Hitoka hums again. “They’re Kei and Tobio’s favourite, right? It’ll take a little longer to get everyone’s done but I think it’ll be worth it.”

Tadashi rests his chin atop her shoulder. “They’ll definitely love it. Do you need me to help with anything?”

Hitoka looks behind her, and Tadashi follows her gaze over to Shouyou, who still seems to be struggling with the chocolate chips.

“Maybe give Shouyou a hand?” she giggles, and Tadashi can’t help but chuckle with her.

Tobio starts his anniversary with a fall.

“SHIT!”

“OW!”

Grumbling, he tries to take stock of what just happened: he tripped over something—someone—and now he’s lying on the floor again even though he just got up. His brain is still groggy, but he’s figured out that much.

Nothing feels broken though, and whatever pain he’s experiencing seems superficial, so he thinks that’s not too bad.

“Ow...” he mumbles again, mostly out of reflex. “Sorry –”

“What the fuck!?” Kei groans, which automatically pisses off Tobio.

“Jeez, sorry!” he snaps. What the hell is Kei’s problem anyway? It was obviously an accident...

“Fuck!! That hurt!!”

“I’M SAYING SORRY, DAMN IT!”

“Is everything okay?!” Tobio looks up to see a panicked Tadashi. “I heard a crash and then both of you were yelling!”

Tobio opens his mouth to yell how their complete asshole of a boyfriend is being way too cranky in the morning, but instead what comes out is a half-growl, half-yell.

“This idiot—oof!” Kei coughs as he tries to push Tobio off him.

Tobio just growls again, sitting up to glare down at Kei.

“I said sorry, damn it!”

“What happened?” Tadashi interrupts. He still looks concerned but also slightly annoyed, the way he does whenever he and Kei get into stupid arguments.

Tobio huffs, looking away with a frown. “I tripped over this asshole by accident.”

“God,” Kei wheezes, “I think you elbowed my gut.”

“I said I was –”

“Sorry, yeah, I know.” Kei grumbles again, rubbing his torso. He turns over to look at Tobio, squinting at him with a tired expression. “Just... a painful wake up call.”

Tobio hunches his shoulders, biting his lip. It was neither of their faults, and Tobio really should have been more aware of his surroundings since he knew that everyone was sleeping over.

“It was an accident...” he eventually mumbles.

“S’alright.”

Kei reaches up to grab his neck, pulling him down for a kiss. Tobio sinks into it, morning breath be damned, because he still feels a little bad.

“Sorry, again,” he whispers against Kei’s lips. Kei just replies with a hum.

They’re pulled out of their world when Tadashi says, “Well, now that you’ve sorted yourselves out, breakfast is almost ready!”

Tobio whips head to look at him with interest, suddenly picking up the smell of what he really hopes are pancakes in the air. Nodding, he gets up before offering a hand down to Kei, who accepts it easily. Once on their feet, they both walk over to Tadashi, where Tobio and Kei each peck one of his cheeks.

“You guys!” Tadashi giggles, pushing them away. “Come on! Go brush your teeth and the rest of us can wait for you two.”

“‘Kay.”

“Okay.”

Together, he and Kei pack up everyone’s sleeping mats and pillows before making their way to the bathroom to wash up.

They’ve been in relative silence since Tadashi told them to get going, but for some reason Tobio feels the need to point out:

“Your hair’s a mess.” With his toothbrush in his mouth though, it comes out more like, W’ur h’ers a me’ff.

Kei looks at him out of the corner of his eye, mumbling around his toothbrush. “So’f your’f.”

“W’urs is me’ffier.”

Kei rolls his eyes, spitting out toothpaste to say, “I just woke up, give me a break.”

Tobio can’t help but stick his tongue out at him, which makes Kei push Tobio’s head, so Tobio shoves Kei back with his hip, and —

Outside, Hitoka calls out, “Guys! Pancakes are ready!”

They quit messing around after that.

Like many meals they share together, there’s more talking than actual eating.

Not that Hitoka really minds.

