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pearl-pilots-in-chains · 3 years

Text

Come to My Window (All the Little Lights #2)

Fandom: Neon Genesis Evangelion

Ships: Asurei

Rating: T

Summary: Rei doesn't like summers much. She usually ends up spending most of her time alone. One afternoon, an open window changes things. Meanwhile, Asuka's unpacking is going great . . . just great. She's just about had enough when she's distracted by the sound of a familiar song.

Notes: It's time for Asurei to Asurock! This is the second part of my All the Little Lights Evangelion high school AU. A slight warning, there's some content in this fic that might be offensive/triggering. I tried to avoid getting too graphic or dark, but there are some clear depictions of depression and bullying, as well as allusions to familial issues. I just wanted to make sure I put a bit of a disclaimer. That being said, I think those parts are important to Rei's character, so I didn't want to leave them out.

The first song Asuka recognizes Rei playing in this fic is "Always With Me, Always With You," by Joe Satriani, and the band shirt Asuka is wearing in this fic is based on the art to the album "Karmacode" by Lacuna Coil.

This was originally posted to my AO3 on May 25, 2020. Hope you enjoy!

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Rei slumped down into the chair, letting her head fall back, her gaze tilting upward, until she was scrutinizing the ceiling. The faux-sky formed on it looked down on her, the painted stars flares of cream and flame that sliced out of the navy base. She thought it was a nice view. It had the power to draw her back, pulling away years to reach innocent memories. She could recall when the sky was first cast onto her ceiling. It had been her father’s idea, and it was his hand that brought it to life. She remembered watching him from her bed, sitting on top of the plastic wrap they had laid down, crinkling the glossy tarp between her fingers. It half-seemed to be a fragment of another world, a remnant of a different life. Now, the mural served as the sole reminder that her father’s presence had once filled her room.

She had thought about asking Shinji to help her paint over the false sky. She knew there was a can of paint in the garage that could match the ceiling’s original shade well enough. She could return it all to a blank canvas. Erase the constellations, fill the vacuum with blinding light. And yet, she never asked. She wasn’t sure Shinji would be willing to help if the request was made. There was a picture on top of his bookcase. It wasn’t in the front. Its frame stood behind one that displayed Shinji and Toji after a track meet, celebrating their respective performances. But it was still there, half in hiding, half revealed. She knew the day it had been taken. December 24, 2000. On the eve of their last Christmas as a quartet. Her memories of that day were nebulous, lost to the childhood haze that the painting day had managed to emerge from. The picture spoke enough to make up for the lack of recollections though.

Her mother was holding Rei in her lap. Rei was looking away from the camera, down at the floor. She looked far wiser, far sadder that a child should. She looked as though she knew too much. Yui was looking up towards the camera, a smile plastered on her face that failed to hide its fraudulent nature. It was took curved, too hooked, too forced. The eyes told the truth. Distant, worried, ashamed. Shinji was sitting by Gendo. He was trying to imitate his father, pressing his face into an amalgamation of the mask the adult wore. It was a shoddy disguise though, as his lips looked seconds away from tremble, and there was water in the corner of his eyes. Gendo wore the true mask. His gaze bored directly into the lens’s eye, staring it down, as though he was willing the time to work correctly through sheer willpower and determination alone. Or, perhaps he was merely compensating. The tinted glasses he normally sported were nowhere to be seen, which left his eyes naked, exposed, without a shield to fume behind. It was possible that the tight, angry smile which ripped through his lips and the needling glare in his iris were designed to make up for this. They had the opposite effect, however. Whereas his traditional spectacles contained and concealed some degree of his emotions, his posturing revealed the true extent of them. His spite, his wrath, his pride, all laid bare.

As a general rule, Rei didn’t keep photos in the same way her brother did. He had a greater appreciation for the physical mementos, the tangible preservation of a moment for posterity. Rei treasured the fleeting nature of seconds, minutes, days. The ephemeral essence of life. The truth that nothing was everlasting, nothing endured. Consequently, there were three pictures in her room. One of her standing by the front door, the day before her first day of elementary school. She looked brave in it. It wasn’t just a front, Rei realized. She had felt brave that day. Time had taught her, however, that there was a thin line between bravery and foolishness.

The second picture showed Shinji and Rei, mouths broken in laughter, dancing through the backyard, Shinji lunging out in an attempt to tap her shoulders. They had been playing hide-and-go-tag, as they referred to it, and he had found her secret spot behind the rose garden. Yui had snapped the shot the moment before Shinji discovered that his sister was faster than he had anticipated, and had ended up face down in the grass after his ill-fated leap.

The last picture was the newest of the three, though now passing the age of six years, another family photo. This one was dated August 16, 2005. The smiles were more genuine, even if they looked more worn. Gendo was over four years absent.

Shinji visited his father. He had since second grade. Sometimes once every other weekend, sometimes once a month, depending on how their schedules worked out. Rei never visited. She hadn’t seen Gendo in person in a decade. She was perfectly fine with her only memories of him being mostly vague, indefinite impressions of youth. They were painful enough as they were. She didn’t want to imagine having concrete memories.

Yui had never made either of them visit him. She never would. She understood while Rei chose not. If anything, she understood better than Rei herself. Rei was truthful unsure why Shinji chose to go. Perhaps out of guilt, perhaps out of regret, perhaps out of pity, perhaps some combination of the three. Whatever it was, Shinji chose to see his father, and Rei chose not to ask her brother to help remove the last physical trace of their father from her space.

Even beyond Shinji though, Rei felt a reluctance to erase the ceiling, to restore it to its first form. Her mind shied away from the choice, became anxious, and fell silent. Rei knew far, far too much about anxious silences.

She was the “Silent Ikari,” after all. That was one of the names which had been ascribed to her. One of the kinder ones, really. She was never called them to her face, of course. Not that people said much of anything to her face. She supposed that it might be out of respect for her brother, the Ikari most people liked. But they still spoke, in voices loud enough and near enough for her to make their ‘observations’ out. Maybe they thought she was as deaf as she seemed mute. Maybe they just didn’t care if she heard. After all, they could reason that she had no real ‘excuse’ for being withdrawn, closed-off, that ‘emo girl in the corner.’ She just thought she was ‘too good for them.’ The genius who was smart enough to have skipped a grade, who could probably skip another, but ‘just didn’t feel like it.’ The one who all the teachers thought was practically perfect, even if they worried she was ‘a little on the quiet side.’ The one who had a friendly, and moderately popular brother, but was herself too ‘stuck up’ to even bother talking with anyone. And if they didn’t play up that she was cold and arrogant, they played up that something was wrong with her. That she ‘wasn’t all there,’ or had never figured out ‘how to be a human.’ There were words that stung even more, especially when she was younger, when she learned what they meant, but she preferred not to reiterate them in her mind. She didn’t need to give the speakers that power, that lasting blow. All the same, a memory crept into her head unbidden.

It was one of the first times she had sat away from Shinji and his friends. She had felt like a burden to her brother, and she had been tired of always hanging on to him, even if he had never minded. Even if he had wanted nothing more than to make sure she was okay. He was smart enough to know her reputation, even if people avoided saying things in front of him. He had gotten into a fight, a real fight, with someone who he had called a friend before it, over a passing comment the friend had made about Rei when he thought Shinji wasn’t paying attention. After that, Rei had decided to give her brother space. She didn’t want to be the weight that he felt bound by. She didn’t want to be the shadow that he felt as though he had to protect. He hadn’t been happy about it, but he had understood and agreed when she had talked to him. If there was one undeniable fact about her brother, it was that he always did his best to empathize, even when it was clearly difficult for him.

She had picked out a table along the fringe of the room to sit at. Somewhere out of the way, to avoid unwanted attention. She hadn’t wanted to be alone. She never had. But by then, it had seemed too late to change the perception of the faces she saw. The disregard, the amusement, the disgust. They had seemed immutable. And so, she hadn’t tried. She had done her best to be invisible. Because it was easier than fighting against a tide than felt overwhelming. She was too afraid of drowning to do otherwise.

She had heard the boy’s conversation with his friends before he approached her. Her hearing had always been above average, and when you heard your name spoken in first cautious, and then careless, tones behind your back, you got used to honing in on it. There had been a dare. A bet as to whether or not he could get a date with the ‘broken girl.’ They had all been at the age where suddenly, exploring previous unknown urges and interests seemed of the upmost importance. Well, most of them had been. She hadn’t. She still wasn’t. Not in the same way, anyhow, or to the same degree. At least, she didn’t think so. They spoke of crushes, and flirting, and love, and sex, like objects on fire, that burned the skin when they were handled, but were worth the flame. She thought of them in muted terms, as though she was touching the same once-scorching objects, but after they had passed beneath a waterfall, the flames all-but vanquished, only the occasional ember remaining. They were safer to hold, to handle, but the appeal, the allure in the danger, was gone, their extinguished state irrevocable.

His stance had been casual as he walked over, but there was a cruel, cocksure glint in his eye. His tone betrayed just what he thought of her, and what he thought of himself. She was an object, a means to an end (the money involved in the bet), and that was all. He was the lad who was going to win the bet, and she should feel lucky to be used for that purpose.

“Hey.” His tone had dripped smooth self-importance, self-exaggeration. “I’m Maximilian.” He had used his full name, not the Max he went by, as though he could make her persuade by the sheer power of possessing what he no doubt thought was an ‘exotic’ name.

“Hello.” Her reply had been quiet, not really timid, though it could have been mistaken for such. Any who had been less caught up in himself would have recognized that it instead bespoke that she had no interest in talking to him, was aware of what he was doing, and want no part of it.

“I’m going to sit here.” It hadn’t been a question, hadn’t been a request, had been a statement, had almost been a command. A command to accept the fact that she was in his presence, and should treat him with the respect his conceited conscience told him he deserved.

She hadn’t said anything in response to that at first. He had taken that as the acceptance he desired, and taken the seat across from her. “So, you’re Rei, right?” The tone was aggressive, as though he was going to dismiss whatever she said, because he was certain he knew who she was. She had imagined that if she said, simply to deny him, he would have ignored it and preceded ahead as though she had said ‘yes.’ He had been the type of boy who could go either one of two ways. On one hand, he could cross too hard of a line earlier enough that he still had a chance to learn how to be something better. On the other hand, he could grow up to be a man who refused to acknowledge refusals, because he felt he has the right to what he wants. The worst kind of person, Rei thought. The kind who thought that others very selves were second to their own desires. Rei wasn’t sure which path he had ended up taking, but she was very glad that they had gone to different high schools, although she felt bad for whoever ended up being the target of his interests there.

Instead of saying ’no,’ or merely staying silent, Rei had cut to the chase. “I don’t want to go out with you. Please leave me alone.”

This had thrown him for a loop. That much had been clear. He had expected her to at least hear him out. His opinion of himself was high enough that he hadn’t even considered outright disregard, the very same treatment he had intended to give her. The result of course, had been that he had become angry. Furious, really, she imagined, though his sheer pride kept him from making a scene, considering he cared too much for his image as the ‘cool guy.’ Instead, he had leaned in, breaking into her bubble, to spit the words in her face. “You don’t know what you’re missing, stupid bitch. It’s not like anyone ever going to ask out a freak like you. The most attention you’ll ever get will be from some white coat in a psych ward.”

She hadn’t flinched. She had known that it would be her downfall if she did. That breaking was what he wanted, her visible suffering was what he was craving in that moment. He had realized she wasn’t going to give him that satisfaction after a few seconds, and strolled off, still cocky, but surely fuming internally over the fact that he hadn’t managed to get a reaction out of her. Not a twitch in her lips, a blink in her eyes, something to show that she was shattering beneath the calm exterior. Not that she wasn’t. She just knew how to delay the collapse. It had happened later that day, in the safety and solitude of her room, a silent sort of disintegration. No tears, no screams. Just a widening hollow feeling that consumed her from the pit of her stomach, reaching up into her chest cavity, groping at her lungs, sucking the air into, folding her in on herself until she felt small enough to simply stop existing altogether. It wasn’t an uncommon experience in those days. Before she learned how to grow numb to the words, numb to the spite. That came later though. You had to experience enough pain, enough cover crumbling, to learn how to ignore the barbs that brought it on.

She had never told her brother about that particular incident. She hadn’t wanted him to start another fight on her account. She wasn’t sure if he had ever found out. She guessed it was likely he had, although she wasn’t sure what he had done about it (though she thought it was probable he had done something).

The abuse had never been physical, never public, rarely direct. There had been no retaliation for that incident either. She supposed on all accounts that it was because people were afraid of what her brother might do. Or perhaps not her brother, but more accurately, her brother’s friends. She liked them for the most part. The track team members her brother was close to were an anomaly, in that they were some of few decent people she had ever met in the schools she had attended. It was a small comfort, but a comfort nonetheless. Knowing that she didn’t have to worry about making her brother choose between his sister and his friends. At least not anymore. He had discarded the ones that had tried to sway him away from the familial choice. She supposed then, that he had already made his decision. She felt guilty for that. She felt guilty often, when it came to her brother, and what she perceived as the difficulties she brought into his life. She knew how much he worried for her. Worried that she was afraid, worried that she was hurting, worried that was lonely.

The most painful part of the guilt was knowing the her brother’s fears weren’t altogether unfounded. No, she supposed, they weren’t unfounded at all. She would characterize her feelings as more anxious than afraid, but the other two concerns she knew he held were accurate. The latter led to the former, in a way. She had discovered there was nothing quite like the feeling of isolation, of division from others, to exacerbate preexisting pain. To make it metastasize, grow into something greater than itself. Seclusion bred sorrowful things when it revealed what was latent.

She had never had her brother’s power with people. He had a natural sort of charisma about him, as awkward as he could be at times. He seemed to draw people to him. More important though, words came easy to him. He could carry a conversation when it dashed against rocks, and somehow bring it out to the far side relatively unscathed. Whether it was a matter of skill, or a matter of luck, social things seemed to turn out positive rather than negative for him more often than not.

Words had never come easy to her. Not when she was talking to someone other than her mother or her brother. She could read cues, interpret signs, and understand context well enough, but there was somehow a disconnect when it came to putting all of that into play when encoding something herself. Ironically, and perhaps appropriately, she couldn’t articulate why. She only knew that it made everything harder. That the persona she conveyed caused people to say she was ‘cold,’ or ‘dead,’ or ‘inhuman.’ Those her knew her well knew this wasn’t the case, but aside from her family, the only people who fell into that category were Shinji’s closest friends, who had spent enough time with him, and by extension, with Rei when she was around, that they read her demeanor differently. She didn’t really have friends of her own, she knew that much. It had been that way since she was a child. She had worried her teachers in kindergarten by the fact that she seemed to turn away all the kids who tried to connect with her. This hadn’t changed, and by the time she headed to junior high, no one tried anymore. The teachers had kept worrying of course, but as she got older, this worry had been offset by their satisfaction and appreciation of her academic performance; apparently, at the end of the day, even elementary school teachers cared more about a child’s grades than her ability to fit into classroom society.

She hadn’t understood it then. Hadn’t understood why her responses, her reactions shut others down. It was only after hearing the covert comments too many times that she had realized what other people thought of her. And by then, the road to remake her reputation had seemed entirely too insurmountable.

That perspective had resulted in her leading a life that was half-spent in sequestration. The silver lining to that, of which she constantly reminded herself, was that she had devoted plenty of time to pursuing her passions, even if it was at a solo capacity. The filled bookcases in her room were one testament to that. The filled folders on her laptop were another, and the guitar resting in its stand by her desk was a third. The lack of company had done wonders for her creativity, she supposed. Was it a worthy exchange though? That was all in the eye of the beholder.

Pulling her gaze away from the ceiling, Rei brought it to rest on the guitar sitting by the desk. The chrome elements of Stratocaster-imitation form glistened in the sunlight from the window above her desk, opened to let the breeze flow in (a partially successful attempt to offset the heat without resorting to blasting the AC, because Rei preferred a more natural solution). She knew it would be at the earliest, four hours before her brother made it home. His shifts had been extended recently, on account of another employee quitting. And of course, her mother wouldn’t be home for at least another hour after that, a timetable that had become the new normal over the past several months. There wasn’t much for her to do in the meantime. Shinji was officially the house chef, because he argued that it was a way for him to ‘destress,’ which was his way of saying that cooking was one of his favorite pastimes, and that he didn’t want anyone else in the kitchen, which he had unofficially declared his ‘dignified domain’ in one of his more emphatic (and comedic) moments.

Rei didn’t particularly like summers, primarily because of how empty they often ended up feeling. This summer had been particularly forlorn one, as with her brother spending nearly all of his time either working or in the company of his new friend Kaworu (she suspected that the her brother and the ashen-hair boy would be dating soon, not that she resented Kaworu; from the two brief interactions she had had with him, he seemed quite nice actually), she had been left to her own devices for days on end. At this point, her routines, as much as she appreciated them, had begun to feel somewhat monotonous. She had taken to browsing blogs lately, in search of a new potentially hobby she could try out to add some diversity to her day, but so far, she hadn’t had much lucky finding anything that she had gravitated toward with any great enthusiasm. She had briefly considered trying out her hand at archery, before swiftly coming to the conclusion that as enticing as her visions of Legolasesque prowess were, the actual effort that would undoubtedly be required to achieve any degree of proficiency wasn’t something she quite felt up to. The fact that even if she did manage to become a competent archer, her chances of being able to skate down a staircase atop a shield would most likely remain negligible was also a bit of a buzzkill. And so, at least for the moment, her current hobbies would have to suffice. She decided that tomorrow, she would take a walk down to Off the Shelf! If she was going to stick with what she knew, it wouldn’t hurt to at least get some new reading material. Well, new to her anyway.

With a barely audible sigh proceeding from her lips, Rei pushed herself up and out of her chair, and left the corner of the room, strolling over to her desk lackadaisically. She retrieved her guitar from its stand and plugged it into her practice amp, positioned alongside the desk. Flipping the amp on and turning the volume to a decent level, satisfied with her other levels. She then set herself down in her desk chair and rolled her volume knob up. She paused for a few seconds, thinking of a good song selection. After a moment, she made her decision.

The first palm muted notes sprung out from the guitar as she picked through the intro, before launching into the melody itself, the pensive tone pervading the room. She allowed the traces of a smile to steal onto her face. It was a beautiful song. One which promise never to leave, never to vanish. One whose titled she liked to think vowed to be with her always. It was a piece she was content to return to. That always seemed to make her day a little less lonely.

Perhaps then, the particular events brought about by her playing that afternoon could only be considered highly appropriate. If one was to take this view, then perhaps it could be called an act of fate, rather than a mere coincidence, that Rei did not think to close her window before she started playing on that particular occasion, something which she habitually did, half out of shyness and doubt of her own talent (unfounded doubt, of course, as anyone who had heard her play could attest to), and part out of respect for her the elderly couple who lived next door, whom she suspected were probably not fans of some of the more ‘enthusiastic’ music she played (which was to say, progressive metal). It would, however, be unfair to Rei to blame her for failing to realize that the elderly couple had moved across the country several months before to live closer to their family. It wasn’t as if she interacted with them frequently, or in fact, paid much attention to them at all. They had kept to themselves, something which she also did. On the other hand, a better case could be made to label Rei a bit on the oblivious side for not noticing the new neighbors who had moved in several days before. That had been a bit more of an affair, though not one which either Yui or Shinji could have been aware of, considering it occurred during the day while they were both absent. Rei, on the other hand, had no such excuse. Her excuse would be, if one were to ask her for it, was that she had been particularly engrossed in rereading one of her favorite books on that specific day, which was in fact true. All the same, it meant that she was unaware of her new neighbors. And furthermore, unaware that one of them would soon hear her playing. And of course, logically, this also meant she was unaware that her life was about to change. However, a lack of awareness rarely averts something from happening, and it certainly did not in this case.

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Asuka glared down at the figurine in her hands, scowling. “Dammit,” she grumbled to herself, pulling away the now-severed head from the body of the dragon, and inspecting the jagged break. She spared a glance at the unraveled square of bubble wrap in the box below. “Well that’s just great.” With a sigh and a shake of her head, she set the broken figurine down on top of the bookcase. “I’ll have to fix you later. Gotta ask Misato if we have any glue, or if it’s lost in one of the boxes out in the garage.” She scowled, and turned back to sorting through the contents of the box. She extracted two more figurines from her their bubble wrap entombments, and was pleased to see that her cobra and sorceress were both still intact. Setting them on the shelf beside the beheaded dragon, she grab one of the discarded pieces of bubble wrap and held it up to the light coming through her window. “I guess you didn’t totally fail,” she remarked dryly, before crumpling the strip in her hand and listening to the series of satisfying pops that occurred as a result.

Tossing the now-pointless piece of plastic into the trash bin by her door, she set her hands on her hips and surveyed the pile of boxes that had yet to be unpacked, a hoard still big enough to lay claim to an entire corner of the room with a vengeance. What next? She ran her eyes over the bare walls of the room, finding the off-white coloration unappealing, to say the least. When was this designed? The 80s? Posters it is.

