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mynameismckenziemae · 10 months ago

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She's a Fire-Chapter XXVII

Forever

Bradley 'Rooster' Bradshaw x OFC/Reader (no use of y/n)

Chapter summary: Bradley surprises you…in more ways than one.

(previous chapter here, epilogue here)

Warnings: smut 18+ MDNI, ass play, oral (m receiving), p in v,

The second half of the summer flies by, especially with the squad is deployed halfway through August. The plan was they were supposed to be back the week before Sunny and Bob’s wedding.

It was now the Thursday before and still no word from any of them. They hadn’t been allowed their phones at all so the last 4 weeks had been awful not being able to communicate in any way with Bradley.

Thankfully Bob had been granted leave and arrived a few days ago, but over half the wedding party wasn’t in Minnesota yet.

You’d flown in with Sunny a few days prior to help, but with everything done that could be, Sunny insisted you pick up your parents from the airport.

You people watch as you wait, smiling at the sweet reunions in front of you. Unexpected tears spring to your eyes as you watch an older gentleman hand his wife a bouquet of flowers and draw her into a hug. You giggle as he reaches down to cop a feel of her butt while he presses a kiss to her lips. She pulls away and smacks his chest with a blush, but smiles.

You have a feeling that’ll be you and Bradley in 40 years.

Absence had done nothing make your heart grow fonder and you realized how head over heels you really were. Not only did you want him to be there for the wedding, you miss him. You miss the way he makes you laugh, how he draws you to him in the middle of the night, the songs he sings so sweetly to Lola, and definitely the sex, but also the intimacy.

Your phone pings, a text from your mom.

Mom: We just landed. They changed the gate so we’re coming in H7 now.

Rowan: Sounds good, I’ll meet you there as soon as I can.

Laura: Can’t wait!

Rowan: Me either 😘

You smile and make your way over.

_-_-_-_-_-_-_-_-_-_-_-_-_-_-_-_-_-_-_-_-_

You wave as they come down the escalator, and are wrapped up in both of their arms a minute later.

“I’ve missed you guys so much!” You murmur, giving them both another squeeze before pulling away. You saw them for an extended weekend in April but that was it since Christmas.

“Missed you too hun,” your mom sniffs, voice full of tears.

“We brought someone else you’re probably missing,” your dad smiles, gently tugging your ponytail like he did when you were a kid.

Your heart stutters in your chest when you turn to see Bradley smiling.

Your own tears begin to fall as he wraps you in his arms. “When did-how did…what?” You ask, face pressed against his chest.

“We got in last night, Sunny wanted to surprise you. Flying in with your parents was just a coincidence. Caught up with them in Denver.”

“I’m so glad you’re here. When’s everyone else coming?”

“Right now,” Nat says from behind you, pulling you into a hug next. “Your dad’s hot, Row,” she whispers before releasing you.

You shake your head, laughing at her and hug Jake next, followed by the rest of the crew.

_-_-_-_-_-_-_-_-_-_-_-_-_-_-_-_-_-_-_-_-_

Sunny: So were you surprised?

Rowan: Yes. You’re lucky you’re getting married or I’d be mad at you. I was freaking out.

Sunny: Lolol sorry

Rowan: No you’re not. Was Bob in on this?

Sunny: I’m totally not. He was…but only because I made him.

Rowan: Naughty girl. I should tell him to spank you for it.

Sunny: Please do?

You laugh. She thought it would be a good idea to refrain from having sex for a month so their wedding night would be “special”. Bob wasn’t keen on the idea but agreed. Sunny was fine while he was deployed but has been a hot mess since he arrived a few days ago. Even more so that Bob wasn’t giving in to her.

“All set?” Bradley asks as he gets in the driver’s seat of your rental from putting his bag in the back. Your parents and everyone else were sorting out the rental cars and meeting Sunny, Bob, and their families in 45 minutes at a restaurant nearby.

You don’t say anything, instead, leaning over the console to capture his lips. It quickly turns heated as you lick into his mouth.

“Fuck, there’s probably cameras everywhere,” he pants, pulling off your lips as your hand creeps up his thigh.

“You’re probably right,” you agree. “We better go.”

He’s barely out of the parking lot before you’re palming him. “What are you—oh,” he inhales sharply as you pull his cock from his jeans.

“There’s no cameras on the road though,” you murmur against his neck as you stroke him.

Okay, there probably is but thankfully it’s dark enough now that passersby’s and cameras won’t be able to see anything.

“You don’t have to—fuckkk,” he grunts, head thumping back against the headrest as you pull him into your mouth, flicking his frenulum with your tongue. His hand reaches to grip your ponytail, guiding your head up and down. You moan and his grip tightens at the vibration he feels in his balls.

“You’re…you feel so good, baby. I-ha! I’m not gonna last,” he breathes. “Where do you want me to…?”

“Mmm,” you hum, tightening your lips and swallowing around him.

“Yeah…yeah okay, just like tha—ohhh,” he groans as he cums in your mouth. You swallow it greedily and tuck him back into his pants just as you arrive at the restaurant.

“Fuck, Row,” he chuckles breathlessly as he shifts into park. “C’mere.”

He leans over for another kiss, shivering when he tastes himself on your tongue.

A knock on the window startles you apart. “Come on lovebirds, everyone’s here,” Natasha says, laughing as she and Jake pass.

“I can’t wait to get back to the hotel and return the favor, over and over again. I’m gonna pretend I’m looking at something under the hood until this goes down,” he murmurs, looking pointedly at his groin. He’s hard again. “Don’t really wanna walk in with a hard-on.”

You laugh and peck his lips before going inside.

_-_-_-_-_-_-_-_-_-_-_-_-_-_-_-_-_-_-_-_-_

He keeps true to his word once back at the hotel.

First, he throws your legs over his shoulders and devours you against the door. Then again in the shower with the detachable shower head; your legs nearly give out when he kneels behind you and tongues your other hole at the same time. He finally gives in to your pleading and pushes into you after you fall into bed, loving you slow but steady.

“I love you��” he pants against your lips as he thrusts his hips faster, finally chasing his own release, “…so much.”

He grinds his hips against yours as pumps you full and kisses you, swallowing your cries as he triggers another orgasm.

You feel boneless as Bradley cleans you up and climbs in behind you, holding you so tightly against him, like he’s afraid you’ll drift away if he doesn’t. Soon you both drift off to sleep.

_-_-_-_-_-_-_-_-_-_-_-_-_-_-_-_-_-_-_-_-_

The next day passes quickly with decorating, massages, and a nail appointment followed by the rehearsal and dinner after. It’s after 1 AM when Bradley nudges you awake from the car to bring you to bed.

Your alarm startles you awake a few hours later. You press a kiss to his forehead before getting in the shower.

You feel his presence from behind as you rinse the shampoo from your hair.

He gathers your clean hair and pulls it to the side so he can kiss your neck.

10 minutes later your front is pressed gassing the glass door of the shower as Bradley fucks into you with deep, steady strokes.He brings your hand to hold the shower head he directed on your clit and brings his fingers back to brush over your other hole.

“I want to take you here soon,” he pants, pressing a wet finger in. “Can I? I’ll make it so good for you, baby.”

“Yessss,” you mewl, “I’ve been using the bigger plug when I play to get ready for you.”

His hips stutter as he chokes, “Good-good girl.”

You cry out as your orgasm rushes over into you at his praise. He works you through it, pulling out when your body relaxes, giving himself a few pulls to finish on your ass.

“I wanted to finish inside you, but I figured it wouldn’t go well with your silky dress,” he pants, forehead resting on your shoulder.

“You’re probably right. Never thought of that,” you laugh breathlessly. “Thank you.”

He hums and kisses your shoulder before pumping conditioner into his hand and coating the ends of your hair the way you like.

“You’re so good to me,” you whisper, tears filling your eyes as he bends to wash your feet a few minutes later.

He smiles, pecking a kiss on your knee and rising to help you rinse. “You’re so good to me. Love you, Row.”

_-_-_-_-_-_-_-_-_-_-_-_-_-_-_-_-_-_-_-_-_

“Don’t you look all freshly fucked and glowy,” Sunny rolls her eyes sullenly when you walk into the venue.

You laugh. “I’m sorry?”

“Yeah yeah,” she sighs, trying not to smile as you hand her the coffee you and Natasha had picked up.

“Happy wedding day!” You smile, wrapping her in a big hug. “I’m sure Bob will make it up to you tonight,” you whisper since his sister isn’t too far away.

“He better,” she sighs, taking a drink. “Thank you. Holy shit, I’m getting married today.”

“Yep. You are. Let’s get you ready.”

Tears of laughter and tears of happiness are shed throughout the morning while getting ready. Even more flow as she steps out of the dressing room after her mom. She looks stunning in her form-fitting, dropped-sleeved ivory gown. Her hair is pinned into a loose updo with her natural curly texture.

Several photos are taken with the bridesmaids and then you’re free to relax before the ceremony begins. Your phone buzzes as you wait for the ceremony to begin and Sunny gets some individual ones taken.

Bradley: Can’t wait to see you. I already know you look gorgeous. 😍

Rowan: Right back ‘atcha handsome. See you soon. 😘

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“I’ll see you at the end of the aisle. Just keep your eyes on Bobby, okay? Love you so much,” you whisper as you hug Sunny behind the doors of the ceremony hall.

“Love you more. Thank you for everything.” She murmurs back, giving you a big squeeze before releasing you.

Then it’s your cue.

You have to swallow the lump that’s forming in your throat as you lock eyes with Bradley, who’s blinking rapidly to keep his own tears from falling as you walk towards the front. You meet Bob’s nervous gaze as you walk past him, giving him a wink. He winks back and visibly relaxes.

Bob’s nieces and Steve are next and break the nervous energy as Steve keeps chasing the petals they drop. He nearly knocks the girls over as he spots Bob and runs to lie down next to him.

The doors open next and Sunny’s mom rises, which signals everyone to do the same.

Sunny is glowing and there’s not a dry eye in the place as Sunny walks to Bob with her dad.

_-_-_-_-_-_-_-_-_-_-_-_-_-_-_-_-_-_-_-_-_

“I now pronounce to you, Mr. And Mrs. Floyd! You may kiss your bride.”

You kindly wave their sweet pastor out of the shot as Bob does just that.

It was a short but beautiful ceremony; they chose to do the traditional vows as they wrote their own and gifted them to each other beforehand.

“I was right, you look gorgeous Row,” Bradley whispers as he escorts you out.

The rest of the afternoon passes in a blur as you pose for pictures, drink cocktails, eat dinner, and cry your way through your speech. You feel like you can finally breathe once the dance begins.

_-_-_-_-_-_-_-_-_-_-_-_-_-_-_-_-_-_-_-_-_

Bradley’s heart is pounding under your ear as you sway with him to a slow song. “You okay? Your heart is racing.”

“Yeah, just warm. I think I’m gonna get some air,” he replies, pressing a kiss to your forehead as the song ends.

“I’ll come with-,” you start, but are interrupted by the DJ playing Beyoncé’s Single Ladies.

“Next up is the bouquet toss. If you don’t have a ring on it, head to the dance floor.”

“Come on, Row! That’s you.” Sunny says, pulling you back out.

“Alright, alright!” You laugh, letting her place you front and center.

“Let’s help Mrs. Floyd count down. 3, 2, 1!”

Sunny fakes a throw and then turns, nodding to the DJ then locking eyes with you as she walks over.

Realization sets in as you hear Elvis start to sing ‘Can’t Help Falling in Love’.

Sunny has tears in her eyes as she smiles, handing you the bouquet. “Turn around.”

You feel light-headed as she turns your shoulders and steps around to join Bob and the small group of your friends and family behind Bradley, who’s down on one knee holding a beautiful, familiar-looking ring.

Tears immediately begin to spill over.

“Rowan, I-“ he hesitates, so nervous trying to find the right words. “Will you marry-“

A deafening cheer goes up as you nod, sobbing, “Yes!” as he wraps you in a hug.

You can’t seem to stop crying as you’re bombarded with well wishes and congratulations.

Sunny pulls you aside as your dad draws Bradley in for a hug, saying something that has Bradley wiping a tear as he pulls back.

“Why don’t you and Bradley go take a breather?” Sunny murmurs as she takes you aside.

“Yeah? Okay. Are you sure you’re okay with all of this? It’s your special day…”

“It was my idea! Well, kind of. Bradley was going to take you somewhere and propose over his birthday but the deployment threw a wrench in his plans. I told him he should do it tonight since your parents were gonna be here too.”

A fresh wave of tears flow as you hug her again.

“You’re the best friend I could’ve asked for. I love you.”

“I love you too. Now go!” She grins, smacking you on the ass.

_-_-_-_-_-_-_-_-_-_-_-_-_-_-_-_-_-_-_-_-_

You pull Bradley to a storage closet a few doors down.

“There was so much I wanted to say to you, and I hope you’re okay with me proposing here, Sunny and Bob were excited about it, I just-“ Bradley rambles, but you cut him off with a kiss.

“Baby, it was perfect. You’re perfect,” You sigh kissing him again.

“So everyone knew?” You ask when you finally pull away.

“Yeah pretty much. I can’t believe no one spoiled it. I’d asked your dad for permission at Christmas and-“

“Wait. At Christmas? That was like 3 months after we started dating?” You interrupt.

“Yeah,” he smiles, wiping another one of your stray tears. “I already knew then that you were the one.”

He brings you to his chest as you hiccup and sways you both to the muted music coming through the door. He rubs his finger over the ring. “Do you like it? It’s my mom’s. I had it dipped in white gold since I’ve never seen you wear yellow gold.”

Your chest tightens. “Oh my God, Bradley. That’s why it looks so familiar. It’s beautiful. I would have worn it happily either way!”

“I know, but Mom would’ve wanted you to have something you like though.”

“Well I love it, and I love you.”

“I love you too.” He replies, kissing the top of your head.

The end(ish).

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A/N: Don’t freak out! There’s still an epilogue coming!

Also…my inbox is open and I’ve only gotten one ask so far so if there’s anything you want me to address in the epilogues get them in now.

Tagging:

@its-the-pilot

@dizzybee03

@sweetwhispersofchaos

@shanimallina87

@blindedbythelightt

@getmyprettynameoutofyourmouth

@lexixstewart

@phoenix-rising-starbird-one

@mrsrobertfloyd5

@charmedkim

@k-k0129

@bellaireland1981

@ingoaliesitrust

@hookslove1592

@amiets2

@nero4te

@eli2447

@atarmychick007

@vixenobrian

#bradley rooster bradshaw #top gun maverick #bradley bradshaw #robert bob floyd #bradley bradshaw x you #jake hangman seresin #top gun smut #bob floyd #bradley bradshaw x reader #jake seresin

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rosethornewrites · 2 months ago

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T & G reading since 9/23

Finished

Teen:

waiting to finally be caught, by Pyrrti (🔒)

a moment of rest in-between, a dream after loss, a morning during forever

and taste the stars, by lowlightt

“When a living person enters this place, there’s no coming back—for the body or the soul."

Timing is Everything, by Talayse

The Lan juniors and Lan Wangji find a young man unconscious in an array in a locked cottage in Mo Manor, Lan Wangji takes the young man into his care. When Wei Wuxian wakes up later in an inn, clean and cared for, the story takes a different turn.

Hand in Hand Together (All Your Life), by sami (16 chapters, part of 2 series)

He tells his sister, "There's a little boy in Yiling with no parents and he's in trouble. We have to go and find him." His sister smiles and says, "This is a good story, A-Cheng. Tell me more." "It's not a story," he says. He's frustrated by his own childish petulance, but he can't seem to stop it. "I'm from the future. I know." His sister laughs, and he glares, and then she clears her throat and stops laughing, but still has a small, indulgent smile. "Of course, A-Cheng," she says. "And what's this little boy's name?" "Wei Ying," he says, and his sister's smile freezes. "His name is Wei Ying, and his parents are Zangse Sanren and Wei Changze, and something bad has happened to them. Wei Ying is alone in Yiling and he needs help," he insists. Jiang Cheng starts again from the beginning.

Some Days You're Feeling Good, by sami (4th in a series)

Jiang Cheng turns and goes to bang his forehead against the wall, but Jiang Zhuliu has moved with him and gently puts his hand in the way. Matchmakers. In his previous life he'd driven them all away in short order, but the current prestige of the Jiang Sect has made them more persistent.

Subtle, by nirejseki

"Have you ever considered being subtle?" Wen Ruohan glanced sidelong at that-bastard-surnamed-Nie. "Are you suggesting that I'm not subtle?"

General:

Melancholy, by MissCellophane

noun :

a feeling of pensive sadness, typically with no obvious cause.

Or Wei Wuxian wakes up one day and mourns his parents.

Story of a Dream, by Bamboo_Gden (🔒)

She tried to shake away any sad thought, this was supposed to be a merry reunion, after all. A-Xian had always been someone very especial to her. A solace of gentleness and kindness within a house so filled of grudges and hatred. She knew it was the same to him. Blood didn’t tie them, but they were undoubtedly family.

Jiang Yanli pays a visit to her A-Xian to catch up with him.

but his smile never dimmed, by Stratisphyre (2nd in a series)

I told you he hated me. Probably for good reason. I wasn't in a good place. I wanted someone to fight with, and he was the only one who would oblige. - Wei Wuxian, "i really want to know (who are you)"

While temporarily teaching at Yungmeng University, Lan Qiren finds himself dealing with an unruly student.

How Like a Winter Hath My Absence Been, by stiltonbasket (50th in a series)

Eight years after Xiao Xingchen’s death, Song Lan makes his first—and last—journey to the Cloud Recesses.

I heard a rumor, by MissCellophane

Lan Wangji takes his son out trick or treating to a house that's surrounded by a rumor.

"Wei Wuxian would be THE HOUSE to go to on Halloween, it always has THE BEST candy. He also gives you the option of getting a toy instead of candy if you want!

There's a rumor that if you wish the man with a red ribbon a happy birthday, he'll let you have TWO handfuls of candy instead of one! And give you a really pretty smile!" - my reply to the post that inspired this

Unfinished

Teen:

A Glimpse Into the Future, by Sal13

After Jiang Cheng and Wei Wuxian get blessed by a Lan Ancestor, the brothers each see a glimpse into the future. With the reality of their broken relationship and burning of their home, the Twin Prides of Yunmeng attempt to prevent that future from happening.

Can the brothers succeed with only knowing so little? Can Jiang Cheng prevent himself from becoming blinded by hate? Can Wei Wuxian come to terms with his future husband and son? Only time will tell.

After The Rain Stops, by YourLocaICryptid

Lan Wangji will wither to nothing without his mate; he knows this. Wei Wuxian cannot know about the bond. He knows this too.

Grand Master of Rogue Cultivation, by waterphoenix21

A Wei Wuxian raises A-Yuan fic! After Jin Zixuan and Jiang Yanli die a mysterious death, Wen Qing and the rest of the Wen Clan are found guilty and Wei Wuxian speaks in their defense. This naturally leads to a rift between him and Jiang Cheng. Then one night, the last surviving member of the Wen Clan is found asleep on top of Jiang Yanli's grave. Nobody knows how or why. But feeling as if he no longer belongs to any clan, Wei Wuxian decides to raise little Wen Yuan on his own, as he sets on a path to becoming a rogue cultivator, following in his mother's footsteps and seeking to find the mystical mountain of the legendary immortal, Baoshan Sanren.

A drop in the ocean, by ibuttermybagel

“How can you still stand on your legs after all you’ve done?” the voice had his head whip up. Eyes interlocking with those of the man he called his younger brother not too long ago. Angry eyes meeting those filled with nothing but sorry. “How can you still ask to be excused after bringing pain to so many?” (Or: The ambush on Wei Wuxian is stopped by Jin Zixuan and instead he takes all Wens and WWX back home. Wen Ning has enough and lets everyone know what he learned in drunken talks with Wei Wuxian.)

Serendipity, by midnight_soul (🔒)

Lan Wangji is tired of his family’s passive-aggressive persistence in his love life. He will not go on another blind date; the first two times were disastrous enough.

Wei Wuxian has had enough of his family telling him no one would want to stick with him, no one decent at least.

One trying to live his life peacefully and another wanting to prove his family wrong, how can their plan fail? They’re practically meant for each other.

General:

Once more, if only..., by Pure_Magic

A mysterious character, a powerful array and a dying wish. What could've been might not seem as complicated but the question stays:

What would happen if one knows a future that will never be? And does a change make a difference if the future that will never be has already scarred someone?

Alternatively, this is a time travel fic where WWX wakes up in his 12 y body after dying in the Burial Mounds. The story is from the perspective of others so it doesn't have key details as to what actually happened but the readers can guess!!

An Unforseen Shift, by Remma3760

Wei Wuxian found a resentful sword deep in the bowels of a famed beast. He took it. That turned out to be fortunate since, it would seem, the sword had more than one purpose. That sword was the key to their escape from certain death trapped in the cave of the Slaughter Xuanwu.

#the untamed #mo dao zu shi #mdzs #cql #chen qing ling #untamed fanfiction

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kuroos-moon · 4 years ago

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「vi. Deal pt. 2」

warning/s: angst (just a lil bit)

a/note: for this smau, like my previous one, there will be numerous chapters wherein they aren’t text chains or necessarily smaus just like this chapter and the prologue. If that’s not to ur liking, or for any reason at all, pls feel free to tell me u wanna be removed from the taglist 🖤

He skeptically looks out through his window, and just like you had texted him a minute ago, there were no more reporters outside. Finally, he thought, not really expecting you to be telling the truth. Honestly, why do you mess with him so much?

Also, he’s been wondering ever since your reunion if you deliberately went to the gym for him or if that was pure coincidence and you’re spontaneously messing up his life right now. The moment he opens his door, he’s adamant on avoiding you because he just knew the person you were now is adamant on driving him insane by doing things like popping out of nowhere to pester him.

Speaking of which, what the hell are you doing in front of his doorstep? “Sakusa Kiyoomi!” You brightly smile, eyes lighting up at the very sight of him. “Nope.” He pulls the door close but you put a hand to stop him. He tugs on it, making you chuckle, but you stubbornly refuse to let him shut you out.

“Get out.” He snaps. “I’m not even inside, Sakusa Kiyoomi.”

Seriously? Saying his full name like that only ticks him off. “Don’t call me that.” He tugs harsher on his doorknob but you successfully grip the door with both hands now.

“Shall I call you love then?” You tease despite finding it extremely hard to keep the door open. It may now have dawned on to him that this was pointless as he lets go, though he’ll never admit that he’s actually afraid of accidentally shutting the door on your fingers—he knows he easily could.

“What do you want?” He sighs. “We need to talk.”

“About what?” How you left me? How you had the audacity to walk back in my life like you didn’t trample all over me before?

“Our relationship,” you grin. He chokes. “Our what now?” Laughter erupts from your throat, and it was bittersweet. You’re so carefree and mesmerizing—your eyes angelic and genuinely alight. But more than that, you’re ruthless and despicable, he knows that all too well.

“Won’t you invite me in? It’s cold y’know,” you place your hands inside your pockets. “Then freeze,” he narrows his eyes. He absolutely hates you, here he was slightly worrying he’ll go soft and easy on you because one could never control the heart yet you so easily reminded him of why you were the bane to his existence.

“Yup, figured walking in your home wasn’t gonna happen,” you mutter to yourself with a small smile. He hates it. Don’t act like you know him, because at some point you did, but you don’t deserve to have him etched in your memory.

“Tell me what you want so we could get this over with.”

“Right. Yes sir. Yes love,” you chuckle, not even minding that he remains unamused. “My manager has already arranged a live interview this afternoon.”

“You should’ve started with that. So, you’re here to ask me what you should say?” He asks, unintentionally looking down on your hands you’ve rubbed together for friction. It was indeed cold, you brought this upon yourself though.

“No, I’m here to make a deal with you. My statement for my interview later on depends on your response.”

He rolls his eyes, leaning his shoulder on the doorframe because talking to you definitely tired him out; sucked his soul out of him. “And by this lovely deal, what exactly are you proposing? Not that you have a leverage over me now or anything.”

You smile, stepping closer to him but he couldn’t bring himself to pull away. Instead, his feet remained planted to the ground, self-aware of how much his heart was racing right now and the only thing—albeit pathetic—he could do was glare at you.

“Befriend me for a month, that’s it.” That didn’t sound half as bad compared to how devilish you’ve been these past few days. “Go on,” he mutters, stepping back and away from you. “You can’t block my number and you have to reply to my texts.”

“Aren’t you ashamed of how pathetic and selfish you are right now?” He lowly says. You look up at him in surprise, there was faint hurt and vulnerability in his voice that wasn’t there before and you can’t help but feel guilty for it.

“I like you, I don’t know why, I just do.” Pain visits him like an old friend. Casual, embracing, and mind-numbingly heartbreaking. You look up at his eyes and could tell right away the discomfort in them, but it wasn’t just discomfort, there was agony too—perhaps. You could never be too sure, you think, looking down on both your shoes.

“I don’t know why you’re so hellbent on avoiding me, it felt like you hated me the first day we met, and I didn’t like the way you hated me for no apparent reason, much so because I happen to like you.” You’re rarely ever serious or this openly truthful with anyone other than your friends, it was only normal that it embarrassed you. But this didn’t feel exactly foreign either. It felt like he understood you somehow—your words and the thoughts you haven’t exactly expressed.

“I hated you the first time we met?” He repeats and you look at him, surprised at the surreal softness in his voice. “When… was the first time we met, y/n?”

That’s the first time he’s said your name. It made your cheeks flush warm and your eyes widen a fraction. This moment was temporary and fleeting, it was easy to see, because he certainly doesn’t call your name like that so naturally and so right—he certainly doesn’t look at you with the absence of resentment as he normally would.

“Three days ago, outside your gym,” you respond unsurely. As if you’ve reminded him of something utterly annoying, he had closed off himself once more, his eyes unreadable and brooding as they stared back at you.

“And this is why I hate you,” he chuckles humorlessly. You’re still pretending you didn’t know him, as if those years together were something you could so easily erase. “I don’t care what you say in that damned interview. Saying yes to that excessively self-centered deal of yours would lose me my self-respect, you know that.”

He finally steps out the door, closing it behind him as he walks past you and all the way to his car. He hopes this would be the last time he sees you; he desperately hopes so. The last thing he needs is a repeat of the emotional wreck he’s been when he was at the lowest point of his life after you so selfishly left him behind.

“Sakusa Kiyoomi!” You call off, and he stops in his tracks, clenching his teeth. You’re clearly overestimating his patience. “I don’t know how befriending me would lose you your self-respect. Hell, I am so irritated at you right now, hard-to-understand-breathtaking-stupid volleyball player!” You grit your teeth, he scoffs, finding your impudence unbelievably out of this world.

