#i have more threads going into that weave than any of my previous fics and i am mayhaps overthinking a bit | Explore Tumblr posts and blogs

calaofnoldor · 4 years ago

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Sixth Time’s the Charm [4]

(GIF credit: @teamfreewill-imagine)

Characters: Sam x F!Reader, Dean

Words: 6,107

Series Summary: All the times Dean has tried to get Sam to admit his feelings for you. (Each chapter can be read as a stand-alone.)

Chapter Summary: You offer yourself as bait for a shapeshifter hunt. Things do not go as planned.

Warnings: canon level violence, language, idiots in love, mutual pining, huffy!sam, protective!sam, slight angst?, slow burn, fluff

A/N: i am SO sorry for the wait (story of my life) but to make up for it, look, 6k words! (yeah i’m sorry about that too, i don’t know what happened there.) written for @tvdspngirl314‘s birthday writing event with the prompt “You ever feel like that? Like you were just destined for someone?” which is bolded in the fic. this also fills a square for @spnfluffbingo!

Square Filled: Rescue Mission

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The fourth time was all you. Dean barely had to lift a finger. The result, however, was far more traumatic than he had planned and rather emphatically revealed the magnitude of his brother’s feelings toward you.

Much like the previous attempts, there was a case: a shapeshifter going after women who conveniently happened to fit your description. The strategy was obvious, and you’d leaped at the opportunity to both make yourself useful and hopefully take the place of what would have otherwise been the next innocent civilian victim. But of course, Sam resisted at first.

“No. Absolutely not! We don’t know enough about this guy for you to just jump into his waiting arms, Y/N!” The fervent indignation in his tone and body language was palpable. Sam was rarely one to raise his voice or sport much of a temper at all really, but lately these heated outbursts seemed to be occurring more frequently, and frankly you were getting sick of it. The false hope they momentarily granted you through the notion that perhaps he cared about you as more than a friend was one thing. What’s more, the way his voice lowered half an octave combined with the sight of his flared nostrils, puffed chest, and straining jaw always seemed to have a sideways effect on you, in that it was impossible to keep your attention on his words alone. But boy did you try.

“Sam, how many times do we have to go through this? I’m a big girl; I can take care of myself. And your wrist is still healing so it’s not like you can call the shots on this one anyway. Besides, I’m not going in alone. You and Dean will be there for backup the whole time, right?”

“’Course we will, eh Sammy?” In a strange turn of events, Dean often appeared to be the one with a more jovial outlook recently.

Sam merely nodded and continued his heavy breathing. He glared down at his bandaged left wrist, the result of skirmish with a couple of wraiths, as if it were the root of all his problems. Then he looked up and through densely drawn brows, those magnetizing multicolored eyes pierced yours, his countenance bearing a charged and sullen expression of pensive exasperation as his jaw visibly tightened. You swallowed and could not for the life of you find the will to look away.

“So it’s settled then,” Dean proclaimed jubilantly, “Unless… you’ve got another reason you don’t want Y/N playing bait, hmm Sam? Maybe something you wanna share with the class? Or, you know, I could leave…”

“Dean, stop it. You’re not helping,” you quickly admonished before steadying your gaze back on the taller Winchester, “Look, Sam, have I ever let you down?”

“No. Never.”

“And do you still trust me?”

“Of course,” he responded immediately in a ‘what-kind-of-a-question-is-that’ tone, at which you simply raised your eyebrow to send him a reciprocating ‘then-what’s-the-problem?’ look.

“OK fine,” Sam huffed out a big breath, “But you’re not taking any risks! Anything seems off at all, just… promise me you’ll wait for me and Dean and keep us in the loop?”

His pleading eyes were so earnest and you’d truly never been able to say no to the giant puppy before, so you offered him a little smile and said, “Cross my heart.”

Sighing, Sam rubbed his face, looking lost in thought for a moment until he spoke up again, much more reserved and hesitant this time, “Do you still have that uh… ring from… that time?” Dean muffled a snort at his brother’s expense but you both ignored him, completely accustomed to his nonsensical teasing by now.

“Uh yeah, I- I think so.” The uncertainty in your voice was a lie. Of course you still had the ring you’d once used to pretend to be married to Sam Winchester. You may or may not have tucked it away in a special place for safekeeping.

“Good,” Sam nodded curtly, “I want you to wear it. It’s silver. I’ll wear mine too and Dean already has his. That’s how we’ll know that we’re still… ourselves.”

“OK, yeah that’s a good idea,” you agreed, trying your hardest not to linger on the memories.

“Well look at you two! Getting hitched again so soon-“

“Shut up, Dean,” you and Sam cut him off together.

When the meeting was adjourned and you were about to part ways to prepare for the upcoming hunt, something inside you forced you to call out his name, “Oh and Sam!” He turned around at once, questioning gaze somewhat urgently searching yours for a sign of what might come next. You stuttered though, feeling suddenly self conscious, so the next words you uttered were not much louder than a whisper, “Be careful with your wrist.”

Sam smiled, his dimples making your fingers twitch with the need to caress them. “I’ll be fine. You just look out for yourself. Remember, we’ll be right behind you.”

Somehow you both didn’t hear the groan Dean emitted as he rolled his eyes to the ceiling and prayed to whoever was listening, ‘Good lord, someone give me the strength to survive another day with these imbeciles.’

There was only one diner in the tiny Pennsylvanian town, and seeing as you were starving by the time you got there, the three of you were forced to make do with soggy fries and questionable milkshakes. As you ate, you went through your game plan once more, which essentially consisted of waiting until nightfall to visit the bar from where the previous girls had gone missing, while Sam and Dean shadowed you covertly.

Before you left, you took a quick trip to the loo and when you returned, Sam was stood outside alone, a broad smile upon his face.

“Where’s Dean?” you asked as you began to walk out the diner, expecting to find the older brother waiting impatiently in the parking lot by his precious car, but the Impala was gone.

“He went back to the motel, said he had something to take care of and that we should go scope the place out first.”

“But I thought we agreed to-“

“Yeah, well change of plans, you know how it is,” Sam replied casually with a shrug.

Little red flags started fluttering in your head, urging your eyes downward to locate the silver band on his finger. You frowned when you found it there untouched on his right hand; Sam almost never interrupted you, not even when he was absorbed in the foulest of moods.

Apparently sensing your hesitation, he added, “I mean, he made a good point. Maybe if you familiarize yourself with the surroundings first, you’ll be able to take the guy out faster.”

Sam was still smiling at you, but it felt all wrong. You couldn’t explain it, but there was something missing from his rainbow eyes. The colors were all there, but they lacked luster and warmth, a delicate twinkle that you’d learned to associate with the beautiful, heroic yet self-doubting giant of a man. Never had you seen that breathtaking magic replicated elsewhere, nor had you ever seen Sam without it, which was why you were almost completely certain that the man before you was not the real Sam Winchester.

But weaving within you was a thread of doubt, insisting that you couldn’t just pull a gun on your best friend because of something as trivial as… a feeling? No, you needed to test your theory. And so, bracing yourself with a deep breath, you slowly reached out your silver-equipped hand to do something you’d grown accustomed to resentfully abstaining from: touching Sam’s bare skin. You aimed for the large target of his hand, deeming it the most inconspicuous of places (given that he was wearing his hunters’ uniform and the only other visible option would’ve been his face or neck), but Sam was faster. Just before you were able to graze his skin with your ring, he caught your wrist in his much bigger hand and pulled it away, twisting your arm until it was locked painfully behind you.

“You think you’re smart, huh?” the shifter snarled with a flash of its eyes, moving in real close as he used Sam’s immense size and his own superhuman strength to easily constrain you.

Even so, you stared up at him defiantly, unafraid, “Sam and Dean will be back.”

“That’s the plan.”

Sam’s sneering face and threatening voice were the last things you saw or heard.

You had no way of determining how much time had passed when you unceremoniously came to in what looked and smelled to be an underground sewer. As your senses sharpened and your muddled brain began to size up your current plight, you nearly scoffed at the clichéd style of your captor. Sat on a peeling wooden chair, manila rope bound your wrists together behind your back and tethered your ankles securely to each of the seat’s front legs.

Ignoring the ache in your head, you set about strategically testing the knots and the integrity of the wood. If only you could reach the silver blade in your boot. But your attempts were interrupted by the reappearance of the shifter, whose shoe hit something as he stepped before you. A metallic clang echoed through the confined space as a result and you followed the sound to find your coveted knife on the ground, far beyond your reach.

“Fucking hunters, always think they’re so clever, always one step ahead because it’s their game. Sure, we might be the monsters but you’re the predators! So let’s see how you like being the prey for once.” Shifter Sam’s upper lip curled up in a way that seemed so foreign to you as he leaned forward to rest his hands on either arm of your chair, caging you in.

The malicious glint in his eye left you with no qualms about affronting this being who, for all intents and purposes, appeared identical to the man you’d recently discovered you were in love with. Lifting your chin, you glared up at him brazenly, “If you’re so keen on being the predator then why am I still alive? What are you waiting for?”

“Why your knight in shining armor of course!” he exclaimed, backing up as he stood to his full height and gestured to himself with both hands. “You think it was a coincidence that all those women looked like you?”

The shifter’s narrowed eyes were alight with amusement and a ripple of fear surged through your body. You were in much deeper than you or the boys had anticipated, though years of practice helped you keep your voice steady and bold, “What did you do to them?”

“Oh, I gave them a fairly painless death, don’t you worry. They were just stepping stones on my way to you. See, the Winchesters owe me a girlfriend, so I figured I’d take the closest thing to theirs. But imagine my joyous surprise when I got into this big lug’s head and discovered that he’s in love with you! No, actually it’s more than that. He’s obsessed with you; you never leave his brain! Every other thought and memory is about you... Well, it’s either you or his brother, but oh, it’s gonna kill him to see you die before his eyes. I might’ve been able to replace my dead girlfriend, but I don’t think Sam here will ever come back from losing you.”

Stunned into silence, the stupid influx of misguided hormones pumping through your veins forced you to focus on maintaining a neutral expression as he rattled on.

“And you feel the same way, don’t you? So this really will be a double kill. It’s OK, you can let it all out. I might be a monster but I’m not one to deny the dying their chance for some last words. Besides, you can say it all while looking into the eyes of the man you love.”

“Fuck you,” were the only words you could trust yourself to spit out at him.

‘Sam’ laughed, but it was nothing like the laughs you normally pulled from him. It didn’t radiate like sunshine or replenish your soul with glee. Rather, it was chilling and conniving and despite the mimicry of Sam’s beautiful voice, you immediately decided that you never wanted to hear it again.

“Not feeling too talkative, huh? Or maybe you’d rather wait until he gets here in the flesh to make that anticlimactic confession of love? That’s alright, I can just tell you more about this dumbass’s feelings for you.” The shifter chuckled with delight, as if every word brought him nothing but pure joy. “Man, he loves you so much, it’s insane. I’ve never been inside the skin of someone so in love. And I thought I really loved my ex. Afterall, this whole revenge thing is for her. But I gotta tell ya, I’ve got nothing on Sam Winchester. Did you know he thinks you were made specifically for him? You ever feel like that? Like you were just destined for someone? Cause Sam does. That’s how he feels about you.”

“Why should I believe you?” you challenged, growing tired of the inadvertent response his words were eliciting. Your heart was pounding in your neck, core trembling at the mere possibility of Sam genuinely feeling the way he’d described. But you knew better than to trust a monster, and one who was in pursuit of maximal vengeance no less. Still, those rose-colored thoughts resonated within you, and you stumbled to dismiss them as they bubbled up, one after another like a game of emotional whack-a-mole.

Shifter Sam smirked, “Yeah, you’re a cynical one, aren’t you? You know everything he said in that marriage counseling session was true. You kinda hurt his feelings when you just brushed it all off. Even big brother Dean’s been trying to get him to confess his love for you. You must’ve heard them arguing about it at some point? They weren’t exactly being discreet.”

Choosing not to respond, you simply scowled at him.

“No? Still in denial? Perhaps you need details… You ever notice how he always sits across from you whenever you’re doing research? It’s because he thinks you’re gorgeous when you’re focused, and it gives him an opportunity to admire you without getting caught. And why do you think he lets you call him Sammy, huh? Yeah, he might not let it on but he fucking loves it when you do, makes him feel all tingly inside. And you remember that cop who hit on you? Captain Anderson, was it? Sam wanted to break the guy’s nose just for touching you. Oh and why do you think he asked you to move into the bedroom closest to his? It’s so he can keep track of your nightmares. He likes to keep you close because it makes him feel like he can protect you better when you need it.”

By now, your ‘neutral expression’ must have surely mutated to betray your shock, and you couldn’t have answered if you tried. The shifter didn’t seem to mind either way. In fact, he appeared to be having the time of his life.

“And it’s not all pure thoughts, let me tell you! Oh man, buddy boy here has dreamed up plenty of X-rated scenes with you, ranging from obnoxiously romantic to just plain obscene. You name a position and he’s imagined it, in high-definition detail,” he embellished, tapping an index finger against his temple, “His mind is like a library of pornos starring the two of you, although he’ll never get to live out any of his fantasies, will he? It’s a shame really; some of these are really hot... Ooh, I’ll have to borrow that one,” he said with closed eyes, as if a figment of Sam’s imagination was playing through his head in that very moment, “Maybe my girl and I can re-enact it while we’re still in your skins-”

“Shut up, just shut up!” you finally bellowed in protest.

Sam watched the bathroom door attentively after you’d disappeared through it, unable to contain the upward jerk of his lips when he saw you walking back out of it. Heartwarming relief had become his body’s intrinsic response to seeing you safe and sound.

“You ready?” he questioned when you made it to his side.

“Yeah, I’m good.” God, even the sound of your voice made him happy.

Once you got back to the motel, Dean plopped down onto one of the full-size beds, exhausted from the drive. Within a matter of seconds, snores began to fill the room, and Sam chuckled under his breath as he sat down around a wobbly table with you to continue your research on the shifter’s victims, hoping to find something else that linked them together or a clue as to where they might’ve been taken.

It wasn’t long before you inhaled a revelatory gasp and abruptly clutched Sam’s wrist to show him what you’d found. But your grip was harsh, causing him to hiss in pain and do something he’d never before done: recoil from your touch.

“Oh, I’m sorry, does it still hurt?” you asked nonchalantly, smiling up at him innocently.

Worse than the pain in his fractured wrist was what felt like sirens blaring in his head. You were always hyper-cognizant of his injuries and exceedingly careful around them, sometimes even more so than himself. Sam looked you over subtly, eyes landing on the silver ring still upon your finger. Perhaps his mind had been playing tricks on him and all that tender attention he thought you’d shown him was simply a mirage of his own wishful thinking?

“It’s fine, I just wasn’t expecting it.” Sam sent you a tight smile, to which you responded with a dazzling one of your own. It was beautiful but something about it felt off. In the past, you apologized profusely if ever you found yourself the accidental cause of his discomfort, no matter how indirect or insignificant the case, but right now there wasn’t a single speck of concern in your eyes. Indeed, the more he looked into them, the more he struggled to recognize the person staring back at him.

In a flash, Sam had you up against the wall, a silver blade held against your neck. He looked down to see the metal sizzling there, burning your flesh, and cursed himself for failing to notice sooner.

The noise woke Dean from his slumber and what he saw when he opened his eyes was equal parts shocking and amusing. “Whoa! At least wait till I’m out of the room! And isn’t that a little kinky for your first time?”

“Dean, it’s not her. She’s not Y/N,” Sam grit out, “She’s wearing the ring but she’s not Y/N.”

His brother’s brows knit together as he rubbed the sleep from his emerald greens. “Wha- How did you know?”

“She was acting… weird.”

Dean scrambled off the bed, making a quick call on his phone to ensure you really were missing. He paled when a robotic voice over the line told him the number he was trying to reach was no longer in service.

It was then the shifter decided to speak up, “You know, the real Y/N would have liked this, you pressing her up against a wall?” she murmured suggestively.

“Shut up. Where is she?!” Sam slammed her body against the flimsy motel wall once more and dug the knife in a little deeper. In his panic-stricken state, he barely registered her remark, being driven entirely by a one-track mind at present.

Shifter Y/N grimaced slightly, glancing down at the knife, “Maybe if you stop cutting into me with that, I might consider telling you.”

“How did you get the ring?”

“Oh, this little thing? You like it? It’s imitation silver, but otherwise nearly identical to the one on the real Y/N’s finger. You see, we’ve been following you for a while now.”

“Who’s we? Where did you take Y/N?!” he demanded incessantly.

“My boyfriend’s got her, but don’t worry, he looks just like you so I’m sure she’ll find her accommodations to her liking,” she retorted with a smirk.

Sam’s heart lunged in his chest and his mind began whirring with endless possibilities of escalating dread. Had you been deceived and captured by a shifter pretending to be him? Were you being hurt or tortured by someone who looked exactly like him? How would you ever be able to look at him the same way again? Of course, you’d know it wasn’t Sam but the damage would still be done. You would forever remember his face as that of someone who once hurt you, who tried to kill you. That is, if Sam could make it to you in time.

“Don’t worry, you’ll get to see her one last time. That’s actually why I’m here, to take you to her when the time is right,” the shifter added casually.

“I will end your miserable fucking life! Tell me where she is right now!” Sam roared before pressing the blade further into her neck, the veins in his forearms ready to burst through his skin.

“Hey, hey! Sammy, ease up! We need her alive, alright?” Dean bounded over to his brother and after quite the struggle, managed to assuage him enough to release his vice grip and replace it with silver chains that shackled her to a chair.

“Sam, maybe we should also be asking ‘why’,” Dean mused as he fastened the end of a chain against one of the beds.

With a shake of his head, Sam avowed through grinding teeth, “I don’t fucking care. I have to get to her.”

“And what if it’s a trap?”

“Then I’ll find her myself.”

Dean scoffed in disbelief as he turned to his usually wise and level-headed little brother, “Oh yeah, and how’re you gonna do that? Where would you even start?”

“I don’t know!” Sam exclaimed in exasperation. Then, after a pause of desperate deliberation alleged, “Shifters like to make their lairs in sewers, right?”

Taking a step closer, Dean maintained his challenging tone, “So what are you gonna do, just wade through the entire town’s shit and piss until you find her?!”

“If that's what it takes, then yes!” Sam looked like he was about to eat his brother alive.

“Aww, that’s so sweet,” shifter Y/N interfered from her seated position before them, raising her chin to meet Sam’s eyes, “Don’t worry, handsome, I can tell you she feels the same way. But unfortunately, by the time you get to her, I don’t think she’ll be able to tell you herself. In fact, you’ll probably hardly recognize her anymore… so you might want to keep me around, if only as a souvenir of your soon-to-be-dead girlfriend.”

Sam couldn’t contain himself anymore. Despite looking like a carbon copy of you, the evil gleam in the shifter’s eyes made her easily differentiable, and so Sam held back nothing when he lunged across the distance, knife in hand ready to do some real damage. However, Dean pounced with him, having predicted his brother’s violent eruption and felt his shaking wrath, knowing a little too well just how rash he could be when it came to you. Still, it took all of Dean’s strength to pull Sam back, sending him a stern but knowing look once he did.

“Sam, stop!” His low voice rumbled as he went into authoritative big brother mode, “Listen to me, you wanna save Y/N? Well so do I, but this is not how we do it! Now I know it’s hard, but I need you to calm down, alright?”

Sam’s massive chest was practically at his chin as he heaved ginormous breaths. Though his body language was still offensive, his hazel eyes were filled with fear and devastation when they looked toward his brother, “Dean, if I don't get to her in time, I’ll...” Clenching his jaw, Sam made a fruitless attempt to calm his tremoring frame and quell his tumultuous emotions. What would he do? Sam wasn’t even sure himself. All he knew was that every cell in his being was currently screaming at him to get to you, to make sure you were safe and soothe away any of your pain. There was nothing he wouldn’t give in that moment to simply know you were alright and to hold you in his arms. He knew you could look after yourself, but for once he had a terrifying feeling that even you were in over your head, that you might actually need him this time, and he’d be fucking damned if he let you down.

“Woah! Hey, hey! Sammy, look at me! That ain’t gonna happen, alright? We’re gonna find Y/N and we’re gonna bring her home in one piece, you hear me? We’re the Winchesters, man! We’ve faced the end of the world. What’s a couple of shifters got on us?”

‘You,’ Sam thought, ‘They’ve got you.’ But he appreciated Dean’s pep talk nonetheless and nodded in response as a fresh surge of determination swelled within him.

“Alright then,” Dean nodded as well, “Why don’t you let me give her a go?”

As Dean’s silver blade cut into the detained shapeshifter, Sam flinched with every moan and howl of agony. He knew it wasn’t you, but she still had your voice and your perfect face. Yet not a second was wasted on the feeling of relief when they finally managed to get a location out of her. Sam nearly tripped over himself in his haste as he snatched the Impala’s keys and his gun before flying out of the room with a jumbled order for Dean to stay with the monster.

“Well, if you’re not gonna admit your feelings for the giant lumberjack, I guess you’re right. Maybe I should stop yapping and get to prettying you up for that first and last date of yours, huh?” Shifter Sam prodded your cheek with a switchblade.

You said nothing. At this point, you had a sneaking suspicion that physical pain might be more bearable than the psychological torment your imprisoner had been so keen on. It was one thing for you to torture yourself by entertaining the slim possibility that Sam might return your feelings for him, but to hear such outrageous perceptions from a creature who could read the inside of his mind like a paperback novel, and conveyed with such tantalizing conviction… well, it just about broke you.

And knowing that the shifter was yearning to coax a confession out of you simply to cause Sam as much anguish as possible made you more resolute about your refusal to submit, beyond the need to protect your own sanity.

One shiner and a slash to the thigh later, however, you heard a loud clash. Shifter Sam paused his handiwork and began to turn around, “Could your knight be here ahead of schedule?”

‘Dammit,’ you thought. The Winchesters were usually capable of being stealthy when necessary but in case it really was the sound of them making a blunder or encountering some other form of resistance, you figured you’d buy them a distraction.

“Wait, wait! You’re right, OK? Maybe I do feel something for Sam, but even if I told him, I think you’re forgetting… This is Sam fucking Winchester we’re talking about here. He’s been tortured by the devil himself. You really think killing me is going do much damage?”

Your abductor had now given you his full attention, leering at you with a sly smile, so you continued, “Besides, you picked a fight with the Winchesters; don't expect to live to see tomorrow.”

Right on cue, a hulking blur of hair and plaid came barreling in, growling ferally as he grabbed the shifter and threw more than one brutal punch against what appeared to be his own face. The silver ring on Sam’s hand made contact with skin and his shifter counterpart groaned in pain.

You nearly forgot about your ceaseless work of untying the rope that cuffed your wrists together as your looked on in shock. Why Sam hadn’t just shot him with a silver bullet was beyond you. He was smarter than this. There was no need to drag out a monster’s death if a more efficient option existed. But as he continued to engage his clone in hand-to-hand combat, it appeared almost as if he was venting his frustrations on the shifter, as if he drank up every ounce of hurt he was able to inflict. But his high only lasted so long and shifter Sam soon regained his balance, making use of his supernatural invulnerability and superior strength.

“Sam!” you screamed as the shifter threw him across the room.

He tumbled up just in time as the shifter meandered over, “So nice of you to join us, Sam. You know, Y/N here was just telling me about-“

Sam didn’t wait for him to finish, choosing instead to tackle him to the floor with a loud grunt. While they wrestled on the ground, you worked furiously at the knots behind you, wincing with every hit Sam took though it was becoming hard to tell them apart.

When Sam finally drew his gun, the shifter was able to divert its barrel and a shot rang out futilely. Catching a subsequent elbow to the ribs had Sam falling to his knees and you watched in horror as shifter Sam once again gained the upper hand, sending the gun flying out of Sam’s grasp. The binding around your wrists was just about undone when Sam seized a stray rusty pipe and swung it against his counterfeit. Shifter Sam was incapacitated for a brief instant but quickly returned to form with some vicious hooks and a couple of well-placed knees.

With your hands finally free of their restraints, you staggered over to the gun, the chair still attached at your ankles. As you took aim, you shouted, “Sam, get down!” before you shot his mirror image through the heart.

Sighing, you slumped to your hands and knees whilst the real Sam sat up with his back against a wall, gaping at you with a look of awe. Yet before he even caught his breath, he was up and gliding toward you, cradling his left wrist at an awkward angle.

“Sam, your wrist!”

“It’s fine, are you OK?” he swiftly dismissed your concern, cupping your face with his good hand as he examined the darkening bruise around your eye.

You ignored the palpitations in your chest and placed a hand upon his wrist, “Yeah, I’m fine. He wasted more time playing mind games than anything. You know villains and their monologues,” you joked, trying to ease his tension and the deluded self-imposed guilt you knew he must’ve been brewing in.

As if to prove your point, Sam lamented, “God, I’m so sorry. I should have known. I should have gotten here sooner.”

“What? No! They were miles ahead of us, Sam. The whole thing was a set up; this was their hunt. How could you have known?”

Rather than replying, he released a breath and busied himself trying to help you out of your binding.

Back at the motel, after icing your eye and stitching up your thigh, you insisted on re-wrapping Sam’s wrist while Dean took care of shifter Y/N’s remains. But when the older Winchester returned and spied you and his brother sitting together on a bed through a crack in the door, he couldn’t resist the chance to exercise his espionage skills.

“How did you know she wasn’t me anyway?” you asked as you gently wound the ace bandage around Sam’s swollen forearm.

“I just…” He looked down at your nimble fingers upon his skin and smiled unwittingly at their tender touch, “had a feeling.”

Sam’s sunflower gaze locked onto yours for a frozen instant and something about his soft expression made you forget what words were, until he cleared his throat, “Did you um- did you know he wasn’t me?”

“Yeah,” you confirmed, smiling for some strange reason. Perhaps you were just glad to see his trademark twinkle return to those otherworldly eyes. “Pretty soon after actually. I… had a feeling too.”

Sam’s dimples made every ache in your body disappear as that twinkle glistened in full force, “And how’d you know which one to shoot?”

Well, that dampened your mood and brought you back to the task at hand, “Oh, I don’t know, maybe because you kept grimacing every time you used your left wrist?” Although your words had a bitter force behind them, the pressure beneath your fingertips never increased and Sam had almost completely forgotten about his pain.

You, on the other hand, were reminded of your struggle to reconcile with what had happened since his question prompted a restored and growing frustration.

It had been bugging you the whole time and you felt compelled to confront him about it because storming in alone with a bad wrist, ready to throw hands with an out-of-his-league monster was really not Sam’s style. Something must’ve gotten into him and with everything the shifter had told you, you couldn’t help but wonder. Nevertheless, you were a little afraid of how he might answer, so Dean had to lean in closer to hear your next words.