While she now had a goal in mind for the next step in her unboxing/room design (she preferred the latter description, because it sounded more dignified in her mind, and didn’t serve as quite the same reminder that she had just moved, but in all reality, the former was the more accurate description), finding the objects she needed to accomplish that goal was easier said than done. Opening yet another box, and discovering once again that the objects of her intentions were not within (said box instead contained several stacks of CDs, relics of a time before MP3s were the absolute norm), she set it atop the growing pile of boxes that had failed to contain her quarry, with a derisive glance at the blurred face of Avril Lavigne that stared back at her from within. “Why do I even still have you?,” she muttered as she folded the lid back over. And more importantly, why the hell didn’t we label more of these? I blame Kaji. Because yeah, the person who basically didn’t pack up any of my stuff is to blame for why I didn’t label it. Right.

With a roll of her eyes (mostly directed at herself, if she was being honest), she grabbed one more box from the trove. If they’re not in here, I’m taking a break. This is so stupid. As she opened this particular box, she was at that point not surprised to find that rather than the posters she sought, it instead contained two tight rows of game cases. Well, at least I found something decent. Box in hand, she made for the living room. I’m pretty sure Misato left the bottom shelf of the tv stand empty for these.

She was partway through the process of shelving the games when she felt her pocket vibrate. Pausing her activity, she pulled out her phone and looked over the text that had just arrived.

Tiffany H: How’s day four of the move-in going?

Asuka considered the question for a moment, before writing her response.

Asuka R: About as well as the first three lol.

Asuka R: As in, tedious

Asuka R: How’s life in Terahburg?

Tiffany H: Oh, fun. Same as always, tbh.

Asuka R: Aww, and here I thought you’d be sweet and say it was boring without me or something ;)

Tiffany H: Oh, I mean, you’re right! Whatever will we do? Life’s lost all purpose now that you’re gone xD

Asuka R: Now that’s more like it!

Tiffany H: We’re all lost without you Asuka! We’ll never see the light again without you!

Asuka R: And don’t you forget it!

Tiffany H: In fact, the entire town might perish out of sheer sorrow! Our lives our meaningless now!

Asuka R: Okay, that might be a bit of a stretch. . .

Tiffany H: Ya think? Lol

Asuka R: Hey, don’t stop on my account!

Tiffany H: I’m running out of material here *shrugs*

Asuka R: And here I thought you were a true thespian!

Tiffany H: Yeah, but talking about you gets boring after a while. ;)

Asuka R: I’m hurt. Deeply hurt. *turns nose up*

Tiffany H: There, there, you’ll survive. Just don’t drink the Asherdale kool-aid and forget we exist. Lol

Asuka R: Asherdale kool-aid? Seriously?

Tiffany H: Like I said, I’m running out of material here. Don’t @ me.

Asuka R: Uh huh

Asuka R: Right

Tiffany H: So, what’s the ‘dale like? We got any competition?

Asuka R: I’ll let you know when I figure out what the ’the ‘dale’ is

Tiffany H: Ur 1mp0ssebl3

Asuka R: My eyes are scarred now, thx

Tiffany H: You deserved it. So, what’s the ‘dale like?

Asuka R: Best adjective = boring

Tiffany H: RIP

Asuka R: No competition so far, so you don’t need to worry. The best they have going for them is an

arcade.

Tiffany H: An arcade?

Asuka R: Yeah, I saw it when we were getting into town. Looked it up, it’s some sort of retro deal.

Tiffany H: Retro arcades? Is that a thing now?

Asuka R: Apparently it is in the northwest.

Tiffany H: Whelp, sounds great

Asuka R: Oh yeah, fr

Tiffany H: Well, enjoy ur arcade. I gtg get ready for work.

Asuka R: Ok, say hi to Amanda for me!

Tiffany H: Will do! Ttyl!

When she had finished shelving the games, Asuka made her way back to her room, a determined glint in her eyes (not an unusual expression for her). Alright, now it’s poster time! I don’t care if I have to go through every damn box in that corner, I am finding them! I’m not going to let an outdated 80s color palate get the best of me! And plus, her mind added as an afterthought, Once they’re up, maybe it’ll actually start feeling a little more like my room. And less like someone else’s room, that I’m just staying in. A frown briefly crossed her face, but she tossed it away, steeling her mouth into a resolute line.

Approximately forty-five minutes later, the stack of boxes was no longer a stack, but instead a small pond spread across half of the room. Asuka, meanwhile, was red in the face, and looked as though she was a few steps away from steam vents cartoonishly bursting out of her ears. One final, unopened box sat in the corner, the last remnant of the toppled tower. She knelt by it, her face spelling murder, and began to cut through the tape with her pocket knife. . .

“Verdammt, wo sind sie?! Das ist lächerlich!” (Dammit, where are they?! This is ridiculous!)

She punched floor next to her, gritting her teeth as she looked down at the contents of the last box, namely a set of drum skins, and her stick bag. Still glowering, she removed these items and headed to the spare room. Might as well put these with my kit anyway. She couldn’t deny that one positive of this house was the presence of the extra bedroom, which meant that her designated practice space was no longer a garage. That was definitely a positive. Even if it one of the only ones so far.

Setting the sticks down by her stool and the drum skins alongside her drum cases in the corner, she looked over at the kit with a degree of temptation in her eyes. I should probably at least try to finish unpacking, now that I covered my entire room. But . . . I mean, it could help me calm down. And ignore the fact that we probably forgot the box with my posters somewhere. Walking over, she took her seat behind the kit and grabbed a couple sticks from the sling that hung off the floor tom. Just something to blow off steam. I don’t need to practice a song or anything. She was about to count herself off (out of habit rather than necessity, really), when an adventitious sound reached her ears. She blinked, pausing. That sounds . . . oddly like “Always With Me, Always With You.” She looked around, searching for the source of the faint guitar playing she had picked up. Her eyes locked in on the window behind her, which until that moment, she hadn’t noticed was partially open. Rising from her seat and dropping her sticks back into the sling bag, she walked over to the window and looked out.

This particular window looked down on the strip of the yard which ran alongside the building, and faced the house next door. She couldn’t be certain, but it sounded to her as though the music was coming out of one the windows of that house, which also happened to be opened. Her interest piqued, she decidedly to get a closer look. She headed for the stairs.

Emerging out into the backyard, she made for the wall that marked the border between her family’s yard, and the neighbor’s property. It wasn’t much of a wall, really. It only reached slightly higher than her midriff. She looked down at it skeptically. Well, I could practically step over this is if I wanted to. Guess they’re not too worried about trespassing.

Outside and closer to the guitar playing which floated out into the air, it was relatively easy to determine that its source was indeed the window she had identified earlier. Glancing up toward said window now, Asuka pursed her lips, faced with a bit of a decision. One one hand, she could forget about it and head back inside. She had determined the location of the unseen guitarist, and considering he or she was her neighbor, it seemed like there was a decent chance she’d be able to find out who the guitarist was eventually. On the other hand, going back in and continuing with her unpacking wasn’t the most enticing of options. In the end, she chose the path that let her procrastinate on facing her bedroom’s recently introduced ground cover.

Climbing up over the half-wall, she jumped down into the neighbors’ yard. She decided that if she ran in to any sort of trouble, or said neighbors turned out to be less than thrilled by her trespassing, she could book it back to her house with relative ease. It wasn’t as if the wall would provide any significant barrier. Plus, it’s not as though I’m going to try to break into their house or anything. I mean, I’m going to go ring the doorbell. Though I suppose I could have just gone out to the street from my house and gone over that way. Oh well. This’ll be fine.

Still listening to the solo (which, as she heard more of it and paid greater attention, she had to admit sounded quite good) rolling down from the open window, Asuka walked up along the side of the house, and curved around to the front until she found herself standing directly in front of the door. Alright, here we go. Plan ‘avoid unpacking’ #1, activate! Reaching up, she pressed in the doorbell and waited. She heard a bell-toweresque recording play from somewhere close by the door inside in response to the ring. That’s an interesting choice for a doorbell. Sounds sort of like an antique clock. That might not be a good sign . . . I can’t imagine anyone under the age of fifty using that for their doorbell. Oh well. If it turns out the guitarist is a retiree or something, I can always still act polite or something, say I thought his or her playing sounded pretty good, and then bail. Simple enough.

Asuka waited for a good thirty seconds, wondering if someone was going to come to the door. After a few more moments, she decided that the answer to that question was probably a definitive ‘no.’ Hmm . . . now the question is, do I ring the doorbell again? Or do I just head back home? On one hand, they might have heard it and just don’t want to answer, and in that case, I don’t want to be the jerk who can’t take a hint. On the other hand, maybe they just didn’t hear it the first time. That’s a possibility too. Which means it might not hurt to wring it again. Asuka pulled out her phone and looked down at the clock on the lock screening, waiting for it to change. I’ll give them another minute. If no one comes by then, I’ll ring it one more time. And if no one shows up after that too, I’ll head back to my place.

Watching the digits on the screen, Asuka gave a small nod to herself as the moment passed. She reached forward and gave the doorbell a final ring. Once again, she heard the recording play from within the house. You know, I think I’d get pretty tired of that if it was my doorbell. Just imagine what that would be like if someone tried to prank you by ringing it repeatedly. That would get real annoying, real quick.

After another solid twenty seconds or so, Asuka came to the conclusion that no one was coming to the door. Shrugging, she turned and headed back out toward the sidewalk, content to make her way home. Well, I tried. Guess I’ll find out who the guitarist is another day. Unboxing time it is then. Lovely. However, as she turned away from the path up to the door and angled herself back toward her resident, she heard the faint sound of the guitar carrying out from alongside the house. This time, however, it was a different song. She paused, narrowing her eyes in focus as she searched for the title. Oh, come on, I know I know this one. It’s not Satriani though . . . I don’t think it’s Vai either. Dammit, who is it? She shook her head, disgruntled with the fact that she couldn’t place the tune. Fantastic. Now that’s going to be stuck in my head and bugging me for the rest of the day. Presque vu sucks like that. It was at that instant that another thought snuck into her mind. The guitarist could be the only person home. That would explain why no one came to the door. If they’re practicing, they might have earbuds in or headphones on, which would mean they couldn’t hear me. So, I’d have to get their attention with something else. And their window is open . . .

Asuka practically sprinted the short distance back to her house, a confident grin across her face. When she finally emerged from the back door roughly five minutes later, she was glad to hear that the mysterious musician was still playing. Once again, the guitarist had moved on to a new song. This one, however, Asuka recognized. “Tender Surrender,” she murmured. “Not a bad choice.” At this point, Asuka was almost certain that whoever was playing was probably a good bit older than her. I mean, seriously, Steve Vai hasn’t been big since the nineties. At least, I don’t think so. I mean, I only know him because of Kaji, so that definitely says something. But hey, I’m not a guitarist though, so who knows? Maybe they still adore him or something. All the same, her desire to avoid completing (or at the very least, returning to) her unpacking process outweighed her potential concerns. Plus, her new plan kept her even further away from the person whose attention she was trying to get. Which meant that if they didn’t care for her methods, she could be long gone before they could do much about it. The logic of her strategy was moderately convincing, if she did say so herself, even if it was purely designed to give her a somewhat rational justification to her better judgment for her own procrastination.

Pulling herself up and over the sad excuse for a dividing wall, Asuka found herself in the as-of-yet-nameless neighbors’ yard once again. She strolled over a little closer to the house, positioning herself so that she was in a direct line with the open window. I have to say, this is one way I never expected that year I pitched for the softball team in middle school to come in handy. She looked down at the construction in her hand, the centerpiece of her quickly-concocted scheme. Guess all of that packing newspaper might turn out to have a second purpose too. Hopefully it’ll do better at this than it did at keeping Misato’s shot glass collection intact. With a chuckle to herself, Asuka rolled her arm back, lifting the paper airplane into the air, and let it fly toward her target. It soared upward, its arc accurate, and slipped straight through the open window, disappearing from her view.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

Rei was nearing the close of the song. Her plectrum had been relegated to a secondary position, pinched between her pinky and ring fingers, to keep it from obstructing her fingerpicking. Only the pads of her skin now met the coils of steel, coaxing melody from the taut metal. Though the piece was not an anthemic one at any point, never attaining any great summit or volume in its course, it had still diminished from its peak, drifting back into itself as the notes grew more wavering, less forceful. They now resembled soft, intermittent tears intermingled with trembling gasps, though whether these expressions were borne out of sorrow or ecstasy was a mystery offered up to the beholder’s mind for judgement.

In her mind, Rei could hear, could feel the presence of the band about her. Every feature, each individual auditory fragment of the track came to her as she moved her fingers, by memory rather than sight. She listened as the band’s accompaniment slowly gave way, dissolving into pleasant stillness, sending its light and focus toward the guitar’s shuddering cry, until it was the only sound left to fill the emptiness, in soundscape both physical and mental. But fill this space it did nonetheless, each caressed, drawn note wandering through the fold’s of her shut eyes, dancing over the defined, stringent edges of her desk and shaving them down into something smoother, unbroken, winding. Blurring the room she half-saw through the image she conceived, transfiguring the elements of the space to abstraction, melting the absolute and the tangible into the fantastical, the speculative.

As she glided into the final phrase, she slowed even further, elongating the notes, letting their voices sing louder than her conducting digits. She had led the song to its conclusion, she let the song itself lead what was left. It extended, sweeping over the growing seconds, echoing as it reiterated, reprising and refusing to fade. Rei followed the draw, her fingers seemingly moving of a will other than her own, glad assistants in the art. At last, the final reverberation arrived, pleading, yet peaceful. There were seven notes left, which dwindled to six, and from there it faded to five, a receding handful.

The fifth note was about to declare its presence when the moment was broken. Something struck Rei’s forehead, fracturing her concentration and dream state alike to shards. Her fingers fell from their unconscious ballet, the necessary pressure absent. The string buzzed against the fret before it died an abrupt dead, cut off by its impact against her lax digit. The song was stripped into nothing, the ending cumbersome and unheeding, true closer beyond its grasp. Rei’s eyes tore open as her hand plunged away from the neck, dropping limp to her side as she stared sightlessly at the desk before her, her blank visage betraying no hint of her acute bemusement.

Rei dropped her pick onto the top of the desk, and lifted the instrument from her lap, returning it to its stand once more. Slanting her head downward, she reached out and retrieved the ostensibly offending object from the floor by her feet. Lifting it into her lap, she rotated it around in her grasp for a few moments, examining the shaped newsprint, complied into a new structure, a form capable of flight synthesized from ink and pulped fibers. Adjacent to weightless, an insubstantial avian, an artificial imitation. Its name was derived from bellowing metallic brutes that claimed the skies as their domain, raging turbines thrumming, incensed engines clamoring, the bellow of war on their wings and a cold caterwaul in their grinding wheels as they wrenched away from the ground and took their place in the belly of the beast. Such a marked difference, an undeniable dichotomy, between this tenuous newspaper lark and those titanium pterosaurs that prowled the clouds at humanity’s behest. To think that both such beings were constructed and christened by the same species was a perplexing, confounding concept, one which spoke to the multitudinous nature of sentience. It could give attention no less assiduous than the sedulous scrutiny bestowed upon the architecture of alleged advancement to the most minute of pursuits. The value of each undertaking determined by the engineers, by the consumers, by whatever society observed its progress.

It was curious, the capacity which such a seemingly innocuous, inconsequential object possessed to act as a conduit for contemplations of the existential and philosophical varieties. Nevertheless, Rei pulled her thoughts away from such metaphysical meanderings and extracted her eyes from their glazed gaze, elevating them from the errant examination. Equally curious were the origins of the airplane. Her emphasis adjusted accordingly, Rei rested the newsprint coated craft on her desktop and rose from her seat to survey the yard from her window.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

Asuka watched the empty window closed, scrutinizing the vacuum that had devoured her airplane several moments earlier. It showed no signs of providing any sort of reaction to that consumption. However, Asuka was nonetheless certain beyond any shadow of a doubt that her newspaper agent had fulfilled its intended purpose. Moments before, the song, which had crawled to a languid and hazy, yet subtly rapturous, finale, had come to a clipped conclusion. There was no mistaking that the ending was unintentional. The last note had been mostly-dead, the tone dulled and buzzed out, a quickly recognizable accident, that had been replaced by silence in an instant, the bum note sheared from existence before it could linger. That . . . was rough. Ooops. Well, hopefully they don’t get too annoyed.

At first, Asuka had expected that the guitarist would take one of two routes. On one hand, the musician might immediately make an appearance, due to the sudden interruption, and apparent derailment of the song. This had seemed to be the most probable outcome to Asuka. After all, most musicians didn’t appreciate being disrupted while they were in the midst of a piece. On the other hand, the guitarist might first finish the song, and then come to the window. Though the second possible outcome seemed somewhat less likely than the first, Asuka knew that there were many individuals who took their musicianship seriously to the extent that they would merely continue onward as if they had never been disturbed in the first place, until they finished their performance. Of course, given that the guitarist was practicing rather than performing, Asuka didn’t expect that this would be the case.

This was all to say that Asuka was not prepared for the reaction occasioned by her action. Or, to be more precise, the lack thereof. Asuka had firmly expected the guitarist to do something. Which was why she grew progressively more and more agitated, albeit it in an understated manner, as the seconds flew by and it appeared as though her ‘delivery’ had prompted positively no response whatsoever. No one appeared at the window, nor did the playing resume, and furthermore, there was not so much as the slightest audible outburst in response to the disruption. Aside from the botched note and the vexatious silence, there was nothing to indicate that the guitarist had even noticed the paper aircraft.

Asuka tilted her head as she continued to stare up at the window, her cheeks and lips creasing downward into the beginning of a frown. Come on, do something. Or are you actually going to just ignore that? Of course, there was no answer to this question, given that Asuka had inquired it of her own mind, rather than posing it out loud. The stillness stretched longer, no termination in sight. Asuka rested a hand against her hip, before dropping it back to her side. That might send the wrong sorta message when they finally decide to show up. If they decide to show up. Asuka’s frown had now passed its infancy, maturing into a full-blown line of irritation. Which is looking less and less likely. A measure of tension had filled the air, as anticipation of a reaction had turned to exasperation, and perhaps a portion of perturbation as well. The tension gave no indication that it had any intention of abating prior to Asuka’s departure. Well that’s just great. Dammit, I guess it’s back to my lovely, most definitely not covered in a mound of boxes room. Fantastic. Rolling her eyes, Asuka half-turned to withdraw, when a figure suddenly appeared in the window. Asuka hastily righted herself as her gaze locked in on the arrival. Took you long enough.

The person looking out of the window was not who Asuka had been expecting. The figure’s blue locks glistened vaguely in the sunlight as it touched them. Her eyes were dark, a rich, bark-like brown, the hue of tilled soiled moistened by a smattering of a rain. They practically gleamed with racing thoughts, deep pools of incalculable deliberation. It was the overall aura of her face, however, that knocked Asuka from her stride. It was expressionless, utterly unreadable, beyond the definitive certainty that the mind behind worked tirelessly and furiously. Asuka could discern no trace, however slight, of any sentiment or emotion in it. The emptiness, the absence, was uncanny. Asuka’s mind raced as well now, seeking an explanation for the void she beheld. Maybe I’m just too far away. After all, I’m a good distance from where she is. Maybe if we were closer, I’d be able to tell . . . something. Her attempts at persuading herself that this was a reasonable explanation failed miserably. The argument was woefully, blatantly incorrect. There was no denying the simple fact that the girl’s face, despite the fact that it appeared as if she was no older than Asuka, perhaps even younger, could have easily belonged to someone who spent years perfecting the perfect vizard. Somehow, I get the feeling that she’s never lost a poker game.

The duo’s encounter began in silence, both parties merely taking in the other, no words exchanged. Asuka did her best to hide her own feelings of confusion, as well as residual irritation. Can’t match her poker face, but I might as well try to not look too worked up. When the silence had lasted long enough to become uncomfortable, especially when combined with the force of the girl’s undeviating gaze, Asuka decided she would have to break it, as it didn’t seem feasible that the supposed guitarist would be the one to do so.

“Hey, you sounded good!,” Asuka called up, doing her best to sound both amicable and positive, in spite of the fact that these weren’t the foremost sentiments in her mind.

The girl said nothing in response, though Asuka briefly thought she spotted the barest, vaguest hint of a smile alight on the edges of the girl’s mouth for a split second. Well, no news is good news, right? And who doesn’t like a compliment? Guess I might have to do the heavy lifting in the conversation though. “That was Tender Surrender, right?”

The girl remained silent, but gave a small nod of her head, her expression unchanged. Asuka decided she would interpret this as an encouraging reaction. I mean, she doesn’t seem angry that I disrupted her earlier, so all things considered, I’m going to take this as a success so far. “Steve Vai is pretty cool. Classic 80s guitar, you know?”

The girl nodded again, blinking as she did so, before resuming her stare. Is that the first time I’ve seen her blink?, Asuka wondered. Because I think it is, and that’s more than a little bit unnerving. Because I’m almost positive she’s been staring at me for a couple minutes. No way, she must have blinked earlier. People don’t go minutes without blinking. That would be . . . unusual . . . and most likely not healthy for your eyes.