He wanted to bring up your past, to shove it right in your face that you had no right to be angry with his hostility considering everything you’ve done. But he can’t, it’s foolish to bring up history you insist you’ve forgotten. “You better watch my interview later on.”

“Oh?” He mockingly says, turning to look at you, “just what are you going to say?” He admits it is out of character for him to banter off with you like this, if you were someone else, he’s long gone inside his car. Maybe this was his way of saying goodbye to you for good, allowing himself to talk to you like this before moving forward with his life that’s anti-you.

“I’m telling them we’re the bestest of friends but we might marry!” You stick your tongue out at him before running off, you don’t even notice him freeze up. His heart fell to his stomach, he unconsciously held in a breath. No, he didn’t just hold in a breath, it’s getting harder and harder for him to breathe.

There it is again, his old, life-long friend. Crippling pain, anxiety, and resentment bundling up and turning into one heavy-ass anchor, pulling him deeper down than he’s been before. The stability he’s built and worked on by religiously avoiding you for years all went down the drain with those silly words of yours.

Just what kind of ridicule or twisted teasing are you pulling off?

“Wow, I’m surprised you guys put up with Oomi.” He hears your voice, lips tugging upward a little before he realizes what you had just said. Finally entering the gym, he sees you sitting in a circle along with his teammates.

He narrows his eyes at the back of your head. You should be in your winter uniform by now, he bets you forgot. One thing he hated about being a year older than you is that he goes to a different school now that he’s in highschool while you’re still on your last year of middle school, you just can’t seem to take care of yourself enough.

“Yup, Oomi’s really great, he’s the best, I guess that’s why you accept how cold he is sometimes huh,” you snicker, your enjoyment short-lived when you’re engulfed in a jacket and Sakusa’s scent. “Stop giving me backhanded compliments just because you think I’m not around,” he bitterly tells you though there’s a ghost of a smile on his lips.

“Oomi!” You rise up to your feet immediately and flung yourself at him. He catches you with no hesitation of course, guessing that you’re here again because you missed him. The rest of his teammates except Komori are surprised.

“Sakusa-kun, didn’t know you had a middle school girlfriend.”

“Ew, she’s not my girlfriend.” He bites back a smile though when you punch his shoulder. “What’s with the ew? Not that I like Oomi that much—he’s an ass,” you send him a pointed look, “but we’re the bestest of friends,” you grin.

“And we might marry someday, right Oomi?”

His face falls. “Can you not make me cringe like for a week or two, thanks.”

You scowl, “oh, so what, you don’t wanna marry me?” At this point, he blushes, you’re always so blunt and shameless, you could at least tweak it down a bit. He only scoffs, walking past you to pick up a ball from the ground, “didn’t say anything like that.”

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#haikyuu!! x reader #haikyuu!! smau #haikyuu!! social media au #sakusa x reader #haikyuu social media au #haikyuu smau #haikyuu x reader #sakusa kiyoomi

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cienie-isengardu · 4 years ago

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The Development of Law and Zoro relationship: Wano, ...and Law Is Not Happy About That

<Part I: Before Meeting>> <<Part II: Sabaody Archipelago, The First Meeting>> <<Part III: Punk Hazard: The Alliance (A)__(B)>> <<Part IV: Dressrosa, The Breaking Point (The Plan Failed)__ (Saving Law)__(Protecting Law)__ (Birdcage, Pica and Doflamingo)__ (Aftermath)>> <<Part V: Zou, The Kindred Spirits (Traveling Together)__(Searching for Nakama)__ (Reunion)__ (Ninja-Pirate-Mink-Samurai Alliance)__(The Last Moments before War)>> Part VI: Wano, Against Emperors (The Untold Journey)__(Luffy & Zoro Means Troubles…)__(…and Law Is Not Happy About That)

The fight between Law and Hawkins was stopped; Law didn’t manage to eliminate the enemy nor prevent information leakage about alliance presence in Wano. He almost was run over by a speeding cart with stolen food (another “crime” against Orochi & Kaido, which Straw Hats committed in his absence). No wonder why Law was so pissed of at Zoro (chapter 918):

➽ Up to this point, Law never have been so openly angry at Roronoa, nor aggressive toward the other man. Now, Law vented all frustration and anger while Zoro kept silent… and maybe felt some embarrassment(?) about Trafalgar’s unusual outburst, considering bubble speech with three dots and “sweat drop” expressing Zoro’s reaction in a more visible way.

➽ Another interesting detail is how calmly Zoro endured Law’s angry rant. He simply let the other man scream at him, and even tolerated grabbing his kimono and invading his personal space. When it comes to scolding, Zoro reacts differently, depending on the seriousness of the situation and who is scolding him. He either fights back in such situations or doesn’t respond to angry rants and taunts. For example, if Sanji started screaming and pointing his faults, Zoro most likely wouldn’t be so tolerable because those two like to antagonize each other. Seems like Roronoa opted for the calm approach with Law. Maybe Zoro knew that Law was right and his anger was justified. Maybe he simply figured it will be better if Law got all the anger and stress out of him. Or maybe he was just taken by surprise by the sudden outburst?

↪ In all fairness, I think he perfectly knew what Law’s reaction will be, especially considering this ambiguous frame:

At first it seems like Zoro talked about Kinemon, what honestly would make perfect sense. He already mentioned Kinemon when repeated samurai’s warning to Luffy but couldn’t really say his name in front of just met Kiku. At the same time, he could also talk about Law, because at this point he was familiar enough with the man to predict his angry reaction. Law seems to be prone to stress and he likes planning everything ahead and Zoro not sticking to plan (letting Luffy smash enemy) would definitely earn Law’s ire. Righteous so. Then what was the point of arguing with Trafalgar? Even more, when the man, despite stress and rage, doesn't hold on such emotions for too long. Which really seems like the best way to deal with a pissed off Heart Captain was just let him scream until he cooled down and adapted to the new situation.

➽ Because Zoro did not stop Luffy as he should - as Law hoped he would - Trafalgar was blaming Zoro for the whole situation, even though Luffy was as much guilty, charging into unknown without care for consequences. Zoro not once tried to excuse himself or Luffy, did nothing to stop Law’s outburst nor remind Law he wasn’t his captain (superior) thus he wasn’t obligated to listen. He simply let Law scream and blame him for the mess.

Anime expended this moment by actually giving Zoro a chance to explain to Law why he screwed so badly. Which literally was “I met Luffy” what immediately refocused Trafalgar’s anger from Zoro to solely Luffy:

This extended scene fits well with already existing Law’s personal experience from Dressrosa - the usually stoic and reliable Zoro will throw away rational thinking in the favor of Luffy’s whim and craziness. Monkey D. Luffy has that kind of effect on Roronoa.

Also, another funny thing anime did with that scene is when Law was scolding his fellow Supernova, Zoro was maintaining eye contact.

But when he was saying “sorry”, he was clearly looking to his left, instead at Law. Which makes the apology feeling insincere. Zoro wasn’t really that sorry about the mess but he said it, most likely to placate angry (stressed??) Law. Seems like Roronoa is bad at lying; not on Luffy’s level of bad, but still not really into telling lies.

Law most likely could tell Pirate Hunter wasn’t sorry at all, which explains grabbing Zoro’s kimono and screaming more at the other man’s face.

➽ Zoro’s patience and lack of response makes an interesting contrast to Law’s unusual aggressiveness. We may only wonder if Roronoa already had some experiences with such an outburst from the other Supernova. Once again, there is little to no information how their relationship was affected by the journey and situation in Wano, nor why Zoro was so indifferent while Law’s level of stress so high.

➽ Manga and anime versions of the scene give us valuable informations. One: Law was aware that Zoro promised to not cause trouble, like not fighting with samurais and Kaido’s men. That of course was a rational thing to ask of Zoro, because the man is too bloodthirsty for his own good and is always up for a good fight. The manga translation makes it look like Law personally witnessed Pirate Hunter swearing to not cause any trouble. Yet Law’s screaming sounds a bit confusing. On one hand, he knew Zoro A) became a wanted man and B) was supposed to be in Flower Capital. So it seems Law was informed about Zoro’s mission of pretending to be ronin. Whatever Kinemon initiated him from the start or after the wanted poster was made public, Law understood the danger of drawing the enemy's attention to the alliance. Which may be the reason why he was so mad at Zoro and referred to him by surname or called in his mind an idiot. On another, asking Zoro - a wanted man - why didn’t he stay in capital sounds, well, kinda stupid (and interestingly, the additional symbol of irritation was added to this specific question / bubble). Roronoa killed in broad daylight an important person (magistrate), and either killed or injured the magistrate's samurais, so it is not like Zoro could wander through the capital or any city without causing more problems. Of course, wandering directless did not help the alliance at all but it was still the best outcome. As a wanted man, Zoro could either stay in capitol and draw enemy’s attention to himself - and in result, endanger Franky, Robin and Usopp’s missions and even alliance’s presence in the Wano or wander through the wasteland in which was easier avoid unnecessary troubles and, in case of fight, hide dead bodies without increasing the vigilance of Beast Pirates or Orochi’s samurais. As a wanted man, Roronoa wasn’t really in position to come back to Kinemon because of possible pursuit - though he managed to wander into Kuri region, but that is more lack of direction sense than anything intentional, I guess. Unless this is why Law was the most angry? That Zoro came too close to their main secret base of operation? Anyway, Trafalgar for sure did not hold back and vented all his anger and frustration at still passive Zoro.

Soon, the group made it into Okobore Town and gave the stolen food to starving locals while Luffy brought the fresh water with himself. Straw Hat told the happy people “I’m Luffytaro! If anyone asks, you tell ‘em my name!” (chapter 918). For the first time Luffy also noticed Law - now much calmer than a moment ago. Law made clear, that what Luffy and Zoro did was ultimately an act of rebellion against Wano (Orochi and Kaido) to which Luffy responded he was “repaying the favor” to Tama, who fed him, once again getting into additional trouble just because someone gave him free food. The serious note disappeared right away, when Luffy started screaming at the starving people to not eat all meat without him:

➽ The meeting between Luffy and Law is drastically different from meeting of Law and Zoro. Like was mentioned, Trafalgar didn’t show any anger or frustration, so either screaming at Zoro calmed him down or he already gave up trying to reason with Monkey D. Luffy. Taking into account all previous adventures from Punk Hazard to Zou, what in universe happened through what? One or two months at best? Law’s resignation makes sense. Luffy wouldn’t care nor bother to apologize for the pulled stunt, while Zoro, well, didn’t care much either, but at least didn’t try to argue back.

➽ Once the serious talk was done and Luffy literally jumped after the meat, Zoro and Law shared the same reaction (visualed by bubble speech with three dots, though the “sweat drop” symbolising embarrassment(?) is only on Zoro’s part). Despite the previous intense moment, both men were again on good terms and even in agreement toward Luffy’s idiotic/childish behaviour.

The next time we see Zoro, Law and Luffy, Trafalgar kept his distance from everyone else. He stood the closest to Luffy yet with back turned to him. Was that sort of ostentatious expression of dissatisfaction or did he keep watch in case of an enemy's attack, hard to tell.

Luffy loudly declared his intention about Wano to Tama (“By the time we leave this country, it’ll be a place where you can eat as much as you want, every single day!!!”). With a sigh, Zoro noted how because of Luffy’s action, the enemy will come after them for real. Law did not take such a comment from Zoro kindly, because the man ignored(?) his own part in the mess.

➽ Surprisingly, Law still was angry more at Zoro than Luffy, who was the main culprit. But it may be just Zoro’s uncaring attitude that provokes Law so much.

➽ Despite the still fresh feeling of irritation, Law decided to focus at the best course of action - moving on to safest place. In this case, to the ruins of Oden’s Castle, in which Kinemon and the rest of the alliance stayed in hiding.

The group said goodbye to Tama who was taken to home by Horselina (a former enemy-turned-into-her-loyal-servant thanks to Tama’s devil fruit powers). Like always, Law kept his distance from others (in manga on one frame, he kept close to Zoro, on another, to Luffy). In anime, between sharing food and saying goodbye to Tama, Trafalgar was shown usually close to Zoro, similar like he did on Zou:

At this point, there is something to ponder a bit about Law and his (lack of) interaction with people. Like in the scene above, does Law keep close to Zoro (or Luffy) because of their bond (trust?) alone or is that partially due to his minimal social skills? As in, he keeps close to people he at least knows and doesn’t make contact with strangers unless it’s necessary. Zoro and Law both have some asocial traits (seen especially in their tendency to isolating themselves from too large group), but in contrast, Zoro and Luffy were shown through the Wano arc to interact and even befriend the local people while Trafalgar was interacting only with his crew, Straw Hats, samurai group (extended of Shinobu person) - the people he already knew for some time. Law isn’t going out his way to meet new people (like Luffy) nor bonds with accidentally met people (like Zoro with Tonoyasu). It seems in Law’s nature to avoid interaction with strangers as much as possible. Which makes me wonder if that comes simply from his introverted nature, general distrust for people or maybe even some social awkwardness created by childhood trauma and growing up in criminal organisation (Donquixote Pirates)? Because Law’s way to interact with people he just met is either ignore them (seen above) or act in cool manners around them, like in Punk Hazard with Straw Hats… but frankly, Straw Hats freaked him there on so many levels it really makes Law looks like social interaction is not his thing.

This reflection actually comes close to another detail. Namely, Law’s general feeling about Straw Hats helping starved people. Because the locals were truly happy and expresses that just before the departure of Three Supernovas (chapter 919):

Law has strong opinions about pirates, it seems. And it comes from a man that admitted he doesn't like to kill but yeah, doing nice things for (poor) people makes him sick. Was he so annoyed by the cheering people, or did he simply didn’t know how to react to such situation so he went with a grumpy approach?

Law expressed a lot emotions; the outbursts of anger departs from the image of stoic captain but at the same it makes me think that Law must feel okay around Zoro to be so open about his frustration (and lack of control over situation?). At the same time, Zoro let him take out all anger on him without a word. But the most important thing, no matter how much Zoro’s screwed up, no matter how much Law’s screamed and accused and was unhappy about, it didn’t change their already estabilished relationship. Once the situation calmed down, Law again kept close to Zoro and shared the same opinion about Luffy’s antics and in general they were okay in each company.

Next part: Separated Again

#one piece #The development of Law’s relationship with Zoro #roronoa zoro #trafalgar law #wano arc #law & zoro #zoro & law #i loved so much this chapters #all law's frustration and anger #and zoro's calmness about the whole situation #my analysis

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hysterialevi · 3 years ago

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Hjarta | Final Chapter

Fanfic summary: In an AU where Eivor was adopted by Randvi’s family instead, he ends up falling in love with the man his sister has been promised to despite the arranged marriage between their clans.

Point of view: third-person

Pairing: Sigurd Styrbjornson x Male Eivor

Author’s note: Holy shit I can’t believe it’s already the last chapter. Thank you guys so much for sticking with this story from the start, and for sending me wonderful comments/messages of support. I really had fun writing this fanfic and interacting with you all, so I hope you’ll enjoy this last part of Hjarta. This story seriously means a lot to me, and it makes my day to know how many of you liked it. Stay awesome :)

This story is also on AO3 | Previous chapter

THRYMR’S TOMB

A WHILE LATER

“Eivor!” Sigurd called out through the storm, forcing his way across the snow. “Are you there?”

The prince shielded his face from the frost with a protective arm and squinted, desperately searching for his lover as he wandered blindly through the fog. The young man had disappeared from the battle not too long ago, and seemingly taken Kjotve’s fate into his own hands. What became of either of them still remained a mystery to Sigurd, and as more time passed by, he found himself feeling increasingly worried for Eivor’s life.

“Eivor!” He repeated a tad louder this time. “Say something! Can you hear me?”

Much to his relief, a faint voice answered from a distance.

“...I’m here, Sigurd...!”

Inching closer towards the voice, the older man ventured deeper into the mist and peered forward, only to spot the outline of a familiar shadow trudging in his direction.

Eivor was sauntering underneath the sun’s blurred rays with a slight hiccup in his step, and fresh blood clinging to his axe. His face seemed to be wiped clean of all the energy that once burned in his eyes, and yet, he appeared to be... at peace.

A calming aura could be seen blossoming from his heart like a single flower in a barren field, and in a strange way, it almost looked as if he had completely forgotten about the war. Not a single hint of dread or terror weathered his blissful expression, and the ribbons of sunlight dancing above him only added to his soothing demeanor.

Sigurd picked up his pace and began jogging, eagerly rushing to rejoin his lover.

“Eivor...!” He said with a sigh of relief, immediately pulling the man into a hug. “There you are.”

Eivor allowed his head to sit on Sigurd’s chest, giving himself some time to breathe.

“...Sigurd,” he whispered out of exhaustion, “...I did it. I actually did it.”

The prince continued cradling the younger man in his embrace, providing him with a sense of warmth amidst all the snow.

“What happened to you, Eivor? Where’s Kjotve? I saw you run off with him earlier. Is he dead? Did you... did you kill him?”

Eivor nodded and closed his eyes, not even bothering to say a word.

“Truly...?” Sigurd asked, staring at the other man in disbelief.

Could it really be possible that the battle was already finished? It hadn’t been too long ago that the prince was barely evading death’s grasp, and now, the storm had suddenly passed. Part of him found the news too good to be true considering the path they used to get here, and yet, something in Eivor’s tone rang with sincerity.

Sigurd tightened his grip on the smaller warrior and chuckled out of elation, nearly breaking into tears. “Then it’s over. The war... is finally over.”

He brought a hand to Eivor’s chin, lifting it gently so that he could see his face.

“What about you, my love? Are you well?”

The Wolf-Kissed displayed a subtle smile, radiating as if he were the moon itself.

“...I am. For the first time since that night... I’m okay.”

Sigurd returned the smile and cupped the back of Eivor’s head, pulling him close so that he could plant a kiss on his forehead.

“Good.”

Staying snuggled in each other’s arms, the couple took some time to enjoy the peace as the storm steadily died down around them, allowing more and more of the sun to break through. The crippling mist that had built up during the battle was slowly beginning to fade, and soon enough, nothing but a vast blue sky remained hovering above them.

Unbeknownst to Sigurd however, a third party had already found them and walked in on their brief reunion, but had not yet announced their presence.

In the distance, Arngeir quietly watched the scene in front of him unfold with a sense of shock clouding his mind, causing him to gawk incredulously. Even though he suspected that the prince would be somewhere in the vicinity with his son, he did not expect the two of them to be enwrapped in such a loving embrace.

...How long had they felt like this, he wondered? Was their bond something that had been ignited due to the recent string of battles, or had this been carrying on ever since Styrbjorn first arrived?

The jarl was honestly at a loss. He held no disgust in his heart for the peculiar couple before him, but he couldn’t deny that he was taken aback. Despite his knowledge of Sigurd and Eivor’s friendship in the past, he never would’ve guessed that there was something deeper between them.

Though, the more Arngeir thought about it, he supposed there really was nothing peculiar about their relationship. The knot that intertwined their fates was made of pure, genuine love delivered straight from the hands of Freya, and to his surprise, he just couldn’t bring himself to interfere.

It was something he hadn’t seen in ages thanks to the horrors of this war, but now that it was over, Arngeir figured he may as well let his doubts die with it.

He had had enough of tragedy.

Turning on his heel, the jarl decided to leave the couple alone and returned to the other half of the island, ready to inform his clan of their miraculous victory. He still didn’t know whether he’d tell Styrbjorn about his unanticipated discovery or not, but one thing was for certain.

Kjotve’s kingdom had finally fallen.

In spite of all the obstacles Styrbjorn’s people faced, his entire bloodline had been struck down, and his throne had been left unattended. No one in Norway would ever hear of his clan again, and his fortress would be left to crumble under the weight of the absence that consumed it.

The barbarian king was vanquished. Just like his legacy.

~~~~~~~~~~

THE NEXT DAY

BJORNHEIMR, THE LONGHOUSE

Sigurd placed the last of his belongings in the crate sitting before him, reminiscing as he stood in the middle of his chambers. It felt like a lifetime ago that he was first packing his things in preparation for the journey to Bjornheimr, and now, he was getting ready to leave.

After ages of enduring this war and accepting it as his reality, the prince had suddenly found himself in a world where Kjotve was no longer a problem, and his clan had been reduced to ashes in the wind.

A new era had been brought about thanks to their victory at Thrymr’s Tomb, and the kingdom now celebrated in harmony to honor the peace that had finally been restored.

Despite the jovial mood of his people however, Sigurd admittedly didn’t know how to process the whole situation himself. Part of him rejoiced due to the fact that he’d never have to deal with Kjotve’s cruelty again, but he would’ve been lying if he said he didn’t have his regrets.

He didn’t come out of this unscathed, after all. The Raven Clan may have emerged victorious from their fight against the barbarian king, but there were still many wounds that needed mending... including Dag’s loss.

Sigurd still remembered his last conversation with the man as if it happened yesterday. Even though Dag proved to be a traitor in his final moments, the prince just couldn’t bring himself to discard the memories they once shared, or the fondness that followed. In his eyes, the fallen warrior would always be that same little boy who kept him company as a child, and pulled him away from the darkness when his mother passed on.

As for the Dag he executed, Sigurd would remember him as no more than a fragment of his childhood friend, and the result of a man who had been crippled by his own jealousy. He would be a reminder for the prince to never fall prey to his demons, lest he lose the soul he had fought so long to preserve. It was what he owed his parents after all these years, and to himself.

Letting out a remorseful sigh, Sigurd shook his head and silenced the thoughts that threatened to encompass his mind, not willing to entertain his grief any further. He would never forget the loved ones he had lost during the events of this war, but for his own sake -- he had to move on.

Lifting up the crate with a soft grunt, Sigurd secured the box in his arms and began striding towards the archway, only to stop in his tracks when he noticed someone waiting for him.

At the moment, Eivor was standing on the other side of the door with his hands linked together and his head hanging low, clearly disheartened by Sigurd’s upcoming departure. His gaze swept in the floor in an attempt to avoid confronting the absence he would soon have to accept, and even the sight of the prince himself wasn’t able to lift his mood.

“Eivor...!” Sigurd greeted. “You came.”

The Wolf-Kissed stepped tentatively into the room, staring at his lover as if this was the last time they’d ever meet.

“Of course I did. I wanted to see you again before...” his expression sank slightly, “...before you left.”

Sigurd took note of the shift in his lover’s mood and placed the crate down for a moment, gently gripping Eivor’s wrist in a comforting manner.

“Eivor,” he said in a gentler tone, “...you know I have to go.”

“I do. I just wish you could stay longer. We spent so much of our time worrying about the people we lost that... we forgot we still had each other. But now that you’re leaving, it’s all I can think about.”

Sigurd lifted a hand to Eivor’s cheek and brushed away a lock of hair, tucking it neatly behind his ear.

“You can still come with me. You know that, right? I realize we’ve had this conversation before, but if you truly want us to stay together, I can arrange that.”

In spite of his sorrow, the younger man remained staunch in his decision. “I’m sorry, Sigurd, but I must remain here. As much as I wish I could go with you, Bjornheimr needs me. My father needs me. I’m the only family he has left apart from Randvi, and she’ll be gone too.”

Sigurd nodded sympathetically. “Very well. If that’s what you wish.”

Eivor paused briefly, switching to a different concern on his mind. “...You will visit me, right? This won’t be the last time I’ll see you?”

“Of course not,” the prince reassured. “I can’t say when I’ll have the chance to return to Bjornheimr, but -- I promise you -- as soon as the opportunity reveals itself, I’ll be here again.”

The other man didn’t appear any less forlorn, but accepted the promise nonetheless.

“I’ll be waiting. But until then...” Eivor leaned forward, pecking a goodbye kiss on Sigurd’s lips, “...stay safe, my love. I wish nothing but happiness for you.”

The prince pressed his forehead against Eivor’s, cherishing their last few minutes together.

“The same goes for you. My duties may require me to start a new life in preparation for the throne, but I’ll never forget everything you’ve done. Thank you. I mean it.”

Taking a few more moments to bask in each other’s company, the two of them simply cuddled in silence before separating the embrace, and retreating to the shells they so often wore around the rest of the village.

The sun had managed to climb to the top of the sky’s apex by now, and most of the Raven Clan were already gathered at the docks. The longships were fit to set sail after an entire morning’s worth of preparations, and their people were eager to return home. The only thing they needed now... was the presence of their prince himself.

“I suppose it’s time for me to leave.” Sigurd noted somberly, reluctantly taking hold of the crate once again. “Care to join me for the walk to the ship?”

Eivor concealed his pain with a friendly veil and stepped to the side, allowing Sigurd some room to walk through the doorway.

“After you, my friend.”

~~~~~~~~~~

A LITTLE LATER

THE DOCKS

Walking alongside one another as they headed towards the shore, Eivor and Sigurd strolled silently through the village with a bittersweet relief resting in their spirits, clouding their minds like the smoke of a cold pyre.

It brought them both great joy to see Kjotve’s reign finally come to an end, but they couldn’t stop themselves from wondering what waited beyond the horizon now that the war was over.

Was this the start of Sigurd’s life as a future king? Would he and Randvi truly be the rulers of Norway one day? How was he even going to raise a family? The prince had never planned to be a father, and a part of him wanted to scream at the thought of being forced to hide his true emotions once again.

He didn’t want to forget Eivor, or the things they experienced together. These past few weeks had been some of the best and worst moments of his life, and he dreaded the idea of allowing their bond to fade into a distant memory. But for the sake of his kingdom, Sigurd knew he had to leave the man behind if he wanted any chance of becoming a decent leader.

It was his duty, after all. Styrbjorn had managed to keep his end of the promise in regards to battling his addiction, so the prince figured it would only be fair if he upheld his own. Personal thoughts and desires no longer mattered within the realm of royalty. From this day on, Sigurd would be living to serve his people -- not himself.

“There they are.” He remarked, gesturing towards the end of the pier. Eivor followed Sigurd’s line of sight, only to spot Styrbjorn, Arngeir, and Randvi all waiting by the longship.

“So this is it then,” he said, already missing the prince’s company. “This is where we part ways.”

Sigurd shared his partner’s disappointment, but tried to keep a strong face nonetheless. “For now. You and I will be separated for some time, but I’ll visit you as much as I can. And you’re always welcome in Fornburg too, should you ever wish to come to me instead.”

“Thank you. I’ll consider it.”

Eivor placed a hand on the side of the prince’s arm, saying one last thing while he still had the chance.

“...Wait, Sigurd. Before you go.”

The older man came to a pause, giving Eivor a curious glance. “Yes? What is it?”

The Wolf-Kissed stuttered, admittedly unsure of where he was taking this. He didn’t have anything in particular he wanted Sigurd to hear -- he just hoped to keep him around for a little longer.

“Erm, n-nothing. I just wanted to say I love you.”