“Why didn’t you just shoot him?”

“W-what do you mean?” Sam stammered out after a pause.

“Sam, you have a broken wrist, but instead of sending Dean or using your gun from the get-go, you came in like a madman and went after him with your fists!” Your voice was full of incredulity though it also carried an undertone of anger.

As Sam picked up on that reproachful tone, you could almost feel the telltale signs of his puppy dog eyes coming on. “He used my face to deceive you, to hurt you. They manipulated us. I had to- ...I mean, he killed those women just to get us here. He had it coming!”

Your hopes plummeted. Of course, Sam was ever the righteous man. Why would you assume his brashness had been purely born out of a need to avenge you? Though regardless of his reason, you were still upset about his self-destructing behavior, “Yeah, but you had to have realized you were in no position to be the one to give it to him, right? I mean, you might’ve looked the same but he was juiced up on monster superpowers, Sam… which meant he was stronger and faster, not to mention uninjured, in his own territory, and apparently the only one with a sound plan.”

A breath of laughter left Sam’s lips though there was no smile on his face. Here he’d been on a mission to save you, but you were the one who’d ended up saving him, again. You must’ve thought he was comically stupid and pathetically useless. How could he possibly think he was worthy of you? “I guess I should thank you for saving my ass again, huh?”

“What?! No! That’s not what I mean. Sam, you’re the one who saved me! And I’m beyond grateful for it, really I am. I just wish you didn’t hurt yourself more in the process.” You finally finished up with his wrist wrap, securing the final ends with a clip, and letting your hands linger on his for longer than necessary, momentarily distracted by the disparity of size between them. Sam didn’t appear uncomfortable though, as his fingers twitched closer to yours and he made no move to pull away.

He couldn’t help but smile again when he noticed the sincere concern in your eyes that was previously absent in the shifter’s. “Yeah well, what was it you once said to me? ‘Your ass will always be worth it’?”

“And if I remember correctly, you once told me you don’t do things on hunts that make your injuries worse,” you quoted him back with an arched brow.

“Yeah well, I guess this is payback. Now you know how I felt.” A playful grin made his dimples deepen and you clenched your jaw to refrain from gushing over the ridiculous cuteness of this ‘giant lumberjack’.

“You’re an idiot.”

“As long as you’re OK,” Sam answered assuredly, and you nearly melted when his free hand caressed your cheek for the second time that day, big thumb tracing a feather-light path below the purpled skin.

‘You’re both fucking idiots,’ Dean groaned internally from the other side of the door. He knew he had no choice but to up his game.

thanks so much for reading! feedback is greatly appreciated!

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genevievemd · 4 years ago

Note

head scratches e and g

Confessions

Book: Open Heart: Third Year Pairing: Ethan Ramsey x F!MC (Genevieve McClure) Word Count: 1399 Rating: G Category: fluff, hurt/comfort Trope(s): and they were in the office

Summary: MC has been feeling unsteady, and Ethan has finally noticed.

No Warnings

A/N: this turned into a post ch 4 (bk 3) fic. Because I’m a little disappointed that PB didn’t let us talk to Ethan about the weird shit he was doing with Harper. Also look at me, once again using a one word title, because I suck at titles and its 3 am and I’m too tired to try to come up with something better.

The sun sets outside the floor to ceiling windows, casting the diagnostics office a dance of shadows and lights. Ethan gets up from the desk, walking over to shut off the fluorescent lights leaving the room in growing darkness. He rolls his neck as he returns to the desk, turning on the lamp on the wooden surface.

He’s felt a migraine forming all afternoon, since Leland’s bombshell that Ethan’s rival would now be joining his team. The sense that all control is steadily slipping through his fingers, growing by the day, by the hour it seems.

What was promised to be a democracy was now nothing but a dictatorship disguised in new equipment and pay raises.

Ethan closes his eyes, leaning back in the chair, desperately trying to cling onto the thoughts of the one good and stable thing he has left.

Genevieve.

“How are you feeling?”

A soft voice breaks through the silence, Ethan opening his eyes to see the very thing he was thinking of standing in the doorway. A pleasant warmth runs through him, he’s not a man that believes in fate, but there is something utterly divine in the way she appears at the very moment he needs her.

Genevieve walks to the desk, every step that brings her closer settling the anxiety and rage boiling inside him. She smiles sweetly at him, perching herself on his desk.

“Like I’m slowly losing control.” Ethan sits up, a hand coming to rest on her knee, thumb tracing circles on her skin. “It’s bad enough we have to deal with Bloom, but now I have to contend with Tobias as his lapdog, as well.”

“You have me, though,” Her green eyes fill with warmth as she leans forward, holding his cheek delicately in her hand. “And I’ll always be on your side.”

“I know. I’m incredibly thankful for that, believe me.”

They share a smile, that four letter word swirling around his head for the umpteenth time as they get lost in each other. Gen breaks the spell, hopping off the desk and settling in his lap. His arms come around her without a second thought, pulling her impossibly closer.

“How can I help?” Her words are nothing more than a whisper as her fingers trace his jawline.

“There’s nothing you can do, unfortunately.”

“I can at least try and alleviate some stress. It’s what girlfriends are for, after all.”

The word girlfriend sparks something inside him, setting his heart into a rapid beat. They haven’t discussed terms, which is mostly his fault. In the moments when he has Gen alone, he spends the time doing everything but talking. The need to make up for the months he had spent pushing her away taking precedence over defining what they are to each other. But he knows they need to have that talk soon, he can see her growing impatient and hesitant with each passing day.

Gen takes off his glasses, tossing them onto the desk. She threads her fingers in his hair, scratching lightly as she goes. He closes his eyes again, forehead coming to rest on her shoulder as her fingers continue to weave through his hair.

“I meant what I said at lunch, G. Just having you in the room makes me feel more at peace.”

“Should I stop then?”

“Absolutely not.” He kisses the side of her neck, nuzzling sweetly. “I will take any and all forms of affection from you.”

“Quite the difference from last year, Doctor ‘We Need a Reset’.”

“We all have a lapse in judgment from time to time.”

“Mhm.” He can feel her giggle, his arms tightening around her.

They settle into an easy quiet, drawing comfort from a shared space.

As much as he wants to get lost in her touch, he can’t help but fall back to the thoughts of Gen’s newfound uncertainty. Ethan’s half sure it has something to do with him, but he hopes more than anything that it’s not. Praying instead that it all falls to the new easy comradery of the team and the ever growing changes their employer makes.

He wants nothing more than for Genevieve to confide in him, lean on him in the same way he leans on her.

“Are you going to tell me what’s been bothering you lately?”

“It’s not important anymore.”

“I beg to differ, Gen.” He presses a kiss to her shoulder before lifting his head to look at her. “You’ve been tossing and turning every night for a week. Something is wrong.”

“I don’t want to ruin the moment or make you feel more stressed.”

“So it’s me?”

“I didn’t say that.”

“You didn’t have to.” His brows furrow at her lack of honesty, she’s never been this closed off before. Its unnerving and so unlike her. Fear settles deep in his bones as their eyes meet, the need to find a solution growing with every second that passes. “I can’t fix it if you aren’t forthcoming.”

“It’s already fixed, kind of.” She sighs, adverting her eyes from him again. “Harper more or less set things straight.”

“Harper?” Ethan tilts his head, face scrunched in confusion.

“I was... feeling unsteady, about my place on the team and with you.”

“With me? The team I can understand, but I thought things were fine between us.”

Her face drops, taking a breath. “You really have no idea?”

Gen gets up from his lap, moving back to her previous spot on the desk. The distance she places between them is small, but enough to make his heart ache fiercely.

“Let’s put it this way, if my ex joined the team and I spent more time reminiscing about our history - weddings and flamenco lessons and dates at some intimate bistro named after a freaking Disney character - and you had to sit here, constantly interrupted, looked over and forced to listen to every second of it, how would you feel?”

“I was doing that to you.” The pain he feels is instant, regret following quickly after. “I didn’t realize.”

“Which, if I’m being honest, Ethan, makes it hurt ten times more. Because that says that you didn’t think of me or my feelings at all.”

He wants to jump up and dispute her claims. She’s the only thing he thinks of on most days and it kills him that he’s somehow made her feel the opposite.

“I don’t care that you’re friends with your ex, Harper is wonderful. But when you sit here and talk about dates you went on and veer off topic to bring up some inside joke, it makes me feel like you don’t respect me or our relationship. Like this is a casual fling you could quickly let go off and not a committed relationship. Like I’m an afterthought and that isn’t fair to me.”

Ethan stands from his chair, unable to cope with the distance between them any longer. He steps in front of her, holding her face in his hands. “This isn’t causal, Gen. Far from it. And you’re not an afterthought, you never have been.”

“Yeah, well actions speak louder than words and half of your actions lately say otherwise.”

“You’re right. I was being inconsiderate and tactless” He can see by the way she pulls away that his words aren’t enough. If he’s going to really set things back into place, Gen is going to need a real apology.

Ethan lets out a breath, holding her gaze for a long moment. “It was wrong of me to do that to you, even worse that I did it without realizing. Your thoughts and feelings are important to me, they take precedence. I’m sorry, Genevieve. Truly. It won’t happen again.”

“Thank you.” She reaches for his hand, interlacing their fingers.

“Not that there’ll be a next time, but should I do something this imbecilic again, feel free to call me out on it sooner rather than later.”

“Trust me, I will.”

Her smile returns, brighter than it was when she’d walked in ten minutes ago. Ethan leans forward, pressing his lips to hers in a bruising kiss. He gets bolder when she sighs, as she opens up to him and threads her fingers through his hair.

“This is teetering towards a pg-13 rating.” Gen mutters against his lips, their foreheads pressed together as they catch their breaths. “Take me home.”

“Whatever you want, Rookie.”

a/n: it took me all week to get this to a point where I liked it enough to post it. But we did it and I like it enough.

Tag Lists:

Perma: @terrm9 @potionsprefect @iemcpbchoices @archxxronrookie @coffeeheartaddict @queencarb @lucy-268 @custaroonie @maurine07 @gryffindordaughterofathena @ohchoices @choicesaddict5 @fireycookie @wingedhairstylemusicweasel @oldminniemcg @sizzlingcashherohumanoid @taniasethi @mrs-ramsey @shanzay44 @aussieez @stygianflood @uneravine @openheartfan @fayeswiftie @stateofgracious @sophxwithers @estellaelysian @mm2305 @withbeautyandrage @udishaman @mercury84choices @silma-words @headoverheelsforramsey @iloveethanramsey

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#ethan ramsey x mc #ethan x mc #open heart #open heart fanfiction #Anonymous #asked and answered #ethan x gen #intimacy prompts

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tossawary · 4 years ago

Text

Chapter 24: “Seeing is Believing” of “pride is not the word I’m looking for” random favorite lines and commentary. Not a full list or full commentary, but longer commentary than usual to talk about quest construction.

AN: This was... a weird chapter to write. When I started outlining, I had... the conversation with Shen Qingqiu planned... the conversation with Shen Yuan planned... the fact that SQH, SY, LQG, and LFL was the quest party... and the fact that they get the Eye at the end of it. That was everything.

The entire rest of this chapter came together FRIDAY LAST WEEK.

Huan Hua Palace wasn’t going to be there. The Weeper didn’t exist. The Eye or its previous owner wasn’t at all connected to the Garden Master. The Shadow Cave Wolf Spiders didn’t exist. The murder plant didn’t exist. The mysterious monster showing up at the end wasn’t originally planned either.

I mean, I had a lot of pre-existing plot threads to tie in and weave with, but ohhh boy! Picture someone lying facedown on a floor like, “I forgot to plan the contents of the super important quest...”

I was originally going to have the Eye quest a lot simpler, but given the weight “Death of the Author” had when I finally reached this part of the story, that wasn’t really going to do! It had to be bigger than that! It needed oomph! This also felt like a good opportunity to really establish the new SQH-SY dynamic. To explore SY fumbling to find a place in this world without strict character role, especially in relation to settled and well-supported SQH.

“One attempts to remain dignified,” Shen Qingqiu agrees. “As there is little point in kicking and screaming about how such ignobility isn’t fair.”

“Ha! Is there ever?”

“Not in my experience.”

“Yeah, it’s definitely not cute when I do it,” Shang Qinghua jokes.

Shen Qingqiu’s lips actually twitch at that.

Success?!

AN: I wasn’t going into this fic with the intention of writing any Shang Qinghua and Original Shen Qingqiu almost friendship! But it started developing and it seemed a shame not to explore Shang Qinghua developing a real relationship with Shen Qingqiu (though not a particularly close one) when the man is suppose to be the scum villain (and the readers know that the man might get replaced by Shen Yuan).

I can see myself writing more Shang Qinghua and Original Shen Qingqiu content in the future. Someone dropped a particularly nice prompt for them in my inbox that I’m looking forward to exploring at some point.

(I mean, not to say that Shang Qinghua has a type, but Shang Qinghua has a type and it’s handsome, deadly, intimidating, frosty men with a villainous character design and trust/abandonment and communication issues. I could make it work.)

“Ah, well, two ‘ideal’ situations come to mind: severing the personal relationship for good… or, ah, talking about how to do better and trying that. You don’t have to forget or even forgive if you don’t want to! But, ah… there’s got to be a difference between totally swallowing your anger and cutting ties forever, right?” Shang Qinghua says awkwardly. “If there’s… ever going to be anything good afterwards…”

Shen Qingqiu stares at him for a sweat-inducing length of time.

“Ah, fuck,” Shang Qinghua thinks.

“Sorry,” he says. “Ahhh, I’m just… thinking about something someone told me… in… in regards to some of my own problems. Never mind! Never mind!”

AN: Luo Jiahui really is out here making Moshang and Qijiu get their fucking act together just by setting a better example.

“Shizun, my apologies for the interruption, but I came to ask Shizun if he would be willing to join our music lesson today? The disciples have missed his playing and are eager to present their improvements.”

“...Very well, unless anyone here would disagree…?” Shen Qingqiu looks directly at the Qian Cao Peak cultivator, as though daring her to object and die.

“It’s an excellent suggestion!” the Qian Cao Peak cultivator says quickly.

The young woman smiles. “And perhaps Shizun could sit in on the calligraphy lesson afterwards? In order to offer his opinion on my progress as a teacher?”

“Fishing for compliments is unbecoming,” Shen Qingqiu says dryly.

“Wait, what?” Shang Qinghua thinks.

AN: So, this has all been happening in the background, but Shen Qingqiu accepted this House of Rejuvenation woman onto his Peak about... 6-ish years ago now? This is kind of meant to parallel Shang Qinghua’s once-secret relationship with Luo Jiahui.

Shang Qinghua was out here trying to be a better person and Shen Qingqiu noticed; now Shen Qingqiu has his own positive (platonic) relationship with a nameless background character who was meant to die for plot reasons. What a thing, huh? If the story was saved because Shang Qinghua started a domino effect of saving random people who went on to change things?

After all, as Shang Qinghua said to the kid, besides Peerless Cucumber’s apparent talent for cultivation, he knows that his fellow transmigrator has three very important skills that will serve him well on An Ding Peak! 1) An encyclopedia knowledge for even seemingly pointless bullshit (which is kind of flattering, honestly). 2) The willingness to fight total strangers over seemingly pointless bullshit. And 3) a sharp enough tongue to win.

Peerless Cucumber didn’t find these points as funny as Shang Qinghua did.

AN: Shen Yuan was always going to end up on An Ding Peak. I thought about sending him to Qing Jing or Qian Cao or Qiong Ding... or any other Peak... but that would take him too far away from Shang Qinghua to really explore their relationship and to move him around conveniently in the story. And SY sticking to An Ding seemed to best illustrate the fact that SY is lost and doesn’t know what to do except cling to SQH.

“It’s not much, sure, but it’s yours,” Shang Qinghua says finally. “You’ll be joining the talisman classes soon, so don’t try anything from a book and then need to request some home repairs.”

Peerless Cucumber nods and puts his stack of manuals down on the table.

“How’s your tutorial mission going?”

“Fine,” the kid says shortly. “Have you found anything for the other one yet?”

“Ah, not yet.”

AN: “Are you winning, son?” meme energy here.

Ah, now Shang Qinghua recognizes his fellow transmigrator’s expression! That’s the same stunned expression one of his Huan Hua not-disciples, Yu Chaonan, made upon meeting the Bai Zhan Peak War God for the first time. Shang Qinghua assumes that Peerless Cucumber was expecting a man who looked more like a musclebound giant and less like a pop idol (if one with amazingly muscular arms), which is a super common and never-not-funny misconception people have about Liu Qingge.

“Brother of one of the most beautiful women in this world, bro,” Shang Qinghua reminds his fellow transmigrator, amused. Aha! Now Peerless Cucumber’s vehement disinterest in the harem stuff is making even more sense than before!

Shang Qinghua’s assumption gets 100% confirmed when it comes time for Peerless Cucumber to fly with Liu Qingge for the next leg of the journey. The other transmigrator is so embarrassed and awkward about it that Shang Qinghua’s super direct brother-in-law asks if the young man is alright.

AN: This was so fun to write. Shang Qinghua really can use the Liu siblings to gauge people’s sexual/romantic orientation.

The map (or rather, the copy Shang Qinghua made of the delicate original map) takes them to a green and grey landscape of leafy trees crawling over a wide network of tall cliffs and deep gorges. Gurgling rivers cut through twisting rock formations. Shang Qinghua can’t see any of these rivers on the map. Or these deathly drop ravines. From the outside, the whole thing looks like a natural maze (holy shit, there could be so many monsters and death-traps in there!), and Shang Qinghua would know those golden robes flying low over the hanging trees anywhere.

“Huan Hua,” Liu Qingge mutters.

“Do you think they’re looking for what we’re looking for?” Luo Fanli asks.

“That’s usually how it goes,” Peerless Cucumber says, before Shang Qinghua can.

AN: I came up with the skeleton idea first. Then I was like... “I should give it three eyes.” And then I was like... “But who IS this dead author? A god? A spirit? What grander implications am I spinning here?”

And THEN I remembered that I had some ambiguous powerful being force the Garden Master into exile due to a flood. This was because, in the Epic of Gilgamesh, the immortal man Gilgamesh meets in the abyss is the survivor of a great flood. So I was like, “Reduce! Re-use! Recycle! There’s my skeleton!”

So I wanted to relate the skeleton to water because of the flood angle. Water as a symbol of cleansing/reincarnation is a big thing throughout many cultures. I can’t remember exactly how the crying aspect came up, but I knew there was going to be water in the temple now, so at some point my brain like was, “Bro, this skeleton should totally be crying because mythology vibes.”

So I built the surrounding land off the idea that there was water flowing from or around this temple. At this point, I had decided that Huan Hua Palace should also be looking for this artifact, so I had to come up with a way to hide the temple, yet have a way for SQH’s party to track it down.

The damage to the doors is worse: someone once upon a time collapsed a part of the cliff face around the entrance, essentially leaving only the top fourth of the utterly smashed stone doors visible. It’s a wall now and has been for ages. It looks like it would take days to dig through the rubble. Someone has even super helpfully carved, “These doors will never open again,” just above the wreck.

“Guess we’ll have to go in as intruders rather than guests!” Luo Fanli says.

“What would be welcoming us inside a lost temple exactly?” Shang Qinghua asks vaguely, inwardly cursing the fact that explosive mining techniques will definitely attract the Huan Hua Palace Sect cultivators’ attention and also probably collapse the whole cliff on them.

“We only have to clear a passage for us, not the whole door,” Peerless Cucumber says optimistically. “Is there a special technique for this kind of thing?”

“Aha, not really.”

“Oh.”

“Why don’t we just keep following the water?” Luo Fanli says.

“...How so?” Shang Qinghua asks.

“Some of those waterfalls could be passages inside,” Liu Qingge explains, because he and the little sister-in-law apparently share the same brain. He’s already eyeing the waterfall wearing down the giant statue on the left.

AN: Temples in quests need to have traps and obstacles and monsters! Well, not ALL of the did, but this one did. I based the obstacles they faced as much as I could around the whole “Death of the Author” theme, while using this whole quest to explore Shen Yuan, Shen Yuan and Shang Qinghua, Shang Qinghua and Liu Qingge and Luo Fanli, and so on.

The idea here with the door is that the “author” is not going to let them inside the temple to take the interpretation of the narrative (the Eye) for themselves. The story is over (the temple is closed for business)! The author is dead! If they want to get inside, they have to break inside or slip inside as intruders.

This also creates a convenient obstacle to hold up the Huan Hua Palace Sect cultivators so that our party can be nearly caught later! And shows off Shang Qinghua, Liu Qingge, and Luo Fanli’s twisty lines of thinking.

Luo Fanli is holding the light and Shang Qinghua passes the other transmigrator to her, while accepting Liu Qingge’s hand for help getting out of the water.

“Ahhh, that was fun,” Shang Qinghua mutters.

Then he notices that Liu Qingge has the Cheng Luan sword out and ready. Shang Qinghua looks through the surrounding darkness, but all he can see are columns and water. For a moment, he thinks he sees something, a prowling shadow at the other end of the cavernous room, but he wipes the water out of his eyes and it’s gone.

AN: The water in Shang Qinghua’s eyes briefly lets him see a flash of the invisible monsters who show up later! It helps up the tension.

Another low growl rips through the darkness and Peerless Cucumber shuffles a little closer to Shang Qinghua. Because that sounded really fucking close and yet Shang Qinghua still can’t see the thing that’s making that sound.

He doesn’t see Liu Qingge lunge at him either. He only feels his brother-in-law shove him into Peerless Cucumber, knocking them into the water, out of the way of something that howls when Liu Qingge slashes at it with his sword. Shang Qinghua rolls off Peerless Cucumber and looks up just in time to see dark blood splatter across the watery floor. Liu Qingge pursues the attacker with a second slash, but only seems to meet thin air this time.

“It’s invisible!” Luo Fanli cries. “Fuck!”

“Behind you!” Liu Qingge snaps, and spins to slash at the thin air beside him. Dark droplets of blood hit the water again and something hisses at him.

Luo Fanli whirls and slashes, searching for an opponent.

“They’re reflected in the water!” Liu Qingge yells at her, standing guard over Shang Qinghua as he gets to his feet again. “Listen for their footsteps and vocalizations! Feel the demonic energy and air displacement!”

AN: I got this from a list of Dungeons and Dragons puzzles. The idea is that there’s some puzzle that must be solved, but the truth of the room can only be seen in the reflection of the nearby water (or mirror or whatever).

Which felt fitting for a “Death of the Author” quest! Whatever an author’s intentions, the story is what they actually wrote, so the audience interprets a text without the context of the author’s insight. The truth (of the story) is in the reflection (audience interpretation)! It felt like a fun idea.

It also allows Shen Yuan to actually contribute to the quest via monster lore and bring up his impaired vision problem. And to confront Shen Yuan with the reality of this world. And to show off Luo Fanli’s fighting skills. And to show off LIU QINGGE’S legendary fighting skills, instincts as a warrior who fights many dangerous beasts, and the fact that he’s clever and observant!

Liu Qingge is good at what he does! And this is what he does!

Someone has… angrily… or desperately… carved a lopsided message into the wall.

“‘If I go blind, so does the world,’” Peerless Cucumber reads.

“...That’s probably not good,” Shang Qinghua says.

“Nooo…” Fanli agrees.

The messages continue as they climb, carved into the walls, the ceilings, the floors. Most of it is illegible. Some of it is just nonsense. Some of it looks like the same kind of historical records carved into the broken tablets. Some of it looks like someone attacked the walls after reading what was written there. There are deep gouges in the walls and cracked marks that would match a giant’s hands.

“‘The water cleans the lies,’” Peerless Cucumber reads. “‘I am the only one who can see.’ ‘Lies everywhere, lies everywhere, lies everywhere.’ ‘The water cleans the evil.’ ‘I do not have enough tears.’ ‘Everything is nothing now. Everything in vain.’”

“You really don’t need to read them!” Shang Qinghua tells the kid. “It’s fine. It's totally fine.”

AN: This is mostly here to up the tension, but it’s also here to try and give insight into this being and relate them more to the “Death of the Author” and the “Seeing is Believing” themes.

I also saw the phrase “If I go blind, so does the world” while I was browsing a list of riddles for D&D campaigns and I was like, “THAT’S SICK, I’M USING THAT.” Really brings the “an eye for an eye” and vengeance vibes. (The riddle was longer than that one phrase, but the answer was “the sun”.)

The top of the temple reveals one massive room that looks like someone was alternatively scratching their insanity into the walls and tearing chunks out of the interior design with their bare hands. Overtop of the rubble is that eerie overgrowth. There’s a fine layer of water over the floor. At the center of it all is an incredibly enormous desk, cracked in half, with a robed skeleton sitting behind it, slumped over the top. It’s a little too large to be an ordinary human.

Plus, its skull is a little too long, probably to accommodate the third eye socket in the forehead. There’s something gleaming softly yellow in the third eye socket.

“Is… there water dripping from its eyes?” Luo Fanli whispers.

“It looks like it…” Peerless Cucumber whispers back. “Like it's crying…?”

“Still…? Is it dead or not?”

“Holy shit,” Shang Qinghua thinks, slightly nauseated. “System, bro, the worst bro I’ve ever known, tell me that we have not been swimming in a three-eyed skeleton’s magical undead tears or something this whole time.”

The shitty, no-good System stays unsurprisingly silent.

AN: Okay, so the idea here is that this being was someone who recorded history and shared their knowledge freely. This being had the ability to discern the truth of a person - they were extremely perceptive. (The Weeper is either female or doesn’t have a gender, by the way.)

The Weeper met the Garden Master at some point. The Garden Master was an asshole, a liar, arrogant, etc.. The Weeper and the Garden Master clashed badly, until the Weeper sent the cleansing flood that nearly destroyed the sect and the Garden Master essentially had to flee to a personal abyss.

The Garden Master sent the plant as a final “fuck you” to the Weeper. The plant caused the Weeper to slowly go mad. The smashed tablets and destroyed temple are the Weeper’s work. The Weeper (not in a great state of mind) had the temple closed themselves once they realized they and their work had been corrupted. This was a “you destroy my (embellished) reputation, I destroy yours (and your entire life)” plot by the Garden Master.

The idea behind the tears is the whole “water is cleansing” thing. The Weeper tried to clean away the madness using their magical water-related abilities... and it actually worked for a long time. But eventually the madness began to overpower the effects of the magical water. The Weeper’s tears are from frustration and helplessness at losing control.

