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forsakenmis · 4 years ago

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Calming her down

Title: Calming her down Pairing: top!Wanda Maximoff x female!reader Rating: 18+ Incredibly NSFW Warnings: Dark Wanda, kind of non-con, strap on, fingering, mummy kink, post-WV finale so spoilers if you haven’t seen it. also i haven’t editted it so beware grammar and spelling mistakes. Word count: 4215 words

It had taken far too long to track her down. Why they asked you to do it, you weren’t really sure. It’s not as if you and Wanda ever really talked, or even made eye contact, during the years as an avenger. Yet you were given the task of pulling her back onto the rails, rails she’s apparently veered pretty badly. You really think Doctor Strange, the Gandalf of wizards, would be a lot better at handling her than you would be. Or even Clint, the guy who was her mentor. But no-no one wanted to reach out to her, even though they spent years arguing that she needed to be supervised. You could go on for days how you being the person being sent is the most ridiculous idea they could have had.

You weren’t even a super, or an avenger, you started off as a shield agent who was then thrown into Stark Industries as Tony’s intern. Fury wanted an in and you were that in. Then everything went bottoms up and you became a slightly more valuable member of the group. Support, really.

After the snap, you just wanted a stable life. A normal life. By the time they contacted you to do this, you’d applied to a college. No, a university. In Australia, which was far, far away from New York. The briefing was simple. Wanda, left to her own devices in her time of need, went to try to handle her own grief after stealing Vision’s body from S.W.O.R.D. You were being asked to go try to talk some sense into her. Then, within the week of you repeatedly saying no, it turned out the head of S.W.O.R.D. was a bastard which you could have seen coming from a mile away, and Wanda was god knows where.

They promised you they’d leave you alone after this.

So you said yes.

What could go wrong?

You were still asking herself that three weeks later when you were sitting there still trying to find out where exactly she went. Wanda wasn’t going to be easy to find, especially considering she didn’t want to be found but you did it. It was four in the morning when you finally narrowed down a list of ten possible locations that she could be in. You were too tired to even crack a smile, you fell back onto your bed to sleep.

Your celebration was sleep for by the next morning, you were trekking across the world and came to the outskirts of a property with the view of the mountains. Pretty, sure, but you didn’t think Wanda was here for the view.

It was eerily quiet when you walked up to the door. That type of quiet they put into horror movies before they pulled out a jump scare. You didn’t trust it. Then again-not that there was anything around to make noise. Wanda could be asleep, as maybe all this isolation has meant she’s forsaken a body clock.

Still-you trusted it as much as you could lift Mjollnir and you couldn’t even make it shift.

The curtains were closed, you couldn’t see anything as you walked up the two steps and you had to stop your hand from hovering over your handgun. It would have been more of a self assurance. You couldn’t dream of winning against Wanda in a fight, both of you would be aware of that, but you couldn’t exactly imagine she’d be that trusting of you if you walked in holding a gun. So you fiddled with the watch around your wrist, it was a gift from Tony years ago.

You could have brought reinforcement, sure, but that seemed like a moot point considering you were trying to gain her trust, somewhat. The reinforcement would have been S.W.O-oh whatever, sword, you don’t have the time for formality. And sword made such a huge mess of it the first time round so you didn’t think they were going to help this time round. You tried calling Clint, but he was busy, apparently. Too busy to pick up your calls.

This was definitely a suicide mission.

You knocked three times with the back of your knuckles and listened, trying to hear any hint of movement.

Nothing.

You knocked again. Knock. Knock. Knock. Not even a creak.

Maybe she was asleep or maybe, dare you say it, had gotten it wrong. God, you’d hate for some old man to swing the door open.

Your hand dropped to the handle, going to test the lock, but then it swung open and if it wasn’t for your own instincts, you would have stumbled forward.

Wanda.

Your eyes slammed onto her face and, for the first time in years, you fumbled. She looked different, way too different for your liking, she looked older since Tony’s funeral. Mature. More confident in herself. You could think of a different million ways to describe her in that split second.

She’d always been pretty before but this Wanda was…gorgeous. This Wanda could also read minds.

You cut your thoughts short and took in a slight breath. Wanda wasn’t saying anything and her only acknowledgement was the slight hook of her brow.