Sigurd smiled warmly at the comment despite Eivor’s awkwardness and chuckled lightly, attempting to comfort him.

“I love you too, Eivor. Never forget it.”

Leaving the younger man with those words, Sigurd carried on with the task at hand and sauntered towards the ship, placing the crate down by the boarding plank as one of the oarsmen came to assist him. Meanwhile, Styrbjorn greeted the two men with a cheery temperament, happy to get things going.

“Sigurd, Eivor!” The king exclaimed jovially. “It’s good to see you both in one piece after the battle yesterday. We lost many warriors during the assault at Thrymr’s Tomb, but now, we at least have the luxury of saying that their deaths weren’t in vain...” he turned to the Wolf-Kissed, “...and it’s all thanks to you, my boy.”

Eivor bowed his head in a humble manner. “I only did what was required of me.”

Styrbjorn let out a soft laugh. “Nonsense. Sigurd has told me of the tenacity you displayed on the battlefield. You showed great courage, and you fought with honor. It is thanks to your efforts that Kjotve now lies in a frigid tomb.”

Arngeir joined in. “Indeed. Had it not been for your valor, we would all still be bound by Kjotve’s chains. Varin would be proud of you, Eivor. And Ulfar too.”

“Thank you, father.”

Eivor brought his attention to Styrbjorn, trying his best to hide the sorrow lurking within him. “...So, I imagine you’ll be departing soon?”

To his surprise, the king appeared to have other things in mind. “Actually, there is something else your father and I would like to discuss first. Something that concerns you and my son.”

Sigurd froze at that, already suspicious of where this was leading. “...W-What do you mean?”

Arngeir stepped forward, hesitant to speak any further. “Forgive my being candid, but we are aware of the relationship between you two.”

Eivor instantly felt the color drain from his face, and he could’ve sworn he saw his own soul fleeing from his body.

“You-- what?”

“Do not be alarmed, my son. I am not here to pass judgement. Only to offer a proposal.”

“But... how? How did you find out?”

Arngeir crossed his arms in thought. “Yesterday, during the battle. Sigurd and I left the fort in order to search for you. We noticed you had disappeared at some point, and feared you may be in danger. Though, by the time I stumbled upon you, you had already found your way to the prince.”

“That means... you saw us...”

“...Embracing one another, yes. I apologize, Eivor. I did not mean to intrude.”

The young man exchanged glances with Sigurd, terrified to see the outcome of this discovery. “So, what does this mean for us? Are we to face punishment?”

Arngeir shook his head. “No. Quite the contrary, actually. I realize it isn’t my place to speak about this -- and for that I am sorry -- but I admit I shared this news with Styrbjorn once we returned, for I had an idea in mind that I wished to broach.”

That caught Sigurd’s attention. “An idea? About what?”

Styrbjorn provided the answer. “About this alliance, of course. You see, when we first arranged this marriage between you and Randvi, we did so with the intention of forming an ironclad bond. A bond born out of love. We believed it would be a way to ensure that our clans never fell apart, since our families would be intertwined from that day on. Clearly however, we were mistaken.”

The jarl nodded in agreement. “Indeed. It seems that the bond we were looking for... had been between you two all along.”

Arngeir trailed off into silence for a moment, considering his next words.

“Listen, both of you. Styrbjorn and I had a long conversation yesterday once I revealed my discovery. We discussed many things pertaining to this alliance, and after our talk, we came to the conclusion that... this marriage is no longer necessary.”

Sigurd’s eyes widened in shock. “Wait, are you saying that it’s over?”

“Ultimately, the choice lies with you. If you wish to end this marriage, and if Eivor decides to go in Randvi’s stead, then I have already told Styrbjorn that I have no qualms with it.”

The prince immediately looked at his lover, radiating with a newfound hope.

“Eivor...! Think about it. You could join me, just like we wanted.”

The Wolf-Kissed glanced at Arngeir, double-checking with him first.

“But what about you, father? Are you certain about this? I don’t want to abandon you.”

The jarl gave him a reassuring pat on the arm. “Do not fret, Eivor. You’re not abandoning anybody. If you choose to stay with Sigurd, then Randvi will remain here in your place. Neither of us will be alone.”

Randvi suddenly jumped into the conversation, encouraging her brother to follow his desires.

“Go on, Eivor. It’s okay. Father and I will have each other. We’ll rebuild Bjornheimr, and return this village to what it once was. By the time you come back, this place will be thriving more than it ever did. In the meantime, go with Sigurd. A new life awaits you in Fornburg. Don’t let this opportunity pass.”

“She’s right, Eivor,” Arngeir said. “All I’ve ever wanted for any of you is to be happy. If you believe that being with Sigurd is best for you, then go.”

The young man stumbled over his words, rendered completely speechless by how this scenario had turned out. When he awoke this morning, he never imagined that he’d be given the option to freely roam the kingdom at Sigurd’s side, living with him as if they were family.

If anything, Eivor fully expected that he would be bidding the prince farewell, and left to wallow in the melancholy that had formed in his heart during this past month. So much anger and regret had taken control of his spirit’s reins ever since the news of Sigurd’s departure, and now... it was all gone. Just like that.

“I... I don’t know what to say,” he replied. “...Thank you, father. You can’t imagine how much this means to me.”

A gleeful expression spread across the jarl’s face. “I’m glad, Eivor.”

Randvi wrapped her arms around her younger brother, pulling the man into one last hug before saying goodbye.

“We’ll miss you, little cub. Take care of yourself, and each other. Alright?”

“We will. I promise.”

The woman gave him a playful shove. “Then get out of here. And make sure to knock plenty of skulls. Let the world know who we are.”

Eivor chuckled at the response, grinning from ear-to-ear. “The Bear Clan’s name will be fluttering from the lips of every bard in Norway when I’m done. I assure you. Until then, farewell, and thank you for all you’ve given me.”

The Wolf-Kissed walked over to Sigurd’s side, openly taking hold of his hand for the first time since they met. The prince’s eyes were twinkling with a vibrant ray of hope at this point, and a familiar sense of contentment had finally returned to his soul.