The water inside the temple combats the plant’s physical effects. Also stabbing the root killed the plant and essentially broke its mental/spiritual powers.

Unfortunately, to get the fuck out of here, they have to go back through the temple. But hey! That’s still a lot better than an extended hike through an underground, haunted desert in darkness! The battle with the now-dead plant caused its growth to writhe around the temple. The vines need to be hacked through sometimes as they travel down through the rooms of broken shelves and shattered tablets.

“So much history lost…” Peerless Cucumber murmurs.

“He still thinks of himself as a reader - an observer, a visitor, separate from the flow of fate.”

AN: This is... absolutely based on the Heart from the Dishonored franchise. But this sort of item didn’t originate with Dishonored and I need it! It’s a surprise/mystery tool that will help us later!

The Eye isn’t exactly a mind-reading object. I mean, it kind of is, but it works in a very specific way that I’m looking forward to getting into.

From there, their path back out of the natural maze is even more careful and stressful than before, now that the Huan Hua Palace Sect cultivators are actively looking for them rather than the temple. It’s slow-going and stressful and silent, except for when the Weeper’s Eye presses too close against his chest.

“He is afraid that if he starts screaming, he will never stop,” it tells him, when he’s looking at a pale-faced Peerless Cucumber, as they fly over a particularly deathly-looking drop.

“Oh, me too, bro!” Shang Qinghua thinks. “Seriously! Tell me something I don’t know!”

AN: Having Shang Qinghua be totally unimpressed by an object like this was very funny to me. He’s the author! He’s a transmigrator! He knows these people well! He already has insight into their situations.

Shang Qinghua groans, but supposes that Peerless Cucumber would have at least been disguising Liu Qingge from the back. “You tell them that you were tracking thieves who stole something from Cang Qiong Mountain Sect,” he says quickly. “Rule of embarrassment! Admitting something that makes us look bad to a rival makes it sound true. Don’t tell them what was stolen and act really offended if they try to poke into Cang Qiong business. I’ll come back as soon as I get these two out!”

Liu Qingge nods and launches forward into the fight.

“We’re just leaving him?” Peerless Cucumber says, as they do exactly that.

“I’ll get changed and come back ‘looking for him for urgent sect business’ as soon as I’ve dropped you two off in the last town,” Shang Qinghua says. “I’m really good at acting stressed and confused, and at desperately needing an unstoppable wandering Liu Qingge back at Cang Qiong Mountain Sect immediately. Now let’s go! Let’s go! Mission isn’t over yet!”

AN: Shang Qinghua is, at heart, a liar. I love him.

#tossawary updates #tossawary svsss #pride is not the word #tossawary commentary

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senju-sekhmet · 4 years ago

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The Leash (Part 9)

Summary: Your rescue was supposed to be as smooth as these missions can be. However very quickly, Tobirama faces off against an enemy that has no form, color or smell - and time is running short, very fast. Unless he figures out what truly holds you hostage, your life will be lost. Warnings (for the finished work): Blood, illness, descriptions of heavy injuries and graphic violence, torture (both depicted and implied), needles, morally grey territory, human experimentation, panic attacks, character death, angst with a happy ending ~6000 words (this chapter, finished work: 80.000) Previous: Part 1; Part 2; Part 3; Part 4; Part 5; Part 6; Part 7; Part 8 Read on AO3! Disclaimer below the cut! more updates. is it really a disclaimer still, i wonder lmao

DISCLAIMER! we are nearing the grand finale of this fic!! please stick until the very end okay?! i know this chapter might be a little bit of a drag - it’ll get better, promise. <3 Other than that: enjoy my very self indulgent work, filled with my own headcanons and angst galore. Let me know what you think and thank you so much for reading!!!! ________ Leaving you had been a real test of will. Not only were you in such a deplorable state overall, but also your request - it was quite obvious you were putting on a brave face, but the truth of the matter was you weren’t faring well, at all. It was the little signs that gave you away - the slight tremor in your voice sometimes. The gallows humour. He didn’t want to think about what the withdrawal had been like for you. But he could well imagine. And as per usual, he was helpless except to unravel how to produce more of this damned leash. He couldn’t even heal you or alleviate some of your exhaustion at this point.

By the time he had reached the laboratory he was frustrated beyond measure, sick from guilt and his heart was aching that if he didn’t know better, he might as well think he was sick. He wasn’t, of course. But eliciting such bodily responses due to his emotional state was something entirely foreign to Tobirama. He was - always had been - subject to his moods, sure. And the people around him would know his sour moods, especially. But would he carelessly act on them, or physically feel them like this? No. Luckily it was the middle of the night and there had been nobody around to witness the somber scowl he was wearing. Not that he cared, anyway.

In the grand scheme of things, that was the least of his concerns.

He had contemplated testing his newest result on another prisoner, but ultimately decided against it. The best he could hope for was a prolonged time of muting the victim’s chakra. What he really needed to start working on now was to weave the second component in, the disruption. And since he had four vials available, that offered a variety of options. He’d leave one untouched, to be safe - and work on one for now to start with that.

The first problem was to imagine how he’d want the disruption to kick in. He knew from examining your blood and also the reaction you’ve shown that it took some time for the disruption to kick in. He had deduced it must be because of the chakra muting component - it covered the disruption up to leave a timeframe in which a victim was not threatened by it. When it faded, only the disruption remained, the lethal withdrawal kicked in. Therefore, the chakra needed for this would need to last longer, adhere to the victim almost like a brand and be intense enough to cause these effects. He did have a vague idea how to achieve this - but to compress it into such a small vial was… daunting.

What’s new, he somberly figured to himself.

And just as he imagined, this proved to be even more complicated than weaving the first component in. Not only did he have to treat delicately, but also be extremely careful to not destroy the structures he had worked so hard to get into that vial in the first place. He didn’t quite succeed in that - partly, the muting component took damage. The whole process felt as though he needed to weave chakra inbetween what was already in the vial - as if he was transplanting it onto the already delicate structure he had created. It was endlessly frustrating. Frankly everything about this was so demanding, at times he wondered if there really was no other option to get a cure.

Like torturing the prisoners to a maximum.

The more time he spent threading the more he became convinced there must be some trick to it. That, or it required an intense amount of training. If it was the latter, then he’d be facing a new problem.

He’d deal with that when it came to it. His plate was full as it was.

Once he got a hang of how to weave it in without wrecking the delicate structure of the first pattern, his gaze swept to the clock. It was long past midnight. Time for a small break. As much as he hated it, he didn’t want to use his clones yet again - he needed to figure this out more, firstly. If he had no real idea where to truly go with this, his clones’ works would just ramp up more exhaustion. More he needed to sleep off. Besides, this would not be so much of a break - though you were stable, he simply didn’t like the thought of leaving you alone. Not after your request - not after seeing you in your frightfully weak state. He had to check on you, as he promised.

He teleported back into your dimly lit room. Briefly, he gazed out of the window - the sky was clear, the moon shone bright and there were a million stars alongside it. It was beautiful. Silently, he walked to your bedside again to find you had your eyes closed. Finally - finally your face seemed peaceful. Gaunt, for sure, but not in pain. Tobirama settled down into his chair and laid his hand on yours, as lightly as he could to not wake you up. Very slowly he let his chakra skim over your network to find it dormant as well, pleased you still were asleep. Equally slow, he increased the connection to examine you as softly as possible. As usual, the injuries, microscopic tears, tissue damages and healing bits were too numerous to count. And there also was the general lack of reserves overall - a result from the strain put on you by the stretching of the interval no doubt. Even so, your cardiovascular situation was superior and no organ showed any sign of dysfunction. A pleasant surprise - compared to before, you were doing even better. Seems that aside from the exhaustion you had recovered well from their first stunt. He withdrew quickly before you could notice his presence and leaned back in his chair.

Had they gone by their normal schedule, you’d be left with four and a half days now. And Tobirama hadn’t even yet produced something that was anywhere near the leash. For all the grief it had put you through, it was a small victory. Admitting this felt wrong, though - despicable. It was the method. And he wasn’t sure how much time they’d gain from this, overall. His medical expertise wasn’t comparable to his brother’s, but he didn’t think you’d keep up lengthier intervals. Maybe if you’d been in peak physical condition.

He groaned slowly, rubbing a hand over his face.

Part of him didn't want to think anymore, now. He felt stretched out, thin. Spent. But of course, his mind wouldn't stop.

He vividly remembered the first time you went into withdrawal. The torment you had been going through. Just because you hadn’t been writhing or screaming now didn’t mean it was more bearable - no. You had been sedated this time. Tobirama was quite sure the whole procedure was hell for you, nonetheless, and all that kept you together was your unbreakable will to live.

If that ever faltered…

An ice-cold shiver ran down his spine. He closed his eyes. Already his heart pumped painfully against his ribcage, he had expected it. The all too familiar ache, the grief. The guilt.

I’ll take care of you. I’ll protect you.

It was all he could do. Though he caustically surmised, so far he had done a less than stellar job.

He returned to the lab as soon as his concentration felt up to the maddening task yet again. Having seen you again quite possibly helped a great deal to spur him on again despite the hour and how daunting it all felt - he just had to produce some kind of breakthrough now. He knew it. He could feel it. This is the way. He didn’t allow himself another break from the delicate weaving process until finally he inspected a vial containing both components now. Using his sensory skills he sent a weak, short-range chakra pulse through it.

The substance was not like the leash, no. If the leash was shining like a beacon, his copy was a torch, at least. It was progress, compared to the last time. He silently wondered if adding the second component had done this. Then came the next test - examining it directly. Again, the result was that his vial seemed inferior: while the chakra swirled in it in a quite complicated pattern, finely woven, he did distinguish the two different components after a little bit. The liquid made it difficult as it stayed ever in motion, but it was as though he was seeing two different colors.

It was a step forward, at least. He’d be testing this soon. Based on that - and the test subject’s blood work - he’d draw new conclusions. Still, there was more time to work on this vial further. The weaving itself was becoming something of a craft - with each moment he’d learn new tricks to it. A taxing one that seemed entirely focused on details, tiniest nudges and using small amounts of chakra at a time, but a craft nonetheless.

Had he not been so pressed for time, he might’ve actually found it interesting. But right now, all he felt was your torment breathing down his neck, wrenching his heart around and stealing his breath.

He wanted this over with.

It was early morning when he finished his work - not that he’d call it that, but he decided there was more merit to testing it out now. Even so, he’d check up on you again first. The world lurched with the use of his hiraishin seal, and a moment later he was in your room.

The first rays of dawn filtered in already, drenching the wooden hospital furniture in red hues once more. Low rustles were coming from your bed. Tobirama stepped over swiftly to find you stirring under the sheet irregularly, your head tilting from side to side. Briefly, he wondered if you were having a nightmare - but your eyes were open.

And recognizing him. “Tobirama,” you breathed, surprised.

“What’s wrong, Y/n?”, he inquired, wasting no time to step closer even, the worry already growing.

“Just … trying to get more comfortable,” you whispered, attempting a weak smile. “Looks like my strength returned a little bit more.”

He frowned slightly. “Don’t force it.” He couldn’t have prevented the sternness from seeping into his voice if he wanted to.

You sighed. “No,” a light shake of your head, “Just help me get on my side. Please?”, you extended your left hand for him to take, which he did with a small sigh. At least that way you wouldn’t try to do it yourself. And while he was extremely adamant, as Hashirama had eloquently put it, about your rest, it still tormented him to see you lacked the strength to turn on your side by yourself. Of course he knew it was common for patients in your condition - but this was you. He placed his right hand around where your hip and the small of your back would be under the blanket after his left had grasped your hand and pulled you towards him very slowly and gently so you tilted onto your side. You groaned a little, but sighed once you had adjusted to your new position.

“Thank you,” you hushed, meekly almost. The lack of strength was just as obvious to you. Tobirama took his seat at your side again and shook his head dismissively.

“Of course.” He still frowned, though. “How are you feeling?”

You closed your eyes and sighed again. “It’s… starting again. I can feel it. I’m feeling dizzy and… weaker.” Your voice shook from a slight tremble. Fear, Tobirama concluded.

He clenched his teeth and breathed through the tight feeling in his chest. “Y/n, we don’t need to stretch the interval as much-,”

“No,” you interjected firmly, eyes snapping open, giving him a sharp look. “We do. You know it. I know it.”

Now was Tobirama’s turn to close his eyes. “I don’t want you to suffer,” he whispered, his baritone voice near breaking again just from uttering these words and yet firm all the same. The tight feeling became worse

“I know,” you replied, haunted. “I know.” Your gaze was sorrowful. Knowing. Tobirama leaned forward to grasp your hand again and enclose it in his, letting his chakra coat your networks in the familiar, warm way. He didn’t know what else to do for your comfort. “Thank you,” you muttered again, forming yet another weak smile.

His head hung low as he simply basked in feeling you like this. The small nudge you were giving his sensitive network made him gasp slightly.

The moment was interrupted by the door swinging open. Tobirama’s head shot up to find his brother standing in the doorway. Looking more rested than he himself did, most likely. When he had reapplied his face paint after washing himself, there definitely had been dark rings under his eyes.

“Good morning,” Hashirama announced warmly, rounding the bed to stand beside Tobirama when he realised you were on your right side. “How are you?”

As you explained your condition to him, Tobirama gently grazed over your chakra network once more before drawing back slowly to free your hand. He’d be on his way soon, anyway.

Hashirama nodded. “Very well. I singled out a few medications that should help us stabilize you, as I mentioned. It’d be best to take them while you’re still, ah, responsive.”

“You mean when I’m not spitting it back at you?”, you deadpanned. Tobirama near froze at the image. All he could think of was how his hand had forced your mouth open, then poured the torture drug in and forcefully constricted your airway to make you swallow it.

Hashirama cleared his throat. “Well, you haven’t managed that so far.” Tobirama snorted in quite a cynical way then, earning him an arched eyebrow from you. Hashirama shot each of you a meaningful glance before continuing slowly. “Still..., it might be necessary to draw additional seals to release the medications transdermally.”

Tobirama’s head whipped to the side to stare at his brother. “That will aggravate the overload.”

Hashirama held up his hands defensively already. “The seals I have in mind for this purpose only add very, very little of the user’s chakra to the patient.” Tobirama wasn’t quite convinced yet as his scowl indicated. But then forcing things down your throat wasn’t gentle, either.

“And we’re also going to modify your nutrition, accommodating for the duress you find yourself in,” he added softly, but no less serious.

That made you snort now, but in a disgusted way. “Oh, I know what that’s going to taste like.” Every shinobi in the field on long missions knew that, in fact.

Tobirama wasn’t having any of it though. Already, he became riled up. “Y/n, we're not going to discuss-”

“I know, I know,” you already deflected exasperatedly, waving your free hand to calm him down. He leaned back in his chair then and crossed his arms, raising an eyebrow.

“Alright. Now that that’s out of the way,” Hashirama sighed, stepping closer to you. “May I?”, he extended his hand to take yours.

That was Tobirama’s clue. He wasn’t of any use here right now. He leaned closer to you yet again, expression mellowing. “I’ll be back soon, Y/n,” he promised for the lack of a better phrase. Anything else - anything mundane like ‘take care’ - just seemed wrong at this point. You nodded, trying another brave smile that didn’t quite reach your eyes. Tobirama hoped his did.

He left the hospital to head straight for the interrogation and information headquarters, then, after having picked up his latest experiment with him.

It was already bustling with activity despite the early hour. Perhaps another mission finished. He didn’t dwell on it, really. Instead he headed to where he knew to find Ikuro; nodding towards the few familiar faces he made out. Apparently news about his task had made the round since nobody stopped him on his was through the small corridors past various offices. For a group that was euphemistically described as ‘interrogators’, everything seemed awfully quiet here. The walls must be thick.

Ikuro indeed was behind the desk in the sparsely decorated office that adjourned the cell block holding the six prisoners. He greeted Tobirama with the oddly warm smile and a nod. “Back again,” his voice was quiet, deceptively soft.

“Back again.” Tobirama repeated, raising an eyebrow. Exchanging pleasantries was something he really had no time for - given his - your - predicament. Any waste of time felt like a crime at this point. And then again, he never liked chitchat much. “Any news?”

Ikuro shook his head. “Not regarding your problem, I’m afraid, given we know Zenji is the only one to interrogate about that. I take it you made progress, however.”

That was unsurprising. Despite all that happened, it had only been a day. A single day. “Something to test out, yes.”

Ikuro’s smile spread slightly. Tobirama wasn’t sure how to feel about that, but quickly decided he didn’t care enough to form an opinion just yet. “There is one question though,” his smile faded. Tobirama frowned. “Now that we know Zenji is the only one who knows how to make the leash, do you want to use it on him again? I know we did the last time, however, if we permanently injure him…” He trailed off, but Tobirama well caught the implication.

He crossed his arms then. A fair point that he hadn’t considered yet. Since there were six prisoners in total, he had more than enough test subjects to choose from. But picking Zenji had the additional possible merit of gleaning more information about the leash during the interrogation, at the cost of, well, risking him. It all boiled down to whether Tobirama was confident enough in his work to not harm a person permanently, or not.

He hated it. But, “The substance I brought with me today will be more aggressive than the one I used last time. So, no. Let’s pick someone else. If it works well, we’ll focus on him again.” He was set on giving that man hell until he gave up his secrets. Or Tobirama had figured it out himself. Either way.

Ikuro nodded then. “Alright. We’ll pay a visit to Kimi.” The smile was back again.

Tobirama instead scowled, his tone was dripping with sarcasm. “Why do I get the fleeting notion that is the loony one from the far end?”

Ikuro bellowed a sudden laugh that startled him, both eyebrows rising. He wouldn’t figure this man’s humour out, really. “You are as perceptive as they say, Tobirama.” Then he rose to full size and Tobirama followed with a sigh and a roll of his eyes. The walk down the cell block was accompanied by the well-known feeling of eyes on him. Not that Tobirama cared for those, either. Except for one pair.

Zenji’s. His scarlet eyes darted to the side when they passed the middle cell. Tobirama was satisfied to find his black-bruised jaw was swollen. The look the man gave him was nothing short of hateful. He never broke his stride and followed Ikuro, surprised Zenji didn’t holler anything after him. Perhaps the jaw just hurt too much, hm.

Finally they reached Kimi’s cell. Like all the others, she also was chained up and sealed away. Her gaze seemed empty, staring a hole into the ceiling. That would soon change, Tobirama knew. Ikuro unlocked the cell. “Kimi,” he greeted warmly, like she was a friend.

“Go fuck yourself,” she shot back instantly but perfectly nonchalant. Tobirama’s eyebrows shot up. So much for friends. Her blue eyes locked with Tobirama’s. “Oh,” suddenly, her tone was infused with a shrill kind of adoration. “A high visitor!” Tobirama had to refuse the urge to cover his ears. “Tell me, tell me,” she chanted, swinging back and forth in the chains that held her. “How’s Y/n, how is she? Mhm?”, she exposed surprisingly bright teeth in a grotesque smile.

Tobirama didn’t even find her worth talking to; he could only roll his eyes and sigh exasperatedly. Enemies like this he knew to take serious - erratic behaviour covered up some of the most impressive techniques. But this wasn’t a fight. And he wasn’t about to try and converse with the likes of her. Not even in a cynical banter. He gazed at Ikuro. “Shall we?”

Kimi moaned loudly. “Awh, come on!”, it was an obscenely wanton sound. “Gimme a shred, please, please, please? I’m missing Y/n so, so much!”

Tobirama started to wonder if he had to break another jaw here. The ire that started to burn in his veins again surely provided enough fuel. His head tilted forward slightly as his stare narrowed, darkening.

Ikuro was already next to Kimi, shaking his head. He must’ve guessed at Tobirama’s thoughts - not that his body language wasn't enough of a giveaway.

Kimi wasn’t helping her situation. “Tobirama Senju doesn’t find me worth talking tooo!”, she screamed then in a most offended way, loud enough for probably everyone in this building to hear. Not that she was wrong in any way. This woman would be better off without her vocal chords.

“Kimi,” Ikuro began, still sugary sweet. “You’re going to help us a little.” His hand seized the back of her head already, grasping her brown hair firmly.

She stiffened immediately, but the smile that spread over her lips now was nothing short of malicious. Typical, Tobirama figured - completely mad behaviour, but far from idiotic. “Oh.” It was a sharp sound. “My turn to get your itty-bitty-wannabe-leash?”

Tobirama’s mien remained completely impassive. “Are you going to open your mouth or are we going to have to force you, like your compatriot?”, entirely unfazed by threatening her with violence.

Not that she was fazed, either. And smart enough to know better than to put up a fight now. “I always wanted to taste the stuff, mhm,” she tried to nod her head, but Ikuro’s grip was iron already. “No need to break my jaw like dumb Zenji’s. Show me what y’got, Tobirama Senju, show me,” she then moaned again, lasciviously almost.

Tobirama’s lips drew into a disgusted scowl. “Good grief, how do you work with these people,” he scoffed. Ikuro was grinning widely. “I should’ve picked Zenji,” he added almost inaudibly. Kimi opened her mouth wide and stuck her tongue out, licking over her lower lip in distasteful ways. Still, he didn’t trust her for one second. And the contents of this vial were too precious for this maniac to spit back at him, which he was sure she would. His free hand seized her jaw tightly so that if she bit down, she’d seriously injure her cheeks. Kimi already spluttered. The moment Tobirama felt she wanted to speak more, he simply applied more pressure. He had enough of this nutcase.

Swiftly, he poured the contents of his vial into her mouth and in a well practiced move pressed down harshly on her nose and mouth to force her to swallow. Her eyes became glassy - luckily, he had been wise enough to keep her mouth shut, because he was perfectly sure she’d have licked his hand or done something equally disgusting had he not.

Not that much was needed. Obediently, she swallowed.

Followed by a shrill scream. Tobirama’s patience was a candle that burned on both ends at this point. He didn’t even put it past Kimi that this was precisely what she was aiming for but by all that he believed in, it worked. The woman let out a heavy tirade of sexually loaded metaphors about what she was seeing and feeling that might have turned a more innocent person bright red on the spot.

It elicited nothing but fast growing annoyance out of Tobirama, however. And Ikuro was grinning as he closed his eyes. He gave him a dark glare. The man had known, for sure. This better yielded good results. When he reached for her throat to examine her, his hand grasped so tightly Kimi’s voice got stuck in its tracks and all that remained was a small rivulet of obscenities at Ikuro, who had begun to invade her mind again. Squeaks, no more.

Much more bearable.

Now to examine her. He made no effort to be gentle about this whatsoever. Ikuro’s work was marvellous as before. Unsurprisingly, Kimi’s mental defense was nothing short of impressive. Perhaps Tobirama was imagining it, but Ikuro’s methods seemed different here - more brutal. More smothering. Akin to what he had done to Akio - less thought to the risk he was running. Was Ikuro himself fed up with her? The thought darkly amused Tobirama.

Kimi stayed completely stable throughout the whole procedure. Her chakra flow was almost as muted as yours was after indigestion of the leash, however it picked up again during the session. Tobirama had expected it, but with the additional experience in the whole weaving process, it gave him clues on how to improve on that. Briefly he stopped monitoring her to take a blood sample. Not an easy task as there was no patch of skin exposed save for her neck and head, so he had to go for the jugular artery as the veins would be collapsed. It bore a slight risk - but none that Tobirama even cared about. Unceremoniously he stabbed the needle in where he felt the pulse after having released his choke hold on her throat - an opportunity she used to gargle out profanities at both him and Ikuro, but the mental assault heavily impaired her ability to form coherent sentences. What was coherent by her standards anyway, Tobirama figured. After he had gotten what he needed from her neck, he continued to monitor her. The half-frozen state of her chakra remained steady for a while before it dropped more.

Ikuro began to retreat then, slowly.

“Wait,” Tobirama instructed. His presence lingered then, still keeping Kimi in a mental choking hold.

As her chakra became less and less mute, the disruption kicked in more. And with it, for the first time there seemed to be genuine distress in the prisoner, indicated not by crude insults, but a genuine groan of pain.

“Interesting,” Tobirama muttered, smugly, almost. Kimi whimpered while Tobirama took time to thoroughly investigate how her chakra tried to repel his disruption, over and over again - and each time, the reaction became worse for it, accompanied by a never ending stream of pained expressions. Watching the agony unfolding inside of her.

He felt no satisfaction, no. But he was pleased. A success, finally.

After a while of monitoring, he took another blood example. Ikuro was frowning now. “I’m not sure how much more she’ll take, mentally,” he announced.

“Well, physically, she’s well off. I won't say anything about her mental state, that has been debatable to begin with," Tobirama grunted. This was nothing compared to what you went through. The plight they ultimately had put you in.

Ikuro withdrew then, but Tobirama had to stay. After all, the disruption first had to fade at some point. He knew it would - this wasn’t the leash, yet . But it was the right way. Slowly, Kimi’s body started to clear out the disruptive components alongside her chakra - another fascinating realisation that was different to when he had examined you. In you, the leash stuck - no matter how much your unmuted chakra and body battled it, it just kept on disruption and repelling it, thus causing the detrimental health effects. But Kimi’s cleared Tobirama’s out.

He withdrew then. Ikuro raised an expectant eyebrow. “She will be fine,” Tobirama announced, turning on his heels to leave the cell. He had new material to work with.

Ikuro followed swiftly after locking the cell containing the now limp Kimi.

The glare Zenji gave Tobirama now was decidedly murderous. Tobirama grinned back, darkly. Arrogantly. Zenji might as well know he was on their heels. His threats have not been empty. He almost had passed the cell, when Zenji’s strained voice echoed through the cell block: “Four more days, Tobirama fucking Senju,” the pain was obvious. Good. Nobody had healed the fracture, then. “Don’t think for a second you’re anywhere near perfection yet! Y/n’s gonna die so fucking miserably!”

Tobirama kept on walking, ignoring the new flare of ire in his veins. The urge to turn on his heels and break his jaw in new ways. Hell, rearrange his damned face. No, Zenji was beneath him he kept telling himself as he ground his teeth so hard his own jaws hurt. Back in the office, Ikuro closed the door. “I’m impressed, Tobirama.” His gaze was appreciative. For a split second, he believed this to be about reigning his temper in and was about to reply in a most impolite way to such a condescending remark, but he quickly realised this was not the case.

“Thanks.” Try as he might, he couldn’t keep the sarcasm out of his voice. The praise for his work was hollow when he reminded himself why he was doing this - and that it was far from perfect yet. “I’ll be back soon. I trust you didn’t learn anything pertaining to my task?”, not that he thought so, but he had to ask anyway.