Asuka decided to try out a different subject. There’s got to be something that will get her to talk . . . right? Maybe? Hopefully . . . ?

“Anyway, I heard you earlier, and I wanted to see who the good guitarist was.” She bookended this with an agreeable chuckle, that was roughly eighty-five percent forced. “I’m Asuka Kaji. I just moved in to the house next door,” she pointed back over her her shoulder, “a few days ago.”

The girl tilted her head as she received this information, giving Asuka the impression that this was in fact new to her, and she was taking some time to process it. A few more seconds passed, and at last, the girl spoke. “I’m Rei Ikari,” she paused, and then added, “Thank you.” Her voice was soft, but carried down from the window fairly well all the same. It had a calmness to it, that matched up perfectly with her reserved demeanor. It was nearly a monotone, but not quite. There was a note of inflection in it, an element of what Asuka thought was cheerfulness, though it was difficult for her to be certain.

This time, Asuka was the one who tilted her head. Well, at least I got her name. Not sure why she’s thanking me though. “What for?,” she inquired, maintaining her amicable exterior, which was somewhat less forced than it had been several seconds earlier. Perhaps only seventy-five percent at this point, possibly even seventy.

Rei answered in the same voice, devoid of all but a hint of pleasantry. “For the compliment. I’m glad you like my playing.” Asuka hung on to that hint of pleasantry, decoding it to mean that Ikari was genuinely happy. At least, I hope that’s what it means. Although, she could just be putting on a front just like me. I’ll say she’s genuine for now though. It’s easier to be friendly when I don’t have to constantly second guess the other person.

Asuka smiled again, an expression which was mostly real. “No problem. Like I said, you sounded good.”

Rei nodded to this, but didn’t say anything immediately. Instead, she looked down, at something obscured from Asuka’s sight, and then back up at the other girl. “Would you like to come to the door? You won’t have to shout up from there?”

Asuka wasn’t quite sure that the volume she had been speaking at could be deemed shouting per se, but in comparison to Ikari’s subdued volume, she supposed she could see the logic in the other girl’s words. “Sure. Sounds like a good idea.”

“I’ll meet you there,” Rei intoned, not deviating in the slightest from what appeared to be her default voice. Stepping away from the window, she disappeared from Asuka’s view. Asuka set off along the side of the house, making for the front door, considering their conversation so far as she did so. Okay, saying ‘default voice’ might be a bit harsh. Makes it sound like she’s a robot or something. I don’t think she’s AI. I mean, probably not. She allowed herself a quiet little chortle as she rounded the corner and strolled over to the porch. She paused in front of the door. Guess I don’t need to ring the doorbell. Which means I get to avoid the antique clock. Or bell tower. Whichever one it sounds like. Probably both. Either way, not hearing it is a positive.

Her thoughts were interrupted by the door in front of her opening. Rei halted in the doorway, looking at Asuka. Up close, Asuka couldn’t discern any substantial differences from what she had already observed of Rei’s demeanor. However, the hints of a smile which she thought she had spotted earlier were more pronounced now that Asuka had a better view, making Ikari look moderately more genial to Asuka’s eyes. Huh, maybe I was right. She’s more friendly when I’m not looking up at her framed in a window. And I thought that argument was absurd. Even though it was my argument. Ha! Shows what you know, me!

Asuka smiled back at Rei, the most genuine one she had offered Ikari so far. Abruptly, Rei held out a hand toward Asuka. She looked down, and her smile fell a bit. The blue-haired girl was holding out the paper airplane to her. “Is this yours?,” she asked, giving no signs that she was angry, which threw Asuka off once again. Alright, maybe she’s just at good at hiding when she’s upset as she seems to be at hiding when she’s happy. Then again . . . I don’t see anything. Not in her face, or her posture. And she still smiling. Well, if that’s what that is, I mean. Maybe I didn’t actually disrupt her? Maybe she just messed up on her own? Or maybe she really doesn’t care?

Asuka nodded slowly, assuming an empathetic expression, less cheerful and slightly more chagrined. Just slightly, however. She wasn’t one to act particular embarrassed, even if she was. Not that she “Yeah, that’s mine. Sorry if I threw you off, by the way.”

Rei extended her hand a little further, offering the miniature parody of an aircraft to the redhead. “It’s okay. I was nearing the song’s conclusion anyway.”

Asuka accepted the offered airplane. “You sure?”

Rei nodded. “Yes. Your technique isn’t bad.”

Once again, Rei managed to say something that Asuka was not anticipating. My technique? Where did that come from? This is kind of getting on my nerves. A little bit, anyway Who just randomly switches topic mid-conversation like that? “What technique?”

“Your folding technique. It’s effective. Do you make origami?”

Oh. That is not what I expected her to say. “Ah, okay. Thanks. But no, I don’t.” I mean, technically I have, but I don’t need to tell her about how great that went. Damn cat. Since when do cats eat paper anyway? When did that become a thing? And to think people say dogs are the ones who will eat anything.

“I think you’d be good at it if you tried,” Rei said sensibly.

“I’ll let you know if I ever try it out.”

Rei nodded, her faint smile becoming somewhat more defined, as if this was the most logical and appropriate response, and she appreciated that Asuka had used it. Asuka decided it was time for her to get in another question, before the conversation took an additional unpredictable turn. “So, do you go to Sarea High?” Might as well figure out if she’ll be going to the same school as me in the fall. It wouldn’t be a bad idea at all to know some people before I get there.

Rei only nodded again in answer to this question.

“Cool. I’ll be going there in the fall. You a,” she made a quick estimate of how old she thought Ikari looked to be, “junior?”

Rei shook her head. “I’m a senior.”

Well, I was only off by a year, that’s not too bad. “Me too.” You know, for expecting the mystery guitarist to be some guy in his forties, it turns out we have a lot more in common than I thought.

Rei didn’t respond to this information, but merely continued to look at Asuka, her head tilting slightly to the side, the smile on her face seeming more prominent than ever, though still more of a light impression than a defined expression. Asuka met the girl’s gaze for a moment, and matched the bluenette’s smile with a wider one of her own. I mean . . . she’s kind of unusual, but she doesn’t seem so bad. Could definitely do with talking a bit more, but whatever. “Are you in band?”

Rei shook her head. “No. I’d like to be in jazz ensemble though.”

Asuka grinned, and remarked, “I mean, from how you sounded earlier, I’m sure you could tackle jazz. Plus, it’s fun for guitarists!” Is it my imagination, or is that a tiny tint of blush I see on her cheeks right now.

“Thank you. Again,” Rei said softly. “I haven’t auditioned though.”

Asuka’s smile faltered, and she pursed her lips. “Why not?”

The imprint of a smile and the vague reddening slipping from her face, Rei shrugged. “Nerves, I guess,” she answered.

“Ah. I understand.” I’ve been there. Who hasn’t? But hell, she’s definitely good enough to make the cut! Especially in a town like this. I highly doubt they have a great jazz scene here or anything. Asuka paused, but then set off again, more animated, “Well hey, you should audition this fall! I’m going to be there! So there’ll for sure be someone else there who knows you’re a fantastic guitar!”

The mild coloring that Asuka suspected was a blush most definitely returned to Rei’s face with this comment. Without meeting Asuka’s gaze, a strange change from her pattern up to that point, she replied, “Maybe so.”

“Well, think about it at least.”

Rei nodded, and after another handful of seconds had elapsed, asked, “What instrument do you play?”

“I play drums,” Asuka answered.

Rei looked back to Asuka once more, her indistinct smile back on her face. “Are you going to do marching band?”

Asuka shook her head. “No, I prefer playing with a full kit. That’s why I’m going for jazz ensemble instead. It’s what I did at my old school back east in Terahburg.”

“That makes sense.”

“Yep,” Asuka stated smartly. A new idea had emerged in her mind, one which didn’t seem like a half bad one. “You know, we should jam together sometime. Since we’re literally next door to each other.”

Rei said nothing at first, but Asuka noticed that the blue-haired girl’s eyes looked more distant now, practically looking straight past Asuka. She was tempted to turn around, to see if there was something behind her worthy of attention, but she somehow doubted there was. She’s probably just appraising the idea. She seems like the type of person who thinks things over. Thinks things over intensely, to be precise.

When the space between the two girls had lapsed into silence for approximately thirty seconds, Rei spoke up. “What type of music do you like?”

Asuka gave a small shrug in response to this. “The short answer is, I like a lot of stuff. I’m open to pretty much anything. And the long answer is, well, long.” She let out a little laugh to accompany her quip. “But, you might be able to tell,” she shot a pointed glance down at her shirt, which featured an image of a man removing his face from his skull to reveal a bundle of bandages beneath it, an action which was surprisingly depicted in a manner that wasn’t particularly gruesome (which she personally thought a rather unusual choice for a gothic metal album cover, but she enjoyed the art nonetheless, a fact evidence by her possession of the shirt), “I like metal.”

Rei’s eyes followed Asuka’s indication, and studied her garment, taking in the image. “That is interesting,” she commented, giving no real suggestion of her actual opinion of the artwork. “However, I’m not familiar with Lacuna Coil.”

Asuka curled her lips into a wry half-smile. “Not enough people are. They’re pretty awesome though. If you like gothic metal, that is.”

Rei nodded gently, in a manner that came across as fairly noncommittal. “I’ll have to check them out.” Her tone didn’t particularly evince true interest either, thought Asuka couldn’t say that it suggested the opposite for that matter. It fell in line with almost all of Rei’s speech, in that it was nothing if not neutral and more than a little ambiguous. I guess you could call it balanced. It could go equally toward either side.

“So,” Asuka began, “What about you?”

“As in, what type of music do I like?,” Rei countered, seeking clarification.

“Yep.”

“I enjoy instrumental music. Especially when the guitar is the main focus.”

“I get ya, that makes sense,” Asuka remarked with a nod .

“But, I am open to many types of music as well,” Rei added.

“That always cool. Variety keeps things entertaining.”

“Indeed,” Rei agreed, though her voice showed no particular enthusiasm. The sentiment more closely resembled an acknowledgement of a basic principle that could only be recognized as a fact of life, rather than an identification with a specific, shared perspective. After this observation, she fell silent once more. Asuka tilted her head to the side, waiting for the other girl to continue, but she did not seem eager to break the silence which had descended. Well, she basically avoided that question. Or at least, she avoided giving a direct answer to it. I could press the issue, or save it for another time. Oh come on, I’m not one to save things for another time. She doesn’t seem to mind me too much so far. I’m gonna roll with that.

Asuka decided to reiterate her point. “So, what do ya think?”

“About what?,” Rei asked, her eyes twitching momentarily.

“About playing together sometime?”

Rei tilted her head to the side, before righting it and nodding. “I think that would be a good idea.”

“Cool!”

“Yeah,” Rei concurred, the smallest vestige of excitement briefly filling her voice. Asuka picked up on the alteration, as quickly as it passed. That sounded encouraging!

“Well, hey, let me give you my number, so you can get in touch with me when you want to. That work for you?

“Okay.” Rei extracted her phone from her pocket, a movement which Asuka mirrored.

It was when she glanced down at her phone that Asuka noted the time. Her eyes widened for a brief second. Crap! It’s that late already! Seriously, I’ve been here that long? I probably need to actually try to finish unpacking at least some of those boxes today. If only so I can move across my room without climbing on top of them. Oh well . . . all good procrastination has to end eventually.

Rei cradled her phone in her hands for a few moments. Asuka got the impression that Rei was a little hesitant (for whatever reason) to hand it over for Asuka to put in her number. Selecting a different strategy, Asuka opened her contact profile and held the phone out for Rei to see. “Here, you can just copy off of that. If you don’t want me to put my number in yours, I mean.”

Rei looked at the offered device for another moment or two, and then nodded. “Thank you.”

“Don’t mention it.”

Rei inspected the displayed information for a moment, and then quickly typed something into her phone. “Got it,” she announced.

“Awesome.” Asuka withdrew her phone and slid it back into her pocket. “Look, I gotta bounce. I still have lots of unpacking left to do.” She grinned and chuckled. “My room looks like a minor tornado or something tore threw it. So that’s fun.”

“It was nice to meet you,” Rei responded quietly, but the expression on her face gave the words weight. The impression of a smile that had lingered there for much of the conversation at the door had finally blossomed into something which could be firmly identified as a smile, even if it was a small, uncertain one.

“You too!,” Asuka agreed cheerily. Alright, now the question is, what will she interpret as a proper goodbye? This question proved unnecessary, as Rei gave Asuka another small nod, and then retreated into the house, closing the door behind her, in a startlingly swift burst of activity. Asuka blinked, shrugged mentally, and turned to go, trotting back out to the sidewalk.

Well, all things considered, I’d say that counts as an utter victory. Mystery guitarist turned out to be both under the age of thirty, and overall, pretty likable, at least, I think so. Not to mention I have someone to practice with already, and I’ve only been here a few days. And she lives next door. That’s a pretty great coincidence, I can’t lie. And best of all, I avoided unpacking for a solid half hour more. That’s the real success story here.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

Rei didn’t leave after closing the door. She remained in the hall, watching the girl through the peephole as she departed. She couldn’t say exactly why she did it, only that it felt like the appropriate thing to do. When at last the redhead disappeared from her field of vision, she turned away from the door, and made her way to the kitchen. A strange sensation had developed in the pit of her stomach as they conversed. As with her logic for remaining at the door, the reason behind it barely escaped her mental grasp, as did an appropriate name for it. At best, she could characterize it as an unsettling experience, but not an unpleasant one. The feeling of a warbling tremor creeping up toward her chest, and then shying down and away once more. It played just beyond her reach, content to lurk there. Her first thought had been that perhaps food would lay the disturbance to rest. However, as she sat at the table and contemplated the granola bar she had retrieved from one of the cabinets that ringed the kitchen proper, she came to the abrupt realization that she lacked both the appetite and interest to eat it. Dropping the item in question back onto the tabletop, she tilted her head back to consider her kitchen ceiling. She decided that she preferred this view to the similar one she had observed earlier in the day.

There were fewer unpleasant memories wrapped up in this one. At least, that was the explanation she provided to herself, citing it as being the rationale reason for her mood. Because, clearly, it made perfect sense that studying the structure of the kitchen ceiling would fill her with a disconcerting, apprehensive excitement, but excitement all the same. Any other explanation would beg further questions. Questions she thought it was far, far, far too soon to be even touching upon. And that was without taking into account the fact that the excitement shied away from analysis. She suspected any efforts to investigate it would only yield confusing results. Results that led to the very same questions she wished to avoid. The safer alternative, then, was the ceiling. She was excited over the ceiling. Surely, if inspecting the ceiling of her bedroom could trigger a cascade of doubts and memories, inspecting the kitchen ceiling could make her feel giddy with an opaque happiness, until her brain was too muddled to focus on the shapes in the plaster and they meshed together into an indistinct collage of lines that made her eyes water when she tried to trace the maze she envision within it. Right?

#evangelion #neon genesis evangelion #fanfic #fanfiction #highschool au #asurei #asuka x rei #rei ayanami #asuka soryu langley

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louiseleblancdiggory · 4 years

Note

"I could never leave you behind." + "I know you're scared" + Rowan + Aelin = Angst Fest = Happy(?) Reader

You guys get happy with sad shit I will never understand this. I usually listen to songs while writing angst so I will attach it here. Anyways, here you go..... Enjoy I guess?

Warnings: death, blood, mentions of war, illness

La Vie en Rose

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Aelin was exhausted.

Her golden bangs were sticking to her forehead, and it didn’t matter how many times she swiped them away with the back of her hand, they always seemed to go back. She should have listened to Lysandra and not have cut them. If she hadn’t, then maybe she would have been able to tuck them into the white cloth headband holding the rest of her hair back. It was made out of the same linen as her dress and apron, but it was probably the cleanest garment she wore these days.

Before, Aelin was never seen with a speck of dirt on her, always wearing beautiful and fancy dresses. Her fashion style was commented among the elite of Terrasen, and she prided herself in her own beauty.

Beauty didn’t matter these days, she supposed. Neither did beautiful clothes, or how clean you were. No, those things seemed so far away now that Aelin felt rather like a foolish little girl when she remembered them. When this all started, the government, the people on the streets kept saying how this would change their men forever, but no one seemed to warn the women how it would affect them too.

Aelin was sitting on the floor, an old metal water bottle in front of her. She had drank until the last drop after treating one of the soldiers, the work harder than usual. It had required so many stitches, that Aelin didn’t know how she had managed to do it all without her hands trembling terribly. Usually, Elide or Lysandra did the stitches— Aelin had always been better in the calming part, in keeping the soldiers company until they got better.

Or until they passed.

But Lysandra had been transferred to a camp on the other side of Terrasen, and Elide had fallen ill five months after arriving at the camps. She had been her cousin, had been someone Aelin knew her whole life, so after she didn’t recover from the illness, Aelin became much more numb to the job. This wasn’t like the movies she had seen. No dramatic scenes, no happy ending in sight. Only death, and pain, and blood. Sometimes, Aelin looked around and wondered if Elide’s death hadn’t been a blessing to the sweet girl.

Perhaps this was Gods’ way of taking the good souls with them until they abandoned this world once and for all.

Most nights for the past years, Aelin would pray for death too.

She never died, though. She woke up everyday and made sure these men didn’t die either. She made sure that they would wake up with her in the next morning, in blinding pain but glad that they had another chance, another speck of hope of ever going back home. That is, if there was a home to go back after everything.

Despite all the death and destruction around her, Aelin had also grown rather fond of some soldiers. It was foolish, she knew, to get attached to people who walked into battlefields everyday. It was foolish to sit on the cobblestones of the little infirmary whenever no one needed her, watching the horizon and hoping they would come back. Despite its foolishness, though, Aelin supposed everyone needed some hope these days.

Hers was Rowan Whitethorn.

Rowan Whitethorn had been her hope since Elide had died and Lysandra had been taken away.

He was one of the Lieutenants around, and despite his seriousness and brooding nature, he had always been kind to Aelin. Always visited her after finishing reports, always came to drink with her after a good day.

Always came by the bad days too.

He always made sure to check in with her after coming back, just so he would let her know he was still alive. He was still there.

His friends became her friends, and now whenever Aelin looked over the horizon, she wouldn’t wait only for Rowan. Her heart also hurt whenever she thought about the Moonbeam twins, Vaughan, Gavriel or Lorcan not coming back. Always felt unbelievably afraid she would go back home alone one day.

No, getting attached was foolish but hope was needed indeed.

Aelin hoped for so many things, but also always kept all that bottled numbness around just in case.

Hope was all they had these days.

Fenrys hoped he would go back to Doranelle one day, he would always say. He had met a beautiful woman weeks short of being drafted, and although years had passed, he still hoped she had waited. Still hoped he could have a normal life after this.

Years later after the war was over, he would discover that the city of Doranelle had been attacked and the beautiful woman hadn’t made it out.

Vaughan and Connall hoped they both would survive so, once they went back home, they could get properly married. Connall would always announce to the lower ranking soldiers that they were all invited to the ceremony, a party so big it would be more memorable than this war. Vaughan would smile at him, but fear and sadness always clouded his eyes. Hope was never enough to erase fear, it seemed.

Years later after the war was over, Connall would sit alone in an empty house, mourning for a man he never had the chance to marry properly.

Lorcan had loved Elide. Although only together for five months, Aelin knew Lor had loved her cousin. After her death, Aelin believed he wished for death, wished to join Elide in a place better than this. She discovered months later that Lorcan still had hope, still had dreams. As strange as it was to imagine that man with kids, Lorcan hoped he survived enough to do what Elide had always dreamed of. A small orphanage that would treat kids right until a loving family came by— a thing Lorcan hadn’t had when younger.

Years later after the war was over, Lorcan would decide to remain in the army, too scarred from years fighting to ever go back to the normal world.

Gavriel hoped to be alive so he could see Andromeda again. His lover, he would sometimes quietly tell Aelin while she stitched him up. Beautiful like no one, a terrible dancer who loved to dance with her whole heart. Gavriel hoped he could see her dance one more time.

Years later after the war was over, Gavriel would go back home to a grave with a woman inside that he would never see dancing again. Same illness as Elide, he would discover. He never talked to Lorcan after that, as if the other man was a mirror he refused to look at.

And then there was Rowan. In the beginning, he would tell her he didn’t have anything or anyone waiting for him. That dying in this war wouldn’t be terrible, wouldn’t crush his hopes because he didn’t have any.

That had been years ago, because two weeks ago, during a summer night while they all sat around the fire, Rowan told that his mind had changed. That he had something to hope for.

“Once this war is over, Aelin Galathynius, I hope I can take you out.” He said with a small smile, whispering so no one else would hear his dreams. “Any flashy or expensive or fancy place you want to go. And then I will take you to a bar and we will dance all night , just like Gavriel says his wife likes to do. And then, only then, I will kiss you.”

Aelin had smiled, arching an eyebrow at him. “Only then?”

He nodded solemnly. “Only then.”