“Come, my love,” Eivor ushered. “Fornburg awaits.”

~~~~~~~~~~

LATER THAT DAY

Steadily gliding across the ocean’s hills, the longship broke free from the harbor and began heading out towards the vastness of the open sea, prepared to deliver its occupants back home after a long and arduous battle.

Petals of snow could be seen dancing along the surface of the vessel’s billowing sails, and in the distance, the sun’s light shone through the mountains, causing the water below to shimmer with a glittering streak.

Birds soared in harmony with the wind that guided the longship’s course and left a trail of feathers in their wake, accompanying the warriors who sailed beneath their wings.

All the creatures of Midgard seemed to band together in celebration now that the age of war had perished, and the earth cried out in relief due to the lack of blood littering its soil.

As for Eivor, the man simply rested against the longship’s walls and marveled at the view in front of him, listening intently while Sigurd entertained him with tales of Fornburg’s wonders. The prince spoke of his home with a great fondness and constructed vivid images using only the movement of his hands, painting a clear picture for his companion.

Meanwhile, the oarsmen behind them burst into song and began reciting a number of sea shanties, singing heartily as if they were performing for the gods themselves. Their voices rang merrily into the sky like a horn of victory, and the world around them seemed to bloom with revival.

It was the start of a new dawn. After countless years of pointless death and suffering, the clans in Norway had become united under one crown, and Kjotve had paid the ultimate price. His name had been blotted out with the stain of a mad tyrant, and his victims had been released from their ethereal chains in the afterlife.

Most importantly though, Eivor no longer felt the need to hide who he was. The fantasy that once haunted him in his dreams had become a reality, and now, he was free to love Sigurd as any man would love his wife. The times of fear and judgement were over at last, and the alliance between their peoples had been reignited with a different bond.

Their relationship would be the foundation of many things to come, and just like Ingrida once said, they had finally found their way home after decades of straying from their fate.

It was what the Nornir planned all along, and the one thing Varin always wished for his son -- the one thing he could never achieve.

Freedom.

#hjarta #assassin's creed valhalla #ac valhalla #eivor wolfsmal #eivor wolfkissed #eivor varinsson #male eivor #sigurd styrbjornson #sigurd x male eivor #ac valhalla fanfic

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jamestrmtx · 4 years ago

Text

Fairytale Complex - [Undertale | Sans x Reader]

[Gender Neutral, Frisk's Parent Reader | Slow Burn]

Chapter Twelve | Danger Mystery (Part 1 of 2)

[First] | [Previous] | [Next]

Today's the day, and though there's no going back now, one look at the last message your ex sent you makes you wish you could.

I'll 🐝 there in 30 ⌚, babe. 😘😘😘

💋💖🥺 Miss you. 🥺💖💋

The overuse of emojis topped off with him calling you ‘babe’ makes you regret so much as the thought of meeting him already.

It's hard to imagine a normal conversation with Jerry given how awfully long it's been since you last talked and how blatant you were being through texts, ignoring all the ones about the info he dug up on monsterkind and only answering his most recent message with a 'K'. You didn't want to hear his reasons behind his absence after how bad things were left between you, and even less did you want him to call you 'babe' in real life. Grateful as you are to have Toriel offer her home as the place for your meeting with him, you look forward to this as much as you do having to wake up at five in the morning every weekday. Her home is busy as a result of the upcoming visitor, with Papyrus trying to make himself look like the most sophisticated gentleman possible, Toriel fixing Frisk's hair into two short braids, Undyne freshening up after exercising all her own nervousness away, Alphys practicing her introductory speech, and Sans revising Frisk's homework.

Considering how much of a handful the last person has been, you decide to take that as an opportunity for you to bother him yourself -- not only as payback, but as a way to prepare yourself to confront Jerry soon.

You approach the couch he sits on and stand behind him, his sitting height and your standing one allowing you to grab a look at what he's doing with more detail. He's around halfway through correcting Frisk's Math homework, and their English speech is already set aside with a few marks and commentary on what they had left to work with. His revision stops when you hover a little closer, making him acknowledge your presence and set the notebook aside to turn around and meet with your eyes.

"How do I look?

That's the first question you ask him, a bit of confidence shining through with how your health's managed to improve a bit since your hospitalization. While you still have to use foundation to cover up your stress blemishes and you're far from being as fit as Jerry was, it's a huge difference from how you were at the start of it all. As a result, you smile, ready to hear someone else's view of you besides Frisk, Brenda, or yourself.

"'Fraid you're asking the wrong person, pal," he replies, gaze averting from yours.

"C'mon," you insist, sitting next to him on the couch. You then shift a bit closer to the skeleton and nudge his shoulder, pouting at him after that. "Please?," you add, facing him again. "You're… You're the only one I trust who won't sugarcoat how I look if you pointed out those 'love handles' I've got a while back."

He manages to keep his gaze and attention on the conversation, though you can see he tries to look elsewhere every so often, as if unable to stare at you for too long.

"So? I was just makin' a comparison between us, not callin' you out or anything."

"But you were still bold enough to say I had them."

You pull your hand back, noticing it's been kept on his shoulder for far too long. Then, you scoot away, growing aware of how close you are. "I don't want him to think I'm still hung up over him." You huff. "It's been almost six years now!"

"Are you still thinkin' about 'im, though?"

"Oh, hell no. He can go date whoever he wants."

Sans grabs the area where you'd touched him; the sight of that makes you worry if you'd involuntarily crossed a line with him. You're not sure how to ask if you've made him uncomfortable, so you back off and shift further away in your seat, setting your hands on your lap and staring down afterwards. "He was… nice enough to wait until I finished my second year of college for us to call our relationship off and for him to leave the picture, so I can't really blame him too much for what happened." You take in some air and look up again, maintaining your pride. "But that still doesn't mean I don't want to look my best. I've moved on, and I... I really want all that to show today."

Appearing convinced, Sans nods once and sits up straighter on the couch. Whatever made him wary of eye contact vanishes and allows him to judge you without any bias, irises scanning your face for a moment. He carries on to your attire, though it's a quicker observation in comparison and a hint of embarrassment can be seen in his body language, from how stiff his shoulders get to how his grin feels forced and bashful. "You look good. Not much different from your regular self, I'd say."

"Please, be honest with me here, Serif. I know I didn't exactly... look my best when we first met, y'know? It's fine."

"But I am being honest." Again, he averts his gaze from yours, posture staying rigid as he faces the table and stares at the open notebook. "You don't need to try and look like you've moved on, 'cause it already shows -- And even more now that you look healthier, too."

Unsure how to approach his comment, you grab your knees and clench your hands around them, sighing after. "If you really think so, then I..." You breathe in, chest feeling tighter than the belt around your waist. "Thank you."

You stand up and fix your clothes for what has to be the twentieth time today. Your heart's racing just as much as your thoughts. Honest to goodness, you were nervous over meeting Jerry again, and not because of butterflies or lingering feelings, but for how much had happened since he last visited. At the thought of him meeting the monsters and learning all about the near two months Frisk was absent from your side, your worries heighten and anxiety eats right through your confidence.

Nervous, you gulp and look back to the couch again, offering the one still sitting there a smile. "Could you... follow me outside, please?" You wring your hands, clasping them as a subtle plead shows on your face. "I could really use your company right now."

Sans laughs at that, nodding again as he stands up, dusts off, and joins your side, winking when he looks up at you. "Thought you'd never ask, (Y/N)."

You still can't help feeling strange at the sound of him saying your name.

While you're fully aware it was nothing out of the ordinary and that he was now in closer enough terms with you to call you that instead of 'pal' or (L/N), there remains a sudden flip in your stomach whenever he says it. Whether it was due to how wary you've become around him or how incessant he was with his flirting, it's still impossible for you to acknowledge that and get over those feelings. No way were you wasting any of your time and energy thinking about that stuff, anyway.

• • •

The temperature changes as you both step outside.

In contrast to the warmth and coziness of Toriel's home, you're greeted by cold and unrelenting winds, along with the colder, occasional water droplets falling on your face. The hint of a downpour coming soon makes you dwell on your past visit here and how you were obliged to stay the night back then. You wonder if the same ending will apply for today, or if you would have to cut your reunion short as a consequence.

"Guessin' those months without the kid around were pretty draining, huh? You look way happier compared to when we first met." Sans breaks the ice, though his hands are kept in his pockets to shield himself from both the cold and any awkward body language. "When I think about it, it's… It's kinda hard to believe it's already been just as long since we left the Underground -- And that it's gonna be Frisk's birthday soon, too."

You face down at him, smiling when you meet with his gaze. "Has it felt like less or longer to you?"

"A weird mix between the two, actually."

You look away from each other at the sound of an engine rumbling from nearby. A familiar, red colour flashes before your eyes; the Ferrawrxd that parks at the sidewalk brings back memories, ones you try to push down. "Tori was already plannin' out somethin' for 'em by that time," the skeleton says, distracting you from the view. "Has she talked about it with you?"

"Not yet," you reply, facing your shoes. "But I wanted to ask her if she'd like to help out -- It's the least I can do with how much she cares for Frisk."

Despite your best efforts not to, you tense up at the sound of a person stepping down and a car door being shut and locked.

Now that you're actually about to confront your ex, it's hard for you to keep your confidence and face up at that sight. "You should do it, then." Again, Sans's voice helps melt your worries down. "I'm sure she'll be more than happy to join you in that -- And pretty much the rest of Frisk's friends, too." You can feel his gaze on you, though you don't look at him, still too anxious to move your eyes away from the floor. "And I'd be more than happy to help also, so just say the word if you need me."

The earthy scent of roses catches you off guard and makes you look up to see a large, white-and-red bouquet being offered out to you, ex-husband standing behind them. "How's it going, babe?" he asks, a smile present on his face. "I missed you."

You back up against the door to Toriel's home and face the man in front of you with careful eyes. Your breathing hitches with how different a greeting that is from your expectations; the sight of him having no companion around and the use of 'babe' makes it obvious as to what the bouquet means. It's even more than evident with the lull in his tone and the soft look in his eyes, though you don't want to acknowledge that. To counter, you step closer to the skeleton's side and look at your ex right in the eye, a firm look remaining in yours.

"I'm doing alright," you reply, stoic. You then take the flowers from him, paying little attention to them and ignoring his other comment. "This is Sans. Though I'm sure you've heard about him already," you add, gesturing with a hand over to him. Pretending you hadn't seen Jerry at the restaurant back at the very beginning of it all is the best you can do for now with how hard it is to lie about it. "He's one of Frisk's friends from the Underground."

The pair exchange a look, one you can only remain curious over when you remind yourself over the purpose for Jerry's visit. You glare sharply at him, wanting to stand your ground. "Why return after a whole year of not coming around to see your child?" Finally, you cross your arms tight and let your displeasure known through a grimace. "Frisk was gone for almost two whole months, and yet you never worried to ask if I needed help with that or not!"

You take a step forward, anger bubbling the more you let those words dawn upon you. "You came to visit us only after the hardest stage was over. The one where I needed you the most!" You hold yourself back, against letting your voice turn any louder or making a scene of any sort.

"Well, I..." he counters, gaze narrowing and frown showing. "I waited two whole years for you to start out college before ending our relationship, and I'm still paying child support to this day."

"And I had to divide time between taking care of a two year-old with work and college!" You huff out, trying to contain yourself. "This isn't a competition, Jerry. It never was." A sharp bite to the inside of your lip is what's necessary for you to keep yourself from exploding any further than you have already, against showing any more weakness in front of him. "I don't care if you decided to leave, I only wanted you to at least pretend you cared for Frisk. Not just show up and visit once a year like freakin' Santa Claus!"

He glares back at you, keeping it that way when he looks down at Sans, his height not only towering over the monster, but you, as well. "At least I'm not dating a Halloween decoration seven years after my divorce!"

Wham!

You shove the bouquet right at his chest.

Your nostrils flare and your hands ball up tight as you stare him down, frown changing for a deep and unwavering scowl. "Don't talk to him like that!" You pause and take another step forward, enough for him to do the opposite. "Don't call me babe, and don't give me flowers if you're just gonna assume I'm dating someone else! I'm through with you, Jerry, and it's been that way since six damn years ago."

Jerry's eyes lower back to the skeleton, who takes his hands out of his pockets and straightens up. He faces your ex, looking amused. "So this is the one you told me you liked, man?" he asks, brushing you aside to make way towards Sans. "Is this really the (chick/dude) you told me you were into? I thought we were bros!"

"Wait, what?"

Those are the only words you can say out loud as you watch the two confront each other, tension thick in the air. Jerry takes in all of it, while the monster keeps his cool, shrugging at his bro. "Sorry to lay it down like this, but yeah," he says, snickering. "They're who I'm into." He spares a quick glance at you, winking to further fuel your ex's anger. "I gotta admit, it's a bit awkward. Though I really dunno why you're so worked up over this if you had your time all those years ago. Ain't my fault you two broke up."

"They're my ex-spouse, bro!"

"Yeah -- I'm well-aware of that, pal."

You back away from the door when it opens, revealing a frowning Toriel behind it.

"Is everything alright out there, you two? Someone sounds angry." When she catches sight of Jerry, her eyes brighten and a smile overcomes her. "I see our new guest is here! Come along now. I cannot wait to meet Frisk's other parent!"

"Inna second, Tori," Sans says, grinning up at your ex. "Just havin' a talk with 'im first."

The goat lady nods, and a knowing look's exchanged between them two; she then closes the door after that, leaving you be.

Overwhelmed and in need of some painkillers for a future headache, you take a step back meanwhile, not quite in favour of getting caught up between your ex and a monster with a seemingly one-sided crush on you.

"What more could there be to talk about?" Jerry asks, scowling. "If I'd known it was (Y/N) you'd been talking about this whole time, I would've never told you to try giving it a shot!"

He storms off inside the house and closes the door shut, leaving you alone with the skeleton, who soon beckons you over with his irises, a look of caution visible in them.

"You okay, pal?" he asks, hands going back in his pockets. "Sorry I got ya mixed up in all this. I know you don't want any drama, but I really didn't think he'd figure me out like this."

You stand by the door and lean against the wall while you consider his words.

It doesn't take too long for a smile to show up on your face. You sigh, choosing to believe him for now. "It's alright," you say, dismissing his words. "The look you gave each other before this kind of... showed that." You pause, curiosity intervening. "How did you guys become friends, anyway? Didn't he pretty much hate your guts a while back?"

"Met 'im again while workin' at a hot dog stand, so we've been able to talk some more since then." Sans joins your side, similar to the day at Waterfall, but with an easier atmosphere present between you. "He came over to grab a bite, we found some stuff in common, and then we kinda just became friends from there on -- Surprisingly." He hums, a faint chuckle interrupting it. "We started talkin' about our love lives two weeks into gettin' to know each other. And about a month after you confronted me over at that restaurant." His hands leave his pockets, these placing themselves behind his skull as he further reclines against the wall. "I told 'im I'd met someone I was interested in, but when he asked for specifics, I said they weren't really into me. Told 'im they were a single parent, and that maybe that had somethin' to do with them not fallin' easily enough for my flirtin'."

He stops, though you still want to hear more. You nod at him, hope over him carrying on remaining. "Is... Is that all?"

"You'll get mad at me if I keep tellin' you what I told 'im about you."

"I can't promise I won't, but I'll try not to."

The monster takes in a breath, and his relaxed state is then replaced by a subtle mousiness he tries to cover up, mainly by remaining calm and casual.

"I told him your stubbornness and integrity were kinda just... hot, and that I had a thing for not only your looks, but just you, in general -- As a person, I mean."

"Do you still feel that way about me?"

You don't know what makes you blurt that question out, but it's far too late for you to dwell over it now of all times.

"Of course I do," Sans says, rubbing the back of his neck. "I told Jerry 'bout that last part just a few days ago." He stops again, breathing in deep once more. "I was, well, only doing it for fun back when it started. But now... Now I really mean it when I flirt with you, (Y/N)."

[First] | [Previous] | [Next]

• • •

Updates will be Mondays and Fridays starting after Part 2 of this chapter!

Not only will I continue working with my Mario (one-shots from my old account, featuring Princess Peach, Princess Daisy, Rosalina, and Pauline) and She-Ra (some drabbles I’ll be posting here later on) fanfics soon, but I've reached a personal milestone in terms of my studies, so I'll be celebrating that soon!!

• • •

Tag List (Comment or message me if you want to be added to [or removed from] it!)

@the-simp-express

@nektotersh

@disastrous-l0vebug

@therealchickenjoe

@mintyflakes025

@pandaquick

@timelock97

#sans x reader #undertale x reader #lgbt #lgbt themes #gender neutral reader #male reader #female reader #mother reader #father reader #parent reader #chubby reader #long fic #romcom #adventure #mystery #platonic relationships #slow burn

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onecanonlife · 4 years ago

Text

careful son (you got dreamer's plans)

Wilbur gasps back to life with mud between his fingers and rain in his eyes.

Wilbur was dead. Now, he is not. He can't say that he's particularly happy about it.

Unfortunately, the server is still as tumultuous as ever, even with Dream locked away, so it seems that his involvement in things isn't a matter of if, but when.

(Alternatively: the prodigal son returns, and a broken family finally begins to heal. If, that is, the egg doesn't get them all killed first.)

Chapter Word Count: 6,196

Chapter Warnings: swearing, implied s.uidical ideation, non-graphic panic attack

Chapter Summary: In which Wilbur frankly has no idea how a reunion with his father is supposed to go, considering the circumstances. Also, a ghost makes an appearance.

(masterlist w/ ao3 links)

(first chapter) (previous chapter) (next chapter)

Chapter Three: listening for that angel choir

He comes to awareness violently, lurching into a sitting position, his hand outstretched before him. He is silent, but that’s probably only because he trained himself to be, back when they were so afraid of someone finding where they were, down in that dark, hidden ravine, stone on all sides and darkness above, closing in. He doesn’t remember what he was dreaming about,

(fire all around and the world falling to pieces and it’s all so very beautiful, and the worst thing is Tommy’s horrified face but he’s too far gone to care)

but the vestiges cling to him like cobwebs, difficult to shake off. He takes a moment to steady himself, to bring his breathing back under control, and then looks around, the remembrance of where he is coming swiftly. Technoblade’s living room is unchanged from last night, but there is no sign of Technoblade himself.

There is, however, someone in the kitchen.

He can smell food—eggs, he thinks. There’s someone moving around, their tread light and sure, and he knows those footsteps, knows them like he knows his own name.

He is standing before he can think better of it, and it is habit that keeps his own strides silent. He walks to the doorway of the kitchen and stops there, stops because there is a man at the stove, his back turned to him, but Wilbur doesn’t need to see his face to know him. He never has.

Something about this picture is wrong, though, and he doesn’t know what it is. He’s seen this a thousand times, if not in this setting, has woken up to this exact thing on countless occasions, back in their old home, back before Techno started going off to tournaments, before Tommy and he left to make their own ways, before Phil started spending more and more time on hardcore worlds, out of contact. Before all of that, it was just this, just Phil making them all breakfast in the sun-soaked morning.

Something about it is wrong, and he can’t pick it out, and he can’t stand here forever. He could leave, could turn his back and slip out the front door when no one is watching, but that won’t be well-received, and he hardly wants to be followed. That really only gives him one other option, and it’s ridiculous, how fast his heart is beating, because it’s just Phil.

(it’s just Phil, and that’s the problem, isn’t it? just Phil, and you can’t face him, not after what he did, not after what you made him do)

It’s just Phil.

So he leans against the doorway, and he clears his throat.

Phil whirls around, spatula raised.

(was he always on such a hair trigger? or is that new?)

He lowers it after a split second, his face flickering through several expressions too fast for Wilbur to process. Eventually, he settles on a warm smile, but there is something lurking around the edges, something that he is hiding, though Wilbur has no hope of figuring out what. For some reason, this doesn’t feel like seeing Techno again at all. With Techno, it barely took a moment for old patterns to resurface, barely took a moment to remember how to read him, but with Phil, it’s almost like looking at the face of a stranger.

(did you think he’d be the same? did you think he would be unaffected? even the most stable of anchors rusts eventually, exposed to the deep water)

“Wilbur!” Phil says, and he could weep to hear the sound of his voice, even though it hasn’t been that long, not technically. Not that long since the last time Ghostbur spoke to him. “Good morning! Did you sleep alright?”

He thinks about his nightmares and decides not to say anything.

“Pretty alright,” he says, and then adds, belatedly, “Good morning.”

The words come out awkwardly. It’s too casual, too normal, and everything that’s happened since the last time they ate breakfast together is sitting in the air between them, about as unobtrusive as a flashing creeper and just as dangerous. There’s too much left unsaid, and he has no idea how to go about fixing that.

So he just keeps standing there. Silently. And Phil stands there too, just as silent, just as watchful, just as awkward, and perhaps Wilbur should take comfort in the fact that he, too, seems to have no idea what to do. But he finds no room for comfort within himself, only a vague resentment, because wasn’t Phil planning to bring him back anyway? Just what was his plan for afterward, if he had managed to succeed? Was it this? This silence, this hesitance, this painful awareness of the distance between them, of all the things that went so bitterly, terribly wrong?

If this was his plan, Wilbur can’t say that he’s all that impressed with it.

But then, Phil steps forward. Only a bit, and slowly, as if he’s approaching a startled animal. Wilbur would be angry at the implication if he didn’t feel like he was one, if there weren’t something snarling and desperate caged within his ribcage, calling for him to either fight or flee.

“Would it—” Phil starts, and then stops, and it’s odd, because Wilbur doesn’t remember his father ever being so hesitant. Phil’s confidence has always been quiet, but at the same time unmistakable, and that makes this so very strange. “Would it be alright if I hugged you?” he goes on to say, and Wilbur’s brain stutters to a halt.

He can’t help but remember

(the spatula becomes a sword and his great creation is in ruins around him and he is laughing and sobbing and wild and everything is spiraling, spiraling, and what a glorious destruction it is, a beautiful chaos, and the center cannot hold and he is begging pleading shouting and there are tears streaming down his father’s face and an awful waver in his voice, but the sword is in his chest and he can feel nothing but relief, relief, relief, it’s over now, you can rest, your symphony is not finished never finished but it is over at long last, good night, good night and goodbye)

the last time Phil held him.

But that was then, and this is now,

(isn’t it?)

and Phil is watching him with an expression that might be either desperation or hunger, masked behind a slight smile, and that is what drives him to nod, what drives him to open his arms slightly, and then Phil is embracing him, and—

The mess in his head goes quiet. Just for a second, his father is enough to drive his demons away.

And it’s like fireworks on his skin, fireworks at first and then an all-encompassing warmth, and he doesn’t fit into Phil’s arms quite the same as he did when he was a child, is taller, older, cobbled-together pieces of the bright future he used to have, but something in him recognizes this feeling, recognizes it as safety, as comfort, as home. He slumps a bit, melting into the touch, and Phil doesn’t complain at suddenly holding up half of his weight, just adjusts his position a bit and grips him tightly, like he thinks that Wilbur might disappear if he lets go.

“God, Wil,” Phil murmurs. “I’m so glad you’re home.”

Wilbur closes his eyes against the words. He doesn’t have the heart to tell Phil that he isn’t. Even if for a moment, he can pretend. Pretend that this was his idea, that he’s alright with this, that what he wishes more than anything else isn’t to escape back into rest and away from this world that is too bright and too sharp and too laden with consequences.

“It’s good to see you,” he says instead, and that, at least, is mostly honest.

His hands are clutching the back of Phil’s shirt, entangled in the fabric, and beneath his hands, he can feel Phil’s wings shifting. It is then that he realizes what he didn’t, earlier: Phil is hiding his wings, and that is what is wrong, because Phil never does that around the house. Never.

Though, come to think of it, Ghostbur never saw him with his wings out either. Not once.

Did Ghostbur ever question it? Did he ask and then forget about it, because the answer upset him? Or did he just not bother, presuming that Phil had his reasons and that everything was alright? That sounds like something Ghostbur would do, and for a moment, he is overwhelmed by a seething rage at his dead counterpart, because why couldn’t he ever be useful—

(better to be useless and happy than alive and miserable and the cause of everyone else’s misery to boot, better to forget than to remember, better to let it all go and float away in the wind with the dandelions and the blue blue sky)

“Are you alright?” Phil asks, and he realizes that he’s balled his hands into fists. He pulls away from the hug, steps back to meet Phil’s eyes, pretends that the sudden lack of contact doesn’t leave him feeling bereft.

He tries for a smile. He doesn’t think he manages very well. His skin feels as though it’s stretching oddly, as though it’s forgotten the proper shape for the expression.

“I’m fine,” he says, and that—that is a lie. That is a lie for sure. But what else is he supposed to say?

The wings—or lack thereof—are bothering him. Now that he’s spotted their absence, he can’t unsee it. He’s not sure how to ask, though, because he has the sneaking suspicion that

(he shielded you you idiot shielded you from your own explosion from your own destruction don’t you remember don’t you remember the way he cried out and the feathers in the air and he was holding you holding you don’t you remember don’t you remember how he tried to protect you even to the last don’t you remember)

there’s something about it that he’s not understanding, still, and he hates this, hates not even being able to trust to his own recollections, but he supposes that’s what he gets for his troubles. A beating heart and a mind full of holes and a wide open world that feels like a cage and a precarious stability that he thinks might go out from under him at any moment, like sand into a hidden ravine, and he’ll be sent down, down, down—

“Oh, great,” Techno says, and Wilbur jerks, wheeling around. He hadn’t heard him—but then, Techno has always been able to move far more silently than ought to be possible for someone with such a terrifying presence, with such a weight to his blood-soaked step. “You guys are being weird, aren’t you?”

He blinks.

“What?”

“We’re not being weird, what are you on about?”

His voice overlaps with Phil’s, and it’s a bit weird.

Techno snorts, stepping further into the kitchen. “Don’t be weird in my house, you guys,” he says. “If you’ve gotta be weird, do it somewhere else. I can’t take this.”

“What, the great Technoblade can’t handle an awkward social situation?” he says, and there is more bite to his voice than he intends, and Techno hears it, judging by the way his lips twist into a scowl.

“You know I can’t,” he says. “I hate socializing.”

What should have been a joke has turned into something that is—not. Wilbur should have known better than to push, maybe, should have known better than to call Techno out, because Techno does hate socializing, does hate being forced into awkward situations, hates an enemy that he cannot defeat with his sword. But then, none of that is quite right either, because awkward social situations are one thing. This should be quite another. Because they’re family, or at least, they’re meant to be, and no amount of awkwardness should be able to outweigh that. And yet, here they are, Techno glaring and Phil quiet and Wilbur suppressing the urge to bolt from the room and start sprinting across the tundra.

Staying the night was a mistake. Not leaving when he could was a bigger one. He’s not sure what he was thinking.

(he does, he does know what he was thinking, and he was thinking that he wanted things to be the way they used to be, if he was going to be alive, if he was going to be forced to live in this world once again, he wanted a family that was strong and steady and whole, not the fractured mess that this is, not fragmented and separated and snapping at one another’s throats)

“I’m making breakfast,” Phil puts in. He seems so very weary. Wilbur’s not sure why he’s only picking up on that now, but the bags under his eyes could probably pass for bruises. “Techno, Wil, how about you sit down? The eggs’ll be off in just a few minutes.”

Techno huffs, shooting Wilbur one last glare. But then, he does as Phil asks, sidling past to sit at the dining table, the chair legs making an awful scraping sound against the floor.

Wilbur remains standing.

“C’mon, Wilbur, come sit down,” Techno says. “I want eggs.”

Something shifts. His blood is buzzing, like his veins have been replaced with live wires. It’s a picture of domesticity, father making breakfast and son waiting for it, and he belonged here once but now he’s a piece that doesn’t fit, his edges worn away and grown out wrong.

(they shouldn’t fit either, and it’s wrong that they do, wrong that they’re comfortable with this even when the picture is incomplete and Tommy isn’t here)

“I’m not staying,” he blurts out. He doesn’t know he’s going to say it until he does. And once he does, it’s out there, and he can’t take it back. But he doesn’t think he would if he could. It’s the truth, even if he’s only just discovering it. He’s not staying. He can’t.

Phil has turned back to the stove, but Wilbur can see the way his back goes stiff, the way his shoulders hunch, just a little.

“It’s breakfast,” Techno says slowly, almost bewildered, if Techno did bewilderment. He doesn’t, usually, but perhaps that’s another thing that’s changed sometime between Wilbur’s death and now. “You can’t stay for breakfast?”

“I can make something else, if you don’t want eggs,” Phil murmurs. Wilbur barely catches the words.

“It’s not about the eggs and you know it,” he snaps, and then stops to take a breath. Phil is silent. “Look, I wasn’t even planning on being here as long as I have been. Where’s Tommy?”

“At his old home, I think,” Techno says. He is holding himself very still, watching Wilbur very carefully, and viciously, cruelly, Wilbur considers making the attack that he is so clearly expecting. Considers leaping across the table and going for his throat, rolling around on the ground like they did when they were kids, playing, roughhousing, sparring, only this wouldn’t be any of those things. He wouldn’t be able to defeat Technoblade, of course, but he’d be able to get a good few licks in, even if he doesn’t have a real reason to do so,

(he wasn’t there for Tommy he left Tommy alone left him to that monster’s mercy he abandoned him and even when Tommy came to him he discarded him again tossed him aside as if they weren’t raised together weren’t brothers as if none of it meant anything at all he spawned withers in L’manberg and destroyed it destroyed it all destroyed even what it stood for and there won’t be any coming back from that)

even if his rage is aimless, directionless, building in him like a volcano begging to erupt, begging to destroy everything in its path, to delight in the carnage and—

He’s felt like this before. He’s felt like this before, and it didn’t end well, and it set the stage for all of Tommy’s suffering, and if that’s not a reason to try to hold back, he doesn’t know what is.

“That’s not what I was asking,” he says through gritted teeth. “I’m asking you why he’s not here. You don’t see a problem with it?”

“We’re not on the best terms with Tommy at the moment,” Phil says quietly, and Wilbur wishes he would turn around so he could see his expression, but for now he’ll settle for glowering at his back.

(where was the father when his son needed him the most? not there, not there, never there, and what happened to the father who raised them, to the father who promised he would always be by their sides?)

“And whose fault is that?” he demands. “He’s a fucking kid, Phil! He needed someone in his corner, literally anyone, and I’m sorry, but the fucking amnesiac ghost couldn’t quite cut it!”