“Sadly, no. It was a fruitful session, especially considering it was Kimi, but it seems Zenji’s slip up was not a false lead. She really does not seem to know about the leash’s creation.” Then, he frowned. “But, she adamantly guarded anything relating to the leash. Perhaps there is more to glean from her.

Tobirama’s eyes narrowed to slits. “Well, then we know to build up more pressure.”

Ikuro nodded, surprisingly somber now. “Indeed. I’ll inform you if anything from the other prisoners might come up.”

Tobirama bowed slightly. “Thank you.” Ikuro was a good man to work with.

A second later, the world lurched and the hiraishin seal transported him back to your room, where the little victory he celebrated dissipated swiftly.

The mood was dreary - and the innate hum he felt due to his sensory skills had picked up from the last time. It could only mean one thing. By now it was high noon and the sun’s light reflected off of the room’s pale furniture. Hashirama’s back was turned to him but the blanket was pushed aside - revealing your marred legs. On them, more seals, which he couldn’t make out precisely at this distance. Instantly, Tobirama rounded your bed swiftly, to find Hashirama working on the heart seal. Still, he couldn’t help but gasp when he saw your whole form revealed like this: a shadow of your former self and almost no part of you that didn’t bear a barely healing mark of torture. It didn’t deter him from analysing the situation, but it’d never fail to drive a proverbial blade through his heart.

Your breaths were quick and shallow again and Tobirama was sure to hear a rumble in there. Not good. Your lung was affected. Combined with the fact your body definitely was paler than before and the sheen of sweat that covered your skin, the situation was obvious. You didn’t move - and in your face, the grimace of pain was etched into your skin.

It was worse than before. And they hadn’t stretched the interval as much as before, yet.

Hashirama’s gaze swept up to him when he had finished what Tobirama guessed was strengthening the seal that supported your heart. His mien was grave. “We can’t wait much longer.” He gave Tobirama a quick rundown of what had happened: the withdrawal had kicked in again as before, but the symptoms developed faster, and more severe. As he had guessed, your lung was starting to suffer damage not just on the slight, microscopic level Tobirama had witnessed during the first stretch but in a greater margin. Your cardiovascular system required more support as your heart struggled, too. He still hadn’t intervened directly, yet.

Tobirama swallowed finally and nodded and nodded. Then, he looked down on your legs. Each bore another seal meant for transdermal release of the agents the seal in the middle was soaked in. “You drew more seals?” he inquired, terse again.

“We had to,” Hashirama explained, his hand back on your arm and his eyes closed. “Her lucid intervals are too short to ensure her taking the medication by herself. This is more effective and safer.”

“Safer?”, Tobirama shot back, sternly. “There are six seals on her now. Which means we barely have any room for additional chakra based options, if any, without overloading her.”

Hashirama clicked his tongue. “I am well aware, Tobirama,” a slight hint of strain had snuck into his voice now. But instead of angering him, it did the opposite - Tobirama realised how serious your condition was for his brother to even let a sliver of exasperation slip into his tone. And besides. He didn’t say any more.

All they were doing here - it was all dangerous. Too dangerous. They were running into dead ends, either way - be it the leash or the withdrawal of it. And to make you suffer, for a few precious hours? Tobirama swallowed hard against the shortness of breath that gripped this thorax tightly suddenly. “Anjia, I don’t think we should continue. Y/n is suffering and I -,” he swallowed again as his scarlet gaze swept to your face and the hurt in his heart was near unbearable again, “I cannot condone this.”

Hashirama’s eyes flew open and he gave Tobirama a deep frown. “She doesn’t want us to stop. So don’t.”

His gaze wandered to his brother, frowning himself now. “If she dies from the withdrawal, then it was pointless,” he nearly growled, voice stern again, if just to cover up for the gaping hole that the ache was boring into his chest in a most agonizing way.

“She’s not dying. Have more faith in me, Tobirama - and most importantly, her,” he gazed back at you then, voice becoming softer, fonder. Tobirama would never fail to be amazed by his brother’s optimism.

In a very sarcastic way.

“I’m not doubting you or her, anija,” and the sheer notion of him doing so did well enough to distract him from the terrible heartache simply for how furious it made him, “What I am doubting is what we’re up against - effects of something I haven’t fully understood yet or been able to recreate!”

Hashirama took a sharp breath. “On the other hand, we can evaluate her condition, react accordingly and adjust the figurative sails. We will not run a risk. You said so yourself. That, we do know.”

Tobirama looked back on your tormented form. Then he closed his eyes slowly. He hated it - he hated all of this - but he knew, deep down, he knew it - they’d need to continue down the path they had chosen. All of this - it would end soon. Either way. All he could do was to ensure it ended favourably, swiftly. And for as long as it lasted he’d need to remind himself of the promise he had made to you. No matter what. If Hashirama found your condition stable enough to continue - he’d trust him. He had no other choice but to.

“How much longer until the next dose?”, Tobirama asked then, the numb feeling spreading again. He welcomed it. The numbness muted all of the grief, of the ache. His focus returned.

“Not much. Might as well prepare it.” Hashirama instructed, politely refraining from commenting on Tobirama’s falter further.

He nodded and made for doing just that. Not twenty minutes later, they administered it - again, you were stirring from the force with which Tobirama had to pry your mouth open to pour the hated liquid in. The pained way in which you groaned echoed quietly in the sparsely furnitured room as he focused on not spilling a drop while gripping your jaw with vice strength again and holding it open. Uttering apologies he knew you couldn’t hear but he made nonetheless. After he made you swallow it you stilled again.

It had whatever brief respite - if it could’ve been called that - they had gained by stretching the intervals and thus making for more time null. Impressively, it had been shown you paid the price in proverbial blood and if it continued, literal blood might follow.

Tobirama’s only rest would be when he literally crashed, now.

#tobirama #tobirama senju #tobirama x reader #tobirama senju x reader #sekhmet writes

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uchihasakurawrites · 4 years ago

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Manifest (1)

Rating: T for language & depictions of violence

Summary: Their soulmate bond is borne of blood. With war on the horizon and tensions rising in Konoha, Itachi and Sakura try to navigate their newfound connection while balancing the growing demands of their own worlds. [Non-Massacre AU; Soulmate AU; ItaSaku]

Word Count: 3,394

Warning: This chapter contains somewhat graphic depictions of violence, so please wait until chapter 2 if that's difficult for you to read.

Note: Itachi doesn’t actually appear in this chapter. Chapter 2 will focus more on Itachi’s POV while the events of this chapter are happening - if you’re looking for ItaSaku interactions right away, please wait until I post the next part before you start reading!

(Also, heads up that I’m studying for graduate school & changing positions at work right now, so my updates on any multi-chapter fics will be slow this spring/summer. Thanks to everyone who’s still sticking with me!)

Cross-posted on Ao3 and Fanfiction.net

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Two careless hand signals from her captain telling the team to scatter and engage bring Sakura’s pristine ANBU record crashing down in blood-soaked shards.

Every logical fiber of her being had screamed at the silent command, her near-decade of experience with Team 7 having seared the importance of teamwork into her mind. If not for the rogue nin on their heels, Sakura would have pressed the issue, arguing for a tactical retreat with the information they had gathered on the budding Iwa-Ame alliance.

Not that her rookie captain - a Hyūga with a superiority complex that could have easily topped Sasuke’s during his genin days - would have listened.

Staying together was the only way they stood a chance. Their mismatched ANBU squad was as well-balanced as Tsunade could manage with the current strain on Konoha’s ANBU forces. Impending war stretched ANBU thin, and those who weren’t assigned to diplomatic security details were saddled with near back-to-back missions; in the past six months alone, Sakura had almost doubled the number of missions she had completed in her entire first year with ANBU.

Intel of a meeting between Ame and Iwa leadership reached Tsunade’s desk when most of her veteran ANBU had already been dispatched. Amegakure, which had never fully recovered from the previous war, had remained neutral despite increasing tensions between the five great nations, and it was imperative that they remain so.

Losing neutral territory that bordered both Suna and Konoha would provide the enemy a staging area far too close to home, so Tsunade scraped together the best reconnaissance team she could with the resources she had left. Sakura knew from the grim look in her mentor’s eyes as she explained the parameters of the mission that she was assigned to this team for the sole purpose of dragging them all back home alive, as was usually the case any time she was assigned outside of her unit.

Sakura counted herself lucky that there happened to be a Hyūga and an Aburame available for the mission to make infiltrating the meeting undetected easier.

Out of her four-man cell, Sakura had the most field experience with just over ninety successful ANBU missions under her belt. The Hyūga had only recently been promoted to captain, and she could read his need to prove his worth in the way he carried himself: nose held a touch too high in the air, a smirk twisting his lips, and an arrogant sway to his hips as he strutted into the Hokage’s office.

A small part of her mind, the one that kept her entertained on particularly mind-numbing missions, absently wondered if punting him halfway to Suna would fix both his ego and his stride.

Pride had no place in ANBU.

The Aburame and the boy who looked as though he had been promoted three years to young were tolerable enough. She’d seen finer control of the Aburame Clan techniques during her occasional work with Shino, but Tetsuya still managed to get the job done and relayed enough information back for Sakura to record in a sealed scroll that she would deliver to Tsunade upon their return.

Kaito, who she discovered had joined ANBU less than a month prior, had surprised her with his fine-tuned tweaks to the strategy she had laid out once she’d managed to get their captain to shut the hell up for two seconds and listen to input from his team. Sakura became rather fond of the younger boy during their two-week mission, perhaps because his personality reminded her of a teenage Naruto.

When she witnessed Kaito’s chakra control firsthand, she’d proposed the idea of recruiting him into the ANBU medical program. She could hear the grin behind his mask through the string of eager questions he endlessly chattered about as they sprinted home. With a laugh, she promised to file the request with Tsunade as soon as they got back to Konoha.

What she didn’t expect was for him to be slaughtered as they crossed the border into Grass.

With the odds stacked against her team 3:1, Sakura decides retreat is the cleanest option for their team and turns towards her captain, expecting him to reach the same conclusion and give the order.

His two hand signals and the team’s immediate obedience lock her muscles in disbelief; sure, taking a prisoner from this situation could provide another well of information, but that was only if her team somehow managed to win the fight.

Reporting back that their team had been pursued by Grass nin would have been enough information for Tsunade to work with. A different team could have been assembled to follow up, and Konoha would have at least been warned.

Her team is at a severe disadvantage fighting on unfamiliar terrain after a full day of running at top-speed to clear Earth’s border. Torrential rain means that they will have to fight almost blind, and the Hyūga seems to have forgotten that the rest of his team doesn’t have the same benefit of a dōjutsu.

Sakura won’t even be able to provide adequate medical support for her team if they scatter, as summoning Katsuyu would both expose her identity and require more chakra than she should expend with how much further they have left to go to reach home.

Well aware that her actions could give her captain adequate grounds to write her up for insubordination on the off chance they survive, Sakura takes off in the same direction as Kaito. He’s the most likely to accept her assistance, and the faster Sakura can drag him back to regroup with their teammates, the faster they can leave.

The third rule for all medical nin rings clearly in her mind: No medic shall ever die until they are the last of their platoon.

Sakura has yet to lose a teammate on a mission, and she’ll be damned if the Hyūga’s reckless call changes that.

She catches up to Kaito quickly, calling out a quick Doton: Doryu Heki to throw up a fifteen foot mud wall between him and an enemy lunging at his back. She adjusts the flow of chakra to her feet to use the slickness of the ground to her advantage, releasing some of her traction on the mud to slide underneath the swing of a sword and slash chakra scalpels across the assailant’s heels. In a single fluid motion, Sakura thrusts herself up from her crouched position and follows through with a fist into the man’s back.

The sensation of muscle and bone snapping underneath her knuckles is so familiar that she doesn’t falter when the ANBU’s spine snapps clean in half. At some point, she’d lost count of the number of shinobi she’d broken with her hands alone.

Sakura doesn’t have time to check their surroundings further, opting instead to shunshin to Kaito’s right and weave her chakra into a Doton: Iwa no Doomu jutsu. It’s a strategic move to conserve chakra, building on her last jutsu as she wrenches additional walls from the ground to enclose them in a rock-solid dome.

She grabs Kaito’s wrist before the chokutō he jabs in her direction can make contact.

Kaito’s emotions are again an open book, even with his cloak and mask still intact. She can read the fear in the trembling left hand that clutches his shoulder, where a katon has seared his uniform into his skin.

His hoarse “S-Sakura-senpai!” instead of her codename broadcasts his inexperience; it’s pure luck that none of the Grass ANBU have gotten close enough to guess her identity. They don’t need the bounty on her head further complicating the situation.

Sakura makes a mental note to personally track down whoever gave this kid the green light for ANBU. He’s talented but clearly needs more field experience before he’s ready for ANBU-caliber missions and the heightened risks that come with them.

They have just under thirty seconds before she needs to release her hold on the dome. The Grass nins’ lightning jutsu grate at the threads of her earth-natured chakra, and there are already too many negative strategic implications for staying in one place as long as they have.

“Monkey,” Sakura speaks in code in hopes that hearing it will snap Kaito back to his senses. “I’m going to cast a genjutsu over the surrounding ten square meters. Escape underground, and get to Ant. Regroup with taichou and retreat. Move!”

She punctuates the command with a chakra laden smack to Kaito’s uninjured shoulder, just forceful enough to startle him out of the daze he had slipped into. With a shaky nod, Kaito snaps through the signs for the Earth jutsu and vanishes into the ground. Sakura drapes her genjutsu over the area just outside the dome and follows right behind.

Tetsuya is spread across the ground in pieces when they arrive at his position.

Choking down the bile that rises in her throat at the gruesome display - most field kills are more clean-cut, partly for efficiency and partly out of respect, even for an enemy shinobi - Sakura forces herself to focus on nothing but strategy and the enemies fully prepared to kill her next.

The rate she’s been burning through jutsu isn’t sustainable, but there are too many enemies left for her to engage in close-combat, and the ground is too wet to shatter. She’s already having to direct additional chakra to both her eyes for visibility and her cardiovascular system to maintain body heat.

She and Kaito are going to have to make a stand here, at least until they can thin the enemy’s numbers enough to create an opening to their team leader. With what little she’s seen of his abilities, their captain should be able to hold on for another few minutes.

Sakura is painfully reminded of why she prefers to work with her regular team when Kaito dives toward the nearest ANBU, the faint glow of lightning-natured chakra humming down his blade.

Team 7’s battle formations were second nature; they discussed mission-specific strategy setting out, but their battles were almost wordless. In this situation, Sasuke and Naruto would have taken on the long-range fighters as Kakashi drove the mid-range fighters into close-range combat with Sakura. Sai would have provided aerial support focused on mid-range fighters if Sakura had her hands full at close-range.

She resolves to never complain about her teammates’ penchant for turning every fight into a damn competition again - even with their dramatics, she’s never once doubted that her team will be there at the exact moment she needs them.

She’s yet to feel that level of synchrony with any other team, and she certainly doesn’t feel it now.

Sakura keeps Kaito in her peripheral vision as she catches a blade with her kunai and tries to fit his style into one of ANBU’s standard formations. New ANBU squads typically operate on variations of a standardized set of battle formations, as the sets allow for more flexibility between teams.

Kaito’s style, however, is erratic, driven by fear as his eyes stray towards every piece of his teammate he manages to spot on the ground. His stilted movements are more focused on keeping the enemies closest to him back than coordinating an attack with her.

Sakura adds yet another resolution to her increasingly long list, but she’s viciously stubborn that she’ll get back to Konoha and check every one of them off. She’ll need to speak to Tsunade about integrating more teamwork scenarios into ANBU’s training regimen.

Lashing out alone is the fastest way to die in the field.

Sakura sweeps her thumb along the seals on the underside of her left wrist-guard and launches a set of poisoned senbon at the three ANBU closest to her. She doesn’t actually expect the senbon to hit, and they don’t as the ANBU either dodge or deflect. Instead, Sakura takes advantage of the split second distraction to shunt chakra into her feet and drive close enough to an ANBU to trace a chakra scalpel neatly across their jugular.

The body hasn’t hit the ground before Sakura has the ANBU’s katana out of its scabbard and moves towards the next target.

She manages to hold her own for several more minutes, exchanging blows and countering a handful of A- and B-rank elemental jutsu with her own, until a scream cuts through the air. It’s the desperation in the scream - a wet, terrified noise almost ripped from Kaito’s throat - that draws Sakura’s attention from her own fight.

Time seems to slow as she realizes she’s not fast enough to stop what’s about to happen. She can almost hear Sasuke’s constant harping for her to work on her speed over the rushing sound in her ears.

Kaito stands frozen, mask shattered to pieces on the ground, as he locks gazes with one of the Grass shinobi. Before Kaito even has the chance to realize he’s ensnared in a genjutsu, the Grass nin’s companion brings his sword down on the boy’s neck.

Desperation immediately overshadows any grief Sakura might have felt over Kaito’s death as she finds herself surrounded by seven of the original twelve ANBU. Her natural chakra reserves are just over a third full, enough to push out a few elemental jutsu with her level of chakra control, and most of the wounds she’s sustained are minor sans the two-inch deep gash in her thigh. Her eyes burn from the strain of the chakra she continues to circulate through them, and she can feel the rain leeching warmth from her body.

She’s not hopeless, not yet. Not until long after she’s tapped out her byakugō and the scrolls at her waist. She’s got plenty of hell left to give.

That same desperation begins to give way to mounting anger at the brutal way her teammates have been killed, but she shoves it back in hopes of finding her captain in this mess and getting out. If they can lose the Grass ANBU even for a few seconds, she can use one of her personal genjutsu to hide their presence until they can work out a safe route to Konoha.

Her strategy is promptly dropped when the same man who captured Kaito in a genjutsu motions to one of his own teammates. Hyūga Ryota’s body drops unceremoniously to the muddy ground, at the best angle for Sakura to see that his eyes have been taken.

She’s only slightly relieved to notice the weak rise and fall of his chest.

As the pieces click into place, Sakura realizes that the attack with this large of an ANBU force was too well-timed to be a coincidence. If Grass had known there would be a Hyūga on their squad, this was an inside job.

A Leaf traitor had cost her two teammates.

It’s all Sakura can do to keep her breathing under control and steel herself against the steady voice in her mind that calls for blood. She gives Ryota a quick once over and decides that he may not survive long enough for her to retrieve the Byakugan and get them somewhere she can provide proper medical treatment.

Kakashi’s first lesson to her team - that those who abandon their comrades are worse than scum - runs through her head to damn the decision she comes to, but this is war, and she’s confident she can accomplish both objectives if she plays this smart enough. Her mind is already running through every possible scenario in which she can find the eyes in time to get Ryota out of there.

Sakura shifts into a defensive stance and surveys the ANBU who form a staggered circle around her, but curiously have yet to move against her. She promptly discards that observation, as she’ll gladly take the first move. She doesn’t even try to pretend she has a chance against all of them at once, so she prioritizes.

She’ll start with the ANBU who had been carrying Ryota and work her way through the masks she doesn’t recognize from her and Kaito’s earlier fights if that one doesn’t have the eyes.

A low laugh catches her just as she makes her way into the signs of a suiton jutsu she’d intended to use to capitalize on the relentless rain. Again, the voice is there, edging closer to the forefront of Sakura’s mind and clamoring for her to make the man who finds this amusing bleed.

She’s not sure how much energy she cares to spend continuing to stifle that voice.

“Haruno Sakura - the Tsuchikage requests your presence back in Iwagakure. Come quietly, and I’ll have the Hyūga boy dropped safely back in the Land of Fire near a well-traveled trail so he’ll be picked up soon.”

Sakura slowly drops her hands back to her sides, one with an active chakra scalpel and the other resting on top of her kunai pouch, as she unpacks that one statement. It’s evidence that Grass has joined the long list of smaller countries aligning with the enemy and that the contact in Konoha is privy to sensitive information beyond ANBU, who don’t use those regular trails.

She also notes the implications of how the Grass shinobi, who she pegs as the leader, phrased his statement - the Tsuchikage seemed to want her alive, most likely to lure the rest of Team 7 into enemy territory. It gives her a bit more leeway, since she’ll be the only one fighting to kill.

Baring her teeth, Sakura bites out a tart response:

“You can tell the Tsuchikage to go to fucking hell. Keep each other company once I take you out, asshole.”

Another laugh. The circle of ANBU take a step closer. Red tinges Sakura’s vision as the leader twists his sword into Ryota’s palm, earning a broken whimper she can still hear clearly through the rain.

Sakura’s moving with a speed even Sasuke would have been proud of in the next moment, her kunai bearing down on the man’s throat. She meets his gaze head-on, wanting to see the life drain out of them, and instead sees the world melt into an inverted grey-scale before she can even nick his skin.

The lead Grass nin is a fucking Uchiha. A shinobi from one of the Leaf’s most powerful clans turned rogue.

“You traitorous bastard.”

Sakura’s low growl is met with a louder, clearer version of the laugh she’d just heard seconds before that echoes in the empty space around her.

“Just say the word when you’re ready to come willingly, Sa-ku-ra-chan. Or don’t.”

The world around her goes dark. It’s an empty, infinite blackness without the sharply defined edges that come with shadows in reality. This is a formless, all-encompassing sort of darkness that threatens to steal the air from her lungs and breathes a chill of terror down the back of her neck.

It’s a genjutsu. Focus, Sakura.

Over the course of what feels like days stretched into weeks stretched into years, Sakura watches as her friends, family, and comrades are taken apart piece by piece. She feels the phantom pain as Sasuke’s Sharingan bright eyes are torn from their sockets, all while he rages at her for being the same annoying, useless, pathetic girl she was as a child.

Escape, Sakura. Focus.

She feels the slicing and tearing of a hundred swords piercing every inch of her body as she watches the same happen to Kakashi until he bleeds out, all while he spits venom about having ever been assigned to teach such a useless little girl who has no business playing kunoichi. Dead weight, he calls her.

She screams through the torture of having her skin flayed from her bones as Naruto is stripped of his. The image of his bright smile faltering into a silent scream follows her even as she tries to close her eyes.

Lee. Neji. Shikamaru. Kankuro. Hinata. Chouji. Tenten. Shizune. Sai. Ino. Tsunade. Okaa-san. Otou-san. On and on and on.

Sakura snaps. Black lines twist out from her seal, etching themselves down her cheeks and arms. She doesn’t even notice as the force of her chakra and rage shatters the genjutsu around her, the mantra of kill kill kill ringing through her mind as she lunges to the first sign of movement.

Soaked to the bone in blood, Sakura doesn’t notice the red string that knots itself around her wrist as her hand plunges through the chest of her enemy.

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A/N: Thank you so much for reading! I was a little hesitant to post this since another one of my works starts with a fight scene as well, but hopefully I was able to convey the emotional difference between the two. A Lesson in Practicality will be a Time Travel AU (eventually), while this one is obviously a Soulmate AU! I've also never written ItaSaku, so fingers crossed.

Please let me know your thoughts if you have the time. Your feedback means the world to me. ^_^

#itasaku #itachi uchiha #sakura haruno #naruto fanfiction #naruto fanfic #itasaku fanfic #itasaku romance #soulmate au #itasaku soulmate au #anbu sakura

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nikibogwater · 4 years ago

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A Shot in the Dark: Chapter One (Author’s Commentary)

(read the fic here)

General Notes:

(So I kind of stole this idea from my friend @unexpected-possibilities after she made an author’s commentary post on one of her fics, and I was like “Oh. Wait, I actually find this kind of stuff SUPER interesting to read." So...yeah, here’s mine for anybody who feels similarly lol)

I have been dying to write this kind of story pretty much since the completion of my second Wizards/ToA fic back in August, but it took me a while to suss out the plot. I generally try to keep my fics as canon-friendly as possible (not that I have anything against AUs, that’s just not a direction that I usually go in) so it was tricky to create a high-stakes adventure story that didn’t mess with canon too much.

That being said, Chapter 1 is pretty chill, apart from the scene at the end. But it is incredibly important to the plot, because it sets up elements that will be very relevant later in the story. It also serves to re-establish the three-way relationship between Douxie, Archie, and Nari, which will give their interactions in the future chapters more weight.

One last general note before we get to the passage-specific stuff: The song “Protector” by City Wolf has always been my go-to theme for the Douxie-Archie-Nari relationship, but I think it really captures the feel of this story in particular (or at least, it will once the whole thing is posted lol). I’ve never associated a particular song with any of my other fics before, but this one really was a huge part of what inspired this story, so I highly recommend that you give it a listen, if you are so inclined.

Passage-Specific Notes:

Two pairs of luminous golden eyes were hovering uncomfortably close to his head and staring at him fixedly. Douxie yelped and threw off his covers, scrambling upright and fumbling for his magic vambrace nearby. A small green hand held it out to him politely, and after a bit of confused blinking, Douxie finally registered the faces of his companions. Nari and Archie were sitting on the floor next to his mattress, looking at him eagerly.

Two short things: One: I had no idea how I was going to start this scene, and then I remembered that one Calvin and Hobbes strip where Calvin wakes up to find Hobbes hovering over him menacingly, and I was like “Yes, that will do nicely.” Two: I still have no idea what Douxie’s magic bracelet-thingy should technically be called, so I settled on vambrace. I know Merlin refers to it as a bracelet in the show, but Merl, I’m sorry, but you clearly know nothing about jewelry. That thing is NOT a simple bracelet. (Also I had to research the difference between bracers and vambraces in order to determine which word to use. Bracers are apparently protective gear that is exclusive to archery, while vambrace is a more general word for any kind of armor worn on the forearm).

“It’s also the day you promised to bring Nari to Central Park,” Archie informed him.

This is a callback to a previous entry in the series, Home Away From Home. Although each entry in the Immortal Bonds series is written in such a way that it can be enjoyed as a standalone, I do weave tiny threads of continuity throughout all of them.

Mornings for Nari looked very different than they used to, she realized as she set the kettle on the stove, stepping back so Archie could light it (due to her somewhat complicated relationship with Bellroc, she was still wary about anything that involved fire). As a demigoddess who had existed for hundreds of millenia, she had never had much experience with something as human as family domesticity.

The scene where Nari and Archie make Douxie’s tea was originally going to be much longer and feature a lot more introspection on Nari’s part (I even researched the British tea-making process for it, since I’m fairly certain Douxie is the one who taught her how to make tea). I was going to start exploring the idea that Nari is still insecure about her place in this little found family, but I realized after about three paragraphs that there’s no way Nari doesn’t know how much Douxie genuinely loves her--she is already proficient in reading his emotions at this point. So that’s an internal conflict for another day.