“Wanda,” you began before forcing a smile onto yourself, “long time no see.”

“So they sent you, of all people,” Wanda remarked and you made a face. Sure-she was right but that was, quite frankly, rude.

“They suggested I come and I wanted to come,” you lied, “to see how you were doing...okay, look, I know we never talked. Or interacted. I know that. I was probably not the most open to you as I could have been.” Wanda was continuing to stare at you. She was dressed in jeans and a white t-shirt. A shirt that arguably was one size too small for her. You weren’t really sure what to say, if you were honest, you’d spent so much time trying to find her, tracking her down like a puzzle, that you forgot to plan for this interaction.

“But I like to think we were on good terms,” you continued. Worst thing she could do was close the door in your face and you were more than happy to camp outside. “Enough that you’ll hear me out. I heard about your book, the darkhold–” That’s when you got a reaction out of her. Her eyes narrowed, growing even colder, and you could see her grip tightening on the door. “–we need to talk. Please-just let me in. I’m not going to fight you. We both know I can’t do that.”

You were keeping your thoughts clear. You didn’t want her reading you.

After a second, Wanda swung the door open wider and let you in.

Your eyes scanned the room the moment you entered the threshold, looking for all the exits, before you turned back to Wanda. Wanda, who had closed the door, and had started walking towards you, close enough that you took a step back but found yourself hitting the back of a table.

Now that she was right up in your personal space, close enough that you could smell the soap she was using. Your heart was beating now.

“So you came for the book?” She asked, staring down at you. She was only a couple of inches taller than you but it may as well have been more.

“No, I came here to help you. And I know that book isn’t helping you, no matter how much you think it is. Wanda, that book is dangerous,” you said, gaining enough courage that you pushed yourself off the table to step forward, getting into Wanda’s space just as she was in yours.

“I’ll be the judge of that,” Wanda remarked but she didn’t move. “You’re as bullheaded as you used to be, never knowing when a fight was too big for you. I remember all those times Nat and Steve had to throw themselves on the line because you’d done something reckless.” “That’s rich coming from you.” “I could protect myself,” Wanda snapped back. “So where are they? The rest of them. The people that said they were my family. Were you all that they had?”

You clenched your teeth. Don’t say the truth. “They wanted a woman’s touch with it,” you lied. “There isn’t that many of us who were close to you back then anymore.”

It was really only Nat and maybe Pepper who were close to Wanda. Both were a little preoccupied as of right now (for different reasons) to come knocking on Wanda’s door.

“A woman’s touch?” Wanda echoed, saying it in a way that made you clench your teeth. It was a raspy whisper. “And what, may I ask, would that entail?”

With the way she said it, you were pretty sure that Wanda wasn’t meaning it in the same way you were. Albeit, your meaning was rather off as well. In that you had no idea what that would entail either.

Wanda must have realised this and took a step back. “I suggest you leave,” she said and you hesitated before shaking your head.

“I won’t do that,” you said and she frowned. “They asked me to calm you down–”

“Calm me down?” She repeated, pronouncing each syllable, and it was as if the temperature dropped ten degrees. “Calm me down.” Then she smirked and it made you roll back on your heels.

“As long as you have that book, yes,” you said, “how about this–I take the book and then I go. You’ll think more rational without it, Maximoff, you know that. Deep down. You’re smart, Wanda, smarter than anyone ever gave you credit for. Besides Vision–”

“Don’t say his name,” Wanda snarled and suddenly she was in front of you again, hand around your throat, “do you understand me? He doesn’t exist here, not with you around.”

You didn’t really know what she meant but you ran with it and nodded. Her hand was tight and your airway was becoming a little too blocked for your liking.

She stared down at you, her eyes hard and cold, but then they softened and her grip loosened but they still didn’t leave your skin.

“You know, I might have pursued you back then, if it wasn’t for him,” Wanda began and you blinked. What? “You were everything I liked in a girl. Besides your recklessness….and stubbornness...but I think I can deal with that pretty easily.”