“Do you think I don’t know that?” Phil asks. “Do you really think I don’t have any regrets? That I wouldn’t give anything to have him here, safe with us?” Phil wheels around, then, and usually, in times past, such a motion would be accompanied by a flaring of wings, an instinctive response, but there are no wings behind him, and without them he looks so very small. Once again, Wilbur is struck with that overwhelming sense of wrongness. “I know damn well that I failed him, Wil, that I failed all of you. You don’t need to tell me. I already know.”

“Phil, wait, no—” Techno starts, but Phil shakes his head.

“I have, Techno, don’t try to deny it. I’ve failed you all, and the worst bit is that even when I had chances to try to fix things, I didn’t take them. Haven’t taken them.” He meets Wilbur’s eyes. “All I can do about that is apologize. I am sorry, truly. But Tommy doesn’t want to see me. He’s made that clear, both after you died and after Techno and I destroyed L’Manberg. If you’ve got ideas, Wilbur, I’m open to them.”

And really, what is he supposed to say to that? His rage shrivels up, becoming something cold and hard and acrid on his tongue. Phil believes what he’s saying, that much is clear, and perhaps that’s the most disappointing thing of all, that he’s given up so easily, given up on keeping their family together.

(part of him understands. part of him understands that in the wake of everything, in the wake of his father murdering one of his sons and alienating the other, of course he would retreat to the third, to the one who was still there, to the one he thought he could still help. part of him understands the way that he clings to Techno, unwilling to lose, in his eyes, the only son he had left to him. part of him understands why Phil always takes Techno’s side)

(but part of him whispers, bitter and sharp, that Techno has always been the favorite. so was it ever really a choice, between Techno and Tommy? did he lose sleep over it, any time during the late watches of the night? or was he secure in his opinion that he’d done all that he could do, even though he never tried to do more?)

“I need to go,” he says, and braces himself for their renewed protests. But Techno is silent, and at length, Phil nods once, short and sharp.

“Will you be coming back?” he asks, and Wilbur gives the question due consideration.

“Maybe,” he says. “We’ll see.”

Phil closes his eyes. Nods again.

“Okay,” he says. “Please be safe.”

It’s as close to a blessing as he’s going to get, as close to an understanding as they will reach, and somehow, it sounds like more of an apology than anything else Phil has said. And if, for his own peace of mind, Wilbur has to pretend that he doesn’t hear how wrecked Phil sounds, how he seems to have aged another five years in the past five minutes, well.

“I’ll try,” he says, and he’s not sure whether he means it or not, and he thinks that if he stays here any longer, in this small kitchen with eggs on the stove and his father standing in front of him like he’s pronouncing a death sentence and his brother glaring balefully from one side, he will lose his resolve.

He’s angry, but he doesn’t want to hurt them. Not really. That compulsion is gone, it seems, washed away in the peace of the void, and only time will tell if it will return, now that he’s been ripped back into existence.

But in the end, hurting them is the thing he knows how to do best.

So he leaves. Nods once, sharply, turns on his heel, and walks toward the front door, grabbing his coat as he goes. It’s not in the same spot he left it in last night, is draped near the crackling fire, and there’s only two people who could have placed it there and Phil wasn’t there by the time he fell asleep, he knows, and his mind recalls the sensation of a blanket being draped over him. That is enough to get him to stop, to pause.

But not to stay.

The sunlight is cold, but he barely feels it at all.

----------

He manages to make it out of the tundra before he breaks down.

He wasn’t expecting it, even though he probably should have been, but it doesn’t matter either way, because he blinks and he’s on the ground, hands braced against wet grass, heaving for breath because this is so fucking fucked up—

It was a mistake. Going to Technoblade was a mistake, because now he and Phil both know that he’s back and he just walked out on them and he’s so angry at them for so many things but now they’re probably angry right back and when the fuck did his family get so fucking broken? And now he’s here, in the forest again, and he’s all on his own

(but he’s not on his own and there are so many eyes watching him)

(he is on his own because there’s no one to stand with him, no one brave enough, no one who truly sees)

(he is on his own because he’s pushed everyone else away and even at his lowest point there was a voice in the back of his mind screaming for him to stop to walk away to take a step back and gain some fucking perspective but there’s no one there for him and it’s all his fault)

(he is on his own even though Tommy is still there, despite everything, because even Tommy is wary of him now and that same voice tells him that he deserves it even as he denies it all and decries his little brother for a traitor)

(but he’s not on his own)

and his empty stomach is rolling and he can’t fucking manage to get a good breath in, and this might be how he dies again, and he doesn’t think he would mind all that much if it was because he still doesn’t want to be here, with all the cares and all the worries and all the responsibilities piling up on his back once again, and who the fuck thought this was a good idea? Who the absolute, ever-loving fuck took a look at what he did last time, took a look at how he cracked under the strain and blew up a city, and thought that it was a good idea to bring him back into the world?

In fairytales, when monsters die, no one brings them back. The victory is celebrated and the villain forgotten and their grave spat on. Wilbur never got a grave, but the principle should be the same.

He still can’t breathe properly. He’s gasping for air, but he can barely hear himself over the pounding of his heart in his ears. He might die here. He might die here, and he’d be mostly fine with that, if it weren’t for—

Tommy.

It’s probably Tommy’s fault that he’s here. Probably Tommy who—got Dream to resurrect him, and he really does need the details about that. But he still wants to see him, still wants to see his brother, and the original plan holds true. Find Tommy, then kill Dream, and maybe then he can think about his options. He can’t allow himself to die here, even if he feels like he’s going to, like his ribs are going to crack apart and his brain pound right out of his skull.

(and even besides all of that, what would Tommy think if he saw the message on his communicator, saw WilburSoot died without any context at all, without knowing that he was back in the first place?)

It’s easier when there’s someone there to help him. But he has no one, so he regulates his breathing himself, little by little, his progress set back every time a new wave of panic and desperation crests over him and makes him choke on air. But he does it. It’s not pretty, but he does it, and after some time, he’s kneeling in the grass, exhausted and wrung out and still here, for better or for worse.

“Fuck,” he mutters. “Fuck, fuck, fuck fuck!” Each one increases in volume, and by the last one, he’s shouting. No one answers. He thinks he startles a few birds.

And then the forest is silent. He curls his fists into the grass, tearing up a few blades.

To the side, there is a flash of blue.

The hair on the back of his neck stands up.

(there’s something he’s forgetting)

“Who’s there?” he calls, his voice rough and hoarse. “You’ve been following me, don’t think I haven’t noticed. Come out where I can see you!”

He gets no response, but he can’t say that he was expecting one. He clambers to his feet, sighing sharply through his nose.

(there’s something he’s forgetting something was it something he said to Tommy what was it)

“Last warning,” he says. “Come out. Or I’ll make you.”

It’s an empty threat, said with more confidence than he feels. But he has to be right about this, has to be, or else he’s been hallucinating, has been letting his paranoia get the best of him already, again, and if that’s going to be the case, maybe Tommy really would be better off without him there, because he refuses to go down that same road now that he knows where it leads.

(even though part of him still yearns for it, yearns to go to hell and take everything with him)

(it was something he said to Tommy, in that moment when the veil between worlds was thin and he could see his brother there, plain as day, sitting on that bench with Tubbo at his side, and Tommy said Dream could bring him back and he said no fucking thank you and also that)

“Aw, you been pining for me, Wilbur?” someone says, and it all falls into place.

(he wasn’t alone. he wasn’t alone in the void. as much as he might have liked to be, as much as he liked to pretend otherwise. he wasn’t alone. not then, and not)

He pivots, and uses the momentum to send his fist right into Schlatt’s stupid, smug face.

And it passes right though him. It’s a strange sensation, one that sends sparks of electricity up his arm and feels a bit like dozens of tiny firecrackers are going off. For a split second, there is a bit of resistance, and then a give that sends him stumbling forward, off balance.

“Did that make you feel better?” Schlatt asks.

“Fuck you,” he snaps, stepping back. “What the fuck are you—what are you wearing?”

Wilbur doesn’t think he’s ever seen Schlatt wear anything but his signature suit and tie. Not since they were young, anyway, young and stupid and ready to take on the world,

(for each other, and where did that fall through?)

so painfully ignorant of everything to come. But the Schlatt in front of him is not the Schlatt he knows, not quite, is off in so many subtle ways and one big one. His pallor is grey, his horns chipped and cracked, his hair mussed and disarrayed, but all of that is overshadowed by the oversized blue sweater, a horrible parody of Ghostbur’s yellow one, and honestly, Wilbur wouldn’t be surprised if that’s exactly what it’s meant to be.

“What, you don’t like it?” Schlatt smiles, more a baring of teeth than anything else, and—his teeth didn’t use to be so pointy, right? “I think it’s a fashion statement. All the rage with ghosts these days.” He steps back, and the movement is wrong; it’s so obvious that his feet have no real traction on the ground, that he’s moving in the same way that Wilbur remembers Ghostbur doing, willing himself into the new space rather than working dead muscles.

(funny, though, that Schlatt would at least pretend to walk, would at least pretend at some semblance of normalcy. Ghostbur almost never did, was always content to float around and disregard the unease he caused, to hand out blue and avoid any confrontation that might make him uncomfortable. but then, Ghostbur was completely happy to be the way that he was)

“You’re an arsehole,” Wilbur grits out. “The fuck are you doing here?”

And just like that, the pretense is gone. Schlatt rises into the air, tilting forward, though he keeps his eyes level with Wilbur’s, scowling ferociously. He’s a bit transparent around the edges, Wilbur notes absently, a bit fuzzy, like he’s dissolving into the air bit by bit.

“You think I want to be?” Schlatt says. “You think I wanna be here, Wilbur, really? I had all the booze I could possibly want and none of the pitfalls, and now I’m here, in this shitty world with all the shitty people I never wanted to see again, and I can’t even fucking touch anything!”

His hand lashes out, and Wilbur flinches on instinct, but it passes through his shoulder harmlessly. There is the strange electric sensation again, but other than that, nothing.

“You think this is what I want?” he continues. “I’m fucking dead and I want to stay that way. None of this haunting bullshit. My business here is fucking finished. Over. Done. I don’t want to be here.” He pauses, and it’s for effect, because he doesn’t need to breathe, he’s just a dramatic arsehole. “And yet, whatever asshole dragged you back down here caught me too. I’m just as thrilled about it as you are, but I can’t figure out how to get back. So that’s a fucking, I don’t know. Fucking karma, maybe. How’ve you been?”

Wilbur stares at him for a moment. He starts laughing before he can stop himself, hysterical gusts, torn from him like someone is reaching into his chest and squeezing his lungs out, and he doubles over, bracing himself against his knees.

“Oh my god,” he eventually manages. “I don’t wanna fucking be here either. This is so fucked.”

Schlatt is silent for a moment, and the only sound is the last of Wilbur’s laughter, dying down into desperate chuckles. It’s not funny, not funny at all, but it’s either laugh or have another breakdown, and he’s filled his break down quota for the hour.

“I figured,” Schlatt says, calmer now, quieter. He drifts back down so his feet at least appear to be touching the ground. “I figured, I knew you didn’t want to—fuck.” He runs his hand through his hair and sighs, and once again, Wilbur is struck by the action. It’s for effect, or perhaps it’s just habit, but either way, the dead don’t need to breathe. Can’t, really, though they can go through the motions if they put the effort in.

“You’re the worst and I hate you,” he says, and there is absolutely no heat in it at all. “Why are you here?”

Schlatt looks at him incredulously. “I just said—”

“No, I mean here.” He gestures. “With me. Unless you have to be, or something like that.”

“Nah, I can walk away from you,” Schlatt says wryly. “Believe me, that’s the first thing I tried. But where the fuck else do you think I’m gonna go, Wilbur? You think I’ve got anybody waiting for me with open arms? That’s ridiculous.” He pauses. “Also, I’m pretty sure you’re the only one who can see me. I did a little tap dance routine for Technoblade earlier and got absolutely nothing, so.”

“What?”

“No, yeah, see? I can go invisible, like this, and hide from you,” Schlatt says, completely ignoring what his question was actually about, the bastard. And then, he vanishes, like he was never—wait. No, he’s still there, but Wilbur can only tell if he’s not looking directly at him. And even then, it’s just a faint shimmering, and an almost transparent splash of the color blue. “I can tell I’m invisible when I do that. But when I do this—” He reappears, his arms crossed— “no one else can see me. Except you, apparently. Make my fucking day, why don’t you.”

“Gladly,” he replies automatically. “Wait, why is that even a thing?”

“You’re asking me?” Schlatt demands. “How am I supposed to know? You’re the one who was a ghost for months, you should know how this works!”

“I really don’t,” he says. “And besides, Ghostbur wasn’t actually me. Just a fragment. A shadow.”

“Real poetic,” Schlatt mutters, and, well. Wilbur doesn’t have much to say to that.

They stand there in silence for a moment. Or rather, Wilbur stands, and Schlatt drifts about half an inch off the ground, the soles of his shoes brushing the grass. He briefly considers whether attempting to punch him in the face again would be worth it or not, but dismisses the idea. Dismisses it a lot more easily than he should, actually.

“I feel like I’m not as angry with you as I definitely should be,” he says.

“Well, I’m fucking pissed,” Schlatt says, and then, after a moment, adds, “Not so much at you, though. I mean, I am. But not more than I am at the general everything. Do you remember much of the—the you know?”

(darkness all around and a howling emptiness but so much better than the world so much more peaceful and after a while the void felt like an embrace, felt like coming home)

(Schlatt was loud and irritating and the clink of his whiskey glasses made him want to kill him all over again but it was a break from the monotony and it was nice, sometimes, to have someone to talk to, someone who understood if only a little, someone with whom he didn’t have to hide his shattered edges in favor of painting a prettier picture)

(empty and not and there is no death for the already-dead so the only thing to do is come to an understanding)

doesn’t, not really, only recalls a general sense of peace, the rest that he so craved, attained at least. And he knows that Schlatt was there, too, knows it, but while he remembers talking to Tommy, that one time, he can’t remember if he ever actually spoke to Schlatt. Evidence is pointing toward the affirmative, he thinks.

“Not much,” he says. “Do you?”

“I remember it was better than here,” Schlatt says. He kicks at the ground, and scowls when his foot won’t make contact with anything substantial. “I had all the booze I could’ve wanted. Sure, none of it was real, but that didn’t matter much. I’d kill to have a drink right now. Literally, I would murder someone.”

“Good luck with that,” he says.

“Shut the fuck your mouth.”

“I’m planning on seeing Dream,” he says, ignoring that. “After I find Tommy, anyway. I’ll make him tell me what he did to bring me back. And you, too, I suppose, assuming it was the same thing. Why are you a ghost when I’m not?”

“You keep asking me these questions like you expect me to know the answers,” Schlatt says. He levels his glare at him, but it doesn’t look very angry. Just tired. Wilbur knows the feeling. “Ask him to send me back, how about? I don’t want to fucking be here.”

His eyes slip shut. “Neither do I,” he says, and it’s more of a confession than it has any right to be. His tone matches Schlatt’s: tired, exhausted, weary, wrung out, sick of everything.

When he opens his eyes, Schlatt is gone. There is no sign of blue, no shimmer in the air. He’s really gone, then, but he assumes he’ll be back. For better or for worse.

He sighs, gathers himself, and resumes his march through the forest, looking for Tommy.

#mcyt #dsmp #dream smp #dsmp fic #wilbur soot #technoblade #philza #jschlatt #alivebur #glatt #/rp #cat writes fic #long post

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dhwty-writes · 3 years ago

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Chapter 19 - Golden Gowns and Eventful Evenings

I have no excuse, so I will just post this and run

Jaskier and Geralt attend the banquet in Goldfurt together.

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Being the biggest city between Yspaden and Mirt, it shouldn’t come as a surprise that Goldfurt exceeded any and all expectations Jaskier might have had before returning after his twenty-year absence. Being governed by his brother-in-law, Janina’s husband no less, it shouldn’t come as a surprise either that they exceeded them in the wrong direction.

Truth be told, he did not remember a lot about the city from his pre-Oxenfurt days. Of course, they had been obligated to visit the banquet every year, both as neighbours as well as the family of the future Countess, but Jaskier had been barely thirteen the last time he had attended the festivities. The only thing he remembered from that visit was his short-lived infatuation with one of Goldfurt’s squires. It had promptly ended when said squire had basically wiped the floor with him in the training yard during their one and only interaction.

After that unpleasantness he had gladly given a rather wide berth to the city and the castle at its centre. Jaskier had even managed to forestall the unhappy reunion for another year due to a cough at the most convenient of times.

This year, however, there was no excuse in the world that would have made it appropriate for him to stay away. Not with his title, not with his renewed betrothal to Lady Alina. Not with the two newest additions to his household, he was supposed to parade around like a pair of exotic animals.

Jaskier ground his teeth as he tugged at the sleeves of his shirt. ‘Melitele’s tits, I’d gladly attend the dinner if I could leave Ciri and Geralt in Lettenhove,’ he thought bitterly. But that would not only be a grievous insult, it would also rouse more suspicion and rumours than they already did. ‘Best hide them in plain sight.’ And if something unforeseeable were to happen, they could also make a quick escape.

Due to these unforeseen developments, the lack of information had posed quite an obstacle. If there was one particular lesson the twenty years with Geralt had taught him, then it was that ignorance in the face of danger could be fatal. And while one might assume, that a witcher’s lifestyle was much more deadly than a Viscounts, Jaskier would gladly go and fight a dozen ghouls with nothing but his lute, instead of entering the vipers’ nest that was Goldfurt.

Extensive reconnaissance—consisting of squeezing as much information as possible out of his three sisters—had revealed that he might actually have better chance with the ghouls. The silk doublet his servant buttoned up would do little against daggers in the dark or libations laced with poison. Not that he expected his kin and kinfolk-to-be to try and murder him at a dinner party, of course. He expected them to have some decorum at least.

Still, he had entered the city knowing fully well that he was anathema to at least half a dozen invited guests, not least of all their host. On the other hand, which relative of his wife was not anathema to Filip Firkalt? None of them, that was which. It had been one of the primary sources of their entertainment in the past days.

It was no secret that while he and his sisters nursed a precarious love-hate-relationship, the loving aspect was completely lost on the in-laws. The source of that animosity, of course, lay in the title he now bore. The moment his disappearance after his graduation from Oxenfurt had become public knowledge, both of his brothers-in-law had begun vying for what was rightfully his, Kerton with his heir even more so than childless Goldfurt. The fact that he had returned to rob them of what they had already considered theirs, was just another strain on their relationship.

Another of the lessons Geralt had imparted to him, was the importance of a plan. So, not only had the four Pankratz siblings spent their evenings mocking the stupidities they had been forced to endure by the hands of the men in their lives the past two decades, they had also conspired how best to pay them back within the confines of propriety. Two of them, at least. Janina and her blood-tear mourning garb had only been the appetiser for the main course that was to be served at the banquet tonight.

Or rather, it should have been. For the first vital life lesson he had learned on the Path was that every plan, no matter how good or bad, immediately went to shit upon the first contact with the opponents. Theirs had been no exception to the rule. The memory still made him clench his fist in anger. The disrespect shown to him and his sisters by not riding out to greet them was one thing. But he should have punched Goldfurt in the face when he first had called Geralt a dog. ‘Right then and there, castle peace be damned.’

“M’lord?” the attendant fussing over his cuffs called his attention with a meek voice. “Begging your pardon, but you have to let go of that fist, m’lord.”

“Oh,” he replied dumbfounded as his eyes travelled down to the rings he was holding in his hands. “Of course.” Slowly, he uncurled his tightly clenched fingers, while she slipped the signet ring as well as the embellished buttercup ring in place.

Jaskier stared blankly at his mirror image, fighting the urge to smile at the sight of him clad in Lettenhove ochre and muted autumnal colours. It would be the last time to dress for such an occasion before winter undoubtedly would settle in but a few days. He would be in need of a level head as much as a stoic façade for this evening. No matter how much he wanted to shout out his delight over his delivery from the straightjacket that had been his mourning garb. He wouldn’t have a lute to do so anyways, so there was no point in it.

In any way, there was no bard required this evening. He needed to be the Viscount de Lettenhove instead, protecting all those who had sought shelter at his home and hearth for the winter. ‘Geralt chief among them all.’ The witcher had protected him for nigh twenty years of his life, after all. After all these years of watching helplessly as villagers, nobles, and innkeepers had made Geralt’s life miserable, he was finally in a position to repay him. And it was high time that he did so.

“Will that be everything, m’lord?” the servant asked with a coy smile.

“Yes.”

He bowed obediently, still lingering. “Shall I be waiting for your return?”

Jaskier spared him a short considerate glance. He was quite an attractive fellow, although far too young. “Best not,” he answered, doing his best to keep the contempt from dripping into his voice. It wasn’t directed at the servant anyways. “It will be rather late, I’ll wager.” He certainly wasn’t desperate enough to take a man to ben who might not be offering his companionship for his own volition but because of ill-directed instructions he’d received.

Besides, he had a witcher to get to. The servant bolted from the room and Jaskier quickly followed, but not before grabbing the bundle on his bed.

His witcher had been billeted at a ridiculous distance to Jaskier’s own rooms in quarters which found themselves in a distressingly poor state. Well, nothing in Goldfurt Castle classified as ‘poor’ exactly, but in comparison to the usually upheld standard, it was scarcely better than the rug on the floor he’d been offered at first. The unfairness of it all made his blood boil.

Geralt, on the other hand, remained as unfazed as Jaskier was accustomed to. He had even kept him from running back to make good on his first impulse to bestow their host with a bloody nose. Instead, he had praised the quarters and assured him that he would be just fine, before ushering him out.

‘Maybe,’ a treacherous voice in the back of his head hissed, ‘he’s even glad to get away from you.’

Jaskier gnawed on his lower lip. He couldn’t even fault Geralt for that. His own welcome for his oldest friend had been anything but warm and he was well aware of the coldness freezing the air between them. ‘He still hasn’t apologised,’ he reminded himself. ‘Stubborn mule.’ Instead, Geralt had hurt him even more, albeit unknowingly so. Not that that made it hurt any less.

The same door that had slammed shut behind his back a few days prior blocked the path before him now. Jaskier didn’t allow himself a second thought and swung it open. “Ger—” He was with one foot over the threshold already, when he suddenly remembered and the fear of finding Geralt in bed with Marin stole his voice.

“My lord?”

He appeared to be in luck. Geralt was alone in the chamber. And nearly naked. The only strip of fabric on his person was a towel slung low around his hips and the shirt in his hands, his hair still damp from a bath.

“Uhm,” he said eloquently, while he desperately tried to get his thoughts into order. Unfortunately, he did not manage before his mouth started talking without any cerebral input: “You’re not wearing that,” he blurted of all things.

No ‘Good evening, Geralt’, or ‘How are you enjoying your stay, Geralt?’, or even ‘Fuck, why can’t we go back to how it was before, I’m slowly losing my mind, Geralt.’

No, it was 'You're not wearing that.'

If ever there was a moment for the skies to part and the gods to strike him down with a well-placed bolt of lightning, this was certainly is, right before 'You don't want to keep a man with bread in his pants waiting.' What was it about the witcher that made him so exceptionally stupid? Whatever it was, if the gods could hurry up and erase his existence from this earth, Jaskier would be much obliged, thank you very much.

Unfortunately, nothing happened.

Nothing of that sort, at least, because something happened and that was Geralt slowly glancing down at the towel and up at Jaskier again to deadpan: "I wasn't going to."

"Good," Jaskier's mouth ambled on.

He had to hand it to Geralt, the fact that he didn't so much as raise his eyebrows before moving to put on the shirt was undoubtedly one of his greatest displays of discipline so far.

"You're not going to wear that, either," Jaskier continued, slowly regaining control of his words again.

“Why not?” he asked, his voice impossibly honest. As if there was nothing wrong with the black shirt and breeches, he had worn on the day they’d arrived.

“Because,” he quipped and tossed him the bag he was carrying, “you’re not going as a witcher tonight. This is my brother-in-law’s banquet; we have a reputation to uphold. You're my friend and anyone who knows me, which is everyone here, is well aware that the only way my friend is dressed in anything but the finest clothing would be over my dead body. I'd never allow you to stand out for your tastelessness and considering that you don't appear to have a fashion sense for yourself, I'll gladly provide you with assistance."

"Hmm." Geralt cleared his throat and said: "I need to change if you want me to wear that." He flourished the expensive clothes in his hand.

"Right." Jaskier took a breath to steady himself. But somehow, his feet didn't move.

He raised his gaze with an amused expression on his face. "You need to leave the room, my lord, unle-" The expression on his face changed rapidly as if he was just realising what he was saying.

The barbed retort was already on the tip of his tongue: 'Why, Geralt, are you offering I stay to watch?' But the image of him and Marin kissing was much too present in his mind as it was, so Jaskier bit his lip to keep it from escaping. 'He's not mine to keep,' he reminded himself. 'Never has been, never will be.' "Right," he forced out and turned around, "I'll wait for you in the hallway." He wasn't sure either of them would survive the dinner otherwise.

Jaskier did his best to keep from fidgeting and pacing while he waited outside, which was no easy feat considering the nervousness and hum of energy building within him. Normally, he wasn’t prone to fits of anxiousness. Tonight, however, there was so much that could go wrong, so much that would ruin everything, so much—

Mercifully, the spiral of dread was interrupted by the quiet lock of a door behind him, accompanied by Geralt politely clearing his throat.

“Finally!” Jaskier meant to say as he turned on his heel. What got out was more of a garble: "Hngh." Geralt looked... dashing. There was no other word for it, truly. Well other than 'otherworldly beautiful and I can't decide whether the outfit choice was the best or worst idea I had in a long time and shit, I really should have taken that into consideration; he's not yours to keep, Jaskier, get it together, gods damnit!'

Yeah, dashing was much easier than that. Blue suited him, but Jaskier had already known that. He had chosen the outfit for their last ball together as well, after all. But in contrast to that disastrous outfit, the witcher wore clothes that actually fit him, instead of too small things Jaskier had pulled out of his bag. And on top of that, the witcher had the audacity to smirk. "You approve, my lord?"

"I do," Jaskier managed without embarrassing himself further. "We should go," he decreed. "The Count and Countess will make their appearance soon; it is considered terribly impolite to arrive after them."

"And you're only aiming for impolite?" Geralt teased.

Jaskier frowned and quickly looked down to hide a smile. It was true, most of the meticulous planning by him and his sisters prior to this visit had been to be as impolite as possible while still operating within the socially acceptable norms. Janina and her blood-tear mourning garb had been only the beginning of what would undoubtedly come to a head this evening.

Judging by the quiet snort beside him, he wasn’t quick enough. “Geralt,” he spoke up a few moments later.

“My lord?”

He grimaced slightly. “You probably shouldn’t call me that tonight. It would only… raise suspicion.”

The witcher frowned deeply. “And what should I call you then?”

“Julian,” he said simply. “That’s my name, you know.”

“I thought you resented that name.”

‘I do,’ he thought. “I mustn’t,” he answered and continued on into the dining hall. A large part of the nigh two hundred guests had already arrived and heated the room up nicely, in spite of the freezing temperatures outside. A plethora of voices filled his ears, the kind of pleasant buzz that usually promised an eager crowd Jaskier could sail upon. But he couldn't, so now the mix was irritating, fraying his nerves. And it smelt. Not quite enough to actually stink, but that would come soon enough with the fragrances mixing with sweat and food.

All of the sudden, Jaskier pitied Geralt. He knew the witcher had much finer senses than he did and if he was nearly overwhelmed-

A nigh unnoticeable touch at his elbow made him whip around. He stared directly at Geralt's face. "Are you alright?" the witcher asked quietly, concern etched onto every fibre of his body.

"Quite," Jaskier answered stiffly, letting his eyes sweep over the crowd until he spotted Ciri and Józefa at a table directly beneath the dais. “Let us join my lovely sister and cousin, shall we?” the Viscount announced with a bright smile frozen on his face as he crossed the threshold, a gentle hand on Geralt’s elbow to ensure he would follow.

There was no announcement, no herald making their arrival known, yet at least half a dozen heads turned their direction immediately. A hushed whisper spread through the ballroom with each of their footfalls, like ripples on a still lake during a rain shower that turned into a thunderstorm. A few moments passed, none of the attendants quite sure how to react—Julian Pankratz’ return had been surprising to all, disconcerting to most, and relieving to none.

Then: “Julian Pankratz!” a booming voice cut through the backdrop of murmurs, the crowd parting to let the speaker through. “I didn’t think you’d have the guts to show your face here.”

Jaskier’s lips curled into a true smile for but a moment when he recognised him. “Dawid,” he greeted his former friend, wincing slightly when he pounded on his shoulder, “I wouldn’t have if I had known you’d be here.”

The knight laughed at that, slung an arm around his shoulders and pulled him along. After that it was as if a wall had broken down. The journey to their places was torturously slow, continuously interrupted by former friends and lovers, now married and introducing their heirs, enemies and strangers, who sought to curry favours, or just regular attendants who just wanted an excuse to gawk at him.

They had almost made it, the end of their table already in touching distance, when another petitioner approached. It was a young boy, a squire, Jaskier guessed, dressed in Goldfurt’s livery, who bowed deeply. “My lord, my lord Goldfurt sends his regrets for the unfortunate seating situation,” the boy said with a wavering voice. “I am to let you know that there unfortunately is not enough space to accommodate all of your family as well as your witcher.”

Jaskier did not have to look up at the half-empty dais to know it was a blatant lie. “Unfortunate indeed,” he replied curtly.

“However, his lordship asked me to inform you that you yourself are welcome to join him at the high table, as are the two maidens who share his blood. And that you may rest assured, my lord, the witcher will enjoy himself just fine where he is.”

"I thank you kindly," Jaskier answered primly. "If you would do me the favour of relaying a message to her ladyship, now? Tell my sister, what is good enough for my witcher is good enough for me. I do not wish to add any additional strain to our familial relationship than there already is with our presence, which is why I am sure I will enjoy the festivities just as well down here as up there."

The boy stared up at him with wide eyes. "Lady Goldfurt," impressed upon him again. "If possible, in the presence of Lady Kerton." He nodded hastily and disappeared.

When Jaskier turned around with a sigh he was met with Geralt's dark expression. "What?"

"Do you think it advisable-"

He waved his hand around tiredly, continuing his path to Józefa and Ciri. Fuck, he was exhausted already and the banquet hadn't even started yet. "Do not worry about my wisdom, Geralt, I know more about these affairs than you do."

"It's not your wisdom or intelligence I question, I know you have both aplenty. It's your foresight. I do not know you to be a patient man."

"And I am not, but luckily it is not of the essence in this case. I am aware we tread on unfamiliar territory for you, but I grew up here. I am well aware of how far I, Julian of Lettenhove, can go before truly insulting someone. Lucky for us both, it is much farther that either you, Geralt of Rivia, or I, Jaskier the bard, could hope to. If anything, it will reflect poorly on our host to deny me my designated place over such a petty squabble. It will earn us sympathies!"

"What will earn us sympathies?" Ciri's eager voice asked.

"The fact that you will have to make do with this entirely new place for you, cublet, that is not at the side of the host of such a lavish gathering,” Jaskier replied and bowed with a flourish, taking her hand to kiss her knuckles. She giggled. “Madam, what a joy it is to see you. Truly, you are the jewel that crowns this evening; your beauty outshines the rising sun after a moonless night.”