“Keep very still for me, Nari.” He closed his eyes and took a deep breath, his aura flowing out and wrapping around her like a warm, familiar cloak. “Celare,” he murmured, and Nari felt a sharp tug on her spirit as the spell washed over it, cool and comforting like the shade of an old tree.

If you’ve read previous entries in this series, you know that I can wax poetic about the physical sensations of magic for DAYS. It is one of my favorite aspects of writing Tales of Arcadia fanfiction. Also Celare (kel-ahr-ay) is Latin for “Hide” or “Conceal.” I had to get outside help for this because I don’t speak Latin, and Google Translate is (as I found out) completely unreliable for even the simplest, single-word translations (it gave me the word for “clothe” when I used it 😑)

The first time she had walked the streets of New York City, Nari had been on the verge of tears. There were so many sensations assaulting her mind at once, the feeling of countless souls buzzing around, a crowd of spirits so thick that sometimes it felt like a wall. Even without tapping into her roots, she was drowning in a sea of tangling energies, as hundreds, even thousands of voices echoed in her soul all at once.

Oooooops, is that a parallel for Sensory Processing Disorder? Well, how did that get in there??? *shoves my own mental health issues under a rug with my foot* I have no clue.

This is probably as good a time as any to discuss auras vs. life energy. Basically, aura is the energy radiated by the presence of magic. Magical creatures who share close bonds can become very sensitive to one another’s aura, and because magic is so inextricably linked to emotion, Nari is able to read Douxie’s aura to pick up on whatever he’s feeling (though this is because she is extra sensitive to magical presence--Douxie is attuned to her aura, but he can’t read hers the way she can his). Life energy, meanwhile, is the energy given off by every living soul, magic or otherwise, and that’s what Nari is able to sense via her powers as a demigoddess. I sometimes interchange the word aura with spirit or soul or something similar, but if Douxie or Nari are sensing one another in any capacity apart from their actual physical senses, it’s their auras. Archie also has an aura, but it’s not as intense as that of a true magic-wielder.

He was fashionably dressed, (“business casual,” the humans called it), with an elegant black trench coat hanging nonchalantly off of his arm. He had dark brown hair, handsomely trimmed and styled, just a bit shorter than Douxie’s, and was wearing a large pair of expensive-looking sunglasses. He looked thoroughly uninterested in the world around him, and had the appearance of someone who was waiting to meet up with a particularly tardy acquaintance. But Nari couldn’t sense that he was waiting. She couldn’t sense anything from this man. He emitted no life force, no aura or energy of any kind. He was like a standing, breathing corpse.

I have had this character floating around in the back of my mind since August, and I was just waiting for the opportunity to use him. Also fun fact, he was originally conceived as a sort of prototype for who I thought Mordred Le Fey would be in the ToA universe. But since canon is technically still ongoing and the ToA writers could still bring Mordred into the picture, I decided to adapt him into the original character Rivan (whose name will be properly revealed in the next chapter).

Beside her, Douxie’s aura was rippling with unease. But a moment later, his spirit stilled, and he put an arm around her to turn her away from the alley...

...A minute later, the crosswalk signal changed once more, and they continued on their way. Though Douxie’s spirit was radiating a placid energy, Nari couldn’t help noticing that he kept his arm around her for the rest of the journey.

It was important to me that Douxie not look like a complete idiot in this scene, which was a little difficult since this part isn’t told from his perspective. Homeboy absolutely knows better than to ignore something suspicious like this. But he is also acting as Nari’s brother/guardian in this scene, so he tries to play it off to keep her from worrying too much. He promised her a fun day in Central Park, and he’s not willing to bail on that just yet. But I’m hoping that the fact that he has to force his aura into a state of calm and physically holds Nari close to him as they walk are good indicators that he has gone on high alert.

And that’s a wrap for this week! Next Friday, all hell is gonna break loose, so definitely come back for that. If you have any questions/comments, definitely hit me up either in my Ask Box or over on Ao3. As always, thanks for reading! ✨💕

#fanfiction #writing #author's commentary #tales of arcadia #douxie #nari #a shot in the dark #the magical siblings #and their therapy cat

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be-ready-when-i-say-go · 5 years ago

Text

Jinxed- Part 2

Calum’s so used to fucking up that when a second chance comes his way he’s not sure what to do with it. Demon!Calum.

CW: Mentions of death.

Enjoy my masterlist

Support me on kofi.

__________________________

Her house is a mess. Dishes have piled up, her laundry is overflowing the basket. She hasn’t returned anyone’s phone call. Her mother has left twenty or so voicemails. Her text notifications are near the hundreds. None of those matter. His notes aren’t slipped under the door. She’s checked every night for one. Like her brain hasn’t computed that he’s actually gone. But he is. There is nothing but that handful of dust.

When she calls all those old numbers, she gets an automated voice. It tells her that the number she is trying to reach is out of service or has been disconnected. She always sobs on the last word. She is disconnected. Disconnected from a friend. Disconnected from her loved ones because no amount of the phone buzzing and shaking on the table gets her to pick it up. A lifeline has been unplugged.

Ruby clutches the small jar to her chest most days, or keeps it near. It feels appropriate for all the times Calum would shoot whiskey or hennessey straight out of one of them. Or the time he left a single carnation in one of her mason jars. It was pink, even though she hated pink. The next time he brought white. She carries the little bit of him left in the mason jars he used to always poke fun about.

She can’t even cry anymore tears. She just sits, curled up in his jacket. She’s starting to lose his scent though. She can smell now is herself mostly. Ruby can’t mess up Calum’s jacket. The least she can do is preserve that. So she peels herself out of, draping it carefully over the edge of her bed and goes to shower.

She texted her boss the next morning after it happened, after the shock still weighed her down. Ruby explained she’d need to take a couple personal days. Ruby really thought that was all it would take. Like a couple days just to get herself out of the funk. It’s hard to deal with death, but she thinks that she can bolster through. However, everytime she walks into her living room, she stares at the spot he last kneeled and her whole chest shatters. Her lungs can’t expand large enough for hair. She wheezes while tears stream down her face.

If she could use the sprinkling of his ashes and her tears to sprout him again, she would’ve done so by now. She stands, in that spot, clutching his shirt, praying there’s anything she could do to bring him back. She is by no means, a witch. She tries nevertheless. She prays that anything brings him back. At first she wanted to never know Calum. It would be much easier to never hold onto these memories of falling asleep on him when she just couldn’t keep her eyes open anymore.

The reality though is that she’s happy to have known him. She’s happy to have those random trips for ice cream, even though she knows it’ll make her intestines shiver. If she didn’t have those experiences, what would’ve been the last year and half of her life? Who would she be without the imprint of Calum on her soul?

____

Her hair is no doubt a mess when she walks into work. She managed to do laundry and put on decent clothes. Her dishes are still not done. She’s yet to take the trash out with all the delivered fast food. But at least she’s taken care of one thing. She was just much too tired to keep her shoulders lifted to properly comb out. Most of the knots are out with her pick and wide tooth comb.

“Hey stranger,” Tiff says. Her smile is soft, maybe even a little sad.

“Hey, sorry about being gone for so long.” She can feel the sting behind her eyes now. Fuck, she really thought she had cried enough. How does she even begin to function like her life is normal again?

“No, no, it’s okay.” Tiff collects Ruby into her arms, combs and all still in her hands. “Shh, it’s okay.”

“He’s gone. I just--I can’t believe it,” Ruby hiccups.

_____

The weeks pass, blurring into months. Ruby lingers less often on the spot in her living room. She still wears his shirt around the house just for comfort sake. His leather jacket hangs in her closet, now a staple piece even though it’s boxy on her. It’s comfortable. It’s lived in. Even though his cologne is long gone and nothing but the scent of the cleaners is seeped into the garment, she can still feel the lingering of Calum in it.

She knows he slipped his arms into the same holes. He layered it with a sweatshirt and beanie. There is something of him, his living visage still seeped into the threads that makes her feel better when she wears if, even if she doesn’t need the comfort constantly.

Ruby keeps up with her dishes now too. Her laundry basket is emptied at least once a week. It hurts less to laugh. She can go about her day easier now. She doesn’t think she’ll ever reach her old normal. But she likes her new normal, the new routine of noticing the small things that Calum used to do that don’t cause her chest to rupture. But she gives a sad smile whenever the thoughts cross her mind.

Like now, sitting in Kourtney’s car, Ruby is slightly reminded of the times that she and Calum would ride across town, just to try the latest sweet treat.

“I don’t know how you’ve been single for this long now,” Kourtney laughs from the driver seat. The red light stares down at them and they stare up at it for the moment being. The comment isn’t mostly out of the blue. But their previous conversation about how dating is hard had died down a little.

Ruby look to her friend through her peripheral. The high ponytail weave still slick and perfectly pinned in place. “I haven’t been single for that long.”

“It’s going on two years now! Ever since your birthday when that creepy guy cornered you at the bar. You broke things off with Darrell, what three just weeks before that?” Kourt risks a glance over. Rubs picks at her nails, the set of extended nails a deep burgundy color. They don’t mention that birthday too much.

It was brought up once before after Calum’s passing and Ruby broke down into tears. Kourtney and the rest of the girls thought that Ruby and him had been dating and then broken up. But the way she cried and told them that a good friend had passed away, they figured they might be wrong about it. Everyone does their best to dart around the topic.

Ruby makes sure never to give a name. Part of it feels like a disservice. That she’s silencing him even in death. But the other part knows it’s better this way. That she can’t say his name. Not to anyone. Would she be causing trouble for herself if she does? Would Lucifer come back for her? She’d rather not having the devil himself show up at her door again. Once is more than enough in a lifetime.

Ruby blinks. It has been two years. Time surely hasn’t slowed. But it doesn’t feel like it’s sped up either. “Well I won’t be taking anymore recommendations from you,” she tsks, sucking her tongue around teeth.

“You can’t hold Tre over my head forever. I thought she was cool.”

“She’s like the rest of them n--,” She had more to say but Kourtney cuts her off with a wave of her hand, as if she’s heard the guilt trip from Ruby enough already.

“So are we going out for your birthday or not?”

Ruby doesn’t know what she wants to do for her twenty sixth birthday. It feels mundane. It’s not 21 or even her 30’s. Just 26, a tick mark in the calender of her life. Just another day on the wheel. “We could go back,” Ruby offers with a shrug of her shoulders.

Kourt presses down as the light turns green. “Back to Greenlight? It’s an hour out of town.”

“The music was lit.”

“The drinks were expensive.”

“You’ll have a birthday girl.”

“Why do you want to go back?” Kourtney asks but not without having to tap her brakes to allow for an asshole weaving through the lanes. She flips them the bird.

Ruby watches, focus blurring on the passing asphalt. She can’t avoid things forever. She can’t hide from what’s happened. Calum’s dead. Though she’s wondered if demon’s can every truly die. Part of her wished she had asked sooner. She wished she had considered what happens when she dies, if she’ll ever cross paths with him again. Should she make some sort of deal with the devil? Calum would probably have her head for something like that.

“Earth to Ruby!” Kourtney shouts, snapping her fingers near Ruby’s ear.

“I’m not dead,” Ruby huffs.

“Why should we hikes our asses all the way to Greenlight? Need to pour one out for them?”

Ruby has to laugh. Calum would not stand for the waste of alcohol in his honor. But it feels appropriate to remember him like that, even if it is wasted whiskey on concrete. “Yeah, something like that.”

“Someone’s gonna have to DD. Because I am not splitting that Uber again. I couldn’t even afford enough drinks for a solid buzz.”

“It won’t be long. But I guess if it’s an hour drive. We better make it worth our while. There’s a waffle joint close by too. Make pretty good breakfast.”

Kourtney parks in front of the mall, lips pursed. “And how would you know that ma’am?”

Keeping her gaze straight ahead, Ruby shrugs. Her lips curve though. The smile slowly etching itself onto her face. “Heard it through the grapevine.”

“Yeah right. Who you fuck that far across town?”

“No one,” Ruby defends. Her offended tone doesn’t last long before her laughter cuts through. It’s shocking that she’s never brought up the night she spent with Calum. But Ruby nows her friends. The would take any amount of scandalous details and run it for miles.

Kourtney’s nonbelief is clear on her face, especially with the eyeroll. “Yeah and I was born last night.”

The women climb out of the car, laughing. As Ruby slings the purse onto her shoulder, Kourtney leans against the hood of the car. “Was it them? The one that passed away?”

Ruby matches her position. She can trust Kourtney, one of the few that always been more receptive to Ruby’s quiet moments. She’s always been the one that makes sure to keep the things that need to be quiet quiet. So Ruby nods her head. “Just once.”

“You just out here hoeing around and making friends out of them? Only you Ruby. Only you can sleep with someone and be friends wit’ ‘em.”

Ruby closes the car door, walking around the bumper. There’s a small breeze as they walk to the entrance. “It wasn’t supposed to go down like that. We slept together and I thought it was over. But he came into the salon.”

“So it was a guy, huh?”

“Yeah, he came into the salon to see a stylist. We talked for a minute.” Ruby pauses. She can’t admit that Calum turned out to be a giant asshole and a demonic one at that. “He was a bit of an asshole about it. But it was chill. Then on the date with Tre, he happened to be hanging out there too. She was still yelling about getting some ass. We argued and resolved it. Though, things didn’t actually get fix. She just stormed off. He was there. We hung out getting ice cream.”

Kourtney nods. “So you didn’t sleep with him again after that?”

Ruby shakes her head. “No.”

“Was it that bad?”

“Quite the opposite.”

“So why not?” Kourt screeches.

The mall isn’t too crowded for the moment. Both of them wanted to get out and about early. It’s only the older people that walk laps with their wristbands and two pound weights. All of them look at Ruby and Kourtney for sudden loud interruption. They are used to the stares from others because their glossy lips, and occasional pop of their gum. They know the hair and the color of their skin makes them an easy target for judgemental stares.

It’s sometimes exhausting how true the phrase is that there is nothing new under the sun. There is nothing new about the prejudices they face. There is nothing new to the way they are watched, followed around. There is nothing new about losing loved ones. Nothing new about the stories of their lives. There is just new names on the characters they play.

“Because we became friends,” Ruby answers.

“You can fuck your friends.” Kourtney throws the 22 inches over her shoulder. Her nails aren’t long. But are a sharp stiletto point and have rhinestones tacked onto them.

“You shouldn’t though,” Ruby states.

Kourtney loves Ruby but sometimes wishes she gave more about her life. How to go from fucking a stranger to becoming their friend is a story that others would kill to tell. But Ruby holds it close to her chest. She won’t give the details. Even if Kourtney tried to push it out of her, it would only be condensed. She’d only ever get the sparks notes version of the truth. “Fine, fine. We’re here for birthday outfits anyway.”

“Why do you need an outfit for my birthday?”

“Because I can’t go to Greenlight raggedy.”

“Your closet is twice the size of mine. You calling me raggedy?”

“Never in a million years, Rubs. Never.”

Ruby purses her lips but says nothing. Their feet carry them down past the anchor stores to a small run boutique. The displays are still neon and fishnets, with a sprinkle of cheetah print bodycon skirts. The shirts are cropped in the stomach but still thick long sleeved. The fashion choices don’t always make sense. As if only the flesh of arms get cold but not a stomach.

“Are jeans and clear heels look too simple for my birthday?” Ruby asks, the jeans at the first display for her. She owns enough denim to last her the rest of her life if she gains no more weight.

The question is mostly to herself, a little bit for Kourtney’s response. Kourtney’s already two racks over, thumbing through the previous season’s sequin tops. “No, it’s a very you look. Spice the top up with some glitter maybe. Or some neon?”

Ruby bypasses the denim, finding a blue sequin dress and holds it up. “Kourt, look what I found.”

A small gasp feels the air. “I need it. And I need it now.”

“Your size too.” Ruby dangles the rack from the tops of her fingers, thumbing over the dresses. Birthdays require maximum fun. A dress will have her stressed that her ass is not showing. Though depending on the amount of shots she’s had the stress of not mooning anyone could easily be overcome by the giggling urge to moon someone. She’ll stick to pants though and let the worry reside for another day when she dares a skirt.

Kourtney takes the dress from the waiting hand and pulls out a red cheetah print top. “Try this?”

“Looks like a dress I have.”

Kourtney watches Ruby glance over the racks. The hangers making a piercing screeching as they scratch with rusted metal over the glossy metal rods that they hang on. Is smart to support her want to go back to Greenlight? Nothing special is really there about the place. It’s popular and crowded, but that’s only because it’s the latest club on the scene and more artists want to play in the club because of it’s blossoming elitist status. But a good time could be had anywhere.

“Are you positive about Greenlight?” Kourtney asks.

Ruby nods. “As positive as I am black.”

“So hella positive then,” Kourtney laughs.

It takes one store for them to find the base pieces, a dress for Kourtney and the top for Ruby. It takes three others for the shoes. In the second store, Kourtney finds her heels, black and strappy to neutralize the red glittery bling. And in the last one, Ruby finds a pair of clear heels--on sale. An important caveat for her considering she may not wear the shoes much after her birthday.

When Ruby gets home, she drops the bag to her couch. She might be crazy to go back to Greenlight. Yes, they are memories there, but who’s to say that she couldn’t build more there. Why should the only ones she has of the place be tainted by a heaviness that could be replaced?

____

It’s mutually decided that Ruby can’t be the designated driver for her own birthday. She only offered as a way to keep herself on a leash drinking wise. But her group of friends quickly shot that down. She slips on the gold hoops as Tiff corrals the already tispy group. She can perfectly enjoy a birthday while being sober, or as close to sober as she could realistically be with a shot or two in her.

Ruby hears the glasses clinking in her living room. The rest of the group has been sipping on fruity wine. It’s cheap, but good. Tiff hands over her tube of buttergloss. “Peachy nudes always pop more with a little bit of gloss. Always.”

Ruby takes it, just taking in the tube of glass, a fair pink. “Noted.”

___

The Greenlight is packed as always. Bodies look like a giant sea, swaying to and fro. Ruby looks over to the corner. Calum’s not there. She didn’t expect him to be there. But she had a fleeting hope. A sliver of it sits in her chest and drops when there’s just a couple talking, leaned in close to each other. Calum would be sitting there, beanie on his head. The look would not be complete without his leather jacket. She suddenly wishes she had it draped over her shoulders.

A whiskey would be in Calum’s hand of course. Maybe he’d wink at her. Maybe he’d just watch her dance with her friends. He’d offer of course to pay for a drink or two, but he’d really only be on the sidelines to let her enjoy the night. At the end of the night, when her world is still swimming with the buzz of her shots, Calum would probably tuck her into bed with water on the nightstand. “No dying on me tonight,” he’d whisper.

For a fraction of a second, Ruby wishes she had made Calum promise that too. So that she could be angry for his death for him leaving her. But it really wasn’t of his own volition. That was a choice made for him by someone else’s hand.

“We’ve got a birthday girl!” Tiff shouts, grabbing Ruby’s arm.

Ruby’s imagined version of Calum disappears as she’s dragged to the bar. It takes her a moment to start reaching for her clutch to grab her ID. The bartender smiles. “And what will she have?” There’s a quick glance at the ID. Ruby thinks it most definitely isn’t long enough to see her age at all.

“Whiskey. Straight.” The order falls from her lips without her thinking.

Tiff blinks. “Well that’s different than your usual.”

The only thing Ruby does is shrug. She can offer no explanation. It just feels like the right thing to do. The bartender nods and turns. The rest of the girls order shots or fruity drinks strong enough to knock a grown man over.

The night doesn’t feel too special. Ruby manages to snag a few free drinks for her friends. The music thumps in her bones and the bass shakes her core. The bodies are still moving in mass, a sway. She finds herself looking to that corner again. The couple’s since left and it’s empty. She wonders if that spot feels like wearing Calum’s jacket.

Telling Kourtney that she’s headed to the bathroom, Ruby sneaks away from the group. She climbs into the high chair, into Calum’s chair. It feels different up here. To watch everyone living their life. To know that someone’s going to home with someone else, to know that they are all in the middle of something—a breakup, trying to break a two year single streak. Whatever the case may be, every single person on that floor has a life headed in some direction. And she gets to watch the intersections. She gets to see how all the webs cross and unravel.

“I’m very grateful you are a creature of habit. Or finding you would’ve been hell.”

Ruby’s heart thunders, the veins in her neck thumping clearly behind the skin. She knows that voice anywhere. Even if she’s only heard it the one time in her apartment. She could identify it in a crowd of thousands. “Don’t you have other lives to ruin?”

Lucifer grins. “Don’t shoot the messenger.”

“That is absolutely rich coming from you. So why the fuck are you here?”

“I’m on a delivery. And I don’t think you’d be too receptive of my other Hunters.”

“To what? Deliver a harsh reminder that you killed one of my best friends? Thanks. Especially on my birthday. Perfect timing. You asshole. You’re such a goddamn asshole.” Ruby slips down from the hair, reaching back up to grab her drink.

“Just listen for two second,” he hisses. When her hand comes up, he drops the long velvet box into it. “It’s from your friend. He never got around to giving it to you. So I figured I’d be nice. For once.”

“From Calum?”

“Yeah, from him.”

“What is it?”

“Look I’m just delivering the damn thing. I don’t ask questions about what it is. Do you realize that does spoil the whole thing about gift giving?”

“How long has he had it?”

“Again, that is not something I can answer.”

If it weren’t for the fact that he was delivering something from Calum, she’d smack him. Maybe. It’s not like he’d feel it. Calum didn’t feel the left swing she gave him. Granted, it would be more for the affect, for the spectacle.

“Apparently it’ll mean something to you. He’s been whining. Enjoy the rest of your day. Drink the spirits for me too.” With that, Lucifer slithers through the crowd. She notes it’s less of a walk and more of a glide. Calum had a swagger to his walk. Never rushed but never slow either. Ruby cracks open the box.

A gold anklet stares back up at her. A small charm is attached. A mason jar etched into the gold plate with a C and R carved inside as well. Her eyes water. He’s had to have it for a while, holding onto it for some reason, for some sort of occasion. He mentioned getting her a gift. Only to her once. In passing, during Christmas. He said he wanted to give her something to remember him by that wouldn’t be subjected to the erosions all memories face.

He wasn’t sure what to get though. Wasn’t sure how to give it to her. Sure he’d give her small things--surprising her with candy, or giving her t-shirts that he thought she’d enjoy mostly because of the crazy sayings printed on them. But he wanted to give her something tangible, that would fade to the wear of a machine.

Ruby looks up back into the crowd. Lucifer’s is long gone. She continues to stare out over the packed dance floor. Will he show back up? And what he meant by Calum was whining? Calum was dead. The dead can’t complain, can’t speak, can’t blink. There is nothing but silence from them, right?

“Ruby! That’s one hell of a piss,” Kourtney laughs. Her eyes are glassy, Ruby notes. Maybe she won’t notice the tears forming in the corner of Ruby’s eyes.

“Helping another girl,” Ruby lies, tucking the box away. “Zipper got caught.”

“C’mon. We got more shots. We need you.”

Ruby extends the hand not holding the chain. They filter through the crowd, over to the counter. She takes the glass of clear liquor, knocking the glasses together. As the liquid slides down her throat, it burns. What burns more is the thought that Calum might be alive somewhere out there in the depths of Hell.

Ruby crawls back into bed. The gold anklet dances against her skin. The last shot still pounds against her head. But the question would not leave her alone. Could Calum still be alive? She saw the dust. But Calum made her promise that she couldn’t watch. Right now, she wishes she had. She would know for sure, with her own eyes if death had truly ruined her.

Her computer, even dimmed, still is harsh against her eyes. But she squints and opens a new window of Google, incognito. Like it’s illegal to search questions about demons. If it didn’t hurt to laugh, she’d chuckle at herself.

Can you kill a demon?

Ruby waits, blinks her eyes once and Google returns with answers, all in blue. She groans and clicks on the link. There had to be a color for the font that was easier on the eyes in the hangover state filled with curiosity.

Demon traps, salt circles, holy water, heavenly fire, blades.

This isn’t actually helping, she huffs. So clicks away from that link and back to the search results. Please work, she begs clicking another link. She skims over the black text. You can’t actually kill a demon. It surely look like Calum had died to her. It felt like he had died. Because if he was still kicking around he’d find a way to find her, to talk to her.

Unless he couldn’t communicate with her like before. Ruby doesn’t know the first thing about how to communicate with any other spiritual beings. But there’s nary a question that Google can’t at least attempt to answer.

How do you communicate with the dead?

Ruby pauses. Should she type in how to summon a demon?

She is trying to summon one, technically. She’ll start there with the dead. To her that is what Calum is. He is dead. A dead friend. No matter the status of his spirit, he is dead to her. There’s seance, alters, crystals. Her brain begins to spin. So she closes the screen and lays back into her purple fuzzy pillows. They can offer some solace from the pounding of too much alcohol and too little water and the sting of tears. Calum can’t still be out there. She can’t handle that.

___

The leather jacket is overkill. She knows. But staring up at the bookcase of books, she finds warmth in knowing that she is carrying a small part of Calum with her. Titles jump up out at her. Most of them centering around Wicca. She’s intrigued and pulls one down. She thumbs through the pages and holds it into the crook of her elbow.

The Handbook of Witchcraft slips onto the top of her stack. People pass her by and no one seems to blink an eye. It’s her little secret, her little endeavor. To everyone else though, she is just down an aisle in the bookstore. She is just carrying a stack of books. She is just a patron amongst the fairly quiet calm river of the bookstore. She’s not making a ripple or bothering a soul. She is a nobody taking up space meant to be occupied.

She settles into the cafe attached inside the store. Her stack is about four high. She might as well get started now. The whirring of machines blurs into the background of her mind.

“Just starting out I see?”

Ruby glances up. Another black girl with pink box braids tips her plastic cup at her stack. “Looking for answers,” Ruby says.

Reaching into her pocket, the young girl finds a pen and takes a napkin from the small stack Ruby grabbed for her muffin. The girl scribbles down the at symbol followed by what looks like a username. “This is my Instagram. Message me if you need help.”

“Thanks.” Ruby smiles. “Like the hair.”

“Gotta get them redone. New in town. Still looking for a stylist.”

Ruby reaches into her purse. She grabs a business card for her and the salon. “I do eyebrows mainly. But the salon I work in is black owned.”

“You’re a lifesaver.”

“It can be hard out there.”

Ruby knows she’s been at the store too long when the afternoon sun fades into a pastel orange. Packing up the stack, she proceeds to the registers. The cashier looks unphased, pushing their reward card and membership. Ruby’s thankful. Her secret is safer for even a little bit longer, safe even from the cashier, who probably cares nothing about her life to start with.