The thought of it always brought a smile to Aelin’s lips, a new sort of lightheartedness taking over her body. Even amidst the war, imagining a life with Rowan— a normal life— always made her see the world a soft and lovely pink.

“Galathynius.” Rolfe calls from the infirmary. “They need you at the shock ward. Sorry, sweetheart, I tried to get them to give you some rest.”

“It’s fine, Rolfe.” Aelin said, getting up. “We are all used to it by now.”

Aelin had worked all day, seeing the sun slowly set, painting the world pink and orange. It was about time for dinner, and she was just finishing talking to a boy no older than seventeen who had broken his arm when rushed steps sounded. Hell broke lose in the room as a group of men hauled another one in one of the tables, shouting things to one another and to anyone around them.

It took Aelin a whole minute to realize who was on top of the table.

She didn’t know if she should cry or laugh bitterly. Maybe the Gods hated her, maybe the Gods did hate them all.

Aelin walked calmly to the table, willing all that bottled numbness to take over the hope in her body.

“How am I doing, ma’am? I tried telling them I was ok, but apparently they wanted a nurse’s opinion.” Rowan asked, his face in a grimace. Aelin knew that Rowan knew enough about injuries to know the answer to that. She looked back at the boys, all suddenly quiet as they watched Rowan.

Aelin decided to ignore his question, smiling at him instead. “Came back to check in? It was getting late, I was worried.”

Rowan didn’t complain about her changing the subject, instead grabbing her hand. “I could never leave you behind, Fireheart.”

Her throat twisting but not a single tear appearing. “Good, you still owe me a flashy, expensive, and fancy dinner.”

“Some dancing too, if I remember correctly.”

She nodded, cupping his face in one hand and rubbing his cheek with her thumb. “And a kiss.”

He nodded too, the tears that were missing on Aelin coming out of his eyes. “I know you are scared—“

Aelin bent down to kiss him on the forehead. “You are doing just fine, sir.”

Rowan smiled at that, lovingly and through tears. “I was just confirming.”

Ten minutes.

It had taken ten minutes until he died, nothing anyone could do.

Aelin left the room without a word to anyone. She walked and walked and walked until she knew no one would find her.

And only then she cried.

Because despite having just lost another person, she was a nurse. And nurses never cried in front of their patients or patients’ families. Never in front of the soldiers.

But now she was alone. Truly and wholly alone.

And so Aelin cried.

And the pink world became gray again.

Tags:

@in-love-with-caramel-macchiato @jlinez @courtofjurdan @aelinfeyreeleven945tbln @ladywitchling @lexflame @sleeping-and-books @annejulianneh111 @perseusannabeth @linshryver @mu-si-ca-l @camilamartinezdunne @dank-queen7 @minaidss @starborn-faerie-queen @booksofthemoon @loveofbooksandwine @jesstargaryenqueen @bluejaberry @multifandommess-blog @yesdreamblog @abookishfreak @faerie-queen-fireheart @maastrash @morganofthewildfire @queen-of-glass @heirofthenightcourt

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mynumberfivethings · 4 years

Note

If its fine with you, can you write "big" five getting jealous (in an amount you are comfortable with) about the affection that they give "little" five? I feel like big five is just as affection starved as little five, only that he is less honest about it. I'm new to tumblr so I'm not sure if I'm doing this ask correctly, but if I'm not please tell me.

i love this idea so much it got a little out of hand.....

It's not that he's jealous. That would be ludicrous.

But...well.

It would just be nice, is all, if Five didn't feel like he had to be in his "little" headspace in order to be more than simply tolerated by his family.

It's something he's noticed lately, how much they dote on Five when he's a “little”, versus how much they try to avoid him otherwise; he hates that it even bothers him, really. He's well aware of how prickly and standoffish he can be, and he does understand the urge to stay away when it can be helped.

So it’s no wonder Five feels the urge so strongly, to give into his “little” headspace the moment he starts feeling ill-but in the end, the stubborn part of Five wins, and he remains “big”, despite wanting nothing more than to be comforted and taken care of.

He’s not even sure exactly what it is that’s wrong with him, only that there’s a sharp and increasing pain at the pit of his belly, and his head is pounding. It might be a stomach bug going around, he thinks miserably. He heard Vanya talking about a couple of her students missing violin practice the past week because of it.

He blinks into the kitchen for coffee and maybe a piece of toast to help calm his stomach, and Allison’s already at the counter where he appears. She jumps in surprise. “Jesus Five!” she holds a hand up to her chest. “Wear a bell!”

Five hums in acknowledgement and shoves past her to retrieve a mug from the cupboards. He has to stretch to reach them-damn his short stature-and it doesn’t help his stomach cramps at all. Five lets out an involuntary noise of discomfort and wraps an arm around his stomach.

He notices Allison eyeing him curiously from where she’s spreading jam on her toast but she doesn’t say anything, otherwise.

Luther and Vanya who are sat at the table eating eggs react in much the same manner. It shouldn’t sting, the way they brush off whatever might be wrong with him, but it does. If he were a “little” right now he knows they’d probably be all over him, asking what’s the matter and wondering what they could do to make it all better again.

He hates that he’s actually jealous of...well, of himself. For fucks sake.

Five sits down in his usual chair and sips at his coffee and flips the morning newspaper, irritated even further when Klaus and Ben join them at the table and Allison asks them if they want any toast since she’s making more anyway-but excludes Five from the query entirely, not even really looking at him.

A sharp pang against his side makes Five wince and bend inward slightly, crumpling the paper he’s holding at the edges. Again, there are looks drawn from everyone at the table but nobody bothers to ask if he’s alright. It’s as if they’re waiting for something more; something else to happen.

Five concludes sourly that they’re waiting for him to turn back into a “little”-he’s tempted to. But he doesn’t. If they don’t care about him when he’s “big” he doesn’t know that he wants their affections when he’s “little”...

Later in the day he throws up all the coffee he drank that morning and when he staggers out of the bathroom Diego’s standing out in the corridor, arms folded across his chest. “You really shouldn’t be day drinking-especially not with Klaus in the house,” he berates. “You know he just got sober again.”

Five wipes his mouth against his sleeve tiredly and mutters a faint, “Fuck off.” as he moves past his brother on shaky legs.

The moment he gets back into his room Five slams the door behind him and slides down it, wrapping both arms around himself and groaning in pain. He took a few over the counter painkillers earlier and even something for his stomach, but so far nothing has helped and the ache has only worsened with time.

There’s a knock at his door. “What?” he calls out, not moving to get up. His legs feel like jello.

“We were wondering if maybe you wanted to go pick out a Christmas tree with us?” Vanya asks.

Five sits up, surprised; they want him to come along?

“I figured you could go into your headspace and pick out some fun ornaments.” she continues, voice hopeful.

Oh. Of course they don’t want him. They want “little” Five to tag along and awe at the lights and decorations and-Five sighs. “Uh yeah, sure. Just um, just give me a minute. I’ll meet you guys downstairs.”

“Great! I’ll let everyone know.”

Five listens to her footsteps as she walks away and once he can’t hear them anymore he lets out a strangled little sob. God, this is so stupid, he thinks, wiping away the tears that come. He needs to get it together. He pushes back the urge to cry some more and throws it on the backburner for later (probably never).

He makes sure to get dressed first, before going into his headspace- “little” Five is awful at getting dressed by himself, his fingers can’t figure out the buttons on his shirts or the laces on his shoes.

It takes a minute to actually let himself be “little” after he’s ready. It always takes Five a minute to just let go.

By the time he blinks downstairs everyone else is ready to go, too, dressed in their coats and scarves and winter boots. “Hey honey, what’s wrong?” Allison leans down to greet him, her face full of concern. “You look upset.”

Five takes a step back, away from her, shoulders hunched. “It’s not-I couldn’t do it.” he clears his throat. “Still just me,” he makes a vague gesture. “I’ll just stay home, maybe when I see the tree you guys bring back or whatever it’ll be easier to go into my headspace.” he shrugs.

“Oh.” Allison takes a step back too, straightening up. “Well, I mean, Five, you can still come tree shopping with us.”

Five shakes his head. “It’s fine. I didn’t feel like going anyway.” he lies.

Luther gives him a look. “If you’re sure...”

Five watches them leave with an ache, like longing, tugging at his heart. It’s fine. He’s fine.

#tua #idk if this is a drabble anymore #i might write more for this and just post it on ao3 later lol #ask #answered #five hargreeves #hargreeves siblings #little!five

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secret-engima · 4 years

Text

Beneath a Bed of Stone (We’ll be Carried Home)

(I’m actually here and I’m actually doing this. Lemme just- *drops 7k words of angst fic into ya’ll’s laps* there. *gently hands fic into the raccoon hands of @rayearthdudette * *Also tagging @dogsanddigimon @a-world-in-grey @hamelin-born and @ean-sovukau for good measure*. ALSO ALSO before we really get rolling I binge wrote this to This Song but it was This Song that truly slayed me and insisted on a cameo at the end of the fic. Just if anyone’s curious.)

Once upon a time, there was a woman of Tenebrae who didn’t want to meet her soulmate. She didn’t want to be a Second, to be regulated to the stepmother of a child she had yet to meet, a child who would not be her own. So she ran from fate. But fate is not so easily denied, and when the world burned and the wilds closed in, she was the only guardian standing between death and children who were not her own.

And perhaps there was an instinct there not so easily denied, a knowing of the wilds and the dangers that hounded after little feet. Because the children under her care did not die, but were instead shepherded to the city of Insomnia, where Galahdian refugees waited with open arms, and a Captain swore loyalty in his heart, and a king who doted on the son that was born from a union without a soulmate.

So she came to Insomnia, and there she met a sweet little boy who had a destiny too large for his little shoulders, and there she met a soulmate who was the Father and who was endlessly kind. And that was her beginning, for every story has one.

But some stories, like that of the little Chosen King, do not have only one beginning, but also a second that starts long, long before the first. The story of Lucina of Many Braids is another such story, that had not just one beginning…

But also the beginning of an end.

That second beginning, which was really the first, took place long before Lucina of Many Braids found her soulmate through the innocent wanderings of a child, long before she made for the safety of Insomnia’s Wall with children following under her watchful eye, long before she fled the fires of Tenebrae’s burning. It started far, far before any of those things, before there was a Wall of magic and blood over Lucis, before there was even an Empire to wage war.

The first beginning of the story started with a simple peasant girl, an unwanted child born out of wedlock and kept only for property…

And a plague.

Kore’s life wasn’t an easy one, but it wasn’t a bad one either, and she didn’t really mind. It was a good life for a child who was born out of wedlock —worse, out of wedlock between two non-soulmates who were married to their soulmates already—. Father made sure she was never idle, but to be honest, Kore liked being a shepherdess. It was lonely to spend all day from dawn until sunset in the hills outside the village, but the wilds were beautiful and the chocobos never looked at her with scorn like some of the village did. She had plenty of time to herself, plenty of time to make up songs to sing to her little chocobo herd or weave flowers into her hair and imagine they were fairy crowns. When travelers passed through, sometimes they would sit down and talk to her a while, and through them she learned of the world outside the wilds and her little village.

From the traveling healers she learned of kindness and medicines, from the traveling minstrels she learned of heroes and kings and great monsters to be slain. From the traveling merchants she learned the value of her herd’s discarded feathers, because if she pierced the feather’s shaft just right and added some little beads of engraved wood, they made good jewelry to trade for things like extra food or even a blanket or two. From the wandering hunters she learned how to wield more than just the spear she used to fight off predators looking to kill her herd. One of them, impressed when she helped him fight off a voretooth pack at her young age, gave her a little bow and quiver of arrows and taught her how to shoot straight and true. Another laughed at her spear, calling it a pointy stick, and traded her a batch of her finest feathers in exchange for an old, larger spear with a rusty head that she spent hours upon hours restoring as best she could.

Sure, her father still treated her with a much rougher hand than his wedlock daughters or sons, and her father’s wife made no effort to hide how shamed she felt by Kore’s existence, but she only had to deal with them in the evenings so long as she got up earlier in the morning than the rest of them, and Eldest Brother was kind to her. He was the one who first let her toddle after him into the hills and taught her how to mind the chocobo herds in the first place.

She was around eight years old, just a few months away from nine, when she first heard of the plague. A traveling healer passing through with fearful eyes and dire stories of an illness no tonic seemed to cure, a plague that cursed men into monsters and turned their blood black. It was terrifying things to hear, and the healer must have repeated his story in the village, because the normally peaceful atmosphere gave way to tension. Travelers began to be treated warily, in case they were sick, and countless talismans of good health and protection dangled from the rafters of every hut. She didn’t put too much stock in it herself, though she did stop waving at travelers to stop and talk to her, instead lurking in the tree line to watch them pass in silence. Just in case.

“Just in case” didn’t save her. “Just in case” didn’t stop one of the young chocobos, just out of chickhood, from wandering off from the herd. “Just in case” didn’t help shorten her hours-long search for the wayward cockerel, or keep the sun from setting by the time she had found it and was leading it back to the pen where the rest of the herd already slept.

“Just in case” did nothing to stop the monster that surged out of the shadows to attack her before she reached the village.

It was like no beast she’d ever seen, small as a child younger than her, fast and screaming and angry. It was wearing clothes like a man, and a pointed little cap, but there was no friendliness or mind with which to bargain. It did not even respond to the waving of her torch or the strikes of her spear, like pain was just an afterthought to it. It slipped past her guard, knocking her over with a ball of something that glowed eerie pink-purple, then rushing in close to rip out her throat. It got her arm instead, sinking sharp teeth into her forearm while she screamed and ran her spear through its heart at long last. When it died, it withered, turning to mud and dust that dripped down her bleeding arm and onto the ground before disappearing entirely.

Kore ran all the way home, too frightened to even care that the cockerel had fled into the dark again.

Eldest Brother helped her treat it, and even her father and his wife were concerned over her tale. She had never been one to tell fanciful stories to anyone but her chocobos, and for all they did not like her, they did not doubt her honest. A daemon, they whispered, from the old tales. What could have attracted it?

“She’s a child born of unmatched souls out of wedlock,” muttered one of her elder half-sisters, “It could probably tell she was as unnatural as it was.” Eldest Brother snarled at her for it, but the words still made Kore flinch.

Eldest Brother smiled at her as he smeared tonic on the bite and bandaged it, “Don’t listen to them. Everyone knows daemons only go after the purest and brightest of souls. You must be very beautiful indeed, and strong too, to survive. You’ll be just fine.”

Kore smiled and hugged her Eldest Brother for his words, ignoring the twinge of her arm. It would go away. Just like the pain from her other animal-made scars.

Only it did not go away.

The wound scabbed over black and ugly, and no amount of reopening it and applying hot water and tonics would make it heal correctly. When it finally did close, it left an ugly purple-black scar of teeth-shapes on her arm. She wore a little bandage to hide it after the villagers started to talk, but even after it had scarred, it did not get better. Her arm hurt all the time, a low, aching throb that sometimes flared to searing agony when she least expected it. The scar’s ugly color began to spread up her veins and turn her skin white-pale and the more it grew, the worse her pain was.

She hid it from all but Eldest Brother, afraid of what her father and his wife would do if they found out. Eldest Brother smiled a shaky smile and discreetly asked any healer passing through, but none of their remedies or talismans or prayers helped slow the spread. Light began to hurt her eyes and her head and her skin, and she started to lose her appetite.

She lost her temper too. Sudden and uncontrolled, without even realizing it was at risk of being lost. One moment she was bringing in the herd, the next she was screaming and pounding her little fists into the face of one of her other half-brothers for his snide remarks (remarks she’d dealt with as long as she could remember, remarks that had long since lost their bite until now).

Eldest Brother dragged her off and she screamed at him too before bursting into tears, confused by her own wrath. Father took the cane to her rump to teach her better, but it didn’t help, her temper just got worse and more unpredictable.

Nightmares started, driving her screaming from her sleep.

It didn’t take long for the nightmares to follow her into the waking world. Making her lash out in terror at what she thought were monsters, but a blink later proved to be normal people. The village tied her up in a shed and outside she could hear them arguing over what to do with her. Over if they should kill her before the plague spread from her to other people.

She had the plague.

She had … the plague.

That daemon had given her the plague. The plague that travelers said cursed men into monsters.

Oh. Oh no.

She was turning into a daemon too.

A decision was made that day, but it was late, so the result would be carried out in the morning, and that night she couldn’t sleep. Her skin was burning and fear ran its claws constantly down her spine. Fear of dying, fear of herself and what she was turning into (and how had she not realized it, how had she not realized why her skin was paling and why the sun hurt and why her teeth sometimes felt sharp-).

Eldest Brother ducked into the shed and she warned him away with a sob, afraid any minute she would transform and strike him, any moment her uncontrollable rage might rise and burn him. He cut her ropes with a knife, heedless of her warnings. He smuggled her out past the night watch, gently pushed a sack of food, a knife, and her bow and arrows into her hands and told her to run. If she stayed then she would be dead by tomorrow afternoon, and even if she was sick with a plague, she was his baby sister and he couldn’t let that happen.

Terrified of death and herself and the sudden loss of her whole world, Kore ran away without looking back.

She never saw Eldest Brother again.

She ran into the wilds, away from the roads where people travelled, away from the hills her chocobos had lived on all their lives. She ran the other way, into the woods. Deeper and deeper until she couldn’t run anymore from exhaustion. As soon as her limbs stopped shaking, she got up and ran again. She ran for days, then when the sun became true torture, she started running at night.

The dark didn’t stop her from seeing where she was going anymore.

Her pack of food was left behind somewhere along the way. She was hungry, starving even, but not for anything in the bag. Even the little berry pastries Eldest Brother had slipped in —the ones that had always been her favorite— were tasteless and revolting.

The nightmares got worse, and they followed her. Sometimes they were her half-siblings, taunting her and spitting on her, sometimes it was her father’s wife, raising her ladle to strike and calling her a stain on the family. Sometimes it was the monster that had done this to her, but she knew it wasn’t really that monster, because instead of screaming, it spoke and when it spoke it was with Eldest Brother’s voice, twisting it into something spiteful and poisonous. It called her monster. Coward. Unnatural. She tried to scare it off, but none of her screaming or angry swipes of her knife would make it go away.

Her skin became white as snow. Her veins turned black as coal and her teeth became sharp enough to cut her lip if she wasn’t careful. Time slipped away. She couldn’t remember what day or night it was, or how long she’d been gone. Her legs itched-itched-itched and it got hard to put one foot in front of the other when really they just wanted to move together as one, often leaving her sprawled on the ground, caught for hours-years-ages between nightmarish rage and exhausted reality. Eventually she stopped being able to tell the difference of even that.

Everything hurt. She was hungry-hungry-hungry-angry-hungry-where-was-food-where-was-somethingtohurt-.

There. Road.

She was in the branches of the trees, burning light was setting-setting-almost-gone-safe-enough and below was dirt and stone and food.

Food was sitting on the feathery thing that kwehed-kwehed-kwehed. Feathery thing could sense her, it was afraid yes-yes-good-good. Better-better that Food was still unaware, patting feathers and making noise-noise-noise that grated at her ears and made her angry-angry-hungry-angry. She breathed and smelled blood. Fresh blood. Pumping-pumping-pumping away under thin skin and she wanted it. She wanted to bite it she wanted to eat it she wanted to hurt it.

She lunged out of the trees and down-down-down. Screamed as she missed and tumbled off the hindquarters of the screaming feathery thing because her legs were wrong and half fused into the tail they should-have-been-would-be-too-slowly. The food fell off the feathery thing too and she lunged for it, mouth open for biting and blood and hurting-.

Impact. Pain. Tumbling end over end until she hit a tree and she screamed in agony and fury because feathery thing had kicked her, feathery thing had kicked her away from her food. She would kill it too she would rip it apart and smear it’s insides on the dirt as it screamed she would-.

Food came closer, long stick-staff-stick in frail little bitable fingers, making more noise and she lashed out at it, struggling to get back up when her legs wouldn’t move right and her middle throbbed from the kick and her bones were still scraping back together. Food pushed her down with the stick and she howled in fury at being weaker than food, held down as it flaunted itself so close she could smell its blood just out of her reach. The noises took on a different note and she didn’t care because she hated it, she wanted it dead she wanted it to die.

The stick pulled away, then struck before she could recover. The crack of wood against her head was sharp and loud, filled with power that sticks shouldn’t have and as the blackness swallowed her up and the twisted nightmares of the things-she-didn’t-remember laughed at her, she heard Food made another soft noise.

“Oh little one, you’ll be alright now. Let me help your suffering…”

...

Kore woke up with a sluggish blink, then squinted at the sunlight poking her eyelids. Had she … been doing something? Where … where was she? If the sun was already up, then who was taking care of the … herd…

Memory crashed back, blurry and disjointed and terrifying and she sat up with a gasp. Hands caught her, warm and much larger than her boney shoulders, “Easy there, you’re going to be shaky for a while. But you’re alright now.”

Kore flinched away from the touch, because she was sick, she was sick and going to turn into a monster at any moment and she might hurt this person if she stayed. The hands holding her steady didn’t falter, not even when she stumblingly told him she had the plague. Instead, they squeezed her shoulders in comfort, “You’re alright now child. You’re not sick anymore.”