“Thank you, Lord Lettenhove,” she answered with a perfect curtsy, during which the skirts of her dress flared out. Lettenhove ochre, just like his doublet, he noticed, and her dark hair plaited in an updo that must have taken hours to complete. It left no doubts as to where she belonged. She glanced up at him with a malicious glint in her eyes. "Do you know the best part?" she whispered.

He leaned down to her. "Tell me."

"The skirts are so wide, I could still gut a man in it."

Jaskier blinked in surprise; it was the quiet chuckle form Geralt that got him to finally break into laughter. "And what a good thing that is," he assured her.

"Fiona," Józefa chided softly. "I told you not to say that in nice company."

“Of course, cousin,” Ciri replied with a mischievous grin, “I would never.”

"Thank you," he said, rolling his eyes and winked at Ciri. He couldn't stop the feeling of pride welling up within him, but at least he could stop himself from hugging her by approaching his sister and kissing her hand as well. "You, madam, are just as dazzling as our young cousin. I fear I shall be blinded after this night, surrounded by so much beauty."

Behind him he heard Geralt whisper to Ciri: "What answer?"

"I just insulted him politely," Ciri answered just as hushed, evidently very proud himself.

Józefa huffed and crossed her arms under her chest. She was wearing an expensive red robe with orange embroidery and primroses etched on the edge. "You are a woeful waffler, brother. But you look good, too. Nice and proper."

"Nice and proper indeed," Jaskier replied and straightened his impeccable doublet. "You think I can fool them into thinking I am just as much of a stuck-up prick as my father was and as they are?"

"Hmm," she hummed and cast a quick glance around. "I think you already have. Maybe yell at a few servants or refuse to speak to any of the ladies if the topic is not their beauty if you really want to drive the point home."

He nodded thoughtfully. "Working on it, sister dearest. I'm working on it." He clapped his hands and smiled brightly. "Well, let's get comfortable, shall we?" he chirped and pulled the chair back for his sister and Ciri in turn.

When he turned to Geralt and quirked a curious eyebrow when he still found him standing. The witcher looked back and forth between Jaskier and his two wards before shrugging. Geralt pulled back his seat with the mockery of a bow.

He huffed a quiet laugh. "Thank you, my friend," Jaskier said with a subtle touch to Geralt's shoulder as he sat down.

"You're welcome. Julian," he said, as if he was probing out the taste of the unfamiliar name in his lips. A moment later he grimaced, as if it was particularly disgusting.

Jaskier was almost about to tease him about him when the great doors opened and Lord Goldfurt walked in with Janina on his arm. His sister looked magnificent, if he dared say so himself. While she usually didn't indulge in the luxuries that her advantageous marriage granted her, Jaskier was sure that she was wearing the most luxurious dress she had donned since her wedding. It was in dark and subdued tones, almost dark enough to count as mourning, that screamed "Lettenhove" at the same time.

Jaskier smirked. It had been a brilliant idea on Justyna's part.

The unhappy pair stopped before the dais, Janina stone-faced and Filip with a smile that fooled no-one. "My dear friends," he greeted them, "I am overjoyed that I am able to greet all of you once again at the beginning of this new year. May it bring prosperity and health for all of us. Especially my estranged brother-in-law, Julian Pankratz who has finally ascended to his rightful place as Lord Lettenhove. It's an honour and a pleasure to finally host the famous Pankratz siblings again. A shame that you are missing one of your matching set. What do you say, Julian? A toast of the famous poet!"

Jaskier rose from his seat to the thundering applause and bowed exaggeratedly. Somehow, this was the most calming thing he had done in months. "Thank you, thank you," he placated. " I fear neither honour nor pleasure are the words our hosts usually describe us with." It roused a laugh from the crowd. "But, for the sake of this tradition, we will behave.

"I am thrilled, though I am entirely undeserving of the praise. Here's to my sisters, who are more beautiful than a bouquet of larkspurs. To the Count of Goldfurt, our gracious host. It is my utmost joy to finally be reunited with my family and my home. To Redania! And to his beautiful lady wife, my sister, Janina of Lettenhove."

He could practically feel the temperature drop in the hall as soon as he had uttered the last words, all eyes trained on Goldfurt to see how he might react. He practically didn't react at all, besides begrudgingly raising his goblet to his mouth and taking the tiniest of sips. "To home," he agreed reluctantly, "and my lady wife."

Janina, on the other hand, barely contained her grin and drank a big gulp. "To home," she said as well and the toast echoed through the hall, slowly reciprocated by all of the guests. The toasts were mixed with murmurs of confusion that died as soon as the food started to appear.

The banquet itself was a dreary affair as noble banquets often were, especially if the people at your table were of the quiet sort. And what was Geralt if not the quietest of them all?

Still, Jaskier delighted in pointing out the Counts, Barons and knights to Ciri. Between Józefa and himself they managed not only to call up old history lessons of their neighbours and their connections to Lettenhove, but also a fair share of gossip as the first course was served: fish. Oh, and what fish it was. Platters upon platters of smoked cod was passed in front of them, along with roast pike and fat carps in beer sauce, accompanied with little pastries of perch, trout, and salmon.

It was good. No, divine even. Not as good as Ana's cooking at home, but that was hard to beat. Apart from that it might be the best food he'd eaten in years.

"Did you know," Józefa stage-whispered and leaned over to him, "that three years ago Goldfurt's aunt was found in flagrante with Dergetten's elder sister?"

Jaskier gasped, pretending to be scandalised. "You're kidding. That old bag?"

"What's in flagrante?" Ciri wanted to know and Geralt choked on his food. "Jaskier, what's it mean?"

"Umm," he felt his cheeks grow hot. "You know what? Geralt will gladly explain that to you." The witcher shot him a mean glare that betrayed that, no, he absolutely would not. At this point he decided that it was best to change the topic. "Do you see that old knight over there?" he asked and discreetly pointed at the table across the dance floor from them. "He's supposed to be a dragon slayer."

Geralt snorted disbelievingly, and Jaskier shrugged. "Oh, we all know he's a liar. He's got the dragon's wings hanging in his hall, I've seen them. If you ask me, it's a bat he killed. And not even an especially large one."

Ciri giggled at that and Jaskier happily continued to dish out child-appropriate rumours as the next round of dishes for them to choose from was paraded around. It was poultry next, roast chickens, chicken pastries, scalloped chickens. But also, a dozen herons, little carrot-nests with fieldfares, and truffled capon. And all along the wine flowed freely. Est-Est was brought out by the barrel, as well as dry reds, sweet whites and even the odd sparkling wine in between. Normally, Jaskier would have indulged happily, but he had the feeling that he should keep a clear head for the evening. Besides, he had monitor Ciri's alcohol intake, who readily charmed the servants into slipping another sip into her watered-down wine.

They had just advanced to the main courses—fourteen suckling pigs, two dozen roast veal, eight whole boars, a handful of oxen, with thick gravy, cooked and fried and braised roots and an overabundance of cabbages. White cabbages, red cabbages, pickled cabbage, cabbage salad—oh, how he missed Toussaint in the winter—when some puffed-up peacock playing at being a poet swaggered onto the dance floor. Jaskier huffed and crossed his arms, pointedly ignoring Geralt's bemused stares. 'The bardlet isn't even good,' Jaskier noted and forced himself to stop listening, else he might work himself into a rage over the blatant display of negative talent, that's what it was—

Geralt relieved a servant of her pitcher to refill both their goblets. Upon seeing Jaskier's questioning expression he shrugged. "Might make it more bearable for both of us," he explained and nudged the cup towards him. "This night I won't suffer sober."

He laughed hoarsely and clinked their cups together before taking a large gulp. "To sobriety, then."

"To banquets," Geralt added and glanced over to Ciri, "and no more surprises."

"What are you two talking about?" she wanted to know.

"The last banquet we attended together," Jaskier answered, steadfastly trying to ignore how his heart hurt at the thought. "It's where... we met your mother."

"Oh." She perked up at that, although her eyes seemed to grow sadder. "Was it... was it similar?"

"No," Jaskier said, just as Geralt replied: "Yes."

They blinked at each other for a moment before looking away. Jaskier tried to ignore the curious look Ciri gave him before she was distracted by Józefa again, the gods bless her soul. He was sure the little princess wasn't listening anymore and he was even more sure that Geralt was well aware of it, when the witcher growled: "The music was better."

"Excuse me?" he squeaked. Quickly, he cleared his throat. "Excuse me?" he asked again

He leaned over to him and Jaskier eyed him warily. "The bard's shit," he hissed. "Can't even carry a simple tune."

Well. That wasn't untrue. But hearing it from Geralt made him nearly spit out his wine. "You think all bards are shit," he responded as soon as he had recovered from his coughing fit.

"Bull-fucking-shit," Geralt growled. "I like your singing well enough."

He raised an incredulous eyebrow. "You called my singing a fillingless pie."

He shrugged. "And I still think that's true. Tasty crust," he impaled a piece of pie on his fork, "no filling." He pointed his fork at Jaskier. "Pretty voice, empty lyrics."

"Oh, so you think I have a pretty voice?" the words were out of his mouth before he could stop himself. "Anything else about me that appeals to your artistic eye?"

"Hmm," Geralt answered and raked his eyes over Jaskier's body before quickly hiding his smile behind his goblet. Not quickly enough, though. His cheeks grew hot with the blush and he frowned darkly.

'Stop it,' he commanded himself. 'No use reading meanings into something where nothing's there.' He drained his water glass. He was is desperate need of a clear head, for he was quite aware that the heat coursing through his body was not merely caused by the many people getting drunk in the room.

At least he could distract himself with dessert being served: sweet pumpkin pies and baked, stuffed apples, red berry groats and oat biscuits with honey and cinnamon. Jaskier was quick enough to snatch the cup of mulled wine out of Ciri's hands, but could hardly protest the platter laden with all different kinds of sweets—not when his plate didn't look any different.

He passed the goblet he had just salvaged over to Geralt, who just scoffed. "Oh, now he's ripping off your songs," the witcher grumbled. "Ridiculous."

Jaskier sighed. "Let him." He knew there were enough impostors; he had stopped caring years ago.

"He's not even getting the lyrics right."

"I thought they were empty anyways," he remarked and popped a biscuit into his mouth.

"Not the point."

"Jaskier," Ciri interrupted them, "they're starting to dance."

He frowned as he saw Goldfurt leading Janina onto the dance floor to signify the end of the dinner. He sighed as he caught Lady Alina's eye on the other side of the hall. No doubt he would be expected to share at least one dance with his betrothed, for propriety's sake.

"I suppose you should join them, Julian," Geralt quipped and crossed his arms as they watched Justyna and Damian join them on the dance floor.

"I suppose I should."

"Well?"

He rolled his eyes. "Maybe later. For the moment, allow me to abuse your presence to hide from my duties." He watched his two sisters dance when another thought hit him: "Wait, how do you know that the lyrics are wrong?"

Jaskier could've sworn he saw a blush creep up Geralt's cheeks as the witcher grumbled something unintelligible and hid behind his tankard again.

"Geralt of Rivia," Jaskier gasped indignantly, "are you trying to tell me, you memorised my songs?"

"Don't flatter yourself."

“I—” Jaskier began, only to be interrupted by Józefa: “Julian,” she called his attention. “I believe you should honour the Lady Alina with a dance.”

“Fine,” he ground out and rose to his feet. “I believe I have to surrender you to my sister’s care for a while, so I fear our conversation will have to come to a close for the moment.”

“Pity,” the witcher grumbled and leaned back in his seat, obviously not finding it a pity at all.

Jaskier laughed as if he had just told a joke. “Do try to enjoy yourself, my friend.” He winked, though his heart sank. “I’ll be back.”

He wasn’t quite sure if he should be relieved or not to leave the witcher and his sour mood behind, though he was sure that his own mood grew worse with every step. Eyes and whispers clung to him all along the way, although he pretended not to hear.

He couldn’t deny them their right to gossip; they were landed gentry after all, what else were they supposed to do with their pitiable lives? He’d just prefer that gossip to be limited to him and not the newest two additions to his household.

He had been hesitant, at first, to bring both of them to Goldfurt. Truly the last thing on earth they needed was more attention on Lettenhove. But after some long talks with Józefa they had come to the conclusion that there were rumours anyways. Not bringing the two of them along would look even more conspicuous.

In the end, he wasn’t the one who found his betrothed, for she beat him to the chase. “Lord Lettenhove,” she called for his attention.

“Lady Alina,” he did little to mask his surprise. “You’re just the one I was looking for.”

“Were you now?” She raised her eyebrows. “No doubt for the same reasons as I do.”

“And which might those be?”

“To satisfy my brother’s demands that we socialise, of course,” she replied and raised her fan to hide her exaggerated yawn. “Is there not a question you should ask me?”

Jaskier bowed gracefully. "May I have this dance, my lady?"

“You may.” She barely even bothered with a curtsy before she let herself be led to the centre of the dance floor. The spent about half of the dance in icy silence, before Lady Alina finally spoke up: “So, are the rumours true then?”

“Rumours?” he feigned ignorance.

She snorted. “Do not insult me, Lettenhove. We both know that you are well aware what I am talking about.”

Of course, he knew. The whole society talked about nothing else but Fiona Nowak’s parents. There was a myriad of different stories where she came from and why she was in Lettenhove now, many of which he and Józefa had planted themselves. The most wide-spread, however, was the only one that he had actually tried to extinguish: “If you want to pretend, you’re more stupid than you actually are, fine. Let me be frank, my lord. Is young Miss Nowak your bastard daughter?”

He locked his jaw. “Those rumours are none that I encouraged,” he answered curtly.

“That does not answer my question.”

“And yet it is the only answer I will give on that matter,” he insisted. He had no wish to discuss the matter any further, so he was not quite sure what made him continue talking: “Though it is true that she is very dear to me, as is her safety. I would do anything to keep her safe.”

“How admirable,” she responded drily. “Though again, I would have thought the cleverness of your sisters runs in the family. I am disappointed to see that it doesn’t.”

He raised his eyebrows. ‘Ouch.’ Were he a man easily slighted, he would have taken offence. In reality, though, he was only impressed. “Are you well acquainted with them, my lady?”

“With some better than others. Did you know that I spent a few years in Nowigrad?”

He tensed up and she laughed.

“Of course, you did. You avoided the city like the plague back then.” Lady Alina smiled politely. “Well, Jolanta sends her regards.”

He frowned. She had never told him that she knew his former fiancée.

“She also lets you know that another friend of yours is growing restless with… this.” She made a vague gesture at the gossiping nobles around them.

“What is that supposed to mean?”

“I could not say, my lord, I am but the messenger.” The music stopped and she stepped back from him immediately. “I believe we have satisfied our duties. Good night, my lord.”

Even after leaving his fiancée in the arms of another, the dancing did not stop. Instead of his feet tracing patterns over the floor, his words took over as he found himself getting sucked deeper and deeper into the deadly dance of deception that was so popular with all nobles. Whenever he spun, trying to step off the dance floor of politics he found himself in the slippery grasp of yet another opponent. Chief among them, of course, were his sisters.

"Despicable old bag," Janina hissed, still eyeing the dowager Baroness he had rescued her from. "She's rotten to the bone."

"A Dergetten through and through," he agreed. "Józefa told me she’s the reason Lady Zibold came down with that horrible stomach sickness two years ago."

"Really, Julek?" She rolled her eyes. "You, churning the rumour mill?"

He shrugged. He had never claimed to be above these petty squabbles; he was landed gentry, after all, what else was he supposed to do with his pitiable life?

He spun away from her, soon to be embraced by another lady. All the while he danced, he could hear the rumours continue to spread like wildfire.

“Did you hear Lettenhove had the witcher bring his bastard to his keep?” he heard one nobleman whisper.

“She’s supposed to be the daughter of some whore,” another quipped.

“Don’t be a fool, Alma, she’s the Countess de Stael’s daughter; remember how she retreated to a temple for a few months a decade ago?”

“No, she has elf blood in her veins, it’s why he hid her.”

On and on the whispers went and Jaskier couldn’t help but roll his eyes at them. Not a single one of them got even close to the truth. He supposed he had to be grateful for that and he couldn’t resist the smile tugging at the corner of his mouth when he saw her. She was hand in hand with Daria, sweeping over the dance floor and disturbing this dancing couples in the process.

He spun a web of lies to evade a landed knight’s curious questions and found himself on the dancefloor again within the blink of an eye, Justyna in his arms.

"I am glad to see her so joyous," he said with a fond smile as Ciri and Daria swept past them again, nearly knocking Janina and Goldfurt over in the process. "Both of them." His smile widened even more when he saw her keeping her husband from reprimanding them. 'You can't hide from me, Janka,' he thought triumphantly, 'she's gotten to you just as much as to the rest of us.'

Justyna hummed her approval. "She's a sullen child, is she not? I feared she might faint during our first meeting."

Jaskier sighed. "She's been through a lot, Konwalia. She's seen so many bad things, worse than anything you or me can imagine, and she's just a child."

He stepped away to bow to her as she spun away from him. When he pulled her close again, she averted her gaze. "Maybe I didn't give you enough credit. Maybe you might be able to understand."

“Maybe I might be,” he agreed cautiously. “Where’s Julek, by the way? I don’t think I’ve seen him in hours.”

"He's— Miss Nina put him to bed. He was... not feeling well."

"He's a quiet boy."

"He is. Easily overwhelmed, too. He doesn't smile a lot either. He's a good boy, though," she assured him quickly.

"That I do not doubt," he said and smiled. She didn't return it. "Justyna?" Her gaze flickered away nervously as she tugged on her sleeve. It was a bad habit their father had beaten out of her even before he'd left. It worried him. “You—I am aware that you think me unable to comprehend your worries, and maybe you are right and I am. However, I hope that you would still confide in me after all these years. If there is anything short of murder and treason within my power to help you and yours, I will do it, without hesitation.”

She kept silent for a few more moments, looking uneasy. "It's Damian," she told him quietly. "He believes him a changeling."

He huffed disbelievingly. “A changeling?”

“Yes,” she confirmed. “That’s what he settled for after accusing me of adultery first. He does not believe that a son of his could be this—”

“Inadequate?” Jaskier offered, well-acquainted with that particular paternal sentiment.

“He is not what he wants his son to be. Not courageous, not knightly enough, while Daria is—not enough of a boy to be precisely that.”

“And isn’t that a familiar tune?” Jaskier sighed quietly. “I am sorry your son takes this much after his namesake.”

“I am not.” She raised her chin defiantly. “For I love his namesake, just as I love my son.”

“I am glad to hear that.” The song ended and they both took a step backwards. Jaskier reached down and gently lifted her knuckles to his lips. “Worry not, my lady. For the time being, you are guests in Lettenhove, protected by my castle peace. And I happen to be quite fond of cowards, monsters, and inadequate children.”

Her expression softened. “I know you are. Thank you, Jaskier.”

He squeezed her hand briefly, before excusing himself, in desperate need of a drink—and a conversation with a certain witcher, he believed. The ballroom floor was as dangerous a terrain as it had been the whole evening, but Jaskier deftly dodged those who threatened to converse with him before collapsing in the chair next to Geralt. "Finally," he sighed and gladly took the goblet his witcher handed him.

“Did you have fun, Julian?” Geralt asked him and Jaskier raised an incredulous eyebrow.

“Did I look like I was having fun?” he countered.

“I am sure there was quite a number of attendants you managed to fool.” The unspoken ‘but not me’ hang heavy in the air between them and for a moment he allowed himself to bask in the familiarity of that. Jaskier closed his eyes, the noise and smell and lights draining away with every heartbeat until he could pretend it was just the two of them in a lonely clearing, sharing a skin of sour wine. Just them, just friends, just a witcher and his bard.

The illusion was sundered all too soon by a voice they had suffered all too long for one evening already. "Good sirs, might I persuade you to make a request?” Jaskier opened his eyes again and found himself staring into the young and bright-eyed face of a bard whose hopes and dreams were surely about to be crushed. The boy smiled widely and bowed. “Along with a bit of constructive criticism, mayhaps?"

Jaskier exchanged a quick glance with Geralt and, slowly and deliberately, set down his goblet as he waited for the answer he knew would come: "You changed the lyrics," Geralt stated, "not for the better."

"And how would you know?" the bardling asked with too much enthusiasm and tilted his head to the side. He gave them both a thorough look before gasping with excitement. "Oh, I know who you are! You're the witcher, Geralt of Rivia. And you-" He turned to Jaskier and his eyes grew wide. "Master Jaskier!" He bowed deeply. "It's an honour to meet you, truly it is. I have studied all of your work, sir, I am one of your greatest admirers."

He did his best to hide his pained expression with a smile. "I fear I do not go by that name anymore. I am old and weary; it is time for the new generation to get a chance. Viscount Lettenhove, if you please."

“Of course, my lord. And, if I may be so bold: wise words, wise words indeed,” the bard preened, too caught up in his speech to notice Geralt’s elbow landing in Jaskier’s ribcage or the wheeze that escaped him at that. "Might I humbly request a piece of advice of you? It would honour me greatly, no matter—”

"You may," he interrupted him and shot a glance at Geralt. "Stop singing other people's songs."

"But-"

"Don't interrupt him," Geralt growled.

“Thank you, my witcher,” Jaskier said and twirled his goblet in his hand. “See, young man, here’s the issue: you may be a bard, might even call yourself a strolling minstrel, and yet you are living off another’s hard work. I do not begrudge you for it; repeating songs you have heard certainly is a way to make your living. Mind you, however, that a poet, a troubadour, a veritable minstrel is, first and foremost, an artist.”

“But—” the bardling laughed nervously. “But I do not paint pictures.”

“Evidently,” Geralt grumbled just as Jaskier asked: “Don’t you?” He sighed and took a sip. “I certainly did. My experiences were my canvas, my emotions my paints, my aching heart my brush. Which is why I cannot sing the songs of another. How can you aspire to give a true performance, pour your heart and soul into it, if you don't even know what you're singing? You're still young, so go out into the world while you still have the chance. See if you don't find something that's worth singing about."

"How will I know that I have found such a thing?"

"Oh,” he stared into his goblet, “you will."

"But what is it? Will my heart stop when I spot it? Will—Will I lay my life on the line for it? Is it something worth dying for?"

"No," Jaskier said softly, "your life will stop, that much is true; but it isn't something that ends so much as something that begins. You will know when you have found something worth singing about, when you find something worth living for."

Next to him, his witcher choked on his wine.

#my writing #of witchers bards and broken hearts #OWBABH #geraskier #geralt of rivia #jaskier #julian alfred pankratz #geraskier fanfiction #the witcher fanfiction #geraltxjaskier #geralt/jaskier #cirilla of cintra

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setoangel01-fanfiction · 3 years ago

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Alleviate

Homecoming - Chapter 1

Rated: T

Alleviate

Story Summary: Sequel to Reunion (READ HERE). After bring ripped apart by Shinra and circumstances beyond their control, Zack and Aerith are finally reunited, and this time, no one is taking their happiness away from them. Along with Cloud, they are determined to make up for their lost five years.

Chapter Summary: After the long awaited reunion, Aerith takes Zack and Cloud home with her much to the behest of Elmyra.

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A03

Fanfiction.net

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"Here we are. I think these should fit him but I'm going to need to look for something in the attic for his friend. Poor boy is so thin so I'm sure one of your old pairs of pajamas would work," Elmyra's slightly frustrated tone was one Aerith had been all too familiar with from five years ago.

The slightly tense posture she'd accumulate whenever Zack had visited their home in the past was back; to Aerith, it made it easier to believe that this wasn't all just a lucid dream. It warmed Aerith's heart to realize that while her mother wasn't always Zack's biggest fan, she was at least accepting of his return and allowed him and Cloud to stay.

Sure, she hadn't been completely appeased by the five minute rushed explanation Zack gave, the ex-SOLDIER standing at parade attention at the front door (much to her giddiness), before Elmyra told him to shower and put his unconscious friend to bed in the guest room, but she accepted them inside their home regardless.

It wasn't perfect, but it was a start - baby steps would have to be enough.

All of it seemed so unreal still because merely an hour ago, Zack had been missing for five whole years and she had been questioning the possibility of him still even being alive when he came bursting through her church doors.

The reunion itself felt like a blur of emotions Aerith still had yet to process.

So many burning questions about his absence still bothered her but she forcefully pushed them to the back of her mind. Even the walk back to her house felt like it was happening outside of her body. Zack and herself quietly walking with Cloud's arm slung over both their shoulders, his steps clunky and slow while she ignored the blatant stares and questioning looks they garnered as they made their way through Sector 5.

Aerith focused on the path in front of them, one she walked countless times before, while she couldn't help but recall the brokenness in Zack's perfect blue eyes that wasn't there before. There was so much emotional baggage they both needed to unpack but that could wait. Now, all she wanted to do was take away that pain that was so embedded in his eyes; to hear him laugh and see that smile that was like the sun and have it warm her face again.

Yet the biggest part of it could still scarcely believe that this was reality.

That Zack was truly alive.

Five years of waiting and wondering and praying for him just to be alive. The fragile hope fading and her house of cards crumbling day by day. It had gotten to the point where she had almost lost all hope that she would ever see him again…and now, he was truly back…

Her long-lost SOLDIER had finally returned like he promised so many years ago…

Aerith tightly squeezed the skin of her forearm again just to feel that painful sensation in an effort to make sure she wasn't dreaming. The pinch was sudden and sharp with the blunt edge of her nail turning her skin white than red with the sting of pain that had Aerith breathing out a deep sigh of relief.

"Aerith…" Elmyra sudden voice broke her out of her reverie.

Aerith covered the red crescent moon with a trembling hand. "I-I'm sorry, what was that?"

Her adopted mother looked at her strangely but there was a somber warmth in her eyes that hadn't been there a few moments prior. Elmyra reached out a hand and Aerith remained still as the older woman gently brushed her cheek.

The familiar touch of those gentle fingers had Aerith finally feel the clinging wetness that she didn't realize was trickling in warm tracks from her eyes. The sudden realization that she was indeed crying was all it took for a explosive sob to rise in her throat; lower lip wobbling tumultuously even as she tried to control the abrupt and painfully sharp spike of grief that fell over her like an unexpected shower of cold rain.

Five whole years…

All the debilitating fear caused by years of haunting nightmares, visions of rain, cliffs, blood and bullets and the endless sky that took Zack away felt so real. Waking up only to face a possible future where she'd never see him again. Those years passing by and slowly but surely forgetting his handsome face, soothing voice and a blinding smile that put the sun to shame was finally over because Zack came back to her…

A choppy cry of emotion laced with grief, pain and the sweetest relief finally broke free from her lips - she'd never fallen apart in front of Elmyra until right now.

"...Oh my flower," her mother mused gently before wrapping her in a tight hug with the bundle of clothes for Zack resting between them.

A steadying breath had Aerith muttering out a broken, "I'm okay," the phrase automatic. A lie she'd perfected these last five years falling easily from her mouth even as her cheeks swam with tears and her throat grew tight with repressed sobs. But now those words were far more truthful than they'd ever been before…

Zack was here…he was finally home.

Heart near to bursting with the emotion of that internal statement, a sob was finally released from her mouth as Aerith buried her tear-stained face in her mother's comforting shoulder and cried and cried and cried.

Five years of holding every pain and doubt to herself while presenting the world with faked happiness, the dam finally broke wide open and Elmyra's arms were the only thing holding her together.

Elmyra didn't comment, merely wrapped her arms tighter around her trembling daughter. She'd stopped questioning a long time ago, knowing Aerith would never fully admit the anxiety and grief she lived with since Zack disappeared on his mission all those years ago. She merely got used to seeing all the fake smiles and broken grins while her adopted daughter's beautiful emerald eyes showcased nothing but agony, anxiety, and unshed tears.

The pain of those years was sadly all too familiar for Elmyra; her own husband's death still a dull ache beneath her ribs that never fully went away.

If she was honest with herself, it was the sole reason for her brushing aside and forced dislike of Zack. While he possessed a wonderfully kind soul, open smile and gentle heart and obviously cared for Aerith very much, he was SOLDIER. Military. Shinra... it was all the same. Whoever tethered themselves to one who was employed at such a profession, it always ended in heartbreak. So, when Zack left and never came back even years later, the look on Aerith's face slowly began matching her own in the mirror from her own years of waiting patiently for her husband to return home.

…He never did…

All Shinra caused was agony, nothing but pain for those left behind and she never wanted Aerith (who was the only reason she survived her own grief over the loss of her husband) to experience it but she ended up falling for the First Class SOLDIER anyway.

Elmyra held her tongue for a long time. Her rare terse comments about moving on and even planting doubts in her daughter's mind about Zack's true whereabouts were only placed with the intentions that possible scenario would hopefully numb the pain. Because even Elmyra knew Zack would never do that to her daughter but yet she continued sowing doubt because even the idea of Aerith losing Zack to another woman would hurt much less than the truth of him most likely being dead and Shinra covering it up per usual…

All Elmyra wanted was to protect her...

For so long, she tried fruitlessly to convince Aerith to let Zack go; to accept he wasn't coming back from the mission and move on with her life and even perhaps to find someone new. Whether it was because of his death or he just found someone else to be with, it didn't matter, she just hated to see that profound emptiness in her daughter's eyes.

Yet even after five years, Aerith refused to let go.

Writing letters, selling flowers with a broken smile while still tying her fading and worn pink ribbon on the top of her braid every single day. Aerith clinging to her first (and only) love with an iron fist, her steadfast will was a testament to her unbreakable stubbornness and faith that Zack would return one day and when he did, she would still be waiting for him…

…and Aerith was right…

It was an absolute shock to the system to see Aerith arrive with her long-lost boyfriend looking severely out of place in poor fitting clothes and a blonde friend who's eyes were open yet unseeing. The sheepish smile Zack flashed her as Aerith talked a mile-a-minute but it was Zack's eyes that hit Elmyra hardest.

Even as he gave a quick explanation with obvious holes in the story that edited horrific things Elmyra couldn't possibly begin to fathom, it was the look in his eyes that said it all. There was a pained broken spirit now inhabiting the once happy-go-lucky teenager her daughter introduced as her boyfriend all those years ago.

There was a story, a horrible one he had yet to fully tell, and Elmyra was scared.

The fear of him and his friend being on the run from the most powerful company on the planet was at the forefront of her mind, but seeing her daughter's hopeful face, Zack's forced smile and the blonde boy who's blank expression terrified her, Elmyra's walls she built crashed to the ground. Face still stern to hide the grief and guilt she felt, Elmyra let them in.

Despite her misgivings, Zackary returned; he'd come back for Aerith like he promised he would, and that would have to be enough for her.

While she wasn't crazy about Zack and Aerith's relationship in the past (mostly because of Zackary's previous womanizing ways), all it gave her now was guilt. It weighed heavily on her shoulders and eyes burning from unshed tears at the grief her daughter had been hoarding in her heart all this time. So, Elmyra pulled her adopted daughter closer to her chest and held on as tight as she could. All she could do move forward, be better toward the man her daughter chose to love and help them all heal. All she knew was that she refused to let Aerith hold all this grief alone anymore so she rubbed soothing hands over her daughter's back until Aerith finally got her shuddering breaths under control and ignored the cooling wetness of tears in the fabric on her shoulder.

After Aerith seemingly calmed, Elmyra pulled away slowly. A bit of sadness aching in her heart to watch Aerith scrubbing away tears from rosy cheeks with her hands that still contained soil under her short fingernails. Yet she didn't comment when Aerith finally looked at her with those doe-like green eyes, merely placed the bundle of clothes for Zackary in Aerith's trembling arms.