___

Ruby laughs at herself walking into IKEA, even though her entire house is completely furnished. Nothing is broken either. She’s still here though. She gets lost every time she walks through the doors. Taking a survey of the shop, she takes a deep breath. Just a small end table. That’s all she needs. She’ll start there.

It takes an entire half an hour and help from two different employees but she secures the end table she needs. It’s on sale, or there’s some sort of special. The small wooden two tiered table is only 10 bucks, not including the taxes. It’s even small enough for her carry herself to her car. Though several employees offer one the flatbeds to help her walk even easier. Ruby know she could’ve easily gotten one for free, maybe with more characters, more knicks in it.

All the articles she read mentioned that the table wasn’t the important part. There would be more money to spend elsewhere. Is it wrong to want to give Calum the best if he’s still out there? The only thing Ruby can do is just give it a shot. As she slides the large cardboard box into her truck, she pauses. It’s just a shot.

It would be funny to have an ivory cloth to cover it, Ruby thinks. Though black is more fitting. She settles later on, while in Target, for a Halloween themed one, black with silver trimming. It’s clearly been lingering since the holidays. She’s shocked they haven’t been tossed out yet by the store. It hasn’t been that long since the holiday, though. So maybe it isn’t old enough to be thrown out just yet.

Calum might be pissed. She can almost hear his voice in her head, deeming worthy of at least something solid back. But Ruby figures he has a small silver streak in himself. Even if he refuses to believe it himself.He’d probably refute it. Tell her she’s the only silver streak in his damnation.

Ruby would then tell him he’s much too harsh on himself. She misses those moments, the bickering even though it’s not real. Twisting the last screw into place, Ruby looks at the gold anklet again.

He’s been whining.

Is she insane? Has she finally gone off the deep end to be sitting in her bedroom, screwing together an end table to create an altar? Calum might not even be on the other side. He could all the day dead. He could be really good.

But why the present tense? Was it false hope, some sort of unresolved sadness or fear that kept her clinging to any gram of hope?

Honestly, it didn’t matter. If she was insane, Ruby would find out soon enough, right? If she was insane to try and communicate with a damned soul, then it wouldn’t work. She’d just have a spare end table and a cool table cloth to help her decorate for the holidays. It wouldn’t be a waste if it all went to shit on her.

___

“You have to set it up for what you need. You can add traditional elements. But they’re really customizable.”

“I need it for like,” Ruby starts then stops, readjusting her grip on the thread.

“No, no. I need not know,” Jasmine reprimands. Her eyes are still closed. Her fingers still holding the skin taut.

Ruby cleans up the underbrow before moving to the top of the bone. “Aren’t their guides for this kind of stuff? Could I go to someone else to do this?”

“I mean you could yes,” Jasmine says. Ruby brushes away the plucked hairs and moves to the right brow. “You’re looking for something maybe more along the lines of a psychic.”

“I don’t know. Everytime I think I can do it, I chicken out.”

“Just sit for a few minutes. Even if the altar isn’t complete just sit in front of it for a few minutes. Smudge it before and after. Besides, you’re not going to get it right on your first try. It’s not about getting it right the first time either. You have to feel it, know what you’re looking for, know when you’ve found it.”

Ruby hums, focused now on the string pulling the right hairs from the roots. When done and the brows outlined, Ruby hands Jasmine the mirror. “What do you think?”

“Holy fuck,” Jasmine gapes. “My brows have never looked this good.”

“I do my best.”

“You fucking slayed it is what you did.” Jasmine turns her head side to side, to make sure it’s not just a trick of the light and angle. The truth is no, her brows look this good for every angle thanks to the talent of Ruby. Jasmine adds a ten dollar tip to the fee. “I’ll be back for sure.”

“Glad you’re happy with them.”

Jasmine grabs a couple of business cards from the display on the front desk. “For friends,” she notes before shouting loudly over her shoulder. “Bye ladies. See y’all later.”

The entire shop responds with a shout too. Ruby leans into the glass front desk. The sidewalks are pretty dead. A couple boys hanging out because of the barber shop next door. There’s a convenience store at the corner of the block, where most people grab snacks for before coming into their hair appointments. Ruby would go there to grab snacks before movie snacks. She managed to sneak out of the salon well before closing sometimes and because of that, she could load up before calling Calum. Never texted.

The rest of the day is pretty slow. It’s only Tuesday though. The closer to the weekend they get, the busier it becomes. Ruby walks into her apartment. It’s quiet and she thinks about turning on her TV. There’s never anything on, so she lets the silence lingers and gets water instead. The table is still bear in the corner of her bedroom. Just the cloth. Ruby finds the shoebox in the top of her closet. She pulls the only photo she has of Calum. Just him reclining on her couch in a green t-shirt and sweats.

He’s not even looking at her, too busy browsing her computer. He was trying to prove her wrong about the meaning of carnations. This then took him down the rabbit hole of flora meaning, which he spent twenty minutes reading aloud to her. Ruby has since put it in a gold frame. It fits him. So she sets the frame onto the table, just right in the center.

Ruby sits in front of it. Just admiring the photo. Her clock ticks in her ear. The water sits on the floor, still in the cup. Ruby lights one of the incenses. Rhodney gave her a good deal on them. He helped her get into this apartment. And she just sits. Eyes closing briefly. This is nice, peaceful. Just her, sinking into the floor, thinking about Calum. She lets the lavender scent settle into her lungs.

Ruby sits cross legged, mind suspended between the reality that she is in her bedroom and the shallow pool of not having to think about anything. She can just bathe in the memories, his love of chocolate pretzels, the way he always smelled a little like nicotine but mostly like wooden musk of cologne.

Maybe Calum couldn’t communicate with her. Ruby knows in her heart of hearts that Calum would fight heaven and high water to keep in contact with her if he could. This had to be on her to figure out. Ruby couldn’t rely on Calum’s supernatural abilities anymore. This was a fight she’d have to take up on her own.

There’s a small rumble. She can hear the clink of her glass. She thinks it’s the glass clinking against the floor. But she doesn’t dare open her eyes. Then her phone rings from the living room.

“Shit,” she whispers, standing up. She was positive she had turned it on silent. But she can never be sure anymore. It’s only a spam call. She was searching for a new health insurance plan and now the companies don’t leave her alone.

When Ruby returns to her bedroom, her glass of water is still.

___

“You really need at least 4 people to communicate with spirits. Don’t want to be doing that kind of shit alone,” Jasmine hums. She sucks through her straw, the bottom of it clearly in nothing but air.

“I don’t really have 3 other people that would be down for that,” Ruby counters. The coffee shop is loud. It’s a shock for how late in the day it is. But for those that need the caffeine, it matters not the time of day for them.

“Well, now you only need 2 more people,” Jasmine grins, finishing off the last of her scone.

“You’re going to help me?” Her disbelief is clear in her question. Why would Jasmine potentially be subjecting herself to the unknown for Ruby? It’s probably less unknown for Jasmine than it is unknown for Ruby.

“Of course.”

“You do know what I’m asking you to do right?”

Jasmine laughs. “Yes, I’m aware.”

Her latest hairstyle are crochet locs. The fake hair has the ends dyed royal blue. Ruby notes that she always has to have a pop of color with her hair. She likes it. The way Jasmine’s always so free to express herself. Ruby does that too, with her hair too, but more so through her nails. She’s not sure what color to get this time. Though every time she goes into the nail salon, her eyes drift to the olive green. The same color of the shirt in the picture.

“You’ve got time to get your nails done today?” Ruby asks.

Jasmine looks over the black polish she put on about a week ago. It’s chipped a little. It was a rush job on her part. “I hadn’t planned too, but sure.”

“My treat,” Ruby adds on.

“Sold.”

Knocking on Kourtney’s door, Ruby wonders if she’s already gone for the day. She tried to text before driving over it. Kourt hadn’t responded though by the time they got there. Kourtney keeps her car in the garage, so there’s no way to know. The door cracks open just as Ruby’s phone buzzes in her pocket. “Well this is a surprise,” Kourtney laughs.

“Kourt this is Jasmine. Jasmine, Kourtney.” The two ladies wave at each other. “Think you can squeeze us in.”

“For you, Rubs, always. No matter how last minute it is.”

Ruby knows that tone, it’s joking but serious. “I promise this won’t be a common occurrence.”

“Oh I know it won’t.”

As the drill buffs over Ruby’s growth, Kourtney clicks her tongue. Her nose and mouth are hidden behind the dusk mask. The raised eyebrow is clear. She’s not buying this pitch, not in the slightest. The fine powder flies under the harsh light of the lamp bent over Ruby’s nails. “You want me to do what now?”

Ruby knows what she’s asking is probably insane. “Just be there. That’s all.”

“We are too black to be fucking with spirits.”

Ruby looks over to Jasmine, who just shrugs. Her gel manicure is freshly cured, though she sits under the nail dryers for her toes. “I mean, I totally get where she’s coming from. But at the same time, if you look at other religions, they do the same thing all the time.”

“Like what?” Kourtney tuts, pulling the drill away from her work. Ruby’s hand is still firm in her grasps.

“Do you know about orishas?” Jasmine asks.

“Do I know about what?”

“They’re deities, gods,” Ruby explains. “I mean, it’s not totally the same. In that belief system people who practice are mounted.”

“Mounted?”

“The deity descends and uses the practitioners physical form, or body, during rituals.” Ruby wants to avoid the term possess. That would only serve to fuel Kourtney’s resistance.

“Just say possess them. You can say it,” Kourtney huffs.

“It’s not like the deity stays forever.”

“So, for argument sake, people are mounted by these spirits. And you want to equate that to openly knocking on the supernatural’s door and just ask them to chill out with us until whomever you’re trying to contact shows up. Is that what you’re asking me to do?”

“Well, it’s less about just chilling with spirits than it is trying to directly contact one. But yeah, let’s go with that version,” Ruby returns.

“You’re fucking insane.” Kourtney’s tone isn’t harsh. It’s not even condescending. She just sounds tired, and maybe even a little flabbergasted. She can see Ruby’s desperate. Kourtney thinks she might be too if a friend just suddenly upped and died. It’s different than when Kourtney’s grandmother died. She had reasons. There was an explanation and a clear peace at the end.. Her grandmother was older, had been teetering on the edge really for a while. She wasn’t deathly ill, just getting up in age. She was starting to forget things easily. She couldn’t do the same things as before. In all honesty, her grandmother’s peaceful slip from temporary slumber to a permanent sleep is the best outcome.

Kourtney changes the bit on her drill, taking down the length of the old set. “If I become haunted, I’m making friends with the ghostman and getting them to haunt your ass instead. I don’t have the time be fucking haunted, alright? Ain’t no ghost finna pay my bills.”

Ruby looks over to Jasmine. She hadn’t expected that to happen. She thought she’d ask. She’d get told no. Ruby halfway thought Kourtney would shut her down when she started talking about the deities. But to have Kourtney agree--that comes from left field. “Are you high right now?”

“No but I just might hint a blunt after dealing with you.”

The room echoes with laughter. “I’ll even roll it for you,” Ruby offers, her chest still hiccuping with tufts of laughter.

“Nah, it’ll be haunted or some shit. I’ll roll my own blunts. Thank you.”

___

Jasmine’s friend, who only goes by Ash, settles down last in the circle. He’s a psychic, according to his Instagram. Ruby’s talked to him once face to face. His voice is too deep, too alluring. But he doesn’t carry himself like he takes life too seriously. It made him more inviting. The long hair, it’s always braided back. Ruby can appreciate his humor. His stare can be intense, dark brown keen eyes. They don’t ever miss anything.

As his hands wrap around Ruby’s, his gaze is stern. His tone is softer. He has no qualms with people getting the answers that they need. But he doesn’t want them to do it for all the wrong reasons.“Are you sure about this?”

Ruby’s not really completely sure. She was never really supposed to talk about Calum. She was supposed to keep all this shit quiet. But if it weren’t for her run at Greenlight, she could be at peace. She doesn’t need constant communication. She just needs to verify. Calum really might be out there. “It’s the only shot I’ve got.”

Ash nods. He can understand that. With the board settled down, Ruby begins. Kourtney keeps flicking her gaze about the small circle. She prays to God she doesn’t wind up haunted because of this shit and she prays Ruby’s not diving into the deep end either. Even though Kourtney is not well versed in how hauntings work, she knows that no matter where Ruby goes these spirits can and probably will follow.

“I am asking if my friend Calum is still out there,” Ruby starts. Her hands are shaking a little. She can hear the quiver in her own voice.

It’s silent. Ruby watches, blinking erratically. Does she even want to contact Calum? Should be doing this at all? It could be best to live and let die. Kourtney shifts on the floor. They’re all situated in Ruby’s bedroom, around the small little table that holds a picture. Kourtney thinks this must be the friend, this Calum.

The lights are off. The room’s already decent temperature wise. But Ruby doesn’t miss the small distinct breeze across her face. It’s easy to think that when presented with this scenario she would be brave. But right now, she can feel her gut leaping. “Oh shit. Did anyone else feel that breeze?”

Jasmine, to the left of Ruby, speaks up. “Can the spirit in this room confirm that you are Ruby’s friend? Gently move a piece on the altar.”

Ruby watches the gold anklet. Even in the flickers of the candle light, it glitters more than the picture frame. She placed the charm upside down. Whether it was on purpose, Ruby can’t say for sure. But a part of her did hope that if she were to have any success that the anklet would be the first thing Calum would reach for. He’d know the significance.

Nothing happens. Ruby probes whatever might be reaching out to them to move something. The minutes pass and there is nothing still. The charm does not flip over. Another breeze does not come by. There is nothing. Just the rising and falling of four chest in Ruby’s bedroom. Any potential spirits that crossed over are thanked. The circle is closed. The candles are blown out. “Did you feel anything besides the breeze?” Jasmine asks.

Ruby shakes her head. Sometimes she wishes she hadn’t decided to keep her hair short. The longer the hair, and even the longer the weave, she could’ve hidden her disappointment, the wobble of her chin. “Sometimes, you’re not always successful on your first try,” Ash counters. His voice is soft, much like the touch of his hand on Ruby’s shoulder.

“Thanks,” Ruby answers. Her voice is thick as it leaves her throat.

It’s rude, she knows. Ruby shuts herself into the bathroom. The door swings close and clicks with a harsh thud. She only needs a moment. Just a second. Just so the first hot tear can run down her cheek. She was a fool. How could she really believe that this would work? Hope made everyone blind. Everyone could probably see that it would never work. And yet, they had hoped for her that it would work. Yet they had sat in her bedroom like children at a sleepover, playing with spirits.

Ruby couldn’t be that mad at them. They were only trying to help her. But did no one think to stop her, to save her from this embarrassment? She sniffles hard, wiping at her cheeks. She’s never really had a flush on her face. But right now, behind the copper tones of brown skin, she can feel the heated flush taking over. Why would he do such a thing to her? She was a fucking fool to believe the gift was actually from Calum. He’s dead. His ashes are still in that godforsaken mini mason jar. There is no bringing him back.

There’s nothing left of him. His soul was already damned to Lucifer. There was no way he would let anything remain. Ruby would’ve done better to just talk to open air than to try and communicate with Calum. She was just a fucking fool.

With another harsh sniffle, Ruby opens the door. If her eyes are red, they’ll just have to be red. “Thanks for subjecting yourselves to this. I owe you guys.” She doesn’t hide the quiver that takes over her chest.

“Rubs,” Kourtney sighs, hugging her friend. Ruby shakes like a dog caught in a thunderstorm in Kourtney’s arms. “Do you want me to stay with you?”

“N-no,” Ruby croaks. “I’ll call if I need you though.”

Kourtney thinks for a moment. She could refuse Ruby’s wishes and have to deal with a crying and pissed Ruby or she could just wait for the phone call. Ruby will probably still be crying if she calls, but at least there won’t be any anger. “I’ll be near my phone.”

As the door creaks close, Ruby locks it, bottom and top locks before sliding down the steel door. Here she is again. On her fucking knees crying over Calum again. She wants to laugh. She really does. It catches between her sobs in ragged coughs. “Fucking of course,” she pants. “Of course.”

She pushes her hands and crawls to the edge of the coffee table. Right where she was when Calum died. “I thought it was only lovers that were supposed to hurt like this.” Her speech is interrupted by sobs. But she continues on. “I thought only lovers were supposed to rip your fucking heart out.”

“They say talking to yourself is a sign of insanity.”

Even though her vision is nothing but a watery field of tears, she knows that pale skin. “Don’t you have some other poor soul to torture? Don’t you have anybody else to fuck over? Haven’t you ruined my fucking life enough?” she shouts. Her hand finds a coaster and lobs it before she can even think, still half hung onto the edge of the coffee table. It requires too much energy to support herself on her elbows. She just hangs her weight into the sturdy piece of furniture.

“He heard you calling. So I had to answer,” Lucifer returns.

“You’re such a fucking liar.” Ruby wishes she could smite him. Do anything to him to make him feel the ache in her chest. Would it take a bolt of lightning? Did he hold anything precious to his heart?

“I’m many things.”

“Leave me the fuck alone, God.”

Lucifer fakes a hiss, throwing up a cross with his fingers. “We don’t say His name around me.”

Ruby drags the sleeve of her shirt under her nose. Her tears, though they roll down her face, have stopped stinging her behind her eyes. “That’s a corny ass joke.”

Lucifer shrugs, pushing his hands into his pockets. “Figured I’d give it a shot. See if you’d stop cursing me out.”

“You’re still an asshole. So no, it didn’t work.” Ruby finally pushes up from the coffee table and falls into the legs of the couch. She stares out into the open dining room, at the table pushed up against the wall, right under the window sill. Calum would sit most nights that he stayed over in front of it. He said watching the night relaxed him. But she wonders now if she was watching for Lucifer. If Calum knew all along that he was playing with a fire that would burn him.

It would hurt more if he just disappeared, Ruby thinks. If Lucifer somehow got him in the middle of the night while she was sleeping and Calum just wasn’t there. If he never showed up with another note under her door. That would hurt more. Not knowing would kill her more than knowing Ruby figures. She probably wouldn’t have noticed it at first. But as the days blended into weeks and the weeks turned into months without any contact from Calum--that would kill her. Slowly and then all at once she’d lose her head.

“Mind if I sit?” Lucifer asks.

“And if I say I do. What are you going to do? Kill me?”

“I’d never kill for such a frivolous thing.”

Ruby whips her head to look at him. “You killed Calum? And for what? Being my friend?”

“I don’t have to explain that to you.”

“No, you do! You do have to explain that to me.”

“I don’t,” Lucifer defends.

“Oh, but you do, Lucifer.” She’s never uttered his name before. It made him too real if she did. Made Calum’s death too real. But right now, after what just happened, or didn’t happen, he owes her that much. She can say his name. It is not lead on her tongue anymore.

“Ah, she does remembers my name.”

“I could never forget it.”

“Ruby, I don’t owe you any explanation. I didn’t owe it to Calum to make the trip before or this one. But I’m doing it.”

“What the fuck did he do?” Ruby pushes up from the floor. Her face is tight. She knows her eyes are red. There’s probably snot on the sleeve of her shirt. It doesn’t matter though. She’s going to get these answers. “Tell me. What is so wrong about finding a friend?” She searches his gaze, seeing if he’d crack.

The only thing Lucifer does is take a step forward to her. There’s still a good foot between them. “If you’re boss gave you a rule, and you broke it, couldn’t you be fired for it?”

Ruby takes a small step forward. “Depends on how big the rule was.”

“I’ve ruled with an iron fist. And I will always continue to do so.” Lucifer meets her step, but only after his statement crosses his lips.

No one moves again. There’s only another step between them. “Don’t tell me you have a soft spot? You can’t have a soft spot for the person you killed.”

“Calum isn’t a person.”

“He was to me.” Ruby closes the gap. Finger poking at his chest. “He was as real to me as Kourtney, or Tiff. Or anyone else in this world. He was a person to me and that’s all that matters.”

“We are monsters. Me included,” Lucifer states. “He is nothing more than a hound now. Just like all the rest.”

“And who did that to him? Who did that?” Ruby hates to get loud. But the emotion leaps from her. Her fists are furling at her side.

Lucifer must admit she’s bolder than he took her for and far less fearful than he thought would happen for something that just tried to summon a demon into their bedroom. Though, anyone trying to do that must not hold much fear to begin with. “I know what I’ve done.”

“And is this supposed to make me feel better? Is this you trying to rectify the situation?”

“No. I can’t fix anything now. What’s done is done.”

Ruby cracks, she can feel her core crumbling. The tears come back. She presses the heel of her hands into the sockets of her eye. “Just tell me what you did. Is he really dead?” She pleads. The tough guy act is exhausting. All she wants to do is cry again, curl into her sheets and let the ache fall over her throat in screeches.

Lucifer, for just a second, lets himself peer down at her. She stands right under his chest. He can see what Calum meant about how endearing it feels. “The Calum you knew no longer exists. You can’t summon him. His physical form is dust.”

“The whip?”

“Turned over to another owner.”

“They’re temporary to you. They’re nothing,” she gaps. It really ought not be a shock. It is the devil she’s dealing with. She’s not dealing with someone human. But it still shocks her.

“We’re all nothing. Calum got a second shot at his life. And he fucked it up. Like he always does.”

Ruby shoves Lucifer. Her palms hitting hard into his chest. Lucifer stumbles back half a step but plants his feet to catch himself. “He didn’t. He didn’t do anything wrong!” She can see the pointed tail rising behind him. She sees the flash of fire in Lucifer’s eyes. “Do it. Fucking do it, I dare you.” Now she’s really gone insane. To goad the devil like this. But she doesn’t care.

It’s a steel resolve that stills Lucifer. It stills even Ruby. “You don’t mean that,” Lucifer taunts. “You couldn’t possibly mean it.”

“You don’t know what I mean and what I don’t.”

Lucifer grins, lowering the tail. “I do know that what’s left of your precious Calum whines for you. He curses himself for messing things up with you. It’s ironic really. To be subjected to an eternal curse and then curse yourself on top of that.”

Ruby just stares. She’s tired of the circle games. She’s tired of begging. If he’s going to explain himself, then he will. And if he won’t explain himself, he can go right back to the place he came from. So Ruby remains silent. Lucifer blinks at her.

He says nothing either, waiting for her rebuttal. She’s a smart girl; she’ll have something, Lucifer figures.

A few more moments go by. “Nothing to say?” Lucifer asks.

Ruby remains quiet.

“Did Calum ever tell you he was a Hunter for me? Really the head of them. That’s why I gave him the whip.” Lucifer stops for a moment. She look unphased for the moment. He sees the way she’s biting on the inside of her lip though. “I can’t bring him back,” Lucifer admits. “He still exist. Just not like you knew him as. You can’t bring him back.”

Ruby wants to look away. But she doesn’t. She takes a breathe. “You took everything from him. I hope you know that. I hope you know the destruction you’ve caused, Lucifer. Whatever good he had going on in his life, whether it was damned to you for eternity or not, all that good is gone.”

“It’s like the Big Guy said. All I’m good for it stealing, killing, and destroying. We’ve all got our parts to play. I brought you the anklet because I thought it would get him off my back. He’s relentless when it comes to you. He wanted me to give him updates. Him! Like he runs the fucking place.”

“So, tell me, do you give him updates? Why else would you be here?”

“No, actually, I heard you knocking on my front door with that summoning circle. But I didn’t think the others would take kindly to me showing up.”

Ruby has to laugh. She really does and it escapes her in dry tufts. “Tried to summon a friend and I got a piece of shit instead.”

“Yeah, I’m not the greatest, alright. I know. Just because I took Calum’s status away, just because I stripped him of his physical form doesn’t mean he can’t annoy the shit out of me in Hell.”

“And you can’t undo it? Can’t give him back his human form?”

Lucifer shakes his head. “If The Big Guy himself had to flood the earth to start over, there’s no way He’s giving me more powers than Him. He can’t snap his fingers to undo anything and I can’t snap mine.”

“What rule did Calum break? What the hell did he do deserve that?”

“I told you. Rules have to be followed. That’s that.”

“I can’t ever talk to him again. I can’t ask Calum so I’m asking you. I’m giving you the second shot you don’t fucking deserve.”

This isn’t a second shot, Lucifer thinks. He never gets those. Not that he’s ever deserved them in any capacity ever. But Ruby’s pleading stare is maybe just enough to crack his chest open. “I told him not to get too close. I told him that if he got too close to you it would be his head. You might’ve called me a liar. But others would disagree.”

Ruby sucks in a breath, turning away. Her hands cover her face. But that’s not enough darkness so she closes her eyes behind the fabric. “In my house. In front of me!”

“There’s a reason why he told you not to watch.”

She can picture it all now. There was no sound. But she can see, clear as day, a fistful of Calum’s curl in Lucifer’s fist as Calum’s body slumped away before disappearing. She wonders if his eyes blinked close, if Calum had just enough life in him to finish that action. Or they were probably already closed before the last blow was delivered. Was he thinking of her? Was she Calum’s last thought?

Lucifer’s voice interrupts her buzzing mind. “The anklet’s actually from him. I found it in his apartment while I was cleaning it out. I had some others keep it safe. I wouldn’t have given it to you, in all honesty. I was going to have it pawned. Needed the cash for some other earthly endeavours. But I could never bring myself to fucking do it. So I gave the boy what he wanted. I gave it to you. His last good deed, he called it.”

“Do me a favor?”

“I’m not a middle man for the two of you. I agreed to give you the anklet and I only agreed to check up on you like once.”

“Just one thing,” Ruby sighs, turning to face Lucifer.

“Just one.”

“Don’t come back to me. Don’t check up on me. Don’t give him updates.”

“This is going to sound ironic coming from me. But he’s going to raise hell over that.”

“Tell him I told you not too. I want to remember him like he was drinking whiskey way to early in the day and always dawned in the leather jacket. I want to remember him like a friend.”

Lucifer sighs. Calum’s not going to like that. But he nods and says nothing as he exits her apartment. Through the front door this time. For a brief moment, Ruby finally realizes that she never opened the door for Lucifer in the first place. Could he have been the breeze she felt?

She was just torturing herself. Ruby never considered herself to be a masochist. Pain was never really her thing. But all she was doing was hurting herself. This was just a wound they kept picking the scab off of. It would always bleed if it’s never left alone. It can never clot and create new skin. Even if it leaves a scar, the thicker skin is more protection that busted blood vessels.

Ruby drags herself to her bedroom. Calum’s picture staring at her as she enters. She walks over, placing the photo face down. She’s gotta let him rest. Let herself rest really. What is she doing besides running herself into the ground. That’s all it is. She picks up the anklet, testing the weight in her hand again. It’s cold against her skin and has never been heavy until now. She sets onto the dresser next to her bed. In the morning she can think about whether or not to bear its weight again.