Kore stopped. There was a surety in those words, a faith she couldn’t deny. She blinked and really looked at the man holding her still. He smiled at her, blue eyes bright and kind, his red-violet hair a flyaway mess that glowed in the sun. He was dressed in simple healing robes, and there was a healer’s staff nearby. He looked tired, like he had spent the whole night watching over something (someone. Her?). She licked her lips, “You … healed me?”

The man nodded and sat back, finally letting go of her shoulders, “I did. I found you just in time. Or,” he laughed softly, “you found me. But it is the same in the end. See for yourself.” He gestured gently at her arms. She looked, and a moment later she started crying, because her arms were pale but not deathly white, and there were no purple-black veins winding up her skin. The bite that had started all her troubles was a faded, nearly gone scar the same color as all her other ones, and when she reached for nightmares and rage all she found was exhaustion and relief.

“You healed me,” she whispered hoarsely, voice cracked from disuse and memories still foggy past that night she ran away from the village on Eldest Brother’s order, “You saved me.”

“It was my pleasure and honor-, oh.” The healer hesitated, then his hands came to rest on her back as she clung to him and sobbed from relief, “It’s alright, child. It’s alright now.” He held her and soothed her until she had stopped crying, then he fed her a thin, easy soup. When she was settled, he asked softly, “Do you live nearby? In the next village perhaps? I can take you there.”

Kore shook her head. These woods were a stranger to her, and even if she knew where she was … she couldn’t go back. The village had decided to kill her. What if she went back and they killed her anyway out of fear she wasn’t really cured? She couldn’t go back. She didn’t want to go back. “I don’t have a family,” she whispered, “Eldest Brother was- he was the only one-, he told me to run. So I did.”

The healer looked at her with sorrow in his eyes, “I’m so sorry. I … I can still take you to the next village, I am known there, I can ask them to take you in-.”

She shook her head, and an impulsive desperation filled her bones, “Take me with you.” She looked up, desperate and pleading, “Take me with you, please! You saved me, I owe you a debt-.”

He wavered, “I really don’t think-,”

“Please,” she whispered, “I don’t have anyone else. Or anywhere else. I want to stay with you.”

The silence settled for so long she started crying again, sure he would say no. Then he sighed and rested a hand on her head, “If you are going to travel with me, Little One, then I need a name to call you by.”

She sobbed in relief and leaned into his touch, “Kore.”

“Well, Kore,” he murmured as he stroked her ratty hair, “my name is Ardyn, and you may travel with me as long as you like.”

...

Ardyn was not just any healer, he was the eldest son of House Caelum. A healer blessed by the Astrals with the ability to take away the plague people called the Scourge. He was kind, and skilled, and stubborn, and Kore traveled with him without hesitation. He showed her how to make tonics, and how to tell when someone was just starting to be sick with the Scourge, and she watched in wonder as he cured them. Cured anyone he could find no matter their state of mind or status. He was endlessly kind and loving to his people, and he doted on Kore in a way only Eldest Brother ever had. She learned at his side, and though she couldn’t heal anyone like he could, she learned to help in other ways. Like comforting and distracting the children with stories and songs and gentle touches while Ardyn healed whatever ill relative was tied down inside the hut this time. She held babies so mothers could embrace their spouse and cry for joy, and she comforted little ones until the maddened screaming softened to gasps of relief and awareness. When they were done, Ardyn would smile at her, proud and kind and pleased, and they would move on, leaving stories in their wake of the Sage and his little shadow, and to his people, Ardyn was unshakeable. A rock for all their hopes when the Astrals seemed to have turned a deaf ear.

But Ardyn, she knew, was also clumsy, and absentminded with himself, and he disliked fighting to the point of being a bit of a pushover, and Kore had been a shepherdess of silly chocobos for too long to ignore his need for a protector. She begged him for a spear, her own weapons long lost, and when he looked at her in confusion, she told him that he had saved her life, so now she would protect his. Even from his own stupidity. He laughed and ruffled her hair, told her that he would be in dire straits indeed if he needed a tiny ten year old girl to protect him, but if that was truly her wish, then he would train her to be the finest Shield that House Caelum had ever seen.

And he did. He gave her a spear from his armiger, and then later gave her access to his magic itself, settling it in her soul, setting light to her blood with power that let her call her spear or bow and arrows from thin air, that let her wield the elements as easily as the fairies from the stories. She took her self-appointed role seriously, guarding his back from wild animals, or bandits, or Scourge victims too far gone to save —the ones already turned fully into monsters, the ones that could not be held down long enough to cure—, making him sit and eat when he forgot, making him rest before he could fall over from his driving need to help his people. Eventually, when she was thirteen, he wandered back to the capital, and there she met his younger brother Somnus and Somnus’s Shield, Gilgamesh.

Somnus’s eyes were very cold toward them both, scoffing at Ardyn’s mercy and at the little brown haired, brown eyed peasant girl standing at his side with a spear and skin bare of any soulmark despite her age —she didn’t know if being so close to turning into a daemon had barred her from getting a soulmate, Ardyn just insisted that some people did not have soulmates and that it was just as natural as having one, or that perhaps her soulmate was just too young for a mark to form yet—. Gilgamesh laughed at her outright, calling her small and weak, less than half the height of her own spear and surely too tiny to lift it. Let alone use it in battle.

He stopped laughing when she knocked him onto his back and shoved her spearpoint under his chin during a spar, too angry and determined to feel her own split lip and sprained ankle and bloody side until later when Ardyn tutted worriedly over her.

Somnus and Ardyn often fought over what to do about the Scourge. Somnus was in favor of killing them, saying there was no choice but to contain and eradicate the scourge with fire. Ardyn said there must be mercy, there was a cure and it should be found and until it was, he would be that cure. Neither would budge, and the topic made Kore’s skin crawl —she would have been one of those slain and burned, she could have been one of those Somnus called mindless monsters—. Ardyn’s trips to the capital were already few, and they got fewer as the years went on and the rift between brothers got larger.

As Ardyn got sicker.

Kore was horrified when she learned the price of Ardyn’s power, even if she didn’t stop him, didn’t even suggest it. She had been one of those victims, and she knew how desperately people needed the hope of a cure. She also knew Ardyn wouldn’t stop even if she did beg him to. Instead, she got Ardyn a cloak with long sleeves to help him with the sun, and when they visited his lover Aera, Kore kept watch from afar and prayed for healing while his Oracle soulmate tended to Ardyn in body and spirit.

She was eighteen when everything fell apart. Fast and wiry and strong, small but mighty and protective of her Healer King, her Sage. They had been on the run from Somnus’s soldiers for months by then, and Ardyn’s sickness was getting worse —so much worse. Thousands he had cured, the sickness of thousands he carried, and yet there was always more to find and it hurt her heart to see him suffer, it hurt her knees to spend all night praying for a different cure to be found so he would be spared—. Then the soldiers came and instead of violence, they knelt and declared Ardyn king. The Astrals had finally decided on who was to sit upon the throne, and they had chosen Ardyn.

As well they should, Kore scoffed in Ardyn’s amused ear, Somnus certainly wasn’t the one working himself to the bone to fix this mess.

Ardyn chuckled tiredly, but there was a darkness in his eyes. He held her hands and asked her to do something for him. He’d heard rumors from one of the larger towns that the Scourge was appearing there, and he had planned to go there next. He needed her to go check, so that after the coronation he would know whether or not he had to go straight there or if there would be time to consult the Astrals on creating a larger scale cure.

He had sent Kore to scout ahead before, and she thought nothing of agreeing to this. She promised to be there in time for the coronation, to stand at his side as his Shield —as his adopted daughter, claimed in secret by rites long held secret by the scions of House Caelum—.

But there were bandits on the road home, and during a fight on her way to the capital, she sprained her ankle, drastically slowing her pace.

She did not make it to the coronation.

She was too late to save Ardyn and his soulmate from Somnus’s treachery.

The common folk warned her on the city outskirts, turned her aside with mixed stories. Ardyn had become daemon, said some, the Sage was betrayed, cried others. All of them said the same thing. Both Ardyn and Aera were dead, and Ardyn’s corpse was locked away on Angelgard.

Kore had thought she’d forgotten what fury felt like since being cured of the Scourge, but now she felt it, hot and thick, burning in her bones and carving tear tracks down her face as she fled. She wanted to kill Somnus and his traitor Shield, but they were surrounded by ignorant nobles and soldiers who didn’t know the viper they guarded and she was only one.

Her only hope was her magic. She still had it, still had red crystals that came to her call, and she knew that so long as they remained, Ardyn lived. Ardyn lived, though Somnus claimed him dead, and she had to find him.

She went to the shores overlooking Angelgard, she stole a boat and sailed for it only to be turned back by the brutal storm winds. She tried again, and again, and again but was turned aside each time with unnatural accuracy —like the Astrals themselves barred her way even though she could feel Ardyn, feel him on the island from this close, feel his pain and his grief— until her ship was smashed against the rocks and she screamed her rage at the sky. With a broken heart and bitter words, she turned away from Angelgard. She took to wandering the lands, a sellsword and a healer, a mercenary and a killer of the men Somnus sent to round up entire villages of people for the illness of just one.

Gilgamesh tried to hunt her down, but she was small and fast and the woods at night had stopped being scary long ago. He never found her, but if she had ever seen him alone and without his army, she would have let him. She would have killed him. Burned him alive with the magic in her veins that proved Ardyn —her Healer King, the true king, her father of the heart— was still alive.

She was twenty-seven when Somnus’s men caught her and dragged her to him in chains. She looked into the face of a kinslayer, a brother killer, a pretender and saw a broken man looking back. “You still have his magic.” Somnus said after dismissing everyone, even his seething Shield, from the room. Kore snarled at him, low and feral like the daemon she had once almost been. Somnus stared at her, and she watched in a mix of confusion and vindication as he sagged onto his stolen throne like a man tired of life, “I was wrong.”

She stopped snarling, more out of surprise than anything else. He laughed and the sound was bitter, filled with a self-loathing that matched her own hate for him, “The Astrals showed me what I had done after I put on the crown. I have doomed generations. Worse, I have doomed my own brother to an existence of torment until the new Chosen King is born.”

She breathed in hate, exhaled poison, “You murdered the Oracle. You imprisoned your own brother all for a throne that wasn’t yours. What did you expect.”

Somnus rubbed a hand over his face, and when she demanded why he hadn’t just let Ardyn free, Somnus told her he couldn’t. He had sent ships there to retrieve him, but the way was barred by storms, and the entrance to his cell was walled up with thick stone. Kore was horrified, because surely her king would have a slow, starving death, then grew more horrified when Somnus told her that Ardyn couldn’t die. Not by any mortal means. Not until the new Chosen King was born and set him free.

Unless.

“You traveled with him most,” Somnus told her as he knelt before her, a man in chains of prophecy and sin where hers were iron, “you saw his methods and his magic. Help me find another cure. Help me bring him back.”

She stilled. She stared.

In the end, there was no choice for her but one.

“I hate you,” she hissed, “and I always will. When Ardyn is free and well, I will kill you for what you’ve done to him.”

A twist of his wrist and her chains dissolved into blue magic, “And I will let you do just that. After we find a cure.”

“After,” she agreed and could already imagine his blood running down her spear.

And so the Pretender King and the Shield-Daughter searched, and invented, and searched more. A hundred medicines they created, both magical and mundane, a thousand maladies they learned to turn aside, even to the point of reviving someone from a newly dead state —the Phoenix Down, named after the stories, not able to save everyone, only those who had died mere seconds before, yet still unable to cure the Scourge—. Gilgamesh watched them and seethed. He did not trust her, he blamed her for Somnus’s guilt and nightmares and regret, she bared her teeth at him and hoped he suffered for his role in Ardyn’s fate as well.

Somnus gained a wife, and then two healthy, boisterous sons, and Kore watched him with sharp eyes as he told them obliquely of his sins in the form of a fairy tale and a monster he called Adagium. “Tell them the naked truth.” She hissed in the shadows of his study.

“When Ardyn returns, all will know the naked truth.” Somnus promised. Then he paused and whispered with a voice that showed the age beginning to silver his hair, “Spare them when I am gone. They do not deserve to pay for my sins.”

“I will spare them.” she promised and meant it. Because his children were innocent of their father’s sins, and Ardyn would never have let her do otherwise. Even if the eldest son listened too much to Gilgamesh and watched her with wary, scornful eyes.

Somnus was hailed as king. As wise. They named him the Mystic and built statues in honor of his magical and medicinal prowess, and in the dark of night, Kore and Somnus drank bitter wine in a sarcastic toast to human folly and forgetfulness.

When he died, she was forty years old and there was still no cure.

There would never be a cure and both of them knew it. They had known for years, yet never stopped looking.

She stood at his bedside as he died, in the place where his wife would have stood had she not passed three years prior. As his last breaths shuddered into sobs that wracked his old frame, Kore didn’t blink. Didn’t speak.

“Find him,” Somnus ordered, though in truth it was a plea, “Set him free.”

“I will.” She replied, “No matter what it takes, I will be there when he is cured, I will welcome him back into the sunlight that you took away.”

“Tell him,” Somnus whispered, too tired to speak louder, “that I am so, so sorry and that … I … love…” He exhaled.

He didn’t breathe again.

“I will,” she promised quietly, because even though she hated him, he was still Ardyn’s brother, and even at their lowest point, Ardyn had loved him. Then she turned and left out the window. Gilgamesh would come in from training with the guards hours later to find his king had passed away without him, seemingly without any witnesses, without any company or comfort.

The world would remember that Somnus died alone.

They would never know that his brother’s Shield, the woman who hated him with every fiber of her being, had still possessed enough kindness in her soul —kindness taught and put there by Ardyn, her king, her adoptive father— to hold his hand until he died.

...

Kore roamed for three more years, searching for a cure she knew would never be found. Gilgamesh hunted for her, as did the eldest son who blamed her for his father’s “weakness” in his later years. But Kore was old herself, and she didn’t trust her body, scarred and battle worn as it had become, to last much longer anyway. With the last of her coin, she purchased the sturdiest little ship she could afford, and one more time, she sailed for Angelgard’s shores.

The storm lashed her, tore at the sails and chewed on the keel, it clawed at her and screamed for her to turn back, and into the wind she screamed right back. This time there was no turning back, this time she would make it to Angelgard’s shore or die in the attempt. The mast shattered, the hull broke. She plunged into the frothing, roaring water and swam.

It was late when she dragged herself onto the grey, lifeless shores of the holy island. Or possibly early. She couldn’t tell. There was blood running down into her eyes, and she could no longer feel one of her legs. Her lungs burned with each breath, and copper coated her throat and turned the water she vomited out to red. She had one of the potions Somnus had created with her help years ago, but when she took it, all that stopped was the bleeding on her head, and some feeling returned to her leg. Well. She had said she would reach the shore or die in the attempt. Now here she was. She staggered to her feet and followed the winding path through the black rocks as the rain stopped and the storm cleared. When her leg gave out again and would no longer work, she crawled on her hands and knee. When her other leg gave out and her head swam from copper-tasting air, she dragged herself with her hands.

She reached the prison. The wall of stone was just as thick and sturdy as Somnus had despairingly described. His masons had done their jobs very well.

She hauled herself upright using the lines in the stone, and the armiger in her soul sputtered from her pain as she dragged out her spear and mindlessly dug at the masonry with the head. I’m here, she tried to shout but had no energy to, I’m here, father. Dad. The spear broke off in her hand, she pounded at it with her fist until her grip grew too weak and she slid bonelessly down to the ground. Rolling over to sit with her back against the stone, she sighed and spat out a wad of blood. “I’m sorry,” she whispered hoarsely, “I’m sorry I can’t get you out. But I’m … here. I’m right here.” She blinked back tears at the sunrise creeping over the mainland mountains, “I’m staying right here.”

She didn’t know if he could hear her. If he could sense her through the stone. She couldn’t reach out with magic like he could to her, and she didn’t know if in his pain and sickness and darkness he could sense how close she was. She didn’t know. But she could pretend.

She closed her eyes against the sunrise, felt it warm her ocean-chilled skin. She could pretend. And if he really could hear her … she could sing.

Ardyn- Dad- had always loved her singing. He’d loved the ditties she made up as a child shepherdess on the lonely hills. He loved the ones she’d made up as they travelled and saw so many things. There was one that had always been his favorite, they’d sung it together many times on the road, and it had never sounded sweeter than when they had taught it to Aera and sung it together in a three way chorus. The only voice left now of that group was hers, and her voice was hoarse from the blood in her throat and the struggle to get here, but … she could pretend. She could still sing.

“Stay … in my shelter,”

“Beneath … a bed of stone.”

“Though tides pull me under,”

“I’ll be carried … carried home.”

Her breath rattled, she spat out another copper clump. With a shaking hand, she pressed her palm against the unmoving stone door, squinted at the sunrise like if she concentrated hard enough, he would be able to see the sunlight through her eyes.

“Grey shorelines … break the silence,”

“With songs … of rivers flow,”

“And I … see you … cross the ocean…”

“But I … will never go, I will … never … go…”

Her hand slipped to the ground.

The sun shone soft and warm across Angelgard’s grey and black stone as the Shield-Daughter of the Sage stopped breathing, her back still pressed against the cell door that held her father and king.

And so the first beginning, was also the first end. But not the only one. Because souls are stubborn, stubborn things, and she had never gotten anywhere in life by giving up. Because she had made a promise, and promises were things to be kept. One way or another.

“No matter what it takes, I will be there when he is cured, I will welcome him back into the sunlight that you took away.”

In the darkness between life and death, the soul called Kore walked. She walked and walked until eventually she reached the border. She reached for it, and she was found. “Mortal. Turn back. Your time has ended.”

“I can’t. I have promises to keep.”

“Those are for naught. The one you have sworn to is beyond your reach. Turn back, Shield of the Accursed.”

“The Sage. His name was Ardyn and he was your chosen. He was my father.”

“Once, yes. But he has fallen into darkness. He is now Accursed, and his end will usher in the end of the Starscourge. Go back to your rest, Mortal.”

A silence that was heavy, resentful and stubborn.

“Well? Do you dare disobey me?”

“I’m sorry, Great Draconian.”

“Return to your rest, Mortal, and all will be-.”

“But I didn’t get this far by lying down and letting go.”

“Wait-! Cease!”

Great claws tore her as she ran by, peeling away the name of Kore, the memories of things long lost. Stripped of purpose save the need to run and fulfill a promise now taken away, she kept running, kept moving even as the pounding of great wings drew ever closer.

Ice and cold. It curled around her like the breath of winter and in it there was judgement and amusement, “You should turn back, Mortal. You have displeased him.”

“I can’t. I promised.”

“And this promise means that much to you?”

“Yes.”

Frost caressed her shoulders in the shape of slender hands, “You should have been one of Ramuh’s children. Stubborn as you are. The Prophecy must be fulfilled and the darkness banished … but…” Ice firmed beneath her feet, snow crunching along the invisible path, “The magic that governs this world is older than the Dragon of Steel or any of us, and there is no interfering in those strong enough to Walk Twice.”

“He took my memories.”

“For a time. They will return. Your soul is still marked, and that bond is not something so easily unmade. You are a strange soul. Oh,” A low laugh that sounded like the first snowfall of winter, “it would seem you more stubborn than even you realize. There are very few that Walk Twice, and even fewer content to wait until their second journey to find their other half.” Fairy lights, refractions of starlight on snow lighting a path through the void, “Very well, little Saepio. Continue onward and keep your promises. May you find the end of your journey worth the path to get there.” Hands of ice and blizzards pushed her on and she stumbled through the fairy lights, slipped and fell-.

In a small town in the land of Tenebrae, a child wailed her first breaths to the sky. Her parents laughed for joy, held her close and named her Lucina.

The child fell asleep, and a year or so from then, the black smudges on her arm would solidify into the words, “Thank you for looking after my son. But why did you not tell anyone he was here?”

Inside her soul where scars from dragon claws lingered and memories sank too deep to touch, red magic waited. For years and years, until Lucina was adult, and married, and strong. Until the Marilith loomed, and she pulled her son into her arms and hunched her back over him and reached for power with one thought and one thought alone.

I am a Shield, and I will protect you.

And magic like blood and promises bloomed.

#Secret Engima Rambles #Melodies and Manuscripts #Didn't Know He Was the Prince verse #long post #tw: body horror #but it's minor #it's the starscourge what do you expect #YOU ALL WANTED TO KNOW HOW SHE HAD ARDYN'S MAGIC #WELL NOW YOU KNOW #>:D

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izartn · 4 years

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On the The Host romance:

A lil note: @into-september as you’re reading Twilight, and your last post made me realise this, I thought it better to write my own post and tag you! Hope you don’t mind.

The Host is the first novel of an “adult” science fiction trilogy by Stephanie Meyer which never was finished. Published in 2008, the same year as Breaking Dawn, I guess she preferred gaining the benefits of her vampire saga to keep on writing.