In that moment, there was so much she wanted to say her to daughter but the words that left were, "Alright. Enough dawdling, now go upstairs and give Zack those clothes and I'll be in the attic to find others that will hopefully fit his friend."

Aerith let out in the softest breath and gave her the most genuine smile. "...Thanks, mom," she whispered before she perked up and ran up the creaky wooden staircase with a spring in her step that Elmyra hadn't seen from Aerith in years.

It was the minutest smile, a spark that returned to Aerith's eyes that made the older woman who lost her husband to war so long ago, to finally smile as well.

#zerith #zack fair #aerith gainsborough #cloud strife #elmyra gainsborough #FF7 Remake #ff7r fanfiction #zack fair x aerith gainsborough #fanfiction

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elfy-elf-imagines · 4 years ago

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Return to Me P.II | Lindir

Part 1 | Part 2

Pairing: Lindir x Human!reader

Genre: Fluff, pure fluff

Warnings: Potential toothaches...??

Words: 2,174

Note: If you’d like to be added to a tag list for any of my works, there’s a link on my page! 12 years later we get Part 2 and the reunion of my two beans ♡

The sun is partially bright on this day, it seems, as if the sky itself is celebrating the return of Gondor’s king. Wind dances through the courtyard, making dance partners with everyone in the crowd, moving your dress with its beat. Your hair, pinned in a simple hairstyle often worn by the elves, is curled to perfection, bouncing in tune with birds singing in the distance. There’s a stupidly large grin on your face, one that you don’t care to try and force away. Everything in the past year or so has led to this very moment, every impossible moment and near death experience made it possible for peace to truly be restored to the realms as Aragorn takes his throne. The crowd is silent, watching the coronation with bated breath and wide eyes, excited and hopeful for the new chapter in their lives. Some people near the front desperately move around, trying to get a better look.

“Now comes the day of the king, may they be blessed!” Gandalf proclaims as he lowers the crown on Aragorn’s head. Aragorn smiles up at Gandalf, the same soothing smile that makes it easy to understand Arwen’s love for him and makes it even easier to understand the love the people hold for him. He stands from his kneeling position, turning to face the cheering crowd. His cloak billows dramatically behind him, showing off his perfectly polished armor, that glimmers with the regalness expected of a king. One hand rests on the pommel of his blade while his other is outstretched.

“This day does not belong to one man, but to all. Let us together rebuild this world; that we may share in the days of peace.” He holds both of his hands out, his voice soft, yet confident, speaking as Elessar, the King of Gondor, the rightful heir returned to his throne; not Strider, the Ranger in the North. He commands the attention of everyone just by simply being in a room, never needing to raise his voice higher than a comfortable talking volume.

You glance at Gimli beside you, his wild red hair and beard somewhat tamed for the special event, the beads in his hair that accessorize his braids glint brightly in the sun. He holds a plush velvet pillow that moments prior Aragorn’s crown that adorns his head used to rest on. He wears a large grin you’re sure is also on your face, as relieved and ecstatic for the new era as you. You move your gaze back to Aragorn, white blossoms from The White Tree blowing in the wind, captivating your attention. Like a child catching snow, you hold out a hand, hoping to capture a blossom or two. You manage to get three. You close your hand around them, feeling the silky petals on your skin. A moment later, you open your hand and blow on the flowers, urging them to continue flying through the wind.

And they do, they dance in the air, a beautiful waltz you could never hope to mimic.

Aragorn descends down the stairs, nodding his head at every familiar face he passes. The procession of elves march forward, but it’s not the uptight and rigid way they march into battle, no it’s too relaxed and loose for that. Legolas steps forward, wearing ceremonial garb fitting of an elven prince, him and Aragorn clasping each other's arm. Aragorn says something to him, too quiet for you to hear. Legolas smirks, and moves his head to the left. The elves behind him move forward, one of them holding a particularly large banner, the sigil on it familiar.

A bright smile forms on your face and your eyes practically glow in excitement. You’ve seen that banner a million times, when you would walk up and down the halls of Imladris, hung in the Hall of Fire, and even in your bedroom. She’s here, she’s really here. You knew that she wouldn’t leave for Valinor without a fight, but seeing her here, in person, puts out any lingering doubt.

Slowly, she moves the banner aside, confirming it to be Arwen, beautiful and radiant as ever. She wears a pale green flowy dress, it’s fabric light and airy, the style common for elves, a stark difference to the heavy and thick dresses of Gondor and Rohan. A headpiece forged from silver and inlaid with dozens of glittering gems adorns her head, crowing her lucious black hair that falls down her back like a lazy waterfall. Her pale skin glows in the warm sunlight, her eyes sparkling from the tears forming.

For a moment, Aragorn and Arwen stare at each other, one watching the other with amazement and love in their eyes. The crowd is dead silent, everyone intently watching the scene unraveling before them. Then Aragorn steps forward, grabbing onto the banner and pulling it away. And then he lunges forward, capturing her lips into a kiss. She laughs in delight, throwing her arms around his as he lifts her into the air, spinning her around. They pull away for a moment and she places her dainty hands on his face, leaning forward and placing a short and sweet kiss on his lips.

The crowd around them begins clapping loudly, warmly greeting their new queen. And it didn’t register in your mind that this might be the first time most of these people have seen an elf this close up. But then you saw the looks of wonder and amazement on the faces of some citizens, children excitedly pulling on the skirts of their mothers, pointing wildly at Arwen and the other elves.

You continue watching the newly reunited pair, your face growing numb from the large smile that is permanently etched on your face. You scan the crowd, seeing Lord Elrond, with a soft smile on his face; Glorfindel beside him; Elladan and Elrohir behind his father to the right. You continue scanning the crowd, but then your heart stops, only to begin beating again faster than ever before.

Standing amidst the other elves, wearing silken and beautiful ceremonial garb, probably the most pristine outfit he owns, is Lindir. His black hair is glossy, every strand in its place, pulled back in an intricate elven braid. He wears a silver circlet, fitting for an elf of his status, the tip of it resting on his forehead. His skin is glowing, not as intensely as Arwen, but captivating to you. His cheeks are stained a pale red, a beautiful smile on his face. His blue eyes move to you and for the first time in over a year, your eyes meet. You feel a jolt of electricity run through your body, heart beat increasing in pace.

Your smile widens, if possible, and you can’t tear your gaze away from him. Even when Aragorn and Arwen begin to move through the crowd, your eyes stay locked on him. When you, along with everyone else, bow for the Hobbits, your eyes only flit away for a second before returning to their previous position. And when the crowds begin to disperse, everyone mingling with one another as they lazily move towards the feast portion of the Coronation, you stay locked in place.

“You coming, lassi?” Gimli’s gruff voice interrupts your thoughts, but his voice is so far away, you weren’t sure if he was still by you. You glance at him out of the corner of your eyes, moving your gaze back to Lindir, still in his same spot.

“Yeah...I’ll be there in a moment,” you mutter, not sure if he even hears the words that fall from your mouth. He scoffs in amusements and shakes his head before moving away with Gandalf, muttering something about young love.

You take one step forward, Lindir mimicking your movements.

You take another step and so does Lindir.

Once your feet touch the stone steps, your mind suddenly comes alive, as if water got thrown over your body. As if you only have a few moments to live, you rush towards Lindir, weaving through the lingering people with the grace of a baby elephant. But you can’t bring yourself to care about the wild stares or accusing words falling from people’s lips. The only thing you can focus on is Lindir, and feeling his lips against yours.

Three.

Two.

One.

The distance between you two disappears as you throw your arms around him, enjoying the feeling of the soft fabric of his robes beneath your fingers. He’s warm and inviting and everything you missed while travelling with The Fellowship. You bury your face into the crook of his neck, snuggling as close as physically possible. The smell of mountain air, fields of grass, and rose oil hits your senses, pulling you deeper and deeper into your bliss. He’s real and he’s here. You deeply inhale once more, allowing this moment to sink in, immersing yourself in the moment.

You move your head to face him, throwing your head back in delight as a stream of laughter leaves your mouth. You move your arms to wrap around his neck, one of his hands winding around your waist and the other lightly cupping your face. Like magnets you move closer to one another, staring deeply into each other’s eyes with dumb smiles on your face.

“You came back to me,” he whispers, the words tickling your lips.

“I came back,” you reply.

You don’t remember who did it, all you know is his lips are now on yours, connecting them in a kiss. His lips are soft against yours, filling your whole body with a fire, burning away the ice that formed in his absence. Your heart soars, long past the point of just beating rapidly against your chest. You feel light, like you’re made of air and you’ll fly away any second without Lindir holding you in place. All the noise and background people fade away, until there’s nothing but this moment. And you can’t help but smile in the kiss when Lindir laughs, the noise swallowed by your mouth.

And in that moment you decide there’s nothing better than kissing someone while they laugh.

You pull a whisper away, moving a hand to trace the outlines of his face. His skin is smooth and perfect, the shining example of the perfection of elves. His blue eyes are like oceans, clear and bright and vividly blue. And if every ocean looked like this, you wouldn’t mind drowning as long as it was in him.

“I told you it would take more than Mordor to get rid of me,” you mumble softly, smiling brightly at him, shining like the sun currently bathing the two of you in it’s radiance.

“Apologies for ever doubting you, meleth-nin,” he responds, returning your smile tenfold.

Another breeze rushes through the courtyard, rustling your dress and Lindir’s hair. You laugh, the sound being swept away in the wind, singing in tune with the birds that have swept into the courtyard. Some spare white blossoms continue dancing through the sky, gently landing on Lindir’s head. He reaches up, delicately grabbing it, careful to not crush the pristine petals. He moves his hand to your hair, tucking the flower into one of your braids near the front of your face. You're practically glowing now, a beaming smile overcoming your face. And with your body practically vibrating from happiness, standing under the sun, you look like an otherworldly being. And if not for your round ears on clear display, some passersby might mistake you for an elf.

You lean forward, pressing a soft and sweet kiss to his lips, tasting the remnants of sweet berries on his lips. They were always his favorite, a fresh bowl of them always resting on his desk, only to be devoured within an hour.

“I love you,” you whisper against his lips, still smiling like an idiot.

“No more than I love you,” he responds, a teasing undertone buried in his words. You pull back, eyes alight with overwhelming happiness. It’s over, everything with Sauron, Mordor, orcs, and that stupid ring is over, it has been for months. But now it feels real, standing here, wrapped up in Lindir as he smiles sweetly at you.

“I respectfully disagree.”

“And I respectfully disagree with your disagreement,” he fires back, grin getting wider and wider with each quip spoken.

“And I respectfully disagree with your respectful disagreement,” you respond, matching his teasing tone, laughter hidden under each word.

“Well I --” he’s cut off by a hand touching your shoulder. Turning around you see Glorfindel standing there, obviously holding back the laughter that’s bubbling inside him, a beaming smile on his youthful face.

“I’m sorry to interrupt, my friends, but we do have a celebration to attend to,” he says, nodding towards the crowd of people leaving.

“Of course,” Lindir replies, moving to stand to your left, holding out his arm to you. You slip your arm into his without hesitation. “Let us be off, My Lady.”

“With pleasure, My Lord.”

o0o0o0o0o

Tags:

#lindir imagine #lindir x reader #Lindir oneshot #lindir #LOTR #lord of the rings #lord of the rings imagine #lord of the rings oneshot #lord of the rings Drabble #lotr imagine #lotr oneshot #Imladris imagine #imladris #imladris elves #rivendell elves #rivendell imagine #post lotr #fluffy

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echo-three-one · 4 years ago

Text

Whatever It Takes : Reloaded

They're on a mission, chasing a lead in hopes of locating where The Shadow Company is situated.

Table of Contents

Previous Chapter : Vlad the Janitor

Chapter 20 to another story made by Ray (echo-three-one) Comments and Reviews appreciated! I hope you enjoy! Love you all ❤️

forgive the piccrew

Undying Admiration

Francine "France" Winters

Safe house 110197, Brazil

"Look at them two, you think we could do that too?" Soap asked France. They were both seated on Soap's side of the floor, the soft foam caught their asses as they crossed their legs while Soap spun around a water bottle.

"You and me? Sing and Dance? Never in a million years!" She denied looking at the poor guy's attempt to actually get her to like him. She thinks he already knew that she's already falling for him since day one. But she wanted to focus on other things at hand rather than distract herself with romance. Maybe if this was all over and he's still there, he'll finally get the answer he's looking for.

"Why not? I'm kinda okay with singing." He grinned. Francine giggled. Sure he is, his overconfidence was getting attractive for her. If they weren't soldiers in a war, they'd probably be making out again. What happened back at the Gulag was an impulse, she never saw it coming as she almost lost hope for his absence.

"Why don't you like… sing for me?" She dared her eyes stared intensely into Soap's eye-catching baby blue orbs. She made a mental note that staring for more than five seconds in those were already dangerous, so she always breaks it before the fifth.

"Why do you do that?" He asked, his voice was giving her ears a good time. Yes. She's falling for him. It felt like everything he does is attractive, but she shouldn't be too quick, life has taught her that the faster she falls in love, the faster they leave. So she had to test the guy's patience.

"Do what?" she asked as if she didn't know what he meant.

"Look me in the eyes then immediately break it as soon as I stare long enough…" His eyes squinted towards her as she evaded eye contact.

"I don't do that." She easily shrugged it off and got up.

"Well, good night. John. We have an early mission tomorrow." She got up as Soap trailed his eyes on her, the look of admiration was painted all across his face.

"Can you not look at me like that?!" She pleaded as her cheeks blushed. Her boyish appeal on the force always repelled attention and now this guy was admiring her for who she is and she felt happy.

"I won't do it if I get a good night's kiss." he pouted his wonderful lips. Lips she actually really wanted to taste again.

"Good Night John." She said as she closed the men's bedroom door and went to her bed.

When Price told her about a small recon mission, she never knew it was this small. The team only consisted of her and Ghost riding a rental truck to a village which was a few kilometers away from their safe house. The point person was an alleged nephew of a soldier that currently works for Shepherd. It was almost a dead lead but the intel being accessible enough was sort of worth it.

Rule of engagement is "Don't".

The village would most likely be unarmed, unprotected and peaceful. But Price advised to keep a side arm in case things go awry. It was a good call, and France noted to herself that she won't ever fire a shot for this mission as to not raise any sort of attention in addition to what Shepherd already gave them.

"Looks like it's time to go." Soap muttered as Ghost passed through them looking prepared.

Soap nodded goodbye to the man but he just continued walking.

"Maybe he had earphones on." he muttered as he pouted his lips. France softly reached for his cheek and shoved it sideways.

"In your dreams." She laughed as she waved goodbye.

"Every night." He winked as France made an almost disgusted face and followed Ghost. She was lucky enough that she quickly moved that Soap won't see her blushing cheeks.

France hoisted herself on the shotgun of the car and smiled at her partner, who looked serious. Without his mask, he was your average tough british soldier, and he looked like he wasn't in for some small talk while driving. France respected his privacy and trailed her eyes elsewhere, looking at the lush greenery and muddy tracks of tropical Brazil.

France wasn't a fan of quiet road trips, she tried humming to tunes from her playlist as the loud revving of the rental jeep overpowered her voice.

"Are you usually this quiet?" France asked, trying to break the silence between them.

"Yeah. You got a problem with that?" He replied, his eyes trailed on the road as it hit a bump. France actually felt shocked toward his reply and she started to worry about what she did wrong.

"You know you could always say no to Price's orders instead of regretting and wishing Roach would be here instead of me." She pouted, crossing her arms.

"Well that wasn't my case but now that you said it, maybe I should've asked for Roach instead!" He yelled. France couldn't help but shed a tear. She actually had no idea towards his hostility and the thought of not knowing any reason made her mad.

"Wow. Okay." she squirmed and unbuckled her seatbelt causing Ghost to slow down his driving.

"Where are you going? The village is still far from here!" he asked, France never bothered to talk to him as she simply walked away from the path.

Ghost immediately left the vehicle and followed her, catching her so she won't escape and run away.

"Why are you not replying?!" He asked, gripping her hands, restricting her movement. France used her strength to break free of his slightly weak grip and turned to him.

"You see now how it feels? To ignore someone without knowing why?!" She raised her voice. This seemed to make sense to Simon as he actually looked like he's sorry.

"I… " he sighed and looked at her, his eyes were lost and sad.

"I can't talk to you anymore… because I like you… but you've already set your eyes on someone else… so I just had to ignore you hoping that it'll make it less painful." he muttered. Complete silence filled the air.

France didn't know what to do. She didn't know what to say. It may be true that she already had eyes on a certain Scottish cutie, but telling him the truth all over again would leave such mental scars.

It took her long enough to say something that Ghost already invited her back to the car, and her silence may leave no meaning, but to Ghost it meant a lot, at least he knew that he no longer had a chance on her and would finally move on.

The village was like any other typical village, the elder's house would always be on the highest point and the two opted to ask the village elder first to gather clues.

One clue led to another as they visited each house looking for one Fabian Alvarez, a nephew of an alleged Shadow Company soldier. Only a few were able to speak fluent english and they decided to help, until such time that Fabian decided to show up.

He looked like a five year old kid, holding a rubber ball and he looked at France and Ghost awkwardly before hiding back into his house. Fabian was far too young to know about his uncle's whereabouts and the lead went cold once again.

The ride home was quiet. France didn't want to say anything as she can't. Her heart was like inside a washing machine, swirling around as she thought of how Ghost liked her while she's clearly liking someone else. It must've been hella awkward and painful to see on a daily basis. She felt that once, when her best friend got together with her high school crush and continued to stay together up to this day… She knew how he felt.

The moment they got back, she was actually greeted by Soap, who already had his hands wide open for a hug. As usual, France would ignore his gesture and it now felt that she was already helping out Ghost from the pain. But now, she's the one feeling restricted.

It pained her to not get near Soap and he's already starting to notice the indifference. She was actually surprised when he cornered her, just as soon as she stepped out of the shower.

Her cheeks flushed as the idea of her, only wrapped with a towel, stood in front of Soap. She felt really vulnerable in this position.

"What happened out there?" he looked angry but the tone of his voice sounded concerned.

"Nothing, it's just … A dead lead. A waste of time." She replied as she attempted to cross over him.

"And how does that warrant an indifferent approach toward me?" he quickly moved to block her again. She sighed at her actions. He was right. He didn't deserve this treatment, he needed to learn something about the truth.

"We had a little fight with your friend over there…" She muttered, her voice was low enough so he couldn't hear.

"Who, Ghost?" he inched his face closer and his face lit up like a curious bystander who overhears conversations on a daily basis.

"Yeah… It was an unpleasant exchange." She said vaguely.

"Well, it'll all be resolved soon. I guess you're too carried away that you didn't want to talk to me as well…" he chuckled and scratched the back of his head. That gesture always made France happy, he may not notice it but she loves the way his muscles twitch when he scratches his nape. She found it satisfying and hot.

"Yeah… I'll go change." She said, as she frowned as soon as they parted. She knew she had to tell him the specific reason and the events that occured today, but she felt that it would create a domino effect that would lead the team to be uncooperative.

During bedtime, Alex requested France to swap sleeping spaces, meaning that she had to lie down beside Soap. She couldn't find the courage to say no as it might ruin the reunion they both longed for after a very long time.

France swung the door open and found out that they were already asleep, except for Ghost who was once again missing. She used this opportunity to actually wake Soap up and let him be aware that she'll be sleeping beside him. She planned to make both men comfortable by spacing herself between them, by only showing affection to Soap while Ghost's not around, until such time that Ghost would accept the inevitable truth.

"John." She whispered, as Soap lazily opened his eyes and reached out for her, wrapping her in his arms.

"I really like you. A lot. I hope you'll be patient enough for me." She whispered again. She knew he wouldn't hear it but the idea of her actually expressing her thoughts to him, put her at ease, as she slowly closed her eyes and drifted to sleep, wrapped by the arms of the man whom she really admired.

Next Chapter : If I Remember Correctly

Notification Squad my Beloved

@ricinbach @whimsywispsblog @smokeywhalee @samatedeansbroccoli @enderio @beemybee

#horRAYfic #john soap mactavish #john price #alex echo 3 1 #simon ghost riley #gary roach sanderson #whateverittakes #yeouch

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vaire-gwir · 4 years ago

Text

Some Cat and Wolf fanfic I had in mind pt.6

Or: I lost a Friend on ao3.

I really can’t let this one go, every time I’m ready to resign myself to the fact that I won’t finish it, I have to write another chapter.

It’s winter again, and for the first time in a while, Lambert dreads the coming of spring. He refuses to go to Kaer Morhen cause he knows he won’t find peace there, so he decides to remain south. Eskel being the good and worried brother he is, finds him eventually. I wanted the reunion to be so much better than this, but I can’t seem to write anything happy lately.

Be kind, english is not my first language and there’s a reason why this blog is called fillingless pie, keep that in mind.

****

Lambert was passing through Velen when he decided he was not heading north.

Something about this place gives him the chills. He's never been here with Aiden, they spent plenty of time in Novigrad and Oxenfurt, but they purposely avoided stopping in Velen, mostly because no one was paying them enough to face ghouls, mercenaries, and religious fanatics all at the same time.

The stained statues, dripping with fresh blood and caked with the remnants of old sacrifices, creep him out. Their empty eyes seem to follow him around, everywhere he looks there's a shrine or a wooden sculpture of some kind, and he can feel their silent judgment.

Lambert has never been religious, not before being a Witcher and not after, especially not after. If there were Gods, it's hard to accept they grant powers to certain people only to have them play with formulas and tweak mutagens until they could create a bunch of monsters to hunt other monsters. How did the Gods allow things like Witchers to happen?

A long time ago Aiden told him he didn't believe in the Gods because they're a useless device to instill fear, they demand sacrifices and tributes but do nothing when it comes to helping a miserable bastard out. They turn a blind eye to starving communities while rich Lords thrive and get wealthier by the day.

<i>So much for justice, right? We're told to not anger them, but no matter how hard folks try, they still never answer people's prayers: I've heard poor farmers begging for their fields to be fruitful, and yet all they got was a scorched square of land and starved, I've listened to innocent mothers pleading for their children's lives and yet they had to bury them, I caught children praying for their father to return from the war and all they got was a bloodied sword in his stead.

If the Gods were listening, they wouldn't allow that, don't you think? If they allow all this to happen, either they don't care about us or they're not really there. I'd rather believe they're not there. </i>

The icy wind howling between the trees surprises the Witcher and tears him from his dark thoughts as he instinctively pulls his cloak tighter. Lambert hadn't noticed how winter silently crept up to him, soon everything will be blanketed in snow, and he should have made its way up to Kaer Morhen weeks ago to retreat to the old keep and wait for spring.

For the first time in a long while he dreaded the coming of spring. He had nothing to wait for this year, spring sounded as lonely as summer, as sad as fall, and as bitter as winter.

And now it was too late, he told himself, the passes would already be covered in snow and it was too dangerous to climb up the Killer in this weather, it was a treacherous path even in summer. It was a pointless risk to take considering that he could find half-decent work pretty much everywhere, he told himself it all depended on how picky he was.

And if he's lying, well, no one is here to call him out.

Because truth is, Lambert doesn't want to go home this year, home is gone and stone walls are no different than the bricks and rocks of any other village.

He won't find comfort or safety in Kaer Morhen, there's nothing he can do there besides chasing shadows around every corner. He's not bringing another ghost to the party, the old castle is already too full of them.

Home was just a word. Somewhere to let his guard down and stop feeling like he was constantly out of place. It was acceptance, understanding, safety. It was the chance to feel something else besides anger and disappointment.

Home was that room at the inn north of Kaedwen where Aiden waited for him at the beginning of every spring, the first time they met there, as soon as Lambert picked up the trail of Aiden's scent his heart started beating so fast he was worried everyone else could hear it and by the time he got to the front door his hands were shaking like a blushing maid.

He felt so stupid and happy and relieved to meet his lover again, he almost couldn't believe Aiden came all the way there for him.

Home was that clearing in the forest out of Redania where they spent the night huddled on the same bedroll after they were kicked out of a tavern, a petty argument turned into foul words and by the time they were forced to leave Lambert had never seen Aiden so annoyed and upset.

Anger was his thing, it looked out of place in his green eyes. Lambert wanted so bad to go back and set the whole place on fire on principle, cause they don't deserve it, they didn't do anything wrong, and he would have done so, consequences be damned.

But Aiden said that people rarely get what they deserve and curled up on his side, burying his nose in the crook of his neck and asking Lambert to stay. Suddenly nothing was more important than holding him close.

Home was the empty house by the river where they fucked until sunrise, the cave where he told Aiden he loved him for the first time, the room at the palace in Beauclair where he was so jealous he almost screwed up but Aiden forgave him anyway. That was home, Aiden was home.

But Aiden was gone. Spending the winter between forgotten walls and frozen gardens is no different than spending it anywhere else if you don't care for the coming of spring.

And he has no way to explain to his brothers what has happened. He’s not going to face his makeshift family knowing they’ll smell the stench of despair right off of him miles before he reaches the keep. He'll have to tell them what happened, there will be questions on their lips, and he doesn't have any answers.

The wasteland surrounding him seems to reflect his mood so well, possibly because he has a different understanding of emptiness now: it's not only in the absence of things that were there, it's also in the impossibility to go back to a previous state, as if the shape of what's missing was still occupying an invisible place, so it's not truly empty, it's full of the shadows of those things that are gone.

And maybe going back is not the point.

Spring is not as alluring and promising as it was before, the rain is not refreshing, the sun less warm, the shadows are always stretching long in front of him, they don't offer relief but only fear.

But it was not spring that was alluring and promising, it was the chance to see Aiden again that beckoned him out of the keep, to kiss him, to tell him any stupid thing that crossed his mind, or just to sit in silence.

The rain is still the same, but it won't cling to Aiden's eyelashes anymore, it won't fall on his face, it won't trace imaginary patterns on his shirt when it drips from his curls.

The sun is still as warm as before, but its bright rays won't dance on Aiden's skin in the morning mist while they're sleeping, and it all seems a bit pointless now if he can't have it with Aiden.

Lambert doesn't find it fair that nothing on the outside has changed. His whole world collapsed and he almost expected the real world to start crumbling too.

Nothing will change in two weeks or in two months, it's not a new season that will make him whole. Days are still slipping from his hands, and nights are filled with the same nightmares he had months ago. He'll still be empty and lonely in spring, just like he was in winter, just like this scorched earth has always been.

Before meeting Aiden he had always lived life like that, without holding any expectations or hope, accepting things as they were, his only defense against the world was his anger. But he's not the same person he was before, much like a snake that sheds its skin can't wear the old one again no matter how much it misses it.

No, he won't go to Kaer Morhen this time. Every inn, every tavern, every empty house can be almost like home, cause when it's dark and he's weary and he can't bother to scrape monster's blood off of his skin, he can pretend that Aiden is getting food downstairs and he’ll be back in a few minutes, he's talking with their employer, burning a body, getting supplies, he'll be back, he just has to wait and behave.

And when the illusion holds, he can breathe easy again for a few minutes, cause he knows he’ll wait until the end of times if it means he gets to see bright green eyes and a cheeky grin emerging from the doorway.

It's not a permanent solution, but he lives by the rule of whatever helps you sleep at night, one more lie won't make any difference.

It's exhausting, searching for Aiden's face in every single person he sees, but that doesn't mean he knows how to stop doing it. Just like he doesn't know how to stop seeing the damn cats.

All of a sudden there's an abundance of felines everywhere he goes, nobody owns them, nobody sees them, but even in the middle of all this ruin, he has seen a gray cat jumping out of the rubbles. Its green eyes seemed almost out of place, too bright, too full of life, too clear. Beautiful things don't belong to ruin, almost in the same way Aiden didn't belong to him.

The cats will follow him all the way to Kaer Morhen, his madness will chase him wherever he goes.

He can already imagine the peaceful, repetitive life of the winter days at the old fort disrupted by his silent confrontation with a nonexistent cat, and his brother, his perfectly sane and normal brothers, as normal as they can be, even Geralt's bard, and Vesemir, all watching him while he trails after an invisible animal.

That would be something to explain.

Lambert is still carrying Aiden's medallion with him, he can't bring himself to leave it behind after all this time.

He vowed he was going to burn it, throw it in a river, bury it in the middle of a nameless forest, but it's still in his pocket, the weight of it anchoring him to reality when he's drifting through the nightmares. It doesn't burn as much as before, or maybe he's familiar with that slight physical pain by now.

Some things are easier than others to get used to. Loss is not one of those things.

And if the Wolf wasn't so lost in his own thoughts, he'd notice the pack of ghouls moving in circles around the ruins of what once was a village, but his mind is not keeping up with his body, it's still focused on the gray cat amidst the ruins, and the creatures pounce before he can even figure out they're there.

Rookie mistake.

***

In the end, it’s Eskel that finds him in spring.

Lambert is investigating a shipwreck along the Pontar river, near Ban Ard, the fourth in a month. He's sure it's sirens he's dealing with, but he hasn't found a single clue yet.

The first rays of dawn greet him on his spot at the end of the bay and the first thing he can think of is that Aiden would have liked it here. He clenches his fists so tight that the dark leather creaks audibly, frustration and disappointment settling in his veins like a snake.

Maybe that's why his mood is darker than usual, a sleepless night out on the shore in the middle of winter will do that to anyone.

Maybe it's because he's not eager to go back to the inn, the maid swore they never let any animals in, and yet there was a ginger cat on the windowsill of his room when he entered and his stomach flipped every time its green eyes moved in his direction.

It's the same maid that greets him when he gets back to the inn, she's tending to the animals as she say "there's another one" when she sees him, "I sent him upstairs, he said he knows you? I figured...well, I don't want to get in trouble."

Lambert stares at the entrance puzzled: it's a bit too early for Witchers to be this south. He used to be the first to leave the keep as soon as the snow melted, the others always stayed a bit longer. Unless it's not a Wolf.

He doesn't know many other Witchers that well though, he has vague memories of his brief encounter with the Caravan, he has seen a Bear in Kaer Morhen a couple of times, and once while they were out on a hunt he saw Eskel talking to a Viper. He wouldn't say he knows any of them.

As he walks through the tavern, a familiar scent finds his way into his senses: beneath the leather and the steel he can smell amber, and sandalwood, with a hint of something raw, welcoming, citrus and apples, it's a warm scent, one he knows very well, he used to wake up to that scent on his pillows.