“I can’t believe we’ve been together for two years now!” She beams wildly at her boys scarfing down their pancakes. It seemed like one moment she was scared out of her mind meeting everyone, and the next she was watching them eat breakfast as their girlfriend.

Shouyou grins at her. “I know!”

“Time sure flies,” Tadashi muses with a soft smile.

Shouyou giggles. “Can you believe Tsukki tried to pretend he didn’t have our marks?”

Without missing a beat, Kei replies, “Because you guys are little shits.” He doesn’t take his eyes off his plate when he slices into another pancake.

“But we’re your little shits,” Tobio says.

“Forever!” Shouyou adds, lifting his arm up to show off his soulmarks.

Hitoka laughs quietly to herself when she catches Kei’s reaction: he looks like he’s trying not to roll his eyes out of his skull.

“We’ve been together for way longer than two years though,” Tobio says in between bites.

“That’s true,” Hitoka agrees.

Tadashi chuckles. “Haha, back before we knew.”

Shouyou hums. “I mean, I’ve always felt connected to you, Tobio.”

“Yeah,” Tobio says around a pancake slice, “and you just had to get my attention by being an annoying dumbass.”

“You jerk!” Shouyou frowns. “I’m trying to be sweet here!”

Holding back even more giggles, Hitoka watches Tobio completely ignore Shouyou. He simply takes another bite of his pancakes, looking at his boyfriend with a flat expression.

“I think it’s sweet, Shouyou,” Tadashi chimes in.

Hitoka nods. “You and Kei were like that too, right, Tadashi?”

Smiling brightly, Tadashi nods. “Mhm! We’ve had each other’s marks the longest.” He looks to Kei sitting next to him, who is still very busy with his pancakes.

“Oi, don’t you have anything nice to say, Tsukki?” Shouyou grumbles.

Hitoka is about to scold him for speaking with his mouth full but Tsukki replies, “The syrup is sweet enough for both of us without me saying anything.”

Shouyou grumbles even more. “Jeez, why did we end up with the two biggest tsunderes as soulmates?”

“Still love us though,” Tobio says.

“Forever,” Kei adds, using the same tone Shouyou used earlier when he showed off his soulmarks. He meets Shouyou’s gaze with mocking eyes, which makes Tadashi snort into his next pancake slice.

Hitoka really can’t help herself anymore. She lets out a bright peal of laughter, giggling over her pancakes. Her soulmates have the strangest ways of showing their affection, but she knows that they love each other nonetheless.

Her pancakes aren’t finished yet, but she’s never felt more full in her life.

(She doesn’t notice her soulmates sharing a knowing look with each other, smiling at their giggling girlfriend with loving eyes.)

When breakfast ends, Shouyou’s just about ready to burst from how stuffed he is. He groans, rubbing his stomach in slight agony. He’s not sure if he can move.

Mercifully, Tsukki says, “Tobio and I will clean.”

Tobio agrees with a low hum as he picks up dishes, and Shouyou sighs in relief. At least he doesn’t have to worry about clean-up. He mostly wants to take a nap now, even though he’s only been awake for maybe two hours.

“Thanks,” he moans, and Tadashi says, “Thanks, you two!”

Hitoka claps. “Thank you! It’ll give me time to set up something.”

That immediately snaps Shouyou awake.

“Set up what?” he asks, wincing at himself when he sits up a little too quickly. Around him the others also ask what Hitoka is talking about.

Hitoka only smirks to herself, pushing herself out of her seat and skipping away to her bedroom.

“You’ll see!”

About ten minutes later (and Shouyou feeling slightly better), they do see.

“Ta-da!”

Hitoka invites everyone over to her room where a large painting stands.

“It’s, um, my gift to you. For all of you.”

The painting is beautiful—abstract, with swirls of colours and patterns covering every inch of the canvas. What makes Shouyou cry out in delight, though, is that he recognizes the shapes:

It’s their soulmarks, each and every one of them.

Tobio’s simple circle, Tsukki’s textured crescent, Tadashi’s constellation, Shouyou’s sun. Hitoka’s complex flower pattern connects them all like the lines connecting the marks on Shouyou’s arm. No one is centred in the painting, but they all link together.