For shame, because for me, The Host is much better at establishing worldbuilding, a concept and its protagonists + a romance (not that there isn’t anything cuestionable in it, but to my taste it’s better done than in Twilight). Here is the first paragraph of The Host wikipedia’s section on plot:

A species of parasitic aliens called "Souls" have invaded Earth, deeming the humans too violent to deserve the planet. When a Soul is implanted into a host body, the consciousness of the original owner is erased, leaving their memories and knowledge.

Wanderer, a Soul, is placed into the body of Melanie Stryder. However, Melanie's consciousness is still alive and begins to communicate with Wanderer mentally. Wanderer's assigned "Seeker" suggests that she could be placed into Melanie to retrieve the memories before disposing of the defective body, but Wanderer makes several attempts to deny her Seeker's wishes. As Wanderer starts to uncover some of Melanie's memories of her younger brother Jamie Stryder and her boyfriend Jared Howe, Melanie gets her to follow a series of landmarks throughout the Arizona desert to find her Uncle Jeb, hoping that Jared and Jamie are with him. By doing so, she would be denying the Seeker Melanie's memories and the humans they would lead her to.

Just. Read that and have the face to tell me it doesn’t sound more interesting than Twilight I dare you. Of course the books are different genres, although the focus is in the... more sentimental part in both. It’s just that The Host story is more unusual and the worldbuilding dreamy and subtly horrific.

Well I said I was gonna talk about the romance right? Spoilers incoming!

A bit of more context is necessary; in The Host, Melanie, the human Wanda (nickname of Wanderer) is possessing, is in love with the boyfriend mentioned in the sinopsis, Jared. Wanda being in the body of Melanie, feels things for him. We can divine for context this is sexual attraction plus having access to some of Melanie’s memories and noticing Jared is pretty ok as humans not possessed are left on Earth.

Melanie reaction to this oscillates between “don’t you dare touch my boyfriend alien” and “well of course you fell for him, he’s pretty awesome” to “if I can’t it’s ok if you want to” when she’s feeling herself disappear at one point. Which is bullshit bc her conscience comes back when Wanda goes to tell Jared to kiss her bc she’s feeling Melanie disappear and when he gets near Wanda, Melanie usually mounts a whole circus in her head. It works.

Well that’s one part of the romance. The other is Ian, a human in the settlement who is pretty level-headed and who starts talking to Wanda, as her guard first and then as her friend. No previous contact with Melanie, so he mets Wanda in Melanie’s body and isn’t excessively hostile or sad. Bc you know, an alien is in the body of you “niece, girlfriend, sister, etc” isn’t really conductive to good first impressions although that alien has come bearing the news that said person is still alive somewhere in their brain.

(Also the whole human group is so hilariously based on those paranoid about the government/end-of-days usa people... And it works! LMAO) (The social dynamics are interesting in this book ok? basic but ingenious)

So Wanda falls slowly without noticing for Ian; Ian falls first and confesses and everything. I think their first kiss was a bit sketchy? But generally they good.

The interesting thing is this: Melanie and so her body, is in love and attracted to Jared. Wanda, inhabiting Melanie’s body, starts realising that although Jared is pretty ok and all that, he’s really Melanie’s love; she doesn’t exactly like his more violent tendencies.

(Really he’s more apocalypse survivor hardcore, but he really was a dick to her at the start, bc alien possessing girlfriend and all. Also gave her mixed signals, etc. Very american male which, eh. Melanie is also very apocalypse survivor hardcore; the two mesh well bc of that lmao)

Well, as Stephanie Meyer is SM, and she has some weird ideas about romance the thing is, Wanda doesn’t feel sexually attracted to Ian. Bc all the hormones in her body are signaling only Jared. But she really is romantically attracted to Ian, and loves him. When they kiss, she likes it, but it’s not super passionate nor does it brings the same high that the few occasions Jared kissed her. To Ian’s credit he doesn’t really get it at the start, but then is immediately acepting of Wanda’s boundaries. I think he pushes a bit? But this SM so. Sigh. (I like to think in the hands of another author he wouldn’t do the sterotypical male thing but yah)

What I mean is that Stephanie Meyer, without intention, created an ace romance. Sure, it bc really weird biological alien science, but if you take it to mean Melanie is demi and only feels attracted to Jared, that makes her body reactions logical when Wanda also falls in love. She isn’t occupying the body wholly; there’s the host original presence; so she falls romantically but not physically. If I’m saying great idiotices please correct me under; I don’t have any background on sexology or biology.

Sadly, Wanda is also super worried of not being able of correctly loving Ian, so. Negation of ace identity in one, two..., warning to folks sensible to it.

And well, she ruins it when at the end when Wanda is put outside Melanie´s body into one who doesn’t have a human conscience. She explained the others how to take “souls” out of humans without killing any part, and how to take the “souls” to the space ships where they’ll be transported to other worlds. But sometimes the humans have passed so much time suppressed, or have been taken so young, that there isn’t a conscience-anyone to recover.

The Host is very weird, bc this is a race of genocidal colonist aliens who are weird beautiful little ribbons of silver in their original form, who after abandoning their original world by possessing another race who invaded them realised they could live whatever lives they wanted possessing people without dying and just. Went for it. They are a supposedly all peace loving gents, who cured all poverty and illness by their superior technology and like, very comunist-anarchist society. Who abhor violence, but don’t see eliminating other people identity as violence.

They are weird and amazing; when they realise having and raising children as humans costs so much, they start acting as parents to those humans without going to have a soul implanted on their kid, bc they love them as they are. A mess of contradictions, and Wanda is so interesting bc of this.

Sadly, SM acted again, and made Wanda one of the rare females able of auto-destroying to create more fragments of herself (aka other souls). The rest of souls don’t have any gender and chose bodies as whatever sex they like most. Guess Wanda being an alien was fine, but not having an explicit gender was too much, lol. To be fair, she says she prefers female bodies, but doesn’t really mind. Good on Wanda.

There’s a secondary romance too; the search of Ian’s brother, Kyle (who almost kills Wanda once) for his abducted girlfriend, Jodie. Results the soul inside her body, Sunny has all of Jodie’s memories of Kyle and is like, already in love with him. She lets herself be abducted, and when they explain they’re gonna get her out and why, is like, cries and begs, but accepts it bc is Jodie who Kyle loves. She hasn’t ever heard her like Wanda did Melanie, though, so when like a week or two pass and Jodie’s conscience remains dead Kyle consents (bc the other relatives of Jodie are soulified) to bring back Sunny. Wow. What a clusterfuck. They don’t date but there’s this weird vibe where Kyle has stopped hating all souls after Wanda’s mess and his encounter with Sunny, and Sunny herself is like; yay! I can live with humans and Kyle and I’ll keep trying to awake Jodie. And the two of them are described as inseparable?

It’s more intriguing than Twilight; I wished there were more fics interested in exploring cool canon divergences and all. I didn’t dive in the problematiqueTM aspects of the book but come on, this is SM and you have reading comprehension. I just wanted to talk about how interesting is the intersection of sexuality in romance in Wanda’s case >-< Still better than Twilight but I guess the aesthetic of vamps surpases The Host. Which. Valid ok? Each to their own.

#the host #stephanie meyer #wanderer #melanie strider #ian o'shea #jared howe #kyle o'shea #sunlight passing through the ice #or sunny for friends #meta #the host meta

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kilesplaysthings · 4 years

Text

Hondje’s Secret

Happy October! While brainstorming a fic for spiratualist-nerd!Arthur, I was browsing the ikevam tag and saw lots of love for Theo since his route is coming out. I then had the funniest idea for a fic with him which is in the halloween spirit! combine that with a film I watched today and here we are. so this is all y’all’s fault lol ;) I hope he’s not too ooc since I don’t know his character too well :D

There was something wrong with Hondje. Theo could sense it the moment Sebastian came in with the breakfast tray instead of Ana. She had been living with the horde of vampires for a good month now and they had all gotten used to seeing her every morning pushing the breakfast cart into the dining room, wearing that ridiculous smile that should have been illegal first thing in the morning.

It seems he wasn’t the only one to notice something amiss, as he heard his beloved brother Vincent worriedly ask after her, “Is Ana all right?”

Sebastian hesitated in pouring the coffee and glanced towards Comte St. Germain, who lowered his newspaper at the question. It was almost, Theo noticed, as if Sebastian was seeking the answer from the head of the mansion instead of answering himself. Most suspicious…

“She told us she was unwell, so we thought it necessary to excuse her this morning. She did say, however, that she will be better by this afternoon so there’s no need for alarm,” he answered.

Vincent looked relieved as did many of the others seated at the table.

“I wonder if it’s ‘that time of the month’ for her?” Arthur guessed. He had that annoying self-satisfied smirk on his face he usually had when he knew – or thought he knew – he had guessed something about a woman correctly. “I wouldn’t be surprised if that was it, the poor little bird.”

“’That time of the month’?” Isaac queried, brow furrowed in confusion. “Does something happen to Ana every month?”

“Oh yes. It’s something most every lady goes through, and it can be quite irritating for them, to say the least. Why, as I recall, one time—”

“Oh do shut up,” Mozart muttered, buttering his toast rather loudly. “We don’t need that kind of conversation at breakfast.”

“Mozart is right,” the Comte spoke up. “I wouldn’t want to pry in Ana’s affairs, whatever they may be, Arthur.” He gave the writer a pointed stare. It made Theo smirk.

Arthur Conan Doyle merely chuckled and raised in hands up in surrender. “All right, all right. I’ll stop there. In all seriousness, though, I do hope she isn’t very ill. Perhaps I should go cheer her up later?” He beamed a rather toothy grin.

“No need. I’ve made sure Ana is comfortable,” Sebastian said quickly. He continued to pour out coffee.

“I’m glad. It would be sad not seeing her at breakfast anymore,” Vincent spoke up sadly, moving every heart that was in the room.

Theo patted his shoulder. “I’m sure she’ll be all right, Broer,” he said soothingly. Of course, they were all worried, even those like Mozart and Isaac – while not voicing their concerns – let it show on their faces.

Let it not be said that Theo wasn’t worried as well, but he figured if Sebastian and the Comte were looking after her, she was in good hands. There wasn’t much else for him to do besides hope she would feel better and continue his day as planned.

After breakfast, once he had his things ready and another painting by his brother packed for travel, he prepared to set out to the city for another art dealership. Vincent was a genius as usual, and he had no doubt that this new piece would sell quickly. He smiled down at King, his retriever who liked to follow him where ever he went. It was nice having a cute companion traveling with him into the city and he knew the dog enjoyed the long walks and treats that would be sure to follow once the painting was sold.

As the two of them approached the foyer of the mansion, King suddenly let out an excited yip and bounded for the front parlor.

“King! You foolish mutt!” He muttered irritably. He set his things down before going to retrieve his dog. Opening the door, he found the dog happily nuzzling none other than Ana, who was petting him amidst her daily routine of dusting.

“Oi! Hondje!” He called out, trying to ignore the relief that he felt at seeing her up and about.

She glanced up at him and offered a somewhat wan smile.

“Hey there, Theo.”

He frowned a little as he walked up to her. Something seemed… off.

“Heard you were under the weather this morning. You feeling any better?”

“Oh. I’m fine,” she answered quietly. Her hands massaged the dog’s floppy ears. “It’s nothing to worry about.”

He narrowed his eyes and studied her for a moment. For someone who said they were fine, she didn’t look it. Her skin was pale and clammy. Her hair was a bit disheveled and she looked tired.

“Well, don’t push yourself too much,” he finally said. “No one would want you collapsing or anything.”

Her smile was now more like how she usually smiled at him. She nodded. “I won’t. Thank you for your concern,” she said warmly.

“Concern.” He scoffed. “You really are a naïve pup, aren’t you?”

Now she was frowning. “I wish you would stop calling me that. Do you know how obnoxious it is?” She muttered angrily, quickly standing up and walking back towards the fireplace, away from him.

“I need to get back to cleaning. Good luck with work today,” she continued shortly, implying that her talk with him was over.

That time of the month. Weren’t a lot of women irritable during that time? Theo wondered. He shook his head, trying not to let Arthur’s suppositions influence him.

“Well, if you’re able to bark at me like that, it seems you’re feeling better. That’s good.” He called for King to follow him and turned to leave. “See you later, Hondje.”

He didn’t hear her very well, but he could faintly catch her soft reply of “See you later, Theo.”

He couldn’t help the small smile on his face as he left. Her behavior concerned him a little; she didn’t seem to be as well as she said she was, but he hoped it was just a one-time fluke. Hopefully they would all see her in the morning.

The next few days, however, were the same. Ana never appeared at breakfast and in the afternoon when she did show up, seemed listless and irritated. Arthur still maintained that it was due to “feminine issues,” and it was hard to argue against him. Who were they to say otherwise, after all? Not to mention, none of them felt brave enough to ask her face to face.

“She exhibits all the signs, and I’m sure she knows it. Tired, achy, moody, wanting to be alone. It’s best that we all just let her be. It’ll be over in a few days’ time,” Arthur would tell them.

They tried to remember that and treated her with the utmost kindness. Being a group of gentleman, vampires notwithstanding, they were always ready to help her if she needed it.

“Do you want to go lie down, Ana?” Napoleon asked one day as a few of them were gathered in the den. She had been delivering tea and had spilled it all over the table after trying to pour some with shaky hands.

“I’m fine,” she muttered as she mopped up the mess.

“I can clean it up so you can rest,” Napoleon urged. He offered to take the towel from her but she jerked it away.

“No, it’s all right,” she quickly argued.

“If you’re tired, you’re tired,” Theo remarked as he moved a chess piece. He and Arthur had once again challenged each other to another game. “Rambunctious pups shouldn’t deny being tired when they are.”

“I said I’m fine.” Was her harsh reply. Napoleon stared at her and Arthur stopped his move, piece mid-air right as he was about to put it on the board. His little spaniel Victoria raised his head and uttered a low growl.

“Let her be, you two,” Arthur finally said, breaking the tension that suddenly filled the room. His voice calmed down Vick as well and the dog laid his head back down on the sofa.

“I’m sorry,” she whispered, looking sad. “I didn’t mean to lash out.”

“Don’t pay them any mind, Ana,” Arthur said soothingly. “But honestly, don’t feel like you have to push yourself especially while on your monthly.”

Theo rolled his eyes so hard, he could have sworn he saw the back of his head. Arthur may have been trying to appear understanding, but he just came off as patronizing. It was plain to see Ana didn’t appreciate his remark either. She shot him a look that demonstrated she was far from amused or appreciative.

“Wow thank you for that,” she muttered. She slapped the towel down on the table and headed for the door. “I’m leaving.”

“You’re such an idiot.” Theo stated once the door was closed.

“Oh she’s fine.” Arthur waved his words away. “It will take a lot more than mere sarcasm to ruffle my feathers.”

“Something seems wrong, though,” Napoleon said thoughtfully. “Ana’s different and I don’t think it’s due to a mere menstrual cycle.”

Napoleon may have been correct, Theo thought, when he found her curled up in a ball on the library sofa the next day. He had been looking for King and found that both he and Vick were there lying with her. It was almost like they could sense what was troubling her. Every time she quietly groaned in pain, they would emit a soft whine.

“Ana?” He called her by her actual name, which caused her to stare up at him with bleary eyes.

“Oh. Theo. It’s you.” Her hair fell down around her face in unkempt waves. “Sorry. I’m not myself today.”

“Yeah, no kidding.” He shooed the two dogs away and sat on the edge of the sofa. “Let’s get you back to your room. Can you walk?”

She slowly nodded. “Probably.”

He gently grasped her arm and helped her to sit up. Then, slipping his arm around her thin waist, he helped her stand. She flinched a little, but didn’t say anything to oppose him. Instead, she clutched the back of his vest with an iron grip. They made their way out of the library and down the hall towards her room. She tried not to stumble, but she was quite weak and he had to catch her a couple of times so she wouldn’t fall.

“Seriously, what is wrong with you?” He muttered as they neared her room.

“Excuse me?” She gave him a look.

“You heard me. We all thought Arthur was right; that this was just what a human woman goes through every month. And don’t look at me like that, most of us have all been married before. We know what you go through. But that’s not it, is it? I would have smelled it otherwise. So what is it?”

He knew he was coming off as blunt, but he truly was concerned. Ana didn’t take it well, however.

“Whatever it is, it has nothing to with you!” She snapped. “I said I would be fine in a few days, and I meant it. So just leave me alone until then!”

She shrugged off his arm and staggered into her bedroom, shutting the door in his face.

Theo huffed. “We can’t help but worry about you when you act like that, you mongrel,” he muttered. He stalked down the hall to his room, jamming his hands into his pockets, now in a rather foul mood.

It only took one more day for Theo to have all his questions and concerns answered.

The moon was full and bright that night as both he and Arthur came home from a late night trip to the bar. Arthur was quite plastered at this point while Theo was as sober as could be. So, of course, it was up to him to get his reckless friend home. They staggered into the mansion, Arthur unabashedly singing a jaunty tune. It took all of Theo’s self-control not to just dump him on the mansion floor and leave him there for Sebastian to find him in the morning.

“I swear, you owe me big time,” he groused out as he deposited the drunk Scotsman on his bed.

“Yeah yeah. I’ll be sure to make it up to all three of you in the morning.” Arthur drawled out. A minute later, he was snoring away.

“Domkop,” he muttered. “I have no idea why I choose to be this guy’s friend.” Even so, he couldn’t help but smile. Why he was fond of this womanizing, arrogant writer, he’d never know. The fact that Arthur had quite the charisma and contagious charm to him may have been a part of it, but Theo refused to acknowledge that.

Now beginning to feel tired himself, he made his way to his room, looking forward to a good night’s rest.

That’s when he heard it: the sound of shattering glass followed by a banging on one of the nearby doors. There was then a cringe-worthy scraping sound of wood. It made a chill go down his spine. He walked slowly towards the sounds at first, but his pace quickened when he began to hear low groaning.

The source of the noises all came from one room. Ana’s room. Why was she awake? It was late: half past two. And he knew she was not a late night person. He placed his hand on the door and leaned close to listen. The groans grew louder and he thought he heard a low growl. Suddenly, there came the sound of fabric tearing and the groanings turned into cries. Not cries of pleasure. Cries of agony.

“Ana? Ana!” He rammed his hand on the door.

The cries continued, not heeding him.

“I’m coming in!” He announced.

“Don’t!” Came a tormented voice. It was a lower voice, but somehow, it was still hers. “Just go away!”

“Oh shut up! If you’re in trouble, you shouldn’t be alone!” He shouted. “I’m coming in!”

With his vampiric strength, he knocked in the door in record time. What he beheld inside left him shocked. The room was a mess. A shattered pitcher and basin lay all over the floor in pieces. The bed sheets were in tatters. Clothes were shredded. There were what he could only figure to be claw marks all over the furniture and walls. And there was blood. So much blood. The moonlight streaming in between the tattered curtains shone down on a figure writhing under a bedsheet. A long thick chain was tied to the bed post and seemed to be connected to that covered figure that was still groaning in pain.

After taking it all in, he slowly approached the sheet and carefully lifted it. His eyes widened in shock.

“Ana…” He breathed her name. “You’re…”

“I told you not to come in!” Her altered voice wailed, or more distinctly, howled.

What were unmistakably Ana’s green eyes stared up at him in horror, but her face. It was no longer the face of a human woman. The snout was too long. The ears pointed and on top of her head. And she was covered in a thick fur the same color as her hair. She was huddled up in a ball and her claws clutched at the rug below her. A bushy tail curled around her body defensively.

“Wolf.. werewolf…” He muttered, aghast. “They’re real…”

“Oh shut up!” She cried, exposing an impressive set of canines. “Vampires are real, so why not werewolves, huh?”

He blinked. “Yeah, good point.”

“I told you not to come in here! Why couldn’t you have just listened?”

“What was I supposed to do?” He argued back. “You sounded like you were in immense pain! And it looks like you were, at that!”

Her ears flattened and she lay her head down on the sheet, looking like a kicked dog.

“You could have just kept walking. This isn’t something to be worried about. This only happens every--”

“Every full moon, right? I’ve heard the legend.” He walked over and took a seat on the rug beside her.

“I take it the Comte and Sebastian know?”

“Yes. I had to tell them if I was to leave here peacefully. They took it rather well, for vampires.”

“What’s that supposed to mean?” He asked, frowning.

She scoffed. “Vampires always look down on werewolves. They see us as lower creatures that can’t ever control their urges.”

“Well you don’t really help your case by having that attached to you.” He nodded at the chain tied to the bedpost.

“It’s for precaution!” She retorted. “I can usually handle myself quite well! I’m still young, so sometimes I do have trouble keeping control. But I’m still training myself.”

She stood up on all fours and approached him, the chain jangling behind her.

“For instance, a lesser werebeast would want to tear all of you apart just by looking at you, but I don’t. I’d rather not eat vampire, if I can help it.” She sat down on her haunches and stared at him reproachfully.

He rolled his eyes at her. “Well I’m glad I’m not edible, I guess. It’s good to know you’re so well-trained.”

She snarled at him. “You think you’re funny, don’t you?”