Eskel always smells inviting to him, like sitting at the table when you're hungry or waiting for a cake to come out of the oven.

How weird, the only two people he ever loved in his life were nothing alike: Aiden smelled like the sea, or the crisp clean blankets drying in the first rays of summer, fresh, spicy, promising, tempting. Eskel was comfort and quiet, reassurance and furs that have been left to warm by the fire draped over the bed.

He stops in front of the door, unsure, for too long. His mind is having a hard time figuring out why Eskel is here, did he happen to pass by, why is he not in Kaer Morhen, what if something happened...

The door opens not even a minute later, and a blur of red and black armor surrounds him distracting him from the questions crowding in his mind. He finds himself enveloped in a tight hug, strong arms circling his shoulders, pulling him closer, muttering something he can't focus on.

When he was younger he used to think that Eskel was the safest place he could find, it's funny how some things never really change.

He’s worried, Lambert can tell something is bothering him, but for some reasons he looks almost...relieved? That's a first, he finds it hard to believe anyone can feel that way when they see him.

"How did you...What are you doing here?" Lambert's confused expression doesn't hide his reluctance in breaking their embrace.

"Lambert, we thought...I was worried." Eskel doesn’t ask why he did not come home or what happened to him, he clutches him for a moment longer, silently grateful he finally found his brother.

Fear is a big part of the winter months. Concern and worry sat in their chest like a stone every time they walked through the frozen courtyard. It's something every Witcher experiences, it comes from not knowing how many of those they left the previous season they'll find the next one.

This year, winter had been an ordeal for Geralt and him, Vesemir kept saying they shouldn't worry too much, but it's impossible to do so when they have no idea of what happened to their brother and the list of things that could have gone wrong is endless.

It's tough, they already have so little, that the idea of losing it is unbearable. Whoever makes it to the castle first is bound to spend at least two awkward and anxiety-filled weeks waiting not so patiently for the others to finally, finally show up. They all know what it's like to lose a brother.

"It's early. You should be in Kaer Morhen," Lambert says trying to avoid his eyes. He sits on the end of the bed as if putting some distance between them could help him explain his brother's presence.

"I left as soon as I could. Asked around in Ard Carraigh and a friend told me a Witcher was looking at the shipwrecks along the Pontar, figured it was worth checking out." Eskel stares at him intently to check that the younger Wolf is not wounded or recovering from some injury. The fact that he doesn't find any doesn't settle his concern.

"It's sirens," Lambert adds scowling. It didn't make sense for Eskel to be here this early, not for such a shitty contract. First job of the season was usually a big one for them, but he must have had a reason to travel so soon just to take a look into this.

"I'm not here for the sirens," Eskel interrupts, his voice low as he crosses his arms over his chest. He leans on the small table in front of the bed and Lambert can see the way he's staring at him, he has that focused frown on his face, the one he always gets when he's engrossed in a book or when he's trying to plan the best course of action before a hunt.

It makes him nervous enough to start ramble: "I can't find anything cause of course those fuckers disappear as soon as they feed and I have no idea where their nest is, but I'm on it, and I know it's sirens, you shouldn't worry about that. No point in coming all the way here at this time of the year, I can handle a couple of bloody fishes, and the sailors..."

"I'm not here for the damn sirens! I'm here for you!" Eskel snaps. Lambert immediately shuts up and lowers his eyes to the floor, the room falling into a tense silence.

Eskel sighs. He sees Lambert fidgeting on the spot, legs bouncing slightly, fingers torturing a frayed thread on the blanket underneath him, unable to settle. Eskel hates himself a bit for putting him in that position.

"You didn't come home." Eskel keeps his voice soft, trying to mask his concern. He used to be the one to help him calm down, relax and unwind when he was on edge, he shouldn't be making it worse.

"I spent winter south before. Things happen." Lambert shrugs as if it was the most normal thing in the world.

He was surprised when he met Eskel outside of Beauclair an early fall afternoon of some years ago. It was always nice to run into your brothers on the Path, that brief moment of respite was worth all the hard days of traveling.

Lambert felt almost sorry for lying when he said he couldn't stay long because he had a contract. Almost.

In all truth, he was just eager to go back to Aiden, their little room seemed better than an entire palace. It felt natural, almost too easy, mentioning that he had a good job here and he wanted to spend the winter in town. He couldn't tell the real reason why he was so keen on remaining here, but thankfully Eskel didn't question him.

The memories of those peaceful and carefree days together still cling to his mind, gnawing at his inside in painful bites.

He doesn't know that Eskel thought happiness and quiet suited his brother so nicely he secretly hoped to find him in the same frame of mind next time they'd meet.

"Exactly. Things happen, usually not nice things to us Witchers." Eskel sighs and rubs the lower part of the scar on his face out of old habit. "Do you remember that year I got held up on elf business and I was three weeks late?"

"Of course I do, some of the worse three weeks of my life," Lambert mumbles. He didn't think it could get any worse than not knowing if one of the most important people in your life was alive or not. Now he knows it can get worse. Knowledge hurts more than doubt.

"You said I should never scare you like that again or you were going to kill me yourself." Eskel grins at the thought, the memories of Lambert clinging to him well into the night and muttering every now and then <i> don't ever do that again</i>. "Can you imagine how I felt when you didn't come at all?"

Lambert keeps his eyes trained to the floor, unable to look at his brother. He never thought Eskel would miss him like that, he's not someone others usually miss. He's more like the type of person others can't wait to get rid of, the sooner the better.

Fear of losing someone is etched into their souls from the first trials, when they have to deal with the horrible truth, many won't survive.

Lambert remembers being in his room with tears still stinging in his eyes, trying to be strong, telling himself he made it through the woods and it would be easier now that the trials were done. And when he thought the worst was over, he quickly discovered it only just begun.

Every year the apprehension and dread only ease when they're all finally together in the main hall. Lambert has been in the position of waiting for Eskel or Geralt to arrive, every day being a torturous collection of wasted hope.

That's why Eskel's words hit him differently. He should have known better.

"I...I had something going on...I'm not...I didn't think it was a big deal." Lambert knows he doesn't deserve his kindness or patience.

He's always been a selfish bastard, and the fact that they're here in this room, and he's trying to come up with some excuse for his stupid behavior is proof enough.

"Why not? Do you really think you're not important to us? To me?" For a split second, Eskel wonders if maybe his brother didn't want to be found. He wasn't accidentally late, he hasn't been held back like they all thought, he consciously decided to not go home to them.

For reasons unknown, Lambert didn't think Kaer Morhen was safe for him anymore. And that hurt.

"Lambert, did something happen?" Eskel silently moves to sit next to him on the bed, his hand laying on his shoulder. His senses scream at him that there's something different in his brother's frown, in the way the lines on his forehead seem more pronounced, in how he seems to be so blank.

Lambert was always the only one of them to express everything in extreme, be it something he was passionate about or the anger that seemed to torment him at times. He was rarely measured or composed, he was everything or nothing, no in-betweens.

That's what's different in him now. There's no fire in his eyes, no mounting feelings waiting to explode, it's like something was taken from him.

He doesn't know what's wrong with his brother, but something is off. He's hurt, not in a visible way, but it's there, like a cut you can't see but it keeps bleeding.

This type of wound, he doesn’t know how to heal. He can’t give Lambert some Swallow and let him sleep it off, there’s no injury to stitch or bone to fix, yet he can see his brother is bleeding and broken.

#aiden x lambert #the witcher fanfiction #lambden #the witcher fandom #witcher lambert #witcher aiden #the witcher #the witcher fic #I lost a friend I lost my mind #lambert x aiden #witcher eskel #quarantine writing

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nothingbutfanfiction · 4 years ago

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It’s OK If You Forget Me Future Chapter 1

Here’s a second future chapter that’s in-progress for It’s OK If You Forget Me. I’m currently in the process of completing a commissioned fanfiction, as well as working on any in-progress and future stories. So enjoy this little tidbit of a chapter!

Rin stared at the letter he held in his hand. Kushina-sensei had given it to him just a few minutes ago, stating that it was from Suguro Tatsuma…Ryuuji’s father. Feeling the comforting and steady support that Gabbie provided him by resting her hand on his shoulder, he gathered the courage to finally open it. It was hard reading it at first, given the fact it was in cursive, but Iruka-sensei had been nothing but meticulous in his tutoring with Rin. He stumbled a bit at first, but his voice gained confidence as he continued to read the letter aloud to his friends. Learning more of Father Fujimoto’s past, his eyes widened in disbelief when he came to the part where Tatsuma and Shiro first met. Knowing that it was because of Shiro’s intervention that Ryuuji was even alive today, he whispered a silent thank you to his deceased father. Blue eyes darkened when he reached the end, hearing the silent plea from the older man. Tatsuma didn’t fear him…he believed in Rin. Believed that Rin’s flames were the answer to ending the resurrected Impure King and purifying his miasma. Glancing up from the letter, he found his teammates’ eyes looking at him, determination written on their features. He turned back to face Kushina-sensei and nodded.

The redhead broke into a relieved smile at Rin’s acceptance. “Good. Okay, Team Kakashi…go and get packed. We leave in a few hours.” As the teens went to their respective dorms, she turned and gave Rin a concerned look. “Rin, are you sure you’ll be comfortable with this mission? I know it hasn’t been that long since you left and I’m worried that it might be too soon for you to handle seeing your old teammates again.”

Rin smiled at the motherly concern coming from the older woman. While he had never known his real mother, ever since he’d met Kushina-sensei, he finally got a glimpse of what it was like. She treated all of them like her children, Rin especially. “Don’t worry, Kushina-sensei, I’ll be okay. My friends will be with me and I can trust them to have my back.” He didn’t mention any comparison of them to his former teammates, but it could be heard in his voice. The obvious affection when Rin spoke of them versus his stiff demeanor when any mention of his previous home was mentioned. “I’d better get going. Knowing Naruto, he’ll be packing my stuff for me if I’m not there.” With a slight wave, he turned and jogged back towards his shared dorm.

Kushina watched him leave, a fond smile on her lips. He’d blossomed so much during his short time here, it seemed like his emotional wounds were finally healing. And now this…being dragged back into a situation entirely of True Cross’ making. Gods above, couldn’t they leave that poor boy alone for once?! Shaking her head of any depressing thoughts, she resolved to show them just who they were dealing with. True Cross had screwed up royally with their treatment of Rin and she intended to throw it back in their face when they encountered the team from Konoha Exorcist Academy.

*******************

Naruto glanced up as Rin entered their dorm room. “Are you sure you want to do this, Rin? I mean, I can understand if…”

“It’s okay, Naruto. I mean, yeah, it’s going to be tough seeing them again, but I’m not letting it bother me. They had their chance and they blew it. End of story. Now, let’s get packed before Kushina-sensei ends up leaving us behind.”

Naruto hid his smile as he turned back to his packing. Rin seemed to be holding up pretty well. But it was easy to say you were okay until you were faced with the real-life situation. And for their sake, True Cross better not say or do anything to Rin with Naruto and his teammates there. They might just find out what half-demons really could do if they were antagonized enough.

*********************

Ryuuji could only stare incredulously as Shura told them about the additional “help” they’d be receiving. A specialized team from Konoha Exorcist Academy that were coming to Kyoto from the States. Or to put it more accurately, Rin and his team, were coming to assist them in dealing with the situation involving the Impure King’s eyes being stolen from their two supposedly secure locations. He could feel his heart start beating faster at the realization that Rin would soon be back in Japan. How many nights had he lain awake imagining how the reunion would go? And part of him feared how Rin would react when they met again. He could hear his teammates whispering excitedly at the news of Rin coming back. So much had changed in the short months Rin had been gone.

“Kirigakure-san! The team from Konoha Exorcist Academy has arrived!”

Shura nodded to acknowledge she’d heard. “Listen to me…all of you. You will not swarm Rin when he steps into this room. I mean it. He still has a hard time dealing with what happened and I will not have you undoing any progress he’s made. Are we clear? If Rin chooses to talk to you, then fine. But I’ll be honest with you, I wouldn’t get my hopes up. He’s not the same Rin that you knew. Then again, considering he’s found people who care about him, it would be hard for him not to change.”

The red-head’s words were like a bucket of cold water doused over their heads. It was going to take a lot of effort for them to get the half-demon to even contemplate forgiving them. Their depression was temporarily forgotten as they felt the team’s arrival before they even stepped through the door. Their spiritual power was overwhelming. Ryuuji could see Shiemi shaking as she felt it. Even the usually unflappable Izumo was looking wary. What kind of juggernauts were on Rin’s team?! And then the door opened. Nine teens and five adults sauntered into the room, a hush filling the room as people got their first glimpse of the team dubbed Team Kakashi. Six pairs of eyes could only widen as they took in their appearance. Wearing street clothes, the teens didn’t seem to have an assigned school uniform.

Ryuuji saw the familiar swish of a black, fur-tufted tail. Rin stood only a few short feet away and yet, it felt like a gigantic chasm between them. Keen eyes picked out the minute details of Rin’s appearance. His blue-black hair had grown longer, almost reaching his shoulders. Seeing him laugh at something the blond male said made his heart twinge with envy. He seemed so much happier, freer with his new teammates. Brown eyes widened when he noticed the absence of Kurikara. Rin always carried the sword with him. Why was he here without it?

“Alright, pay attention! I’m only going to make introductions once, so you’d better listen up.” Shura’s loud voice sliced through the uneasy tension in the room. “This is Team Kakashi from the Konoha Exorcist Academy. They’ve come to help your asses, so you’d better be fucking grateful.” Turning back to face Kushina, she said warmly, “It’s nice to see you again, Kushina-san. Thank you for agreeing to help us.” She gave Rin a quick wink before turning back to face the others in the room. “When I call their name, each member will raise their hand to make it easier to recognize them.”

#another future chapter #ao no exorcist #blue exorcist #bonxrin #can you feel the angst?

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chimswae · 4 years ago

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BTS Caretaker CH33

Summary: She may think she has Bangtan Sonyeondan wrapped around her fingers. She may think it is easy to love the members equally without hurting any soul. She may think the boys wont fall head over heels for her. She assumes it is okay to show a little love and affection towards the boys, what if she gets it all wrong? What if it only brings more complication to her already complicated life? Can she survive their charms? Will she be able to resist them? What if they just wont let her go?

- Pairing: BTS x Oc ( Yoongi x OC, Jungkook x OC)

- Genre: Fluff, Slight Angst, Romance, Idol!au

- Word Count: 3,595

- Author Note: There is a small text exchange between Seul and Jin in this chapter, so i put the text up.

Previous | Next

Chapter 33

“Seul, what is the matter? Why with the sudden notice?” Wongeun placed the letter down on his lap, expelling a long sigh. Once again hesitation ripped off the confidence that she had earlier. She had given this into a thought, even Jin would give her a call without fail despite not being there physically by her side. Ever since her encounter with Mr Kwon, she had never seen him lingered around the shop. God knows, when he decided to make his appearance again.

Wongeun snapped his fingers to bring back her attention to him “Am I talking to wall? Is there something that I must know? You are a little off these days” Seul smiled meekly adding to his suspicion.

“It is nothing. I think mother needs me by her side. Her health is deteriorating, it is best to pay more attention on her” she lied. It was an established fact that she quit after finding out the truth about Mr Kwon.

She needed to- no, she must stay away from him as far as possible.

“Seul.. if this is about your mother, you know we can help you. You don’t have to resign” he reasoned.

“Oppa, I think it is about time to focus on something that is more important in my life. I have nothing against this place, hell I have been working for two years with you. It is not easy for me too, but I hope you understand” her cold lips emitted a heavy sigh. She looked at him sadly “Please?” Wongeun leaned back in his seat.

He was morose and kept his mouth shut making her anxious for no reason. “It is hard to let you go Seul. You are a good employee and a good friend of mine. Just so you know, the door is opened for you anytime. Hit me up, and you can get that apron of yours back” he lightens up the mood earning a small chuckle from the girl.

“Thank you oppa, I know I can trust you with this. Don’t worry I will come to visit once in awhile to check on you guys” Wongeun said quickly “And to buy a box brownies” she laughed softly.

“Yes, a box of brownies. I will never forget you, for all the things that you did for me. So, thank you again” Wongeun shook his head and eyed the girl closely. “Don’t sound like we are not meeting each other anymore. Seul just don’t-“ a voice spread across the room, pausing the conversation that they had.

“It is stated in the contract; all employee must give two months’ notice before resigning”

That voice again. Seul’s breath hitched when his eyes laid on her, scrutinizing her from head to toes.

Why is he here? She mentally groaned in dissatisfaction.

Surprised by their manager sudden appearance, Wongeun stood up almost immediately and bowed politely “ Sir, I didn’t know you will be coming today” he murmured while giving an eye signal to Seul demanding her to greet the important person in front of them.

She rose from her feet with so much reluctance didn’t want to appear suspicious, so she gave the old man a little bow without sparing any look at him.

Dressed in navy blue suit, he had round dark shades to cover that two pair of evil eyes which she hated the most. Not long after, he took off his shades, keeping it inside his pocket with an unreadable expression “ Miss Ji, your resignation letter is invalid. I will not accept it. Draft a new one as an advance notice, you may leave the job in two months” his voice was mocking her, to flaunt his power that he had on her.

Seul’s jaw tightened, letting the anger sipping in “I don’t remember having that kind of terms in the contract?” she snapped.

A mischievous smirk spread across his face “ Keep the job for two more months or pay the penalty, your call” Wongeun blinked confusedly sensing the tension in the air as though these two were playing with fire, getting ready to throw it at each other.

“I will pay the penalty fees” said Seul confidently.

“I reckon you can afford those fees. It may cost you fortune. I suggest the first option anyway” the tone of his voice was so snobbish making her fuming in anger. She pondered upon this matter again. If she insists on quitting the job and pay the penalties, where to find the money?

As much as she wanted to seek help from Jin, that sounded impossible. This would only make her to appear like a gold digger. She was not that desperate.

She couldn’t believe it with her ears that after so many years, he still had the audacity to pull such threat on her. This simply means she had to put up with him for two more months before freed herself from this evil lair. How was it possible to survive that?

“Miss Ji, I am waiting” he tapped his finger on his branded wrist watch.

“Fine, I will hand in the new notice tomorrow” Wongeun sent her an apologetic glance considering he didn’t have much say in this. He too didn’t understand why Mr Kwon seemed so interested in this business recently. All these years, he never showed up and would contact Wongeun occasionally through phone call.

Something is fishy, he thought.

“Good. Enjoy your last two months here, you never know what awaits you” those last sentences sent chill down her spin. You never know what awaits you, it rung inside her head in loop. She couldn’t simply forget it just because it came from the nastiest human being alive, Evil Kwon.

Without wasting any more seconds to breathe the same dirty air as his, Seul excused herself to tend her job. Wongeun watched her back leaving the scene with a heavy heart. There were unanswered questions inside his head that need to be answered soon.

Satisfied with his successful plan in keeping the girl under his radar, he was ready to leave. “I want her letter by hand and she must submit it to me personally. Tell her to come to my house tomorrow, I will be working from home” he ordered.

Wongeun nodded, trying to be optimist since the older man made Seul to submit her notice all way to his house without any solid reason. How odd was that?

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

Two more days till home. Just two freaking days, then he could recharge back the energy in him. He already missed his odeng and eomuk though, for the time being Seul would be keeping those two cuties with her during his absence.

Jin decided to laze around a bit considering the practice for their concert tomorrow had taken almost 13 hours of his time straight without break. He plopped himself on the comfy king-sized hotel bed and expelling a tired sigh. Massaging his aching shoulder, he released another loud grunt not liking the pain that took over his body.

His roommates, Jungkook and Namjoon were out to get food with Jimin. As soon as they reached their hotel, he went straight to his room without wasting more time outside. Jin prioritized his sleeps more than anything. He fished out his phone from his pocket and decided to text Seul again.

He bit his lower lips muffling the small chuckle from his mouth. Nowadays, the mere thought of Seul became the source of strength in him. Even though this feeling that he had for her started way back then, but he’s too afraid to admit it.

Someone needs a love counselling session.

Joyfully, his fingers moved swiftly against the screen and typed a quick hi to Seul.

Damn, why is he like this?

Seul was reading his last message and her eyes flew open in surprised to see his name appeared on the screen. Jin’s quick reflex was no joke, he acted as if Seul was at the brink of death. Giving Seul no time to process, Jin bombarded her with questions which almost knocked her sense out from her body.

“Where are you meeting him? With who??

“Are you by any chance alone?”

“Don’t tell me your best friend refuse to follow you there!”

“Seul don’t go! It is dangerous! The last time you’re breathing in the same room as his, he almost ripped your dress apart. Goodness woman!”

“Geez Kim Seokjin. One at a time. Your words fly faster than bullets. I am alone, no, Hwasa is working. She can’t ditch her job because there’s only her and Sera working this shift. And, about the first question, I am heading to his home” Seul swore to god Jin’s high pitch yell could be heard miles away. This was the exact reason she didn’t want to tell him about her plan meeting the old man alone. Jin would react this way.

“YAH ARE YOU INSANE? DID YOU JUST OFFER YOURSELF TO THE EVIL MAN VOLUNTARILY? ABORT MISSION. RETURN. HOME. NOW!” he yelled angrily through the speaker earning a soft hiss from the latter.

“Are you mad?”

“No. I am so happy that you are now on your way meeting Mr Kwon, what a beautiful reunion!” his sarcastic remark sounded so Min Suga. When she thought about it again, they must be spending too much times together as a roommate.

Seul snorted “I know but like I have a choice. I just need to submit this and once this reach him, I will leave immediately. I will take care of myself Jin” her voice softened at the end. Her heart skipped weirdly at the attention that he showed to her, like when he sounded so protective over her it drove her wild heart to edge.

“I know you can take care of yourself, but I don’t trust him Seul. Think about this again? His threat is empty, about the penalty fees I can help-“ she blurted quickly before Jin could say more.

“I don’t want you to help me. This is an issue that I can solve by my own. I only need your morale support and I don’t need your money. Jin, I can handle him. I will contact you as soon as I am out from his house alright?” for some reason her assurance did not sound tempting to him at all. Jin didn’t feel good about this.

The end of the line fell into dead silence worrying the timid girl. Angry Jin was not pretty, and she knew it would lead to more harm than good. “Jin..” she called him out softly meting his heart.

Aish, how can I stay mad at you, woman. Jin rolled his eyes in annoyance.

“Under one condition, don’t hang up on me until I make sure he won’t do something inappropriate to you” she frowned and stopped in front of the beautiful bungalow house. For a second, the size of the house took her breath away but realizing who’s the owner of this property, she cringed in disgust.

“That is impossible. International call is expensive Kim Seokjin, are you mad?”

“I can afford that, just listen to me, will you?! Stop being so stubborn!” Seul sighed and glanced at her phone screen before pressing it back near her ears.

“Look, my battery barely survives this phone call Jin. I will call you as soon as I am done, it wont take long. If I didn’t get back in 15 minutes, you can reach Hoon and tell him my whereabouts” she suggested to ensure Jin wouldn’t make fuss over this again.

Jin paused for a second before responded “15 minutes is too long! Why do you need 15 minutes when you can just leave the letter at his doorstep and leave immediately?” as expected from Jin, he wouldn’t take things lightly.

“Every step that I take is more than one second you moron. To add to those delay is my hesitation, can you just spare my life for 15 minutes and reconsider my offer. Gosh, you are impossible!” she exclaimed.

“Ji Seul, I don’t like what you are doing” he scowled.

Seul rubbed her head, with a small sigh “Do you trust me?”

“I always trust you but not now. It is not a good idea, you still have time to change your mind and take off from there. I..just that- I am not there for you Seul. I don’t want anything happen to you” low murmurs could be heard clearly and Seul found herself smiling shyly. This different side of Jin always make her looking forward to spend more time with him in the future.

“I promise, I will be back in 15 minutes without scratch, can you wait for me till then?” she bit her lower lips nervously. Did she sound like she’s flirting with him? Why was she worried over her choices of words and tone of voice? This is sickening.

Jin finally gave in and nodded “15 minutes not more. If you don’t give me a call within that time, I am calling cops”

“Hoon” she corrected.

“Hoon has no gun, cops have one”

Seul whined “You are not calling the cops! I forbid you in doing so, just call Hoon” he chuckled softly picturing Seul’s pout in his head.

“Fine, Hoon”

“I have to go, I will be back in 15 minutes max alright?” she hung up without bidding a goodbye and annoyed the hell out of him. He glanced at the clock in fear, 15 minutes from now Seul must be out safely from that home.

Or else, Jin..

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

Entering the luxurious lavish home, her eyes scanned the interior admiring it along her way. The maid brought her to another wing of the house which she assumed where his office would be. Taking a deep breath, she dragged her heavy legs entering the office and not to forget thanking the maid before the woman disappeared from her sight.

“You made it” the old man tore his gaze from the pile of document in front of him to Seul. She wished how earth could just swallow her right now rather than being in the same room as his. Seul mustered her courage and approached the wooden table slowly, “I am here to submit my letter as you requested” placing the letter on the table, she took a step back.

“I will get going now” she mentally screamed to quickly exit the suffocating room and normalize her breathing. Mr Kwon smug, taking his time to say this one thing that could stop her from walking away through that door.

She reached for the door knob and before she could open the door, Seul heard him chucked lowly “I know what you are looking for. It is your biological father, right? What if…” he stood up from his leather swivel chair, walking stealthily towards Seul.

Her brows flinched as he continued “What if, I know who your real father is?” he minimized the gap between them.

Seul’s eyes shot open realizing what this man tried to offer her, “Wh-at… nonsense is that…” her eyes threw daggers as she backed away, pressing her back against the cold door. The older man cackled in delight watching how much power he had on Seul.

“Not nonsense, but I do know where to find your real father”

“I don’t trust you”

“Really? Did your mother ever tell you about your real father?” he brought his face closer to her, teasing the girl in process. Her lower lips quivered in fear “I know… he is one my father’s best friend” she held back her tears from hitting the ground.

He nodded “True, but have you seen any photo of him?”

“Why does it matter?!” she snapped.

“You have such a loud mouth, it could be used for better thing in the future” he rubbed his thumb over her lips only to be slapped away by Seul harshly. “Don’t touch me” she gritted her teeth in anger, feeling offended by his sexual remarks.

“Alright, I won’t touch you. But that won’t change the fact that I know where to find your real father” he tilted his head studying her expression. It was a mixture of pain and anger. “Your dad is closer than you think” he whispered in her ears.

Seul shook her head frantically “I will never listen to a bastard like you, stay the hell away from me” Mr Kwon let out a sarcastic laugh.

“Stay the hell away from you? Even blood can’t tear us apart Seul” he snorted. “I will spare you for now but remember, my arms always open for you in case you need me” he twisted the door knob, opening the door for her.

With one final glance, she scurried off the room using the last ounce of strength in her body afraid that the bipolar man might change his mind in the middle and decided to lock her up or kidnap her. Once she felt the cold wind hit her skin, she was relieved to survive the battle with demon inside.

Thinking about his words earlier, could it be true that he knew who’s his father. Hence, there was a chance for her to find him. She realized it was too early to put a trust on his word especially it came from Mr Kwon.

Seul still had her mother, she is the key to every questionable thing in her life.

If she could dig it from her mother, then she didn’t need Mr Kwon’s help. He wouldn’t do it for free, there’s always be an exchange of something every time people seal a deal with him.

Her loud ringtone brought her out of her trance, and she answered without even bother to look at the caller id “Seul! Thank god you are alive. Have you met him? Did he do something? Are you okay?” his panic voice rose from one octave to another.

“Nothing happen so can you calm down? Save your voice for tomorrow’s concert. I delivered the letter and leave before he could say anything” it was not the perfect time to tell Jin about the things in relation to her father. She would tell him when she’s sure Kwon’s words were not a mere bluff.

Jin disagreed “I can’t stay calm knowing you are with him! Don’t do that again. You are scaring me woman. Are you on your way home?” she hummed a soft yes and started walking.

“Then I will give you a company until you reach home” his crazy ideas made her smile.

“Don’t be silly, I am perfectly fine. Go to sleep Jin”

“This woman.. It is 9PM and you are sending me to bed already?”

Her nose scrunched up in annoyance “You have to wake up early tomorrow nevertheless, it is not a bad idea to sleep at this time” she defended her earlier statement.

“I am walking you home, that is my final decision! Now, how’s your day?” her eyes were rolled back digesting his cliché side, though deep down inside she could say this was a romantic gesture. With Jin’s soft voice rang in her ears along her journey back home, she feared nothing in this world.

His voice was gentle and soothing enough that it drove a part of the fear away.

With his voice, it shortens the distance to her home. Not to mention, every time she laughed at Jin’s silly dad jokes, half of her burdened were being lifted from her shoulder. Entering her building, she climbed the stairs tiredly unlocking the door. Kicking her shoes at the corner, she promised to clean it up the first thing when she woke up tomorrow. Seul hurried inside her room with Jin voice nagged in the background urging her to head to bed as soon as she reached home.

“Are you in your room?”

“Yes, Mr Kim. I am in my room” she threw her exhausted body on the bed, throwing arm over her head.

“Good, now get changed and rest. Text me a good night when you are done” Jin let out a soft chuckle.

“You are so demanding. Not even my boyfriend but you are acting like one” murmuring with eyes closed, she stretched a little.

He argued “I just walked you back home so appreciate me” Seul’s soft giggle tickled his heart. He sunk on his bed, laying on the cold mattress with a foolish smile across his face.

“So full of yourself, why I am not surprised”

“Consider this as our first date” he muttered.

“What?” bewildered, Seul sat up trying to brain the meaning behind those shady words. She heard his heavy breathing at the end of the line, as he continued “About, me walking you back home, consider it a date” out of a sudden his voice turned fifty shades darker and romantic, enticing every part of her body.

What the hell Kim Seokjin? That is cringy! Jin facepalmed.

“Don’t say anything, pretend that you misheard that. Oh gosh, I must go. Don’t forget to text me a good night! Bye Seul!” he spat the words out like flying bullets without giving the girl a chance to say anything and hung up.

Jin rolled on his bed, screaming in the pillow blaming his sloppy and foolish action. He was worried if that scare the girl away. Grunting in frustration, he felt like he just screwed up his blooming relationship with Seul.

Just what is wrong with me, Jin was frustrated and feeling a little remorseful over his action.

#btscaretaker #bts fic #bts series #bts fanfic #bts fanfiction #yoongi x oc #yoongi fic #jungkook fic #jungkook x oc #jungkook fluff #jin x oc #jin fic #kim seokjin x oc #bts fluff #kpop fanfiction

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