“Is this,” he asks, “why you didn’t want us to come in here for so long?” She wouldn’t let anyone enter her room for a long time, and now Shouyou understands why.

Hitoka nods, and he gasps.

“Um, guys?”

She bites her lip, fingers wringing together over her stomach. When Shouyou looks around, he can see Tadashi with tears in his eyes, Tsukki with a surprised look on his face, and Tobio’s cheeks flushed red. The silence must be worrying though, since the only one making any noise is Shouyou with his squawking.

He can’t help himself—he jumps on Hitoka. He pulls her in for a tight hug, squeezing his girlfriend with all his might.

“Hitoka!” he squeals. “It’s awesome!”

“Amazing,” Tobio says, and soon Shouyou can feel his arms wrapping around both him and Hitoka.

“Hitoka,” Tadashi says, and Shouyou can hear how his voice is thick with tears when he crowds close, “it’s beautiful.”

Shouyou grins, turning his head to look over at Tsukki, who’s still stunned silent. His eyes are comically wide behind his glasses, jaw dropped slightly.

“Tsukki!” he calls. “Get over here!”

He makes his way over to wrap everyone into his arms. Face buried in Tadashi’s shoulder, Shouyou barely hears him mumbling, “It’s perfect, Hitoka.”

In the middle of their giant hug, Hitoka chuckles in relief. “Thank you, everyone! I’m so glad you all like it!”

They all answer together.

“How could we not?”

“Of course we’d love it!”

“We’d love anything you make us.”

“Hitoka, it’s amazing!”

Shouyou sees tears gathering at the corners of Hitoka’s eyes, smiling brightly up at all of them, and he holds on tighter, happy to sink into the moment surrounded by his loved ones.

#kagehina #tsukkiyama #kagehinayachi #kagehinatsukkiyama #kagehinatsukkiyamayachi #haikyuu!!#hq!!#karasuno #kageyama tobio #hinata shouyou #tsukishima kei #yamaguchi tadashi #yachi hitoka #nanowrimo 2018 #week 4 #au #tropes #soulmate au #jercy's fic tag

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wicoppi · 6 years ago

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Villain | Hero in Pursuit | Hero Pursued

I got this ask when s6 aired and gave an abbreviated response because I had way too much irl stuff going on at the time. But that didn’t stop it from haunting me- there’s a lot to unpack and really it could be answered in a large series. I marked it to follow up on, and so here I am, up two whole brain cells, a bottle of tequila, and an ill advised deal with a devil later... following up on it.

Anonymous asked: Just a thought... something I think we can only say after [season 6]: so S1-2 the villain was Zarkon, and the arc sorta ended up being Zarkon v Shiro. Then 3-6 would be Lotor, so Lotor v Keith. I guess it makes sense to think now that the next arc would feature Haggar v Allura? Also I was thinking there's some space there for Sendak v Shiro too. Thoughts?

Voltron: Legendary Defender is easily divided into (3) 26-episode acts, and each act is marked by several storyline transitions, perhaps the most noticeable being the changing of primary antagonists. As pointed out, each villain has been pitted against specific persons on our hero team, but this show has more complexity than a simple 1-for-1 opposition can provide. In VLD, each villain is matched with (2) heroes- one hero who leads the charge and actively pursues the villain, and one hero who is being pursued by the villain as a means to an end.

In Act 1, Zarkon spent his efforts and resources pursuing Shiro and the Black Lion, but Allura led the charge against him. She called the team to action, trained and prepared them, and determined what the paladins knew of Voltron prior to entering the fight. Allura set the team’s initial overall goals and established the idea seen throughout s1+2 that “defeating Zarkon” equaled “winning the war.”