“I think so, yes.” He then smirked. “So, you won’t attack even if I do this?”

He put his hand on her head between her ears and ruffled her fur. It was surprisingly just as soft as her normal hair.

“Want me to bite that hand off?” She growled.

“I’d like to see you try! Looks like my “pet” names for you were quite accurate, huh? No wonder they annoyed you!” He began to laugh.

“If you’re going to just mock me then leave before I tear out your throat!”

“Now, now, that’s my job.” His voice lowered and he grinned at her. “You know, you’re rather cute, for a werewolf.”

He could see her hackles rising. “I mean it, Theo! I don’t need any teasing from you!”

“Oh, but I’m not teasing. I’m in complete earnest. Now, let’s do something about this mess you’ve made.” He got up and headed to the door.

Ana growled a little. He was acting so smug, it was annoying.

“Are you going to tell the others?” She demanded to know.

He paused, his hand on the doorknob, and turned to smile at her.

“Now why would I do that? I rather like having this secret with you. Granted, the Comte and Sebastian know as well, but they probably haven’t seen you like this, have they?”

Ana’s silence was the confirmation he needed. He grinned more.

“I’ll make sure to take care of you every full moon, Hondje. It will be like you’re my very own pet.”

She bared her teeth at him angrily. “Don’t do me any favors!”

“It’s no trouble, really.” He continued to beam a great smile at her. It made her fur stand on end.

“Now, be a good girl and stay put. I’ll be right back with a broom to clean up this glass, all right?”

And with that, he was gone, leaving Ana to bemoan her fate even further. Theo, on the other hand, was strangely satisfied with this new revelation. He was quite gleeful, actually.

A werewolf. How extraordinary! Of course the others would be shocked to see her like that, but I rather like her like this too. Heh. I have always been fond of any kind of canine. How different is a werewolf?

As he went his merry way, Ana buried her furry head under the sheets again. Why? Of all people to see her like this, why did it have to be Theodorus Van Gogh?! She let out a low whine, knowing that from here on out, he would make things – quite interesting for her to say the least. Or perhaps, nightmarish was the better adjective, she decided.

#ikemen vampire #ikevamp #ikevam #ikevam fanfic #ikevam theo #i hope this is ok lol #writings

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shhh-no-ones-home · 4 years

Text

all i ever wanted jack daniels x reader

++++++++

imo this one is much better than the last. plus we get to see more of our faves lol. i hope yall like it!

Song: youre the one by greta van fleet

tag list: @cynic-spirit

+++++++++

"max! come back!"

i yelled, chasing after my six year old. i heard him giggle as he ran towards the front door of the office.

"gotcha!"

i said, grabbing his hand before reaching around him and picking him, placing him against my hip with a huff.

"mommy i wanna go."

he whined and i shook my head, opening the door.

"i know baby but you have to be quiet, there are people working."

i said and he nodded, twisting his fist into my red blazer as we got in the elevator.

"do i get to see your office again?"

he asked excitedly and i sent him a smile.

"yes baby, you get to tour the lab too if ginger remembered you where coming today."

i said and he bounced against me, kicking his legs. i could barely hold onto him.

"mommy look!"

he pointed as the elevator opened, the large statesman emblem was embossed on the wall. i nodded with a smile.

"you wanna touch it?"

i asked and he nodded, leaning forward with his hand outstretched. he placed his hand against it, rubbing his fingers into the grooves like he had the last few times he'd visited.

"is that my favorite little man?"

i heard from behind me and turned to look at champ making his way down the hall.

"champ!"

he screamed, wiggling out of my grasp and running into his arms.

"you're getting so big."

champ said with a groan as he hoisted him up into his arms.

"im six now!"

max said loudly as we began the short walk down the hall to my office.

"six?! you're practically a grown up!"

champ said, making max giggle.

"no silly, im not that old."

he said with a smile as we rounded the corner.

"well, big man, what do we have on our list of things to do today?"

he asked as i moved to my desk to start my computer.

"ginger said i could tour the lab!"

he said loudly as champ sat in the chair opposite me, looking up to me and giving me an almost impressed look as max got comfy in his lap.

"well doesnt that sound fun."

max nodded quickly.

"hey kiddo, how about when you're done, you have ginger bring you by my office. i got a present for ya."

champ said and i sent him a look.

"really?!"

max said, wrapping his arms around champs neck in a hug.

"thanks."

he said, champ laughing a little bit as he hugged him back.

"well i gotta get back to work buddy, ill see after the tour. yeah?"

he said, holding him and standing up, setting him down in the chair.

"okay champ!"

he said with a wave and i nodded to champ as he made his way to the door.

"dont forget that mission assessment today either."

he said and i nodded.

"im meeting with jack during the tour."

i said and he nodded before closing the door behind him.

"mommy when do i get to see ginger?"

max asked impatiently as i sat, laughing a little bit.

"let me call her baby and i will let you know."

°°°°°°°°°

"ginger!"

max yelled, letting go of my hand and running to her as the doors opened. to my surprise jack was standing there talking to her, looking to me with an interested look as max came barreling into ginger for a hug. she crouched down and ruffled his hair as he pulled her glasses off, tucking the temples behind his ears and smiling at her widely. i laughed a little bit.

"baby you cant just take peoples glasses without asking first."

i said and he looked to me with a frown.

"sorry."

he said bashfully, handing them back to her and watching her stand.

"its okay max. are we ready for that tour?"

she asked, placing them back on her face, and he nodded quickly.

"please, please, please!"

he said quickly, taking her hand.

"ill see you when we're done?"

she asked and i nodded.

"oh, i almost forgot, take him to the conference room when you're done. champ said he had something for the little mans birthday."

i said looking down at him and raising my brows.

"oh thats right."

she said, also looking down at him.

"youre what? twelve?"

she asked playfully and he laughed.

"ginger, you know i just turned six."

he informed her and she nodded, closing her eyes and acting it up.

"oh thats right! six!"

she said, leaning down to his eyes level.

"i think we have something special just for you in here too."

she said and his eyes went wide.

"really?"

he asked and she nodded.

"yep, but we have to wait till we go see champ before you can have it."

she said and he nodded quickly, squeezing her hand and pulling her forward.

"lets get to it then!"

he said and i laughed, waving as they disappeared further into the room. i shook my head and looked to jack.

"ready to get that meeting started?"

i asked and he nodded, following me as i turned to walk out of the lab.

"so,"

he said and i sent him a raised brow.

"whose kid?"

he asked and i huffed out a laugh.

"mine, jack, he's mine."

i said and he nodded.

"funny, you didnt mention him."

he said and i shook my head.

"forgive me for not informing the out of towner."

i said with a wink and he rolled his eyes.

"hey y/n."

tequila greeted as he rounded the corner just as we did. he tipped his hat to jack.

"whiskey."

he said. i turned around and walked backwards to look at tequila as he got further away.

"max is in the lab with ginger, party in the conference room after their tour."

i said and he fist pumped.

"ill be there!"

i nodded once before turning back around. jack sent me a look.

"what?"

i asked innocently and he shook his head.

"am i the only one that didn't know you had a kid?"

he asked and i laughed.

"guess so cowboy."

i said, opening the door to my office and letting him in.

"as your boyfriend i feel like i shouldve known before now."

he said and i snorted.

"jack you are not my boyfriend."

i reminded and he sent me a look.

"have we not been going on dates?"

he asked and i closed my eyes, shaking my head and making my way behind my desk.

"missions are not dates jack."

i pointed out and he shrugged, dropping into the chair on the other side.

"why not? if i remember correctly most missions aren't supposed to end with your tongue down my throat."

he said and i sent him a stern look.

"jack-"

he held his hands up.

"no, no, i get it. you dont want a relationship as much as i don't. we're on the same page."

he said and i sighed.

"jack we talked about this. we both have our reasons for not getting into it. i just... i dont want him to get used to someone and then things end badly again. hes already lost one dad, i cant live with the guilt of breaking his heart like that again."

i said and he nodded.

"darlin, i know better than anyone what its like to lose your family, but that doesnt mean we both cant move forward. we have shared experience in that department, maybe it could make our relationship stronger."

i looked to my desk for a moment.

"let me prove it to you. let me take you out on a proper date, let your kiddo get used to me as another statesman agent, and if things get serious later on down the line then great, we can let him know about us."

he said and i looked back to him, chewing the inside of my lip.

"fine. ill let him get close to you today, see if he likes you if you really do plan on hanging around for a bit."

he nodded.

"champ needs me here for a while, i wont be going back to new york long term for at least a few months. besides, you know how badly i wanted to be a dad once upon a time, let me show you i can do this."

he said and i sighed.

"alright, ill give you a shot. but for now lets just get to work. we have to finish this mission report before the tour is over."

he nodded once.

"yes ma'am."

°°°°°°°°°

"mommy look!"

max shouted as jack and i walked into the conference room, running to me wearing his very own black Stetson and bolo tie.

"champ said im an honorary statesman!"

he said excitedly, fixing the tie into place. i laughed a little bit, looking to champ sat at the desk before crouching down in front of him.

"and you are the cutest statesman there ever was."

i said, holding his waist lightly and kissing his cheek. he giggled at me before hugging me quickly and running back to the table.

"now you look like whiskey."

tequila joked, pointing to jack and max looked at him. his eyes went wide as he set his crayon down onto the coloring page he was working on.

"i wanna be like whiskey!"

he said boldly, sliding off the chair and standing next to him, copying the exact way he was standing. jack dropped to one knee and looked over at max.

"its like looking in a tiny mirror."

jack said, max beaming at his words. they both looked up at me.

"what do we think mom? dont we look alike?"

jack tormented and i sent him a testing look.

"i guess we have a new favorite huh?"

i said slightly amused and max side nodded.

"mommy, no one could replace you, but i cant dress like you your shoes are to hard to walk in."

he said, making us all laugh as he climbed back into the chair and went back to coloring.

"thank you baby, i appreciate that."

i said, taking the seat next to him and looking at the page he was working so diligently on.

"did we get more horses?"

i asked, looking to ginger and her nodding.

"i remembered how much he loved going to the stables last time he was here."

she said and i sent her a knowing smile.

"oh, yeah, he has been obsessed ever since."

i said, looking back to him. my gaze made its way to jack as he looked down at him coloring.

"you like horses buddy?"

he asked and max nodded.

"my favorite is the mustang. mommy even lets me watch spirit before dinner every night."

he said proudly, not looking away from his project.

"how would you like to see a real life one?"

jack asked and i sent him a look. max's head snapped in his direction quickly.

"you have a mustang?!"

he asked bewildered and jack laughed.

"yeah i do. ill make you a deal."

he said, pointing at max and max was hooked.

"next time you come in with your mommy, and she's okay with it, ill take ya to go see him. and maybe take ya for a ride around the complex."

he said and max looked to me quickly.

"mommy! mommy please! i wanna see the mustang!"

he said and i sighed, brushing some of the hairs out of his eyes.

"okay baby, next time you visit we can go see whiskeys mustang."

i said and he fist pumped the air.

"yes! thank you mommy!"

he said hugging me. i watched jack with a burning gaze as he sat on the other side of max. i looked to champ and he sent me an amused look.

"kids will be kids."

he said and i rolled my eyes.

"now, how about that birthday cake we talked about?"

#wattpad #x reader #jack daniels #agent whiskey #imagines #one shots #kingsman golden circle #303

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ayellowcurtain · 4 years

Text

I want to see anything where Lucas hides behind Eliott’s back. Idk why but I am a sucker for scared Lucas

Prompt for Elu: I would like to see Lucas being a baby. Maybe he is sick or I don’t know sad or something else like scared

could u maybe please write something about lucas accidentally breaking his leg or something and eliott immediate going into protective boyfriend mode?

Part 3

As he’s driving, way too fast for the middle of Paris, only noticing cars flashing by his window as he outruns them, Eliott holds the steering wheel tighter, trying to focus on what he’s supposed to be doing and not at Lucas’ loud groans every once in a while and both babies crying. It’s hard to focus on the things he needs to do to make sure they get to the hospital safely, but Eliott lets his alpha focus on the task and get them there, shoving his stupid emotions down his throat.

His instincts are trying to keep him safe, but right now, that keeps Lucas and the kids safe too and that’s all that matters.

He didn’t have time to think and call someone to take care of the kids, there was no time so he had to put everyone inside his car and drive to the nearest hospital.

How Lucas fell and probably broke his leg is still a mystery. Again, Eliott didn’t have much time to ask questions and Lucas was in too much pain to explain anyway. Margot was the one to call him and Eliott is so thankful he was as Lucas’ emergency contact. Thinking of what could have happened if he wasn’t makes him sick to his stomach.

The car jumps a little as he notices he parked on the sidewalk, right in front of the emergency room entrance, closing the sidewalk.

He rushes around the car, forgetting about turning it off and he opens the back door, Lucas still sitting like Eliott put him there, the kids squishing him against the door. Eliott imagines his bad skills at parking a car got the doctors’ attention because as soon as he walks back, there are nurses helping Lucas get out of the car and into a wheelchair, rushing him inside.

Eliott is left with not much information and having to park the car and calm down two crying babies.

He doesn’t know how Lucas does it, and he doesn’t know how he manages, but after a while the three of them are inside, not crying anymore, impatiently waiting for any news, good news, is all Eliott can think about.

Now that they’re settled in and he can hear something other than loud cries, Eliott goes back in time inside his brain, remembering how everything happened after he left Lucas with the nurses with a promise of news as soon as they had some.

He was moving on instinct again, letting the alpha take care of things while he was screaming inside his own head, wanting to check on Lucas, to see if he was okay.

Both the kids were finally seated properly on the back seat as he turned the car back on, feeling how the wheels slowly fell down back on the street, making them all jump a little bit on their seats. Eliott got back on the street and found the right entrance to park the car. He held Noah, still quietly crying in his arms and Margot was walking by his side, holding his hand tightly. She wasn’t crying anymore, but her whole face was still wet from minutes ago and she still looked frightened.

They had to walk around the hospital, check in, get their tags to put on their clothes and Eliott sat down. Noah wouldn’t let go of his shirt and so he let the boy rest there and Margot climbed on the chair next to them, kneeling on it, leaning against Eliott, sucking her thumb while watching the emergency doors. Just like Eliott, she was waiting for news.

Back to the present, with both kids still in the same position, Eliott came to the realization that it’s probably bad for kids to suck their thumbs, but he doesn’t know if Lucas lets her do it or not and it’s been a long night so he doesn’t ask for her to stop. Her teeth seem fine from what he can remember.

He checks the time on the old clock hanging close to the ceiling, echoing around the room as the seconds go by. It’s way past any kid bedtime and Eliott is sure this will be a long night of waiting so he carefully moves Noah around so he can lie on his lap and take a (hopefully) long nap. As soon as he sets Noah and he doesn’t complain much, Margot climbs on his chair too and Eliott frowns, there’s not enough space for the three of them, but Lucas had talked about this.

How his siblings like to sleep basically on top of each other or on top of anyone that’s close enough to them. Usually Lucas, but tonight Eliott is the victim.

Noah makes himself smaller, as close to Eliott’s stomach as it’s physically possible and Margot sits closer to his knee, her tiny legs stretching over his other leg and she twists her top half enough so she can rest her head on Eliott’s stomach too, over her little brother’s legs. It doesn’t seem like a comfortable or healthy position, but they both pass out within minutes so, again, Eliott lets them be.

It’s a little heavy now that he has both kids on him, so he makes sure to sit as comfortable as a hospital chair lets him and he relaxes, keeping his eyes on the clock, feeling the exhaustion of the scary night take over, but he’s too worried to fall asleep. He needs to see Lucas and needs to make sure his leg isn’t at an impossible angle anymore.

The emergency is oddly quiet for a hospital, just an older lady sitting across the room on the other side of the hall, on another empty waiting room and the nurses walk around peacefully like this is not the place only ill or dead people come. They check their medical records, write some things, sit behind the counter, look at their computers, whisper between each other, normal things they probably do every night and day.

Eliott tries to focus on what they are doing, not on Lucas in surgery, in pain, unconscious now, having his bones screwed back together, needing weeks, maybe months to recover.

They’ve talked a little bit, about meaningful things, mostly before or after sex when Lucas’ walls are down for a few minutes. Even with Lucas’ evasives answers, he knows how much Lucas worries about raising his siblings correctly, about constantly being a good example, the best he can be given their circumstances, and Lucas’ lack of experience with kids.

If Eliott had any saying in it, he would say Lucas is doing a good job being so inexperienced and so impatient. He cares more than he’ll ever admit and Eliott hopes he’s not worried about them now when he’s in pain and needing care. Whatever their relationship is, Eliott hopes Lucas isn’t worried because he knows Eliott has the kids.

When the clock hits two in the morning, Noah wakes up suddenly. Eliott knows he still drinks milk sometimes, he made that pretty clear when he knocked on Eliott’s bedroom door that night they all slept at his place, but he has nothing on him now.

If this boy is hungry, he might be in trouble. Margot wakes up because Noah is not very careful while trying to sit up, accidentally kicking his sister on his way. He doesn’t talk much still, but Eliott is sure the boy is asking for his fucking milk that Eliott doesn’t have.

Margot jumps to the floor and is about to go to the nurses when Eliott gets up, putting Noah on the chair and rushing to grab Margot, holding her in his arms, putting her back on the chair, right next to her brother.

“You stay here and make sure he stays here too. I’m gonna find milk.”

He can’t go too far, of course, but he fixes his hair and his clothes and goes to the reception, keeping his eyes on both the kids, waiting as they were told to do. He asks as nicely as he can if the nurses can find him some milk. They’ve been watching him since he got there so he assumes they pity him and smile, whispering they’ll find something.

Not long after, a nurse comes from the door in the hall, holding a cup and Eliott can smell it’s the milk. Warm and pure. Eliott hates milk with nothing, so he tries to breathe slowly to avoid having to smell it more than he needs to. He walks carefully back to the kids and Noah smiles.

There are two cups, one inside the other to keep him from burning his hand so Eliott separates them, putting the empty one on the table, putting a little bit of the milk in it, stirring both before handing it to Margot and Noah.

The boy gets the cup with more milk because he’s starving and Margot is drinking just because she can’t have her brother drinking alone. Eliott lets them share the chair and he sits next to them, catching himself staring and smiling. Noah clearly likes his milk very warm. He doesn’t wait for long and in a matter of minutes, all his milk is gone.

Margot takes her time, looking around, drinking little sips, and Eliott wonders if she remembers everything that happened and if she could tell him how this hell night started. She looks worried, but Eliott knows she’s a little bit like that normally. Lucas will never accept it, but she behaves a lot like him.

Eliott would love to teach Noah how to be like himself so they have a more even and solid group.

When Noah is done, he offers his empty cup to Eliott like he’s the waiter to this two year old boy, but before he can grab it, skinny, long fingers cover Noah’s hands and carefully take the cup from his tiny hands.

The nurse from earlier smiles to the boy that smiles back at her and she stands up again, looking at Eliott, making his heart suddenly race and tighten inside his chest.

“Your friend is out of the surgery.”

#skam france #elu fic #lucas lallemant #eliott demaury #lucas x eliott #elu #Elu!ABO AU

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voidselfshipp · 3 years

Text

Chaotic family dinner

Cw: food, ask to tag

Ok to rb

Summary: thor, loki, starlord, pietro and dr strange go to a family dinner with Tony, pepper, Peter and jerico, Shenanigans ensue.

A/n: I cracked up so much writing this fic, enjoy!

Strange stopped the car infront of tonys house.

-- now remeber-- he said-- behave, or jerico Will get in trouble

-- ah dont need to worry wizard-- thor said-- loki is taking all the mischief with him

Loki looks at his brother-- oh its on now

Meanwhile jerico waits in the porch with Peter.

-- what do you think they are talking about?--Spiderman asked putting an arm around his sister in reassurance.

-- probably stephe is lecturing them-- jer said-- god, I hope they behave, Last thing I need is them making a bad impression

Peter snorts-- hey the dinner with natasha and Carol went well

-- yeah because those two are the only civilized people on my relationshipp

-- ah Peter!-- pietro said lifting up jer--nice to see you Man whats up, didnt stay in the car, strange was getting boring--Jerico laughs as he kissed her-- I missed you

-- I missed you too

-- is the food ready?-- the sokovian Man said putting jerico back on the ground so she can say hi to the rest of her boyfriends

--almost-- Spiderman answered opening the door

Tony was happy to see most of them, but as soon as loki entered he scowls-- oh look who it is

Thor softly pats iromans back-- he'll behave

The god of mischief closes the door, pietro sets the table as jerico and both peters play videogames with Morgan.

--how was the dinner with natasha and Carol?-- dr strange asked serving the food-- jer dear the foods ready!

Everyone sits on the table Tony just shrugs-- fine, I never seen jerico that flustered

Jer sighs eating her food, pietro grins-- I did one time i--

Spiderman stomps on the speedsters foot looking at him with his eyes Open wide.

-- no no, let him finish-- ironman said.

-- Tony-- pepper said looking at her husband who grunts.

Thors food starts to Act up, he looks at loki who has a huge grin from ear to ear.