“Wanda, I’m flattered, really, but how about we focus,” you said, carefully, deciding to take that with a grain of salt and then over analyse it at three in the morning. Like how could you be cock blocked by a bloody robot? “Just give me the book and I’ll leave you in peace. I’ll make sure no one comes looking for you–” “You can’t promise me that,” Wanda remarked before she dropped her hand to take a step back. Then she looked you up and down. “You said they wanted you to calm me down, right? How about I keep both you and the book.”

You would like to say you were able to fight back. Prevent Wanda from knocking you out. But you were gone by the time she finished her sentence.

----

When light streamed into your eyes, the first thing you registered was the soft pillow underneath your head. Then you felt the rest of the bed and your eyes sprung open.

Your legs were bent up and out, Wanda’s red mist wrapped around your ankles and knees to keep them up. Meanwhile, your wrists were stuck to the headboard. Then your eyes rested on….Wanda?

Transparent Wanda reading that bloody book. You swear to god-you’ll burn that book the moment you get your hands–

“You’ll do no such thing,” Wanda’s voice cut through your apparently rather loud thoughts. You turned your head, trying to find her, and there she was in the doorway, sipping a cup of tea, watching you. Then she kicked off it and moved into the room and slid the mug onto a table before coming to the bed. “Maybe I’ll let you hold it one day as I read it.”

“I don’t...I don’t understand, Wanda, let me go,” you whispered as you began to struggle, pulling on the restraints again and again, but they weren’t budging. Neither was Wanda.

“I don’t think I want to,” Wanda hummed as she pushed herself onto the bed, “you see, I lost everything. My brother, Vision, Nat, Steve, my two boys, then Vision again. I lose every single family I ever have. Maybe this time I’ll succeed. I’m trying to find them, you see, with the book. Find them and pull them out. We can live here, happy, away from everyone.”

“We’ve done this story before Wanda, it didn’t–” “This time will be different, I’ll be more powerful, I won’t mess up this time,” Wanda pressed as her hands went to your inner thighs, moving them up and down your clothed skin. “And, when it comes to you, what they don’t know won’t hurt them. I don’t think I’ll let them see you. No, you can be my little secret. I stared at you for too many years, let you whore yourself out to other people. Not anymore.”

You drew your brows together. This couldn’t be happening.

“As you said, you’re meant to calm me down, right? Meant to pull me off some edge because everyone else was just too busy,” Wanda said as she positioned herself between your legs, bending down to kiss your jawline. You throbbed and pulled on the red strands wrapped around your wrist, but to no avail. “But I can think of another edge you can get close to,” she whispered as she pulled away again.

“Wanda, what are you–”

Her fingers slid in between your thighs, pressing into your heat, and a sharp gasp left your mouth. She began to rub through your jeans, cupping your heat, and you tugged again. This time, the red scratched the watch around your wrist and suddenly your clothes had snapped into the red armour Tony had built you years ago. Protective armour that replaced whatever you were wearing in a nick of time.

Useful.

The shift was enough to push Wanda off you and she stared down at the red and black armour with a slight tilt of her head.

“Well, that won’t do, will it?” She asked as her hands trailed down the cool metal. “Neat trick. Tony’s design, right?”

“Of course,” you responded after a moment, your chest rising up and down. There was no point in denying it-it was obviously Tony’s. Right down to the colours.

Wanda’s eyes turned red as the red mist circled around her hand as she lowered it back down. You flinched when you felt it slink in between the small crevices. The suit was meant to be protected against outside substances, able to go into water, but you supposed Tony didn’t exactly build it against Wanda.

“Wanda, you don’t–” “If you don’t be quiet, I’ll make you, do you understand me?” She hissed as she bucked her hand backwards and the suit around your hips ripped off you and tossed across the room. You whined as the cold air hit your bare skin, contrasting the building heat in between your legs.

You were left with nothing but the top half and the pants that wrapped around your thigh. “Much better.”

With that, she went back to what she was doing before but this time there was nothing to prevent her from slipping her fingers through your slick folds, the tips of her nails teasing your entrance.

“Look at you, already so wet,” she cooed and you gritted your teeth. This really couldn’t be happening. This was a dream. She could control reality, this was just a dream. “This isn’t me in your head, sweetheart, trust me–I would have cut the foreplay if I was creating this.”

She continued to massage your heat and it took you everything you had not to moan.

“Why are you…” you tried saying but you were cut short, once again, when her fingers found your hooded clit, using the tips of her nails to start playing with it. You bucked your hips instinctively and she chuckled.

“You said you wanted to help me, right?” Wanda asked and the building heat was beginning to become a little too much. “So how about this, sweetheart, you help mummy out by becoming mummy’s little stress reliever.”

Two fingers suddenly plunged into your entrance and your back arched. At least your clit got a little bit of a break but it wasn’t long until her palm began to grind against it as she thrusted the fingers into your tight entrance. Each thrust expanded your walls, letting her in even deeper, your own arousal making her movements slick and quick.

“Wand-” you began to moan but it morphed into a sharp yelp when she pulled her fingers out to slap your cunt.

“You’re a smart girl, sweetheart, it’s how you got around Tony for so long. I think you know exactly what you want to be calling me,” she said and suddenly she was back down so that her face was only inches away from yours and her fingers slid back inside of you.

Unlike last time, though, it wasn’t rough and sharp. Her fingers were slow as they moved inside of you, curling at the tips, scratching your walls. Exploring. She was exploring you and you could do nothing but whimper and moan.

“You’d like that, wouldn’t you? I know you would. Look at you, already so wet and submissive for me,” she whispered, scattering kisses down your jawline as she reached your ear to nibble on your earlobe. “I’ll keep you in here for as long as I need you. Ride your pretty little mouth as I read that book, fill you up again and again until you’re passing out. All you have to do is be a good little girl.”

Heat was curling through your body, that buzzing sort of heat, that made your vision blur. Your teeth were clamped together. You wanted to moan, they were in your throat, but even when you opened your mouth, no sound came out. Just silent moans. The fingers moving inside of you had grabbed all your attention.

Then she scratched that little sweet spot and it was that that pushed out a moan that bounced around the room. Wanda laughed, hitting it again and again.

“Let your mummy hear your moans, sweetheart,” she said before she pulled back to kiss you on the mouth, biting hard on your lip so you wouldn’t even try to close your mouth and stop the tongue that slid into your mouth.

Your stomach was twisting into knots at this point and seemed like every other muscle seemed to be cramping. You were close to climax. Your walls clenched around Wanda’s fingers. Just a little bit–

You groaned when she peeled herself off you. You blinked up at her, looking through what seemed like tears, as you were denied that relief. Relief from the throbbing coming from your cunt.

“You want to cum, baby?” Wanda asked as she pulled off her shirt. Underneath was a simple black bra that was quickly disposed of. Your eyes, naturally, landed on her chest. A chest that, even under the circumstances, made you drool. Wanda’s clicking your fingers drew your eyes back up. “Eyes on mummy, sweetheart. God, you really are a little whore, aren’t you? Tell me-do you want to cum?” You pulled on your restraints just once more but all it seemed to do was to make it even tighter.

You nodded, jerkily.

“Use your words, sweetheart, I very clearly established you’re not mute,” Wanda remarked as her fingers went down to her jeans, fiddling with her button.

“Yes. Please, I want to,” you mumbled, knowing you won’t be coming back from this point. Then again-if she could make you feel like that again...maybe that wasn’t so bad.

Wanda tilted her head as she hummed, not having to move much to slap your sore cunt again and you jerked. “Say it politely and maybe I’ll consider it.” You scrunch your eyes shut and mewled when she began to knead your pulsating clit again. “M-mummy, please,” you whispered and her hands left your cunt. Before you could even open your eyes, you felt her lips on yours. Soft, gentle...loving.

“Good girl...that wasn’t so hard, was it?” She asked and you could hear the ruffling of her pants as she kicked them off. “Now...mummy’s going into your head, okay? I promise it won’t be long.” You began to struggle again but the warmth of her powers quickly washed over you. Your memories began playing the past three months. You tracking her down. Refusing back up.

Then she was out again.

“You really told no one where you were going? Almost as if you wanted this to happen,” She said as she shifted on top of you. Shifted that you felt something rub up against your entrance and you flinched. She...she was packing. “Of course I am, sweetheart, do you really think I wasn’t prepared for you? I knew you were coming from a mile away, honey.”

And with that, she pushed the strap inside of you, not bothering to wait for you to adjust until she was completely inside of you. You arched your back again, pressing into