____

Lucifer can already imagine the roar that’s going to echo off the walls of his head. But he’s really only the message man, yet again. “Good news and bad news,” Lucifer starts.

“Bad news first.” His voice is harsher, more of a snarl in this state. Body much too large and too hunched for the man he once portrayed. The fire does like it does everyone, making the skin blister and turn a pinkish red. It’s a shock that anyone can hold out at the eternal flick of the flames like he does.

“You’re going to regret that. She wants to give you a good memory. Take it.”

“What?”

“Let her go. Let her remember you the way she knew you.”

While Calum would hate to admit Lucifer to right. It might be naive to think that Ruby wouldn’t try everything in her power to see him again. He’s not the man he used to be. He’s not in any position to be seen for what’s beneath it all, beneath the lies. “What’s the good news then?”

“You have a friend in her, even still. You’re lucky.”

He surely doesn’t feel lucky. Trapped here as his body is constantly burned and healed all within the same minute. He surely doesn’t feel lucky knowing that he won’t ever be able to answer a call from Ruby again. But if she’s willing to hold onto his memory, even with all the messed up shit he’s done, than he found something to be lucky about.

Though it’s never rest that finds his soul, Calum remembers the way she laughs and something like peace stills the moment. It’s a quiet calm that only simmers for a moment before the pain kicks in again. He takes the second of calmness whenever they come because they always bring her with them.

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thoseindarkness · 4 years ago

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DtD News Nov 2020

Thank you to anyone who came back for this nonsense. For brevity I have an announcement that I want to make up front. I didn't have room for it last month so I pushed it back, but I can't anymore. I had to make one major revision to the published story. I want people to know about it.

This is the TLDR version. I tell a more in-depth story at the end.

ANNOUNCEMENT

The summary: I had a bad outline walking into writing Mistrust Goes Both Ways. I ran into a problem mid-story. Instead of stopping and taking the time I needed, I challenged myself to creatively solve my way out of my problems. I re-started with about half of what I'd written, published Mistrust Goes Both Ways, and restarting my outline with high hopes. I was proud of myself for rising to the challenge.

Despite my best efforts, it didn't work out. In the end, I had to scrap my outline. I was able to structure the end I was going for and spent the end of 2019 trying to link the first two stories to the ending I wanted. It wasn't working. Then TRoS. Then COVID. Here we are. In June, I started experimenting with scrapping Mistrust and restarting from Read Between.

Mistrust Goes Both Ways will not be part of the finished story when I'm done. I know some of you love it. I love it. I have no intention of taking it down. I might, for a short time, when I'm posting the final story. I'll let you know if that happens and it will go back up afterward. I don't have specifics as there's no point planning for it now.

For right now, nothing is changing on my AO3 account. Feel free to read and comment to your hearts content. I promise it will stay up forever to remind me that some mistakes are worth sharing with others. I learned good lessons from this mistake. It stays.

That being said I think I owe you an actual update on the progress of this story.

WHAT THE HELL I DID THIS MONTH

After my first update I needed to re-integrate with Reylo friends. Funnily enough, that pulled me into another fic. I've been working on that between following this election. Now that it's called I can get back to writing. I tried a couple of times since I voted on Oct 30th, but I knew it wasn't what I wanted to be thinking about.

Thankfully, I've also begun doing more social/political essays lately. I'm not sure what overall form or shape those may take and I haven't published any. Still, I was creative and I did plenty of writing. Interestingly, all this political focus is good for Deceive the Deceiver. Spinning and listening to conspiracy theories is a big part of weaving a world like this one. A great deal comes from my thoughts and perceptions of the real world.

WHERE DTD IS

As of right now I am in the process of first drafting the entire story with Read Between as the starting point. That is, every one of the short stories in the series. What I'm doing is somewhere between a history, an outline and random scene writing. All of these elements are currently strung together in one long, continuous, chronological, first draft. It's everything from the history before Read Between (which starts in the 1930's), all the way to the final scene of DtD.

I'm taking all the good ideas I've created in the last couple of years and re-organizing them into a first pass. It's the skeleton and some of the meat now. I'm slowly building out now that I have a blank-er slate. It's about choosing what works and what doesn't.

I call it accordion writing. It just gets bigger and bigger. This outline will later level up into the first full story drafts for each part. I've got so much history when I finish this I might… I'm getting ahead of myself. Don't want to give too many clues away.

Another interesting thing that's happened recently is I've started pulling bits of other fic ideas that I’m just not gonna finish. A big chuck of the history I stole from a modern/academia AU where Ben and Rey are history students specializing in the ancient Jedi religion. Another was a complication between characters came from a canon story where I wanted to paint the relationship with a new layer. We'll see if I can pull that off.

I spent a lot of time prior to this year focusing on the heroes but my villains hadn't gotten much love. Filling in the history has given me a chance to flesh out the villains. All their moves and countermoves, woven through the bits I already have, are spinning a pretty tapestry. Oh, the villains are so much fun to write!

This other fic came together in the same sort of accordion fashion and it's been fun working through the kinks in the process now that I've seen some of the weak points on a scale like DtD. I think I've mentioned, but this is a writing experiment for me and I'm most invested now in improving my process and clue-threading with DtD. This other fic is helping me test it on a smaller scale.

Not that this needs to get any longer, I'm just going to throw pretense out the window and go with complete vanity. If you don't give a wet shit about my life (and I don't blame you) you have reached the end of your journey. I hope to see you next month. If not, then I leave you with this parting:

May we meet again in our next fandom, through mutes and not as rival shippers.

The following is the ridiculous story of my ups and downs with Deceive the Deceiver. I figure if I explain to you how much I'm invested in this story some of you will stop worrying that I'm going to abandon it. Trust me. I'm not.

This tale stretches from NANOWRIMO 2018 and the prompt that started it, through the ups and downs of 2019 and 2020, to the writing of last month's letter. Buckle up. I love bumpy rides.

DtD: from NANO '17 to COVID-19

This story truly starts in December 2017 when I drenched the seat beneath me during Last Jedi. I'm a TLJ shipper. I got caught on the thirst train. It hit a time when writing was becoming a really big part of my life. I've been writing since I was a kid. I stopped for a while and came back to it. It's a long story. Ultimately, I'd started writing a lot a few years earlier. A mix of fic and originals but I was running into problems so I start reading a bunch of books to get better. TLJ lit the fires. NO joke TLJ came out on the 15th. I have pages of writing from the 20th.

2018 was Reylo year! I was already on Tumblr for my previous fandom (Batman comics). I found Reylo AU week which is in August. I submitted a story for that. It was the first fic I published for Reylo. Fast-forward August to November. I'm in the Writing Den on Discord and someone throws out this spy prompt. People start running with. Throwing ideas around. One of those was the snuggie in Mistrust! I have that conversation saved and story spots for each crazy thing they threw out. Finally, I said I'd do it!

Mind you, this is November 2nd. Nano has just started and the event is about "turning off your internal editor." This prompt consumed me. I was trying to keep up with SpaceWaffleHouseTM that first year. I did, btw. We both crested 100,000. It was my first Nano. Word count is not my problem. Organizing my crazy ambitious ideas is my problem. Some of that 100k was other stories, like Custard which I wrote half of in November and the other half Jan/Feb 2019. Most of it… probably 80k of it… was DtD.

Read Between the Lies is currently 33,710. I wrote at least 20k of that during that first Nano, as well as outlines and scenes for what I thought would be the starting point. I remember wanting to write Read Between to "get into their headspace" by writing their first meeting. I didn't think it would become a whole story. I was just going with it then. Any idea that came to mind.

I took December 2019 off for a few reasons. Some personal. Some burnout. I'm one of those people that can use writing to relieve stress, but I was so exhausted from that month-long writing sprint. By the last week I was dragging to get the final four or five thousand words to hit 100k.

Also, what I had by the end (no internal editor) was a bird nest of ideas that had too many beginnings, not enough middles, and endings to go around. I knew one thing right away: I knew I had more than one story. There were so many fun ideas. I figured, what the hell. I knew another thing right away: the prompt was at the end of the story. Like, the very end. Like, the last short story. Or the second to last short story, at the earliest. That hasn't changed. Ever. That's just where it ended up.

Between January and April of 2019 I touched DtD a few times. I kept coming back to it, reading through it, trying to untangle it. I made new notes on the stories. Expanded ideas. Tried to structure it. I figured out a bunch of good notes, but no real substance. The hardest thing was figuring out where to start! Did I:

(1) Start shortly before the prompt with Ben/Rey's relationship established and fill the story with the history?

(2) Start a lot earlier and build Ben/Rey's relationship from the beginning I'd written in Read Between?

If I'm being honest, Read Between was a lot better than I thought it would be and I didn't want to get rid of it. For a while I was thinking of publishing it last as a "prequel" if people liked the series.

Funny enough, the turning point happened May fourth weekend 2019…

In the week leading up, I was struggling through another story and decided to take a break for the weekend. I'd start writing again on Sunday when I met with my writing group. I met them through Nano. We used to meet at Panera. Now they meet on Discord. They mostly sprint though and I'm not a sprinter. I miss Panera. Anyway.

May 4th was a Sunday (look it up). I gave myself a writing break for the weekend and marathoned Star fucking Wars. It was nerd weekend. I was going to nerd out. I wore exclusively SW gear all weekend. I remember it well. It was the start of something fucking magical in my life.

Have I mentioned recently I really love this story. Trust me I will fucking finish it. Oh my god the demons won't leave until I do. Get them out of my head…

I had a pretty rockstar weekend. I believe the reason I skipped the PT that weekend was because I'd watched it the month before or so. Right after finishing the Clone Wars animated series (which is awesome and I strongly recommend both it and Rebels). I skipped them and SOLO.

Starting with R1, I went through in chronological order. I stopped at RotJ. I was with my family on Saturday and they were playing RotJ in the living room during the party. We talked about my marathon. My mom came over to my apartment after. We watched RoTJ properly. Then Force Awakens. It was too late by then to watch TLJ. I know I went straight to bed after my mom left on Saturday night.

Somewhere during or right after TFA I started thinking about Deceive the Deceiver. I don't remember what sparked it. I went to bed thinking about DtD. I know this with 100% certainty because I woke up thinking about again on Sunday and I thought it was quite odd.

I dream about this story in a way I have only dreamt about a precious few. Technicolor folks. It keeps me up at night.

I went to my writing group with (a) no plan for what to write, (b) a gordian knot that I had yet to untangle, (c) a sudden urge to re-read it. I opened my notes and read DtD through all our sprints. I read most of it during that writing session. We go about three hours.

That night I had Game of Thrones at my parent's. It was the (spoiler alert) episode where Arya kills the Night King. I remember because two minutes into the episode my brother's car broken down a few blocks from our apartment and we had to go help him. Derailed the whole night (this is foreshadowing).

Side note: I live with my younger brother and he's the best roommate I've ever had in my 35 years of life. Love you, Mo!

The episode was recording so we ran out. Had to leave the car in a parking lot. Someone had already helped him push it out of a puddle but my brother was soaked to mid-calf and the engine was shot. We dropped him off at home and I rode back to my Momma's crib to watch GoT. It was only the beginning of a wild night.

I went to bed late. I had to get up a few hours early to deal with the car before work started for either of us. I guess we were both hoping to avoid taking the day off. That wasn't going to happen. I drove home but I couldn't sleep. That crazy episode and the fact that my brain was already on fire with DtD.

I spent the wee hours finishing my re-read through the rough draft of Read Between the Lies. It saw my starting place. I started writing. I wrote through waiting in a parking lot, for the tow truck, in my car, at 6 am, with no sleep. I did a voice recording as I drove from the parking lot to the mechanic where the driver was taking my brother's car. I thought about it the whole way back. I sat on the sofa a wrote some more when we got home. I went to bed at 11 am and I'd written 10k more words for Read Between the Lies.

Somewhere between the chaos of May 5th and the official publish date on June 5th, Read Between got written. I know it didn't take too long. I remember sending it off to beta (by my amazing beta team on 1 & 2: Em, Jen, and Sai) and immediately pivoting to my outline. I slapped that together far too hastily and kept moving. I was going on holiday in the UK (I'm American and I'm ashamed) in early August so I planned on trying to publish Part 2 when I got back. At the very least I wanted it ready for beta.

Also some to admit, around the middle of 2019 I was fatigued with the fandom. We were hitting a lull. I was psyching myself up for the end and the exit. I was trying to clean house. I wanted to push out unfinished fics. To make them work. There was a lot of that mood from me in 2019. I was trying to make everything work. It's why Read Between came out, and that was a good thing. It's also why Mistrust came out, and that was a bad thing.

With that mentality looming, tough outline in hand, I started writing Mistrust before the end of May. I hit my snag sometime during the period I was publishing Read Between because by the time it was all done I knew I wasn't going to have a finished story by the time I left for London. I would figure it out when I got back. I picked up another project to distracted me from my problems for a little while. That is going to be an original if it's anything. One day…

At some point after I got back I started focusing heavily on problem solving. I had two stories already and a number of plot threads I had to resolve. I have heavy, heavy, heavy notes from September to December of 2019. Lots of possible ways to run this story. It sucks that a lot of that stuff isn't going to make it, but I'm recycling shit every day and I learned so much about the characters/story in that four month period. It really shaped the finished product in an important way.

This period is where I started to look at the bigger structure and how I was going to solve specific plot problems in each short story to bring the whole together. That focus on the different parts is important because it was the last thing on my mind when TRoS happened.

December 20th (the release date) is my birthday. My ass drove up to one of those Reylo-only screenings and I was surrounded by amazing people as I watched a movie that ruined my 35th birthday. Thankfully, I spent it in incomparable company. Thank you to all the hosts and super special thanks to Jen. Not only was she a DtD beta on both, she invited me. Thank you love! You are the reason I still remember that trip with joy.

Side note: I no longer hate TRoS. I've made my peace with it. I'm a far happier person now.

Needless to say, the only Reyloing I did in January of this year was venting frustration. Then I took a few weeks away from the fandom. I'd done my purging into the void. I knew other people still needed the space to vent but I had to get away. Once the toxin is out I couldn't let it back in.

What occurred starting in February of 2020 was a series of situations in which, every time I logged into Twitter I was faced with the kind of vitriol in the fandom that I don't need in my life. Some of it was still TRoS stuff, even as late as May. I'm not judging, I'm just saying, with the world on fire (literally), I didn't need it.

I don't think I have to explain why I've avoided social media like the plague since early this year. I live in America. If you heard anything about our recent President I don't have to explain any further what this year has been like. That has been par for course all over the world.

So here's my secret to happiness. I don't fux with the trolls. Do not engage. Sometimes that means radio silence. I'm breaking that silence because I want you to know 2020 has not destroyed DtD. It's only leveled shit up.

I have pretty much been working on this story consistently since March of this year. I go back and forth with reading, history, documentaries. I'm learning to wield many new weapons. They take time to settle in. DtD is the de-stressor I go to in between the real shit.

Sometime in June I was screwing around with the order of the parts. I had worked out the end but I was trying to bridge the gap between the ending I was certain I needed to get to and the two beginning stories I'd already published. I couldn't bridge the gap. It had been a year since I published Read Between and it wasn't working. Then I had an epiphany.

What if I got rid of Mistrust? Read Between is a pretty blank slate. I didn't want to re-write it and I still don't. I have no intention of getting rid of Part 1. I may clean it up and add some stuff at the very last minute, but it will be right before the new stuff drops as a pre-cursor to the flood of subsequent stories. I may add a few new clues or alter a scene or two, but I have plenty of room to move with it exactly the way it is.

What does that mean for Mistrust Goes Both Ways? To make a long story short, there was no good way for me to continue with what I'd published and still write the story in my head. I'm sure there are cool places to take the existing story, but that's not what I'm trying to do. In truth, I should have left 1 and not published 2 when I hit a snag. Lesson learned.

In June I basically threw Mistrust out and asked myself, "Now what?" I have months of great ideas rife for reshuffling and no restrictions on how to bridge the gap from 1 to the ending I wanted. But the end had shifted.

That brings us up to speed. The last thing I did before taking a much needed break was get through 90% of the history in my accordion outline/draft. I poured the foundation that was missing. I walked away in early October and let it set. I'm going to button up this other fic I'm working on and then go back to DtD and check the foundation I laid.

I'm very confident that not only will it hold, but that with fresh eyes and the fun side stories I've had the chance to lay to rest, I will finally be able to start building the finished products on top of it.

IN CONCLUSION

I'm still as excited as I've ever been for this story. It frustrates me all the time, but that means the medicine for my soul is working its magic. Change it painful, but pain is transformative. I've embrace changed. That ache is just a sign the muscles are getting stronger. Growing pains. As I learn to live with them in my family, my country, and my job, I find that life's lesson's often end up reflecting in every place in our life if we but open our eyes to look.

Growing pains exist in my writing process too. They are as transformative in this corner of my life as they are in every other. They have revealed as much about me as a person in my writing as they have in my politics. They have taught me how to compromise with my family as I learn to compromise with my characters. As I consider how people treat each other I am reminded that struggles in understanding our fictional counterparts may shine a light on our struggles to understand our truer selves.

Take care of yourselves. Once you've got that covered, if you can, take care of each other. Feel free to poke me and say hi. If not, until next month.

Fari.

#deceive the deceiver #reylo #reylo fanfic #reylo fan fiction #modern au #spy au #fan fic #fan fiction

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multisfabulis · 5 years ago

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Savior of Monsters

Word Count: 1776

TW: Major character death

You ever have an idea brewing around in your head for who knows how long until you finally gain the confidence to bring it into existence? This fic is that in a nutshell.

So I've had this idea of writing the Asgore fight in his POV for almost 4 years and it only came about because I was listening to one of the many ASGORE songs up on YouTube one day and the visual of his hand shaking as he's about to strike Frisk down came out to me and it was over. The reason it took so long for this fic to even exist was because I didn't have much confidence in myself as a writer back then and it was because of me posting my original fics I slowly gained that confidence to finally write this.

A LOT of this dips into headcanon territory and it's not written in an RPG-like format because I honestly do not know how I'd write that without it seeming clunky. Either way, I hope you enjoy reading this!

Read on AO3 | Read on DA | Support me on Ko-fi!

The shimmering light of the barrier filled the room. Asgore stood facing the human, dreading what he would do next. He really didn’t want to do it, especially to a child that seemed to be the spitting image of Chara. But if monsters had any hope of leaving the underground and going to the surface, then he had to do it. So…

“Human…” They had a sad expression on their face. “It was nice to meet you. Goodbye.”

He bowed his head and drew out his crimson trident. He trained it on the human, causing them to draw their own weapon. It was a dagger, adorned with several pockmarks on the hilt and a dull blade. He remembered it belonging to Chara whenever they would help him with gardening. Memories of that time began to rush into his head but he forced them back.

They stood there in silence. Then he raised his trident up slightly, wanting the human to deliver the first strike. They shook their head and he knew at that moment he’d need to force them into attacking him.

Large fireballs appeared on both sides of the human and homed in on them. They barely managed to dodge them but not before the flames licked their body. He repeated the motion he did earlier to try and goad the human into attacking him. They gave him the same answer.

Waves of smaller fireballs swarmed them. They ducked and weaved through the fire, the flames leaving scorch marks on their clothes. His hands trembled for just a moment, realizing how close he was to burning them. He burned the six children before them and the guilt threatened to eat him alive at every waking moment. This was for the sake of monsterkind but nothing could justify the loss of six innocent souls who had simply fallen down and came to him so they could leave. He didn’t believe it did at the first child and he certainly didn’t believe it did now.

Smaller waves of fireballs attempted to block them in for giant hordes of fire to come swallow them whole. His breathing got shaky as the blaze moved closer and closer to them, beads of sweat forming on their brow from the intense heat. The human was luckily able to leap out before they were incinerated but it was too close for comfort. Yet they still refused to fight back.

It was then he had enough and swung his trident. If using his magic wouldn’t work, he may as well physically strike them. The prongs of the trident hit the blade of the dagger, the human parrying the blow before finally thrusting the dagger into his abdomen. The pain was insignificant at best but the expression on their face was one of remorse.

It reminded him of the time Asriel and Chara tried to bake him a butterscotch pie and ended up poisoning him instead. Chara had laughed the entire time he was sick but he knew they felt guilty. It was after the ordeal was over they apologized to him and the look on their face was almost the same as the human’s now. Was fighting this child who looked like one of his own his punishment for failing them?

That was when the fight really began. He’d hurl wave after wave of fireballs at them and they’d try to dodge them each and every time. Even as the flames left more and more of their mark on them, they managed to skirt past the greater danger. The only way they’d attack him was when he’d do it first. It made him feel more like a villain than he already was.

This fight, along with the previous six, were nothing like the ones he had with humans before, the time they and monsters lived alongside each other. He had just been crowned king, if only because monsters were in need of a powerful leader to aid them in the war, and he tried desperately to push the humans back. No matter how many he’d strike down with his furious might, their comrades would save them by slaying many more monsters. He watched countless brethren crumble to dust and the wind carry their ashes to a place far beyond his comprehension. He hated humans for driving him and the survivors of his kind into the underground. It was only through the passage of time and his time on the throne his hatred of them had dissipated. Then they had killed his remaining child, Asriel.

He and Toriel had been so lost in their grief over losing Chara that they hadn’t noticed him leaving with their body. It was when he came back as another monster entirely they realized what he had done. After setting his sibling down, he crumbled to dust, a sight Asgore never wanted to see again. How could they? Wasn’t it enough to have killed most of his kind and forced the rest into hiding? They had to kill his son, his sweet boy, and for what? He became so enraged that he declared war on humanity and vowed to destroy all the humans in an act of vengeance. Not just for him but for every monster whose lives they’ve worsened because of their actions. Any human that fell into the underground would be shown no mercy.

Now he was tired. Tired of waiting, tired of killing, tired of his kingdom looking to him for hope and having to pretend he’s their savior when he’s not. He made that declaration in a fit of inconsolable anger and he wishes he could take it back. He doesn’t want to kill anymore. How many more innocents’ blood will stain his hands until the war is over?

The room was now filled with smoldering embers and cinders. The light from the barrier left the room engulfed in a faint orange glow. They stood facing each other, trying to catch their breath as they waited for the other to make their move. He called upon rings of fireballs that took over the whole room to overwhelm the human. It was at that point they cried out in pain from their inflicted burns.

Damn it, Asgore, what are you doing, he berated himself. He only meant for the fire to graze them, not actually hurt them. Were they just too exhausted to get out of the way in time? As the flames were extinguished, the human fell to their knees, clutching their shoulder and their dagger tossed aside.

This was his moment, as much as he was dreading it. He walked over to them, trident in hand and eyes focused on the ground. He needed to do this. The kingdom’s pinned their hopes and dreams on him. If he were to fail this now, after everything he’s done to get this far, they’d be forever hopeless. With a heavy heart, he turned the prongs of the trident down, raised it high in the air, and---

They looked up at him and a memory flashed in his mind. His rosy cheeked, doe-eyed child, Chara, handing him a pink, hand-knit sweater with the words “Mr. Dad Guy” embroidered in yellow thread on it. It was the first and only gift they gave him and it was a treasure he cherished deeply. His hands shook as tears pricked the corners of his eyes. He couldn’t do it. They were too much like Chara and killing them would feel like he’d slain his own child.

The trident clattered on the ground as he dropped to his knees. He failed. He failed as a father, as a king, as a savior. The human would escape this place and monsters would be doomed to live in their underground prison. He didn’t know which was worse, living on as a broken man or dying as a failure to his people.

He finally looked at the human. Parts of their clothes were burnt or had scorch marks and some of their face was covered in soot. They were still holding on to their shoulder but they seemed just so tired. Their journey would soon be over. All they’d need was to take his soul and cross the barrier.

He began telling them his story. His declaration of war, what he planned on using the souls for, how his family became irreparably broken, everything. He never wanted power, wanted to hurt anyone. All he wanted was for everyone to have hope and to see his wife and kids again. He begged, pleaded, with the human to take his soul and leave the underground. A child such as them didn’t deserve to be here any more than they already were so this was best.

Yet they were merciful. They kicked the dagger away and shook their head vehemently, refusing him. He was utterly confused on why they were choosing to stay here and suffer than live happily on the surface. Did they enjoy their time here in the underground and didn’t want to leave the friends they made? He may not have understood but a glimmer of hope welled up inside him.

“Human… I promise you…” He reached out a hand towards them. “For as long as you remain here… My wife and I will take care of you as best we can.”

They could sit in the living room, telling stories and eating butterscotch pie. They could be like a family. Was this what it felt like to have hope again? To be given a new chance at life after trudging through the darkness for so long? They stretched a hand out and had a hopeful expression on their face.

It quickly turned to one of horror as he felt tiny pellets stab him all at once. In all his years of seeing others disintegrate, now it was his turn to become dust. He was foolish to hope after all the sins he’s carried out. This was the right and just judgment for a monster such as him.

He should feel sad over knowing he’d be leaving things unfinished, without any closure. Yet it was freeing to have his burdens be lifted off him as he crumbled to dust, his ashes scattered.

#airi's writing #asgore dreemurr #frisk #undertale #retelling #major character death

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brawlingdiscontent · 5 years ago

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the men of metal, menacing with golden face, 1/?

a.k.a sequel to terrible with the brightness of gold (ao3 link, for those who’ve just read on tumblr, the ao3 is the most up-to-date version)

(part two) (part three)

(cherik fic, viking au, subtle a/b/o)

“For who could look upon the lions of the foe, terrible with the brightness of gold, who upon the men of metal, menacing with golden face, … who upon the bulls on the ships threatening death, their horns shining with gold, without feeling any fear for the king of such a force?”

-- Encomium Emmae Reginae

----

He’s a child again, in the long, lonely halls of Normandy. The vaulted ceiling stretches above him into the darkness, the passageway illuminated only by the solitary torch he carries. The light is fairly strong, but the halls so vast that its beam doesn’t come close to revealing the top of the arch. Everyone else is asleep. As he walks the corridors he runs his hand reverently along the exquisite tapestries, painstakingly embroidered over thousands of hours.

He holds the torch close--but not too close--as his fingers trace the knot whorl of an eye, widening in surprise as the accompanying warrior sees the spear that marks his death. Here on the cloth his death will remain forever suspended, held betwixt one world and the next. The weave is coarse beneath his finger pads.

Further on, the linen panels reveal scores of horses mid-canter and the proud shapes of warships cutting through water, the cloth embroidered with fine woolen threads that fix these images of battles and glory. The teams of needleworkers who stitched the fabric with such care have been denied the pleasure their labour has sown--the tapestries hung here where few will see them--and yet their presence still haunts the works. The fineness of the work, the intricate level of detail, and the quality of the images, become, in the still darkness, his own private treasures.