-- so, I know you all went to stay at the compound for a while-- Tony said-- anything interesting?

Jerico plays back in her mind all the chaotic Shenanigans that went on.

Loki, not missing one opportunity to rail thor up said-- thor Fell on the threadmill

Thor, already upset becuase hes been trying to eat his moving food who tried to scape his fork goes-- well, brother-- Spiderman takes jericos hand as both facepalm knowing whats Next-- If I remember correctly, I wasnt the one who got caught in the middle of--

Jerico and Peter Parker jump in-- lETS CHANGE THE SUBJECT!

Dr strange snorts eating his food enjoying the chaos before him

Starlord tries to help his girlfriend out-- me and jerico danced the night through to old 80s songs, we had such a Blast

-- oh you guys also saw footloose right?-- Peter P added.

-- you bet!

Pietro smiles mischeviously-- well you also slipped and fell flat on your ass

-- did you now Peter-- thor added.

Pepper looks at jerico who at this point is with her forehead against the table.

It quickly Turned in an argument between thor and starlord with loki putting more fuel to the Fire.

Jer looks at Tony, who in return just gives her a compassionate look--and you have to put up with this every day?-- he asked.

She nodds standing up.

Pepper leans in to Morgan-- remember when you told me you wanted to see your sister use her powers?well here you go-- Morgan smiles happily.

Jerico stands up, using her powers to knock out both Peter Q and thor.

She looks at loki-- you and I are gonna have a talk

-- you look so hot when you get angry-- pietro added winking at jer.

Stephen takes Jericos hand as she sits down again-- how long Will these two be out?

-- five more minutes I think-- she said eating her food.

Stephen nodds and keeps eating, the talking resuming into soft Adorable anecdotes and some more embarassing ones.

When both starlord and thor wake up jer pulls them outside with loki.

-- guys-- jer said putting her hands on her face-- you need to behave, two out of three of you have a bad record already okay? Just please...--she sighs leaning on the wall.

The three look at eachother and hug her tightly.

-- we're sorry dear-- thor said putting his chin ontop of jericos head-- we let our temper get the best of us

Starlord nodds-- yeah, ill just go back to making references with your brother, we Didnt mean to cause you any distress

-- we just want you to enjoy yourself, the most important people in your life getting togheter and we messed it up, we're sorry-- loki agreed.

Jer smiles hugging them tightly-- come on, our food Will go cold

They all go back inside and the night goes on without much fuss.

Peter Q stands up raising his glass-- a toast, for our lovely jerico, who is always there for Us even if we drive her up the walls...

Pietro stands up-- for accepting us rejects, from the most with unstable powers to the misunderstood

Loki raises his glass getting up from his Seat-- because she sees past the walls we put up

Thor copies his brother-- because she stays through good and bad, and loves us no matter what

Sighing dr strange also stands up, looking at jerico with tender eyes--to the best girlfriend, for everything she does for us, even when shes tired, who keeps Us in mind even when she shouldnt, we love you dear

Jer starts to bawl her eyes out, Peter Q, pietro and thor panic slightly as Spiderman hugs his sister.

Morgan softly hits dr strange-- you made my sister cry!

Pepper and Tony chuckle-- its happy tears honey -- they add.

-- you all are the best-- jerico says drying her tears.

--no dear-- dr strange added-- youre the best

She giggles and pepper looks at her-- something tells me you might need that chocolate Icecream now

Jerico nodds-- please mom

After dessert jer says goodbye to all of her partners and goes upstairs to sleep.

Stephen stands on the porch with Tony-- you raised her well Tony, shes a great kid

Iroman smiles-- well, you guys do a great job at making her happy, just one more thing, before you go strange

--Yes?

-- Keep her safe for me Will you?

He nodds-- of course

As Stephen walks to the car Tony adds-- and I dont want one more pop culture reference or innuendos!there are kids here!

Pietro rolls down the window-- We'll Keep it in mind mr stark!-- he said before being yanked Back into the car.

As they drive off jerico gets into bed,texting both natasha and Carol.

~~~~~~~~~~~~

Nat: so, howd it went?

Jer: not bad, we had a good time

Carol:Next week its date night ladies,dont forget that!

Nat: yes we know ms burnt popcorn

Carol: oh come on it happend once! Anyway, night jer!

Nat: uh-huh,anyway goodnight babe

Jer: night you two, dont get into trouble okay?, love ya♡

~~~~~~~~~~~~

Jerico plugs her phone going to sleep,waiting for Next week to roll around to see all of her partners again.

Today was a good daym

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asgardianthot · 4 years

Text

Hunting Season (sambucky) - Part 4

Series Masterlist

A/N: ello :) I hope you’re all safe and sound, and I hope you’re surviving quarantine. Here’s an angsty update for you to enjoy!

Words: 3329

Day 3.

The morning had prepared for the happy couple an hour of kayaking. Bucky got his tired ass to the lake with the least amount of motivation possible, for he had spent a sore night. The idea of Brock Rumlow spending the night in that house had his bones rattling. Sam, on his part, couldn’t blame him; Brock only stayed there when the two were an item, so the fact that he was tagging along indefinitely had ‘ill intentioned’ written all over it. Bucky’s theory was that Brock probably thought he was gonna crash the lunch party and win him over again, stay the night at their old bed instead of a small guest room downstairs.

On the bright side of matters, Sam and Bucky were still the only ones to have a hunting clue. The envelope that had fallen out of the Viktor Frankl book had a hand-written note, specifically placed there by Nana. It read as following: If you found this clue, congratulations, you have a brain. Frankl was more than just a man in search for meaning: he was a neurologist and a psychiatrist, as well as a philosopher. It’s not hard to guess why my husband was obsessed with him. Now find out more about the author and try to guess what else he and Theodore had in common. You’ll know where to look.

Those words meant absolutely nothing to Sam, but it made some sense to Bucky. All they had to do was research about the author of the book and find a connection, for now. The rest would be a problem for later.

Right now, meaning at that very exact moment, Sam’s problem was kayaking.

“Okay, so what now?” he asked Bucky, holding the paddles like they were going to hurt him.

The second the word ‘kayak’ had been brought up when discussing future activities, Sam knew he would make a fool out of himself, for it was something he had never done, while the rest of the guests had been practicing every summer since they bought the damn house. Still, he put on his swimsuit and showed up. For Bucky. They were the ones closest to the lakeside, as Bucky was still teaching Sam, meanwhile the other Barnes were already paddling away or messing around in circles, as they prepared for a race.

“Now, you kayak.” Bucky replied simply, which earned a death glance from Sam.

He was already having enough trouble adjusting to the new sport, which left him with little to no patience. Fortunately, Bucky pitied him and laughed as he moved to the front seat, agreeing to help.

“Okay, wait,” he grunted as he struggled to accommodate behind Sam, “let me help you.”

Sam felt the warm pressure of Bucky’s chest against his back without any type of warning, and flinched a little. He could feel the drops of water that hadn’t dried out in Bucky’s skin stick to his own, and it sent shivers down his spine. He decided to believe the shivers were caused by the startling feeling of water droplets.

“You’re holding it wrong.” James explained as he took the paddles from Sam’s hand.

Wilson rolled his eyes, “Of course I am.”

“Someone’s cranky.” Bucky remarked, “Didn’t sleep well?”

Sam thought hard about that one. As a matter of fact, he had woken up plenty of times during the night, only to find Bucky struggling to catch his own sleep next to him. The situation was weird as it was, so Sam pretended to miss it.

“You kick your feet a lot.” Sam lied.

“There’s always the divan.” Bucky reminded him.

“Will you shut up about the damn divan? No one should sleep in anything called like that.”

However, the ridiculous discussion came to an end when Bucky managed to get Sam to paddle correctly.

“That’s about the hang of it.” he congratulated him before turning his body and dropping it into the water.

The water barely reached his chest, so he stood there in waits for Sam who accomplished his goal of successfully kayaking away.

“Now come back to me.” Bucky instructed his apprentice, “Turn.”

Watching him swirl the canoe so concentrated, Bucky couldn’t help but find him slightly adorable. Perhaps it was because he hadn’t seen Sam learn something like that before, but it definitely was a good look on him. A smile creeped up his face, however, it didn’t last long. Soon enough, his ears picked up on a conversation behind him. He saw that uncle Milo was talking to Brock, and he only then figured they probably had been the entire time, which made him feel observed and, most of all, uncomfortable. Bucky was so distracted by the interaction that he almost didn’t see Sam returning to him, but he noticed right on time to stop the tip of the kayak before it hit him.

He shook it off by shooting a smile in Nana’s direction.

“Sure you don’t wanna hop in the water, Nana?” he messed with the woman who looked over everyone from her chair.

“I want another drink, sweetheart.” She messed with him back.

Bucky winked at her and returned his attention to the fake boyfriend, who seemed a lot more comfortable with the sport. They most likely wouldn’t win the race, but at least Sam wouldn’t feel bad for sucking at it.

“You know what?” Nana’s voice was loud and clear this time, which got everyone’s attention, “First one to get me a drink gets a clue."

The bold statement was followed by hesitant glances. Most of the family exchanged weird looks, none of them sure of how to proceed.

"Is she for real?" Bucky said, frowning.

Then, cousin Colin jumped to the water from where he was paddling, and started swimming towards land. Rebecca went second. Bucky and Sam were quick to notice how they were the ones closest to the lakeside, which didn’t make it seem like Nana was unbiased. If anything, it made the couple look like the favorites. Alas, Bucky and Sam climbed onto land fast, hearing people rush across the water behind them, until they heard a scream.

As they both turned towards the noise, they saw Rebecca slapping her hand around, swallowing water, and barely managing to yell the word ‘cramp’.

Bucky dove back on the water to save her. Literally. As Sam awaited kneeling on the shore, he couldn’t help but notice nobody else went to help. As usual, Bucky was Rebecca’s knight in shining armor.

"Rebecca, are you ok?" Winnifred barely asked above her usual tone to be heard.

The siblings were too busy trying to stay afloat –Bucky dragging her to land and Rebecca coughing her lungs out– to answer, so the mother insisted.

"Rebecca?"

Luckily, Sam cut in to get the unhelpful and mediocre concern away from the scene, "She- she's fine! We got this!" he assured the woman.

Once the siblings reached the wooden shore, Sam pulled Rebecca up by her arms while Bucky climbed up, panting. The young woman held her leg in pain.

Right on time, Brock approached them to save the day.

He extended his hand towards Rebecca, "Here, let me-"

"Get the fuck away from us!" James shot him an aggressive warning while placing a hand on Rebecca's back, not dignifying the man with eye contact.

Rumlow raised his hands in defense, "Just tryna’ help, Jamie."

The snap in Bucky’s brain might as well have been hearable. He was so done with the hovering figure he used to call his partner, everything in his head went red with fury. He looked up at him with such rage, Sam anticipated his outburst even before it happened.

"Shut up, Brock, shut up!” He yelled directly at him, microscopic bits of spit being thrown in Brock’s direction, and followed by a uncomfortable, still silence, which Bucky couldn’t stand either, “Are you deaf or are you a fucking idiot? I said leave!"

Rumlow accepted the offense and shook his head, putting on a disappointed façade.

"You're insane." He informed Bucky before turning on his heels.

As the man walked back inside the house, the spectators of the show remained silent. All that could be heard was Bucky’s heavy breathing, until Rebecca spoke.

"Way to go, brother." She whispered, which was only heard by Sam and Bucky.

Bucky’s expression revealed how shocked he was at his own courage to pull off such a stunt.

"That felt so good." He admitted, drawing a big proud smile on Sam’s face.

The outburst that morning, no matter how fulfilling, had taken a toll on Bucky. The rest of the day, it was all he could think about, and therefore, it naturally got the paranoid spinning wheel in his brain running at full speed. Cousin Colin, after the lake scene, was the only person insensitive enough to actually go through with Nana’s demand; the man had brought his grandmother a nice summer drink from the kitchen, which the lady received with a roll of her eyes. Unfortunately, she had promised the deliverer a clue, so she reluctantly kept her word and gave him the help in private.

It didn’t necessarily worry Bucky nor Sam, because the couple still felt they were winning so far. They had found the first clue by themselves, no help needed, so the best Colin could do was keep up with them before they got the advantage again.

No, what had them both worried was this cocktail gathering after dinner, right now. It was too early for anyone to be tired enough to go to bed, but it was late enough for people to start making bad decisions. That had been Bucky’s case. Drink after drink, worry after worry, the liquor had found its way into Bucky’s system long ago. In fact, he was sitting down, resigned to his sorrow, with a glass of champaign in hand.

He was wasted, and Sam could tell. While Bucky played around with the almost emptied glass, Sam’s chest felt heavy.

"He's watching." Bucky suddenly said, his enunciation already affected by the booze.

His eyes were fixated somewhere in the room, over Sam’s shoulder. The latter didn’t need to turn around to know who he meant.

"Don't pay attention to him." He shrugged it off.

"He used to do that,” Bucky, however, acted as if Sam hadn’t even spoken, “when he didn't approve of something."

"Hey.” Sam called, demanding his attention, “Hey, look at me. I'm here with you, okay? Not him."

As much as Bucky wanted to lean into those words, embrace the support and such, he knew it wasn’t truly real. Sam was there to help him out of pity, or so he thought. He used to love imagining having a boyfriend who would take away the pain, wipe away the tears caused by Brock. He used to like that image, but sometime in the horrible long-lasting relationship, he just didn’t think it possible. Anyone loving him after Brock? Anyone putting up with that baggage, with the lurking ex-boyfriend watching them at all times?

It simply wouldn’t happen. It’s why he wasn’t there with an actual boyfriend. It’s why he had to play-pretend with Sam. In his head, there was no place for anyone to love him. Not after he’d been chewed on by Rumlow and spat out a hundred times.

"But you're not.” Bucky sad dryly, almost insulting, “Not really. I'll never get the real thing."

Sam’s brain had a hard time with that one confession. Did Bucky mean that getting his friend to play fake boo was the closest he'd ever get to a boyfriend from now on? Or as he implying a world where Sam could have become the real deal? His confusion left him almost speechless.

"And why is that?" he managed to ask with a heavy heart.

Bucky was too quick in answering Sam’s doubts, "Cause I'm messed up. 'Cause of him."

That being declared, James stood up from the table, leaving his company sitting there by himself, rudely. Sam watched him get to the bar, which consisted of a few tables set up for drink service, attended by one of Nana’s kitchen employees. It did the trick in looking fancy enough for an improvised bar, and still, Bucky managed to look fairly pathetic, leaning on the table and ordering yet another hard liquor.

For the next half hour, Sam brought himself to chat and interact with the Barnes, but mostly, he was checking up on Bucky every other minute. Fortunately so, since it allowed him to spot Rumlow as he approached the drunk figure. Wilson excused himself and headed straight for the bar, and was noticed by the man who looked, as usual, like he was up to no good.

"Samuel, we were just talking about you." Brock greeted him cynically.

"Leave him alone." Sam said, not messing around.

Bucky’s eyes were fixated on his drink, avoiding exchanging gazes with his ex, no matter how hard Brock tried to catch his attention.

"I don't think anyone should leave him alone like this." Rumlow cocked a brow, giving off the most pedantic posture yet.

As much as Sam didn’t wish to sound just as condescending as the ex-boyfriend, he needed him to back off. So he stood his ground, planting himself in front of Bucky, and raised his chin.

"Oh, goodie, that's what I'm here for." He clarified with a taunting tone.

All of a sudden, Bucky decided to stand his ground as well. Unhappy with the exchange of words about his state, he got himself in front of Sam, stumbling a bit.

"I don't- don't need anyone to look after me." He managed to croak out, frowning.

After he delivered the words, he propped himself on the table unsteadily, causing Sam to gesture catching him, but Bucky seemed to be partially alright on his own. Brock, on his part, gave him a deeply disappointed look. Suddenly, Sam understood so much; the paternalistic vibe he gave off, like you’re nothing for yourself and are in desperate need of his aid. The way Rumlow judged people could get anyone to doubt themselves. Luckily, Sam wasn’t giving in.

Brock extended his hand to the more-than-tipsy man, "Come on." He said, more a demand than an offer.

The response was even more abrupt than that morning by the lake. In sight of his hand so near him, Bucky’s paranoia crippled through his bones, provoking a different kind of outburst.

"Don't touch me, you fucking maniac!" he yelled, taking a step back.

Sam’s skin crawled. During the tense silence that followed, he felt eyes staring at them three. Brock, however, didn’t seem nearly as shocked, but instead acted like this was just typical Bucky. He did seem embarrassed, though, being the victim of the scandal for the second time that day.

"Let's go." Sam pleaded, not daring to touch Bucky in a jumpy state like that.

That was Rebecca’s cue for approaching the lot, allured by the fuzz.

"What's going on?" she demanded an explanation in a low, but harsh tone.

"Nothing.” Rumlow spoke before anyone else got the change, “He's making a scene, as usual."

Rebecca shot him a threatening glance, to which he simply rolled his eyes and abandoned the bar area. Sam took his place in order to check up on Bucky’s face, and found his eyes beginning to water. He was frozen in place, eye sockets reddened by the drunkenness and lips caught between his teeth.

"James, get it together.” Rebecca whispered, “Everyone's staring."

Although Sam was expecting more comfort from the man’s sister, whom just so happened to be scolding him for no reason, he kept his quiet this time. The two sober characters dragged Bucky’s body to the nearest chair and forced him to sit down, which only attracted more attention towards him, but that way he could remain still and far from tumbling scandals.

"Get him some coffee before he embarrasses himself even more." Rebecca told Sam, sternly.

As she kneeled sat next to her brother in order to pretend normality, Sam just gave her a look of disbelief. He didn’t think she could act so heartlessly before.

"You're a real sweetheart, you know that?" he threw her a sarcasm dagger, refusing to move.

"Believe it or not, I'm helping him.” She spat, looking around frantically in hopes no one was judging them, “Coffee, Samuel, please."

Sam took one last good look at Bucky before obeying the very persuasive sister. The drunken mess was avoiding all sorts of eye contact, and was almost pouting like a child. Wilson didn’t have much else to do but get himself to the kitchen, although reluctantly. At that moment, he hated everything; every person and light were getting under his skin, and even the sound of glasses clinking together pissed him off. Right before he reached the kitchen, the sound turned muffled, abandoned far away, and there was a sense of peace. Silence. And breaking through that silence, there was a sharp voice.

“I’m telling you, this is our chance.” The voice echoed from inside the kitchen.

It was unmistakably Rumlow’s. Of fucking course. The man was a goddamn ghost lurking around every room of the massive house. Sam was determined on turning back, until he heard another voice responding.

“Give me a few days-“

“I don’t have days to give you.”

It sounded like an altercation that had just recently began, right before it could get too heated.

“Is your lawyer not your personal bitch this time?” the other man accused Brock, “You not screwing him, too?”

“You want the money, right?”

The inciting question was followed by a tense pause. Therefore, Sam seized his chance and walked into the kitchen, hopefully being able to pretend he hadn’t heard any of it. He recognized the other man as uncle Milo, when the two angry men straightened themselves too quickly, in an attempt to dismiss their previous altercation.

Sam gave them an uninterested glance, “Am I interrupting?” he asked nonchalantly.

“What can we do for you, Samuel?” uncle Milo raised his voice with false friendliness.

“I’m just gonna make some coffee.” He replied, waltzing towards the busier side of the kitchen, further away from them.

Before he could even get a hold of the coffee maker, Rumlow’s forceful interruption made Sam stop in his tracks.

“Nicole can take care of that for you, right darling?” he called for the maid in a patronizing tone, “She’ll even pour it for you and everything.”

Sam glanced at the woman who was still putting the dishes away when it definitely was the end of her shift. It wasn’t just about Rumlow’s treatment of the staff, it was everything, from the way he put Sam in an uncomfortable situation, to the smirk on his face while doing so.

“No thank you, I got it.” Sam told the working lady.

“Actually, she’s got it,” Brock insisted, this time much more taunting, “that’s her job.”

Sam found himself cornered, and resigned, although not without showing his discontent. He pinched the bridge of his nose and agreed tiredly.

“Fine, uh… Can you just take it up to James’ room when you get the chance?” He forced a smile in Nicole’s direction, whom nodded politely, “Thank you.”

When he was leaving to return to Bucky, Sam took a turn on his heels at the last minute. His blood still boiling, he gave the two plotting men a small but clearly exaggerated reverence.

“Goodnight, Mr. Barnes.” He let uncle Milo know his anger wasn’t directed towards him, then spoke directly to Rumlow, “Fuck you, Brock.”

“Classy.” The appellee complained.

“You’re right.” He lied, then turned to the maid one more time, “Nicole, my apologies for such rudeness. On behalf of Mr. Rumlow, of course. I guess money can’t buy decency.”

After addressing that last insult to the obnoxious man, Wilson headed back to the cocktail gathering in order to retrieve his drunk friend.

#sam wilson/bucky barnes #sambucky fanfiction #sam x bucky #sambucky #fake dating au #sambucky au #sam/bucky #sam wilson x bucky barnes

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