In Act 2, Lotor was introduced as the main villain and new leader of the Galra Empire, during which Keith led the obsessive pursuit against him. But after Lotor’s adversity to Zarkon became known, he gained audience with Team Voltron and began winning their favor primarily by pursuing Allura. In conversations, he most often addressed her rather than the group, speaking to her of Altea. Of transforming the Galra Empire, healing and saving the universe. Of rebuilding the coalition her father started. Not to say Lotor was disingenuous in all of this, but he pointedly sought Allura’s favor using terms he knew she understood and identified with in order to sway Voltron to his side. And it’s only when Keith returned at the close of Act 2 with hard evidence of Lotor’s wrong doings (against Alteans) that his spell was broken.

And in Act 3, Honerva has been set up as the main antagonist; so following this trend we may expect Keith to be the hero pursued and Shiro the hero pursuing.

Of course, this isn’t likely to play out how we’ve come to expect, particularly given the first half of Act 3 featured Sendak. While he certainly fits into the villain category and was a centerpiece of s7 in a way which pushed him past the combination secondary and arc villain he’d previously been, it’s important to remember Sendak was first introduced as Zarkon’s agent and later reintroduced as Haggar’s puppet. It’s important to remember Honerva plays both direct and indirect games.

Hero pursued- Keith has been on the edge of Honerva’s storyline since s1 when he fought one of her druids, Macidus. Later in s2 he battled more of her followers alongside Thace, and in s4 he was going to destroy her ship’s shield during the battle for Naxzela. And as of s6 Honerva has started returning Keith’s phone calls. First and most significantly by sending clone!Shiro to finish him, but also in 07.05 The Ruins with Macidus’s return.

Granted most of these are not considered direct plays, but Honerva typically operates from a distance, setting pieces into motion in ways which make her hard to track. Additionally, Honerva now knows a great deal about Team Voltron and their interpersonal dynamics in a way which she has, and undoubtedly will again, manipulate.

Hero pursuing- Keith and Honerva’s dynamics are subtle, but hers with Shiro are not. We could argue Honerva has been the real villain all along, that Zarkon was a red herring, that Lotor was / is not in opposition to the team, that Sendak was just a distraction. And Shiro has been tied in with her every step along the way.

When first abducted by the Empire, Shiro was interrogated by Haggar’s druids. She took his arm, outfitted him with his first prosthetic, and credited herself his fighting prowess in the arena. After Shiro’s escape and Voltron’s return, the first robeast she sends to fight them is one whose defeat earned Shiro his title as Champion. And the first time we see Haggar fight someone head-on, she’s fighting Shiro.

She has manipulated, battered, and used him, going so far as to make him the center of her slow burn take down of his team. But in s6, we follow Honerva’s trek through Oriande through clone!Shiro, implying their connection, their power struggle, is mutual. That Shiro is capable of returning what Honerva deals out.

This is not to say the rest of the team won’t be involved in Honerva’s undoing. Just as Keith had a hand in Zarkon’s arc and Shiro in Lotor’s, Allura will be a big part of Honerva’s arc. Which is critical because Allura is the only one to have caught Honerva with her pants down,, way back in s2’s finale. That’s not to be forgotten or taken lightly- it’s seen with Shiro, Lotor, and a myriad of others, people do not win against Honerva, they only ever lose badly or come to a draw. But Allura, prior to the majority of her character development, went toe-to-toe with the witch and won.

It’s going to take more than a single hero can do to save the universe. It’s going to take Keith’s instincts, Allura’s alchemical abilities, Lance’s perceptiveness, Hunk’s compassion and clarity, Pidge’s intellect. It’s going to take Shiro’s ability to unify and inspire.

VLD is about teamwork, not one person saving the day. Shiro has many strengths- as a fighter, a leader, a survivor, a diplomat, and a strategist. But he cannot win this alone. He came into this story a formed young adult, already having undergone great struggles and personal discoveries, already having achieved greatness. His development was never going to manifest like the rest of the team who were inexperienced and have made obvious leaps and bounds.

His development has been subtle- Shiro’s greatest asset, his ability to bring people together, has been inhibited by his inability to rely on them. It’s seen with Adam and in parts with how he related to his team, Shiro put ‘the mission’ before relationships and was always prepared to rely only on himself. His need to maintain control and his instinct to shoulder burdens alone weighed him down.

Which is why Keith saving Shiro, in s7 and across the whole show, is so important- it’s how Shiro has grown. Theirs is one of Shiro’s few relationships we see which pre-dates Kerberos, and it has not only survived, but has thrived. At the onset, Shiro poured a great deal into connecting with Keith for the express purpose of helping Keith, not himself. Shiro expected to gain nothing from this, and yet Shiro is alive because of this bond. Shiro is stronger because he made and fostered a connection with someone who repeatedly and unfailingly covers him when he falters.

Shiro is stronger for relying on his team. The team is stronger for having endured together. Voltron is stronger for it all.

This pursuer / pursued arc has been repeated a few times now, and with each new twist in villainy Team Voltron has come closer and closer to working as a unit, as a team. And Sendak’s defeat, their victory for Earth, represents a significant shift in the narrative, because this is the first time this group worked clearly and cohesively together across a long, large-scale battle. And this is due considerably to Shiro’s growth into someone who can not only unify, but can rely on his team.

When Shiro faced Sendak in s1 they fought to a draw. But Sendak came out on top because his team was there to intervene and forced Shiro to yield. Shiro was strong, but alone. Later Shiro tried to interrogate Sendak (again alone) and was shaken to his core which caused him to falter and left viewers with the sense Shiro has inner demons to overcome.

Because that’s how this trope is supposed to work- The hero fails the first time they face their big bad, spends the majority of their story growing, facing smaller enemies, working themselves back up to the big boss fight. And that’s what happened with Sendak- nevermind Honerva is actually Shiro’s big boss fight

Shiro and Sendak’s fight in s7 is a mirror parallel of their first fight. Seasons later the pair are still evenly matched, but this time Shiro’s team is unified and Sendak is alone. Where he discarded his team, literally used them as cannon fodder, Shiro built rapport with his, protected them and trusted them to play their roles.

Keith delivering the final blow against Sendak was not him stealing Shiro’s hero moment.

Keith delivering the final blow against Sendak displayed Shiro’s growth into someone who unifies and relies on his teammates.

Keith delivering the final blow against Sendak underlined, bolded, italicized, and highlighted THE IMPORTANCE OF TRUST AND TEAMWORK.

The point is that teammates, friendships, close relationships, are to be fostered. Are to be protected. Are to be valued. Loyalty is strength. The point is it’s important to have people you can trust to fill in and cover where you cannot. Because that is how they are going to save the universe.

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diinofayce · 6 years ago

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Shadows on the Horizon - 1

Pairing: Bucky Barnes x OFC! Layne Hardin | Word Count: 2k | Warnings: Language, Hydra doing bad shit | A/N: This is chapter one of my sequel book to Like a Whisper in the Night. I highly recommend reading that first, you can find it right here >> x <<

“Kill the lights, Thor,” Layne whispered into the commlink in her ear.

She was perched in a treetop high above a known Hydra compound in Siberia. The mask that had been shielding her face from the cold wind up in the treetops was pulled down around her neck so as not to obstruct her orders and so that her binoculars would sit more comfortably on her nose. The only sound that could be heard was the soft whirring and occasional clicks of the enhancer that was surgically implanted on the side of her head. Shuri had managed to update it from the original design to make it less noticeable and less likely to get caught in her long brown hair, but it seemed like the biting cold made it hard for the little box to do its job. Frost making the gears run sluggish and harsh, she wondered if Bucky ever had this problem with his arm but assumed not seeing as it was made out this bitter cold.

With a rumble of sudden thunder, dark grey clouds came rolling in from the north, lightning crackled along the fluffy ridges of the storm. As it seemed to almost settle itself purely above the brick and mortar complex, lightning bolts flashed and targeted the power supplies. Generators popped and smoldered, small flames shooting up to the night sky only to be quenched by the sudden downpour of freezing rain.

Layne cursed softly to herself as the wind whipped the rain her way, it turns into ice shards that beat against her skin by the time it got to her hiding spot. Raising the binoculars to her nose again she focused her vision so she was able to see the auras of everyone in that building, including her own team.

“Sweet, Sergeant; your west is good to go,” Layne muttered into the comms, watching as the bright yellow and army green silhouettes made their silent entrance on the west side of the building.

She moved her vision to the south side of the complex where the silent infiltration was waiting for the go-ahead, unfortunately, the generators were also housed on the south end.

“I have unfriendlies moving south. Assault team, make some noise, please.” Layne ordered. With the onslaught of the storm and how far off Layne was she couldn’t hear from her position if Agent Sweet and the Sergeant were doing as instructed, but she figured they were when the group of five bright blue silhouettes that had been running for the south side turned on their heels and headed down a Westward corridor.

“Five your way from the south-east, assault team. Specter, you’re green to go.”

Layne watched as the lemon yellow aura of her brother faded from her vision, signaling to her that he had successfully melted into the shadows and entered the building. Turning her gaze back to her assault team she frowned and looked around frantically for any sign of the sergeant's army green aura when she noticed Sweet was on her own, four blue auras on the ground around her.

“Assault team, report,” Layne demanded as she watched Sweet continue down the hallway towards a southwest room.

“Barnes went after one of the operatives - looked like a lab tech more than a soldier. I think Barnes recognized him,” Sweet’s voice crackled back through the comm link and Layne swore.

“Sergeant, report,” Layne demanded aggressively, not worried if her voice happens to carry to unwanted ears. “Bucky, fucking report, dammit.”

Layne combed the complex, not even looking away as Thor landed below her tree with a heavy thud and a plume of snow. He held Stormbreaker in one hand and his burnt-out commlink in the other, his face stoic and serious as he also watched the complex down below the hill.

“Specter, do you have eyes on the Sergeant?” Layne asked, a desperate edge creeping into her voice.

“No,” came the faint whisper of his voice which told her that he was still mostly dematerialized and finding a way to complete his part of the mission.

Layne swore and threw the binoculars to the ground.

“Thor, I have to go dark.”

“Lady Whisper, I think that is unwise,” Thor grit out. He wasn’t a fan of the assault team being split up either, but he knew that Sweet was more than capable of taking care of herself despite his worry.

“I’m in charge of this mission, Thor. One of my operatives is unresponsive and this needs to be followed through to the end. Will you protect me?” Layne asked, scooting back against the trunk of the tree. She pulled a rope off of a carabiner on her tact pants and threw it around the trunk and her waist before cinching herself in place.

Thor gritted his teeth, a growl of frustration tore from his chest and up his throat, he knew he shouldn’t let her go in but he was just as unnerved as anyone. He caught the comm link that Layne threw down to him and watched as she took a deep breath. In the dark, he could see her dark brown eyes flash with amber fire before her body went limp and ragdolled against the tree, saved from falling out by the rope around her waist.

Thor slipped the commlink in his ear and hit the button. “I am back online. Whisper has entered the field,” he spoke gruffly. “Report.”

He heard his lady’s frustrated sigh and the sound of automatic gunfire. “Of course she is. I’m in position, holding for Specter.”

“Any signs of Sergeant Barnes?”

“Negative.”

Thor dropped his hand from his ear and looked back up at Layne’s empty shell of a body. He scrubbed his hand over his beard aggressively before sinking the blade of Stormbreaker into a neighboring tree. It was not often Thor was the one who had to stay back and do nothing and it was not a situation he was fond of being in.

Layne loved astral projecting, for most of her life she hated her abilities. They made her feel like a freak and her parents and eldest brother often made life hell for her and Daniel for being something other than normal kids. But now, after being with the Avengers for a little over a year she couldn’t get enough of them. Although, the first few months were rough, getting past her alcohol addiction and getting used to the stress and drama that came with being a superhero all in a very short amount of time made it hard to have a healthy relationship. Not that she and Bucky started in a healthy way to begin with, but they were in a much more solid space now. They trusted each other implacably and rarely was one sent on a mission without the other, which is why Bucky neglecting to answer his report demand made her so high strung. Something was wrong, Bucky wouldn’t fail her in this one simple way.

In this bodiless form, Layne was able to slip between cracks in doors and remain unseen despite basically floating down the middle of the hallways. She couldn’t really see, though, was the only issue not in a traditional sense anyway. Everything appeared like a gray barely shaped blob, like a video game that was poorly rendered. What she could see were the auras of individuals, brightly lighting their location for her so she could easily take over the consciousness of anyone of her choosing.

They were basically color coded, which made it easy to find people like Steve and Bucky who were a rich army green or Thor and Loki who were bright royal red; but most people were either a brilliant cobalt blue or a fluorescent yellow. Blue were humans and yellow were mutants. People who were enhanced, like Steve and Bucky, had different colored auras and she tried to keep a little catalog of different ones she’s come across. Like King T’Challa was a beautiful velvet purple and Bruce while usually blue often had a noxious neon green swirling around the depths of his aura until the Hulk took over and was green entirely.

Layne found her best friend, Susanna Sweet’s, location fairly easily. As a mutant with super strength in a Hydra facility, she was one of two yellow auras in the building; the other being her brother, Daniel codename Specter’s, flickering aura. He could melt into shadows and control auras just as she could and when he was disappeared his aura disappeared with him leaving no trace. But he was skilled at computers and engineering so they had brought him along to run the hacking and you needed corporeal fingers to hack. Swooping past Susanna, she heard her friend cuss softly at the information Thor was feeding her through the comm link.

It should be easy to find Bucky, only two people in the entire planet (that she had come across) had auras like them so why wasn’t she seeing it? Turning a corner she found herself blocked by an odd force field. It covered a large set of double doors and beyond it, Layne could see six blue auras, one yellow, and one that oozed with inky black fury. Layne pressed her consciousness against the doorway, but it was almost like a thick rubber wall coated the doors and she couldn’t find purchase.

She swirled around from room to room trying to think of everything the different spies at the Avengers complex taught her. What would Natasha or Clint do? It was then that she caught sight of the air vents and triumphantly ghosted her way through them. The ducts were heavy with dust and grime and despite not having lungs in this form it still made her feel dirty and clogged down.

Finding the air vents to the barricaded room weren’t blocked she shot out and if she had blood it would have turned to ice. Standing there, like she had seen so many times from Bucky’s screaming nightmares, in all it’s cold rusted glory was the chair. A bruised and battered woman, her hair roughly shorn from her scalp, sat in the far corner, her hands outstretched towards the double doors. No doubt a mutant they kept once word of Layne and Daniel leaked to the presses, a very helpful power to slow the two phantom kids down. But what scared Layne the most was the soldiers and the scientists that were crowded around Bucky. He stood still, the light behind his eyes gone, as one of the soldiers clapped shut a little red book.

Layne had seen photos of that book, she knew that book had been destroyed. The aura that poured from Bucky was so intensely black it almost seemed to suck in the light around it, it oozed pain and hatred and despair. Gone was any sign of the warm, strong, confident green of what his aura was supposed to look like. This wasn’t Bucky anymore, this was bad; very, very bad. Suddenly the Soldier’s cold eyes shot up to where she was invisibly hovering and it froze her to her core. There was none of her Bucky behind that stare, those eyes were murderous and spiteful and somehow they knew she was there. As the soldiers started dragging Bucky back towards the chair, Layne shook herself out of her stupor and flew back through the vents.

Retracing the halls she flew past Susanna and into the room where her brother was just pulling a flash drive from a computer tower. He looked up sharply as he sensed his sister’s aura and the panic it was in. Layne saw his eyes flash that same amber fire as he made room in his mind for her. Layne melted into her brother, sharing with him the memory of what she had just witnessed as she raised her brother’s hand to his commlink.

“Sergeant Barnes is down. The Winter Soldier is on the field.”

#bucky barnes x ofc #bucky barnes x layne hardin #bucky barnes fanfiction #james buchanan barnes #shadows on the horizon #avengers fanfiction #marvel fanfiction

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