At this time of night the hush of the halls feels like the quiet of a tomb.

Sometimes when Charles walks the halls, he will at length return to his little chamber to await the cold light of dawn, warmed by the sights he’s seen.

But other times he’ll sit at the foot of a tapestry, tracing a thread of silver as it weaves through the couching in the laid work. Picking it out, as though it was the thread of fate weaving through the tapestry of his life. Until at last he sleeps.

….

The morning light filters in through the planiner threads of the canvas tent above him. As he awakens, Charles senses he’s alone. The light is quite high: he’s slept very late. His body must have been trying to catch up on months of stress and lost sleep.

He looks around the tent and confirms that Lehnsherr is nowhere in sight. The tent seems largely unaltered from the previous night, but for a wooden plate on the small table, bearing food presumably left for him.

As awareness returns to his senses and marshals his limbs, noises of the camp, of the morning business, filter in from the outside. His mind already has the pictures, the smells, to accompany the sounds. He’d experienced them only yesterday, as he was brought through to this very tent. To the corner chair where he sat, awaiting judgement. In some ways, it feels like it’s still the same day, the moment stretching endlessly on in time, suspended like the tapestry soldier’s death. And yet how much now is different.

Even with the morning’s surrealness, the many unanswered questions, and with his children half a world away; there’s no siege, no imminent danger, and he feels enlivened, lighter than he has for quite some time. It’s as though his features had been cast in silver, cold and immutable like one of Sebastian's fine chalices, and had suddenly been freed.

Despite everything, he realizes, he hadn't really believed that he’d get to this point. This moment where there is an ‘after.’ No matter how he’d planned and scrabbled--all those months ago, the thought of to find himself in such a position, with his people relatively safe, his children’s futures assured, was ultimately unthinkable, unreachable.

And now he’s left with what to do next. With the future that stretches before him in the form of Lehnsherr.

Rather than dwell on this and let it threaten his burgeoning good mood, he gets up in favour of getting the lay of the camp, finding out what’s going on.

Ignoring his rumbling stomach, he pulls on his boots--the only article he’d taken off last night, and only then when he was sure that Lehnsherr was asleep--and checks for their faithful knife, before flipping open the tent flap to move out into the light.

A pair of crossed pikes block his path, wielded by two men standing firm and unyielding in front of the entryway.

His first reaction is that of sheer confusion; it takes him a moment to register what he’s seeing.

He recovers quickly. “What’s the meaning of this?”

The guards--for that is undoubtedly what they are--are Danes. The man on his left has a braided beard and a rather formidable scar running in a jagged slash down the front of his face. His companion on the right looks younger, less severe, perhaps more workable.

The older one turns to him, keeping his pike fixed in place, and offers just a one-word response: "Stay."

“On whose orders do you detain me?” he demands, but even as he says it, he knows the answer well enough. The older man spares him another glance, but doesn’t deign to utter even a further syllable, before turning away once again.

Charles swallows down the indignation that swiftly rises and tries another tack. “If you won’t let me pass, I need to get a message through to one of my men. It’s rather urgent.”

No response this time. They either don’t speak Saxon or--the more suspicious part of his mind offers--pretend not to.

Just outside, at the tent opposite, a woman is beating clothes with a washing bat, a basin at her side. She eyes him sharply, with suspicion, and the appeal Charles is considering making to her dries up in his throat.

He told Lehnsherr that he wouldn’t be a prisoner.

Bastard.

With a final glance between his guards, Charles retreats back into the tent, fuming.

The satisfying thwack of a boot hitting the tent wall only marginally improves his mood.

Eventually he sits.

He told the man he wouldn’t be a prisoner...and yet he’d also promised his compliance.

Closing his eyes, it's easy to call up his citadel. When Boethius had referred to the mind as a fortress within which to take refuge from life’s cares in philosophy's consoling grip, he likely hadn’t thought of it so literally. But crude though the construct is, it helps him to concentrate. His imagined inner citadel looks like the halls of home, the most familiar sight of his sequestered childhood. Never in doubt of him finding a good match, his distant parents had allowed Charles to dedicate his time to scholarly pursuits, so long as they were conducted in the relative isolation that would preserve his value as a spouse.

The canon of Boethius is in its usual spot. Unlike the patchy scrolls that made up his meagre collection in Londres--now buried with the state documents to preserve them from marauding forces--the shelves of his mind are full, bursting with manuscripts. The Consolation of Philosophy is housed in an illuminated volume: so valuable it’s chained to the plinth it rests on, just as its contents are fixed firmly in his memory.

He leans over to study the page on which it’s opened:

“Thou hast resigned thyself to the sway of Fortune; thou must submit to thy mistress's caprices. What! art thou verily striving to stay the swing of the revolving wheel? Oh, stupidest of mortals, if it takes to standing still, it ceases to be the wheel of Fortune.”

Not helpful.

He tries to regroup his mental resources. The sum of it is, he’s realized how little he actually knows. In all the shelves replete with facts about Lehnsherr, there’s not a manuscript that’s not fluffed up with rumour, stuffed with paranoia, and pure ornamentation. It’s why he had been so unprepared for the turns of the previous day. He opens a volume and thinks--

What does he know concretely?

He knows that Lehnsherr needs him alive--at least until he produces an heir.

Yet he's not sure he can sustain continued threats of offing himself, nor that that’s a viable way forward, with his children on the line. And yet this is the best possible position for them.

He’ll need to write a letter.

He knows that Lehnsherr cannot be so secure in his own power, that needs the security their marriage will grant him.

And, a voice at the back of his head wonders: is this what Lehnsherr envisions their marriage looking like? Imprisonment in all but name? “Yet what rights can one exercise over another, save only as regards the body? What! wilt thou bind with thy mandates the free spirit? Canst thou force from its due tranquillity the mind that is firmly composed by reason?” Boethius supplies.

He knows that Lehnsherr wants sex--

His mind jumps to last night, to the crush of the other’s lips against his--how he’ll have to find a way to deal with his and Lehnsherr’s unexpected...compatibility. To plan what he will do when Lehnsherr comes to assert his spousal prerogative. He cannot allow himself to be distracted, or worse, show weakness, let Lehnsherr see how he’s affected--

Unproductive. He closes the book. Maybe it’s time for a new tactic.

Opening his eyes, he takes the wooden trencher and picks up the dry, flat mass left to him--some kind of bread. It’s less than appetizing; clearly the keep’s stores haven’t yet made it over to the camp. He eats it regardless, not one to waste food, as his mind turns to other points of consideration.

Children.

He’s promised Lehnsherr an heir, and the man may possibly want more. He can’t be sure yet what kind of sire Lehnsherr will be. If it is the kind that Sebastian was, how can Charles possibly protect this child? And yet he doesn’t think he can do what would be easiest: wall off his feelings and abandon them to their fate, trading one child for his two others.

And then before he can help himself his mind slips from children to the getting of children. Marital relations. Sebastian had never seemed to care much whether or not he enjoyed it. He’s not sure that Lehnsherr had either, but the problem is that, regardless, he had. His cheeks heat at the memory and he quashes down that line of thinking, only noting that he should delay their marriage as much as possible until he is able to figure it out, before he should be so vulnerable again--experience such loss of control--

Right. Time to move on.

He launches himself into the task of turning over the tent.

It doesn’t take long, sparsely furnished as it is. The whole time he keeps one ear open, lest his keepers get suspicious. Lehnsherr’s battle gear has vanished--presumably back on its owner’s body. And thus, he almost immediately zeroes in on the main object of interest. Tucked away and out of sight between the fur pile--which he skirts strategically, stooping first to rescue his fallen circlet from the corner--and the tent wall.

It’s a beautifully carved casket, made of oak. The craftsmanship is breathtaking. The box’s top and its two ends are covered with thin, carved sheets of walrus ivory, clasped by gilt-bronze bands. The ivory panels are skillfully decorated with stylized birds and animals, all caught up in the great convolutions of the tendrils and leaf-like interlace.

He carefully pries up the bronze clasp, relieved to find that it’s not locked as it eases open.

His eyes are drawn first to a ring of amber inside, with fine details carved into its flat top. He picks it up to examine it. They look like characters, but in what language Charles cannot say. Certainly it’s not Saxon, Norman, or Latin. He’s less familiar with the Danish script, but something tells him that this isn’t it, either. It's short, if it’s script, a couple of words at most.

Intrigued, he nevertheless puts the ring aside and searches beneath it until he finds what he’s looking for: a short piece of semi-translucent vellum, beside some red sealing wax and stylus.

He finds ink in a thick, green vial with a cork stopper--it must be glass. Marvellous. He’s not seen it used for this purpose before--it makes the ink fully transportable. His mind quickly offers up possibilities for its existence--Viking trade routes into the far east? -- and he makes a mental note to investigate later. First the letter.

He words it briefly, keeping the sentences short, to the point, yet ambiguous. He doesn’t seal it. Even if he had a flame to melt the wax, it’s far too dangerous. If it were discovered the coded message would be instantly traced directly back to him by the seal, which could only end in disaster…

He’s just finishing up when he notes that the noise outside doesn’t match the usual rhythms of the camp.

He turns, and has just enough time to shove the newly-penned letter up his sleeve--who knows whether the ink has had time to set--to find the tent filling with strange men.

One man brushes past him to grab the very same casket he’s just stolen from--and Charles is grateful that he’d hurriedly shut the lid, and hopes he closed up the ink properly.

Another man--the young guard from outside--gestures him forward roughly towards the entrance to the tent, and he can do nothing but acquiesce to the rude summons, walking out into the light.

---

Note: I’m back!! Thanks to all of you who have supported me with likes and kudos and asks and comments and emphatic tags!! It’s because of you that this one-shot is continuing! I love you all!! I hope to update biweekly, but we’ll see, and have at least one more arc planned after this one.

#cherik #viking au #historical au #Erik Lehnsherr #Charles Xavier #X-men #subtle a/b/o #cherik fic #brawlingdiscontent #twtbog #encomium carolis regis

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aneilert · 5 years ago

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The One With Everything [MAG158: Panopticon]

This episode was delayed almost 20 hours, sending the whole early-access-community into a gradually deafening frenzy even before it launched. And then it took off for real.

The rest of the day has been a bit of a blur, to be honest, and if I’ve done anything not connected to relistening and speculating, then at least I can guarantee that neither my brain nor my heart was involved in it.

It’s hard to be eloquent when faced with this much content. I have raved elsewhere about the quality as well as the sheer quantity of content this episode can boast, but I’d like at least to post my List of Things We Had Expected, Hoped For and/or Dreaded and that happened, were confirmed or who returned in this episode:

1. Tim mention and grief

The fandom has never stopped grieving Tim Stoker, and every once in a while, someone will sigh about how they miss him and how much they wish his death would be at least mentioned on the show. Did he have no impact? Have they forgotten him? Well, canon has spoken: They have not.

2. Not!Sasha coming back

I can honestly say I never spent much time on the theories that muttered about how she had been enclosed in the tunnels and probably still was there. My bad. I will certainly never again forget the old rule that if someone (or something) doesn’t die on camera (as it were), they’re not dead. (And fuck were those amazing voice distortions!)

3. Leitner’s book coming back

Don’t forget where you put your evil book. It might not be there anymore when you come back for it a year or two later. (The blood on it, btw? Also Leitner. That bit was hilarious. I despise Peter, but he has brought some of the funniest lines this season; «In my defence, it’s still quite funny» is my personal favourite.)

4. Elias escaping prison

We didn’t think anything was keeping him there longer than he wanted to, and we were right; it was just a matter of timing. He would never want to come sneaking back if he could be making an Entrance.

5. Jonah!Elias

Probably the most popular fan theory (apart from those concerning various ships) is canon. And what a deliciously disturbing visual it is; Jonah Magnus’ eyeless body aging in the Panopticon while his eyes do what they have always done: watch over his Institute. Never has Elias sounded more smug and delighted with himself than in this episode, and you know what? Much as I hate him, I’d say he’s earned it.

6. Elias/Peter meeting

Trust fandoms to make feverish ships built out of characters who have never interacted in canon. And boy, do the LonelyEyes shippers feel vindicated today! Not only did the two horrible old men finally interact, but their dynamic was revealed to be exactly that of an old, dysfunctional and probably multiple times divorced couple. Even Jonny said so.

7. Martin having A Plan / having played Peter

We love Martin and worry about Martin, and we have been extremely worried about his latest signs of being fully on board (sic) with Peter’s nebulous plan. Is he that naïve? Is he that far gone? Or … is he playing Peter? Is he weaving his own little web, like in the previous season, when he managed to play Elias?

The truth, as so often, is a place in between. He has been playing Peter (and God was that an amazing reveal and a heart-rending speech! And Christ was Elias gleeful when he reminded Peter that he had been warned not to underestimate Martin, but that he still did it!), but he has also been joining the Lonely. There is something to be said for being able to keep distance, I guess. Even though it makes me heartsick.

8. Tape with Gertrude’s death and last confrontation with Elias

This is something I have been wanted for some time now. Gertrude is awesome and marvellous and badass and truly scary, and I have been wondering: did her hubris kill her? How did Elias take her down? What happened?

Well, now we know. Or … we know part of it. Gertrude’s body had three shots fired in it, but the tape only contained one. And the tape was numbered #0182509-A, hinting at possibly a B existing somewhere. Maybe we haven’t heard the last from Gertrude yet?

Also: How very satisfying it was to see that Gertrude had basically the same plan as Martin: Burn some Institute stuff to keep Elias from seeing the real threat! I love what this says about Elias’ complacency and underestimation when it comes to Martin (but I worry what yet another parallel with Gertrude might bode for his future …).

9. Peter taking Martin into the Lonely

The premise of a lot of fics. Can’t wait to see how it plays out in canon.

10. Hunters returning at an inopportune moment

We all, including Jon and the gang, knew they were out there and that it was just a matter of time. Still fun! (Particularly Trevor yelling JONNY BOY!)

11. Daisy going feral

Oh, this is hard; she wanted so much to be free of the Hunt. But honestly: this is why she was brought back, whether she (or Jon) knew it or not: To reconnect with her humanity, and then to give it up willingly to save her friends. And, why not, to have the savage joy of ripping out a few more throats while she’s at it.

Will Basira honour their promise? Well, that’s a tale for another day, as the story says. For now, let’s just enjoy the amazing sound distortion on Daisy’s breath, her voice and finally her growl. Daisy scared fucking Julia Montouk, and not many can boast that.

12. Jon and Elias talk

It’s been a long time coming. It was not at all what I had expected in any way, but it was amazing. And Jon hardly even noted what Elias was saying or how he gloated, because he was 100 % focused on …

13. Jon following Martin into the Lonely

Of course he did. Of course. He went into the Buried to get Daisy, and he didn’t even like Daisy, and she tried to kill him. Of course there’s no limit anymore to how much he will risk himself for a tiny sliver of hope that he might save Martin.

I worry so for them, though. Martin has refused Peter’s plans, true enough, but he has not refused the Lonely. He has been sliding into Forsaken for Jon’s sake, but he has still been sliding into Forsaken! And Jon’s journey into monsterdom is if anything even more worrying and harder to reverse.They have both been trying desperately and without any real clue as to how to save the world for each other’s sake, but what have they given up along the way?

Still. Jon clawed his way out of the Buried fuelled by Martin and by the signal from his rib. Who’s to say it might not work a second time?

Also: the one person we didn’t meet who I almost had expected, was Annabelle. Someone must have put this last tape on Jon’s desk – and someone must also, long ago, have given him that lighter that he never can focus on long enough to remember he has. Is there a silvery Web thread connected to it, where it lies in his pocket? Could he be able to follow that thread out again?

I have no idea. I also have no idea how I am supposed to wait for the next two episodes. Or how my head felt before this podcast ate my entire brain.

#the magnus archives #tma 158 #The Magnus Archives spoilers #panopticon #popular theories #text #jonathan sims #martin blackwood #Elias Bouchard #peter lukas #gertrude robinson #holy crap this show #have I mentioned lately that I love this show #«are you scared?» «yes.» «perfect»#only two episodes to go #oh fuck

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do-your-socks-have-holes-in-them · 5 years ago

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Til the End of the Night / Ch21: Finale pt. 1

Previous / Masterpost / Next

Summary: The final battle, for real this time.

Warnings: uhh nothing new

A/N: my plan to be done with this fic two months ago was interrupted by school starting but now it's nanowrimo time and we're back baybee

Taglist: @thegirlthatdoesntofficiallyexist

AO3

~ ~ ~

There was a moment of tense silence, and then the witch sighed and shifted into her dragon form just as Roman charged her with his sword. It was a bit cramped for her like that in the throne room, but she’d decided the advantages of being huge, naturally armored, and very dangerous outweighed the cost at this exact moment. The throne and the ritual beside it had moved themselves to the back corner of the room at Roman’s behest to take away her ability to hide behind them, so at least all that wasn’t in the way. She couldn’t spread her wings much, but she still had very large and sharp claws and, of course, the ability to breathe fire, and proceeded to use both.

Roman blocked her attempt to swipe at him, his enchanted sword allowing him to hold his ground instead of being knocked over by the force of her attack. He shouldn’t have fared so well against the flame, but it washed over him near-harmlessly: as it turned out, fire was close enough to the explosion he’d been magically protected from earlier that the world decided to allow it. Behind him, Virgil yanked Logan into shielding range just in time to save them both from incineration. Roman glanced back to make sure they weren’t harmed and then threw himself forward again, trying to force the witch to defend herself instead of attack.

Where was Patton? It was hard to look around and focus on not getting killed at the same time, but Roman eventually spotted him after what was probably only a few seconds, although it felt like long minutes with this much adrenaline in his system. He was standing almost all the way back in the corner. He was protected from the fighting, there, if much too far away for any of them to get to safely… But he also, Roman realized, couldn’t heal the dragon from that position. He wouldn’t be able to lay his hands on any injury she received without coming forward. As soon as Roman processed that, he resumed his attack with a new fury, now knowing he wasn’t putting Patton in any immediate danger- there was a chance they could get him back before anything happened to him from this fight at all.

“Here,” Virgil shouted, throwing him what had started out as a random chunk of rubble from the wall- the throne room did not appreciate suddenly having a dragon in it, thanks very much- but was now a circular shield formed of Virgil’s magic, much like the one he’d used in his own fight against Roman. “We only just got you back, so don’t get killed, okay?”

“I won’t,” Roman promised. He then turned back to the dragon, and neither of them acknowledged that he’d been facing away from her for a good bit of time in which she could have attacked. Talking was a free action, after all, and if she broke the sanctity of that rule when it was his turn, she’d never get a chance to monologue without a sword in her face.

As Roman returned all his focus to the battle, Virgil drew back and grabbed Logan’s arm, turning them both invisible so they could talk safely. …Relatively, at least. Neither of them was exactly unscathed at this point, even without being directly targeted. “Got a new plan yet, L?” He cast a worried look at Roman as he spoke. He was doing well now, but who knew how long he could keep that up before- no, wait, absolutely do not think about that, he was going to be fine and Virgil didn’t dare consider any other possibility. But it would also be great if Logan could come up with something to end the fight quicker. Just to be safe.

“We need to retrieve Patton before he’s… put in a situation to use his magic.”

“No shit,” Virgil deadpanned. …Swearing wasn’t very satisfying at all, it turned out, when he knew he could only do it because of the mindless, controlled state Patton was in.

“But,” Logan continued as if he hadn’t been sarcastically interrupted, “we can only do that if she is sufficiently distracted. Waiting until she chooses to have him heal her is barely enough of an option to be worth mentioning- there’s too much risk of further harm to him if we aren’t fast enough, and I imagine she’ll anticipate such a move in any case.”

Virgil made the universal gesture for get to the point, we don’t have all day.

“I have an idea of how to create such a distraction, especially if we remain invisible at the same time. I also believe I can now make healing potions for us- I was out of a necessary ingredient before, but it seems a small amount of it was included among your… random additions to my supplies.”

“The confiscated stuff?”

“It’s also part of what I used to cause that explosion earlier.”

“Ah.”

“Yes. With Patton’s healing magic no longer an option,” and his expression indicated that it never would be again, even once he’d recovered from all this, “we’ll need an alternate solution. I just need enough time to safely mix everything together. With any luck, Roman will hold her attention well enough that she won’t focus on our absence from the fight, or at the very least she’ll assume we simply want to stay out of danger and let him do the fighting. Once we do reach Patton, I’ll need you to protect us while I get him out, because we most likely won’t be able to get away with it unnoticed.”

“Alright.” Virgil pulled Logan slightly further away from Roman and the dragon, against a wall, and nodded. “Do your thing. Fast.”

Logan knelt down and began laying out his supplies as quickly as he could without spilling anything. He was extremely thankful that being invisible didn’t mean he couldn’t see himself, although really, he shouldn’t have been able to see anything at all while invisible, given the way vision worked. He probably shouldn’t think too hard about that in case it made himself and Virgil suddenly go blind or something.

Okay. Healing potions first- how many did he have the ingredients for? Just about one for each of them, plus one extra in case of emergency; that would have to do. The tricky part was going to be his idea for a distraction. The thing was, he wasn’t exactly working from a recipe for that, more like… well, making it up as he went with as much confidence as possible, while hoping Virgil wouldn’t notice he was improvising. His faith that it would work as intended could, for all Logan knew, be a vital step in the process of making that actually happen. As for what working as intended would look like… He didn’t want anything truly dangerous, but it needed to look that way if he wanted it to catch the witch’s attention for any amount of time mid-fight. After that, he just needed enough confusion to keep her off-guard while they went for Patton.

“Here.” He passed one of the healing potions to Virgil, uncorking another to drink himself.

“Shouldn’t we be… saving these? In case someone is really hurt?”

“It’s your decision what to do with it, I suppose. Personally, I would rather be at full capacity before we put ourselves in danger- as I see it, we’ll most likely be outright killed if she catches us, and there wouldn’t be any point in still having the potions. If we’re at our best going in, we’ve got a better chance of not being caught.”

“…I see your point.” Virgil downed the potion, grimacing at the strange taste, and offered Logan a hand up. “Now, let’s go, before anything else happens to make this harder.”

Logan packed everything away except the remaining potions and stood, stepping away from Virgil to make himself visible. “Roman!”

Roman glanced over his shoulder, but he was a little preoccupied with trying to keep all his limbs intact.

“This might help,” Logan called. The third healing potion hit the floor at his feet, splashing him. It did mean his clothes were unpleasantly wet now, but he wasn’t going to complain if it also meant healing up from the fight so far.

At the same time, Logan threw something else. When this bottle shattered, it filled half the room with a shower of fiery sparks and a billowing cloud of smoke. It almost looked like another explosion, except that it didn’t stop. More than anything, really, it looked like a fireworks display gone very wrong. The Dragon Witch had been taking advantage of Roman’s brief distraction to turn and check on Patton- specifically, the threads of magic flowing between them- but this pulled her attention back in an instant. Without having seen Logan make the potion or even use it, she didn’t know what it was, and that worried her much more than she would have liked to admit.

Logan and Virgil were already running. The distraction may have worked, giving them a chance to disappear into the smoke, but there was no telling how long it would last before she worked out what exactly Logan had done and, more importantly, how to dismiss it. Virgil quickly took the lead and, dragging Logan behind him, sprinted across the room and narrowly ducked under one of the dragon’s wings. Several terrifying moments of weaving between her limbs and a good deal of muted swears, and they were in front of a blank-faced Patton. Logan would have liked to stop and catch his breath, but there really wasn’t time.

“Now,” Virgil hissed, and revealed himself. Patton startled and opened his mouth to shout a warning just before Logan half-tackled him and covered his mouth, dragging him away. It was… easier than either of them had feared, actually. In all the confusion, they were almost away from the witch by the time she noticed what was happening, and Virgil’s shield was enough to hold her off even then. Patton fought, but he and Logan would have been evenly matched in strength on a good day, and this was very much not a good day for him. Roman got a few good hits in while the witch’s attention was divided, and the other three made it to relative safety without more than incidental scrapes as he held her back from going after them.

The Dragon Witch screeched wordlessly at them, briefly even less human than before in her fury before getting herself under control. It couldn’t be safe for Roman to stay up there fighting her alone. Virgil only spared a second to fix a shield in place for Logan and Patton before darting forward, grabbing the back of Roman’s shirt and yanking him behind it as well, just before she unleashed another burst of fire.

Yeah, well, two could play at that game, now that Patton was safe. He took a deep breath and focused, then stepped out to get a clear shot and hit her with a burst of lightning from his hands. It took some concentration, maintaining the shield and lending force to his attack at the same time, but even if it wasn’t his full strength he knew it would hurt.

She laughed, and Virgil knew something had gone terribly, terribly wrong here.

He spun around to see Logan kneeling on the floor, now holding Patton upright rather than holding him back. Patton didn’t make a sound, barely even changed his expression, but he went very tense, almost convulsing, and then very limp and still. Virgil watched Logan check his pulse, and didn’t start breathing again until he met his eyes and nodded.

“What is this,” Roman said into the silence, and when the witch didn’t answer, he dropped all pretense of composure and screamed. “What have you done to him?!”

She laughed again, the very picture of smugness. “You thought you were so clever, didn’t you, with your little plan? Did you really think I would let you steal him back so easily?”

Logan broke himself out of shock and fumbled for one of the two healing potions he had left, splashing it over Patton. It did nothing- not to him, at least. The Dragon Witch just kept laughing as all the damage Roman had been able to do to her disappeared.

“Oh, I was almost hoping you would last long enough to find out about that! I was hardly going to rely on his little healing trick, so I made some little backup plans of my own while you were all worrying about how to get him away from me… Anything you do to hurt me will only hurt your dear little friend, and, well- you’re not that stupid, I’m sure you can see how far you got trying to help him.” As a dragon, she was a reptile with a mouth not exactly built for smirking, but somehow she managed it anyway. “I’ll accept your surrender any time, now, but I’ll admit, if you’d like to keep going, it would be a lot of fun watching you figure out it’s hopeless.”

She blew one more lick of flame their way, playing with them more than anything, and Virgil threw himself back behind the shield. He tore his eyes away from the witch to look desperately to the other two- was there even a way out of this that didn’t involve getting themselves killed? He glanced back at the witch, watching them with obvious amusement, and then jumped when Logan tugged on his shirt and pulled both him and Roman into whispering range.

“I have a plan,” he said, “and I don’t think you’re going to like this one much.”

#sanders sides #i really can't be bothered to put a bunch of tags on it anymore to be honest...#my post #my writing #til the end of the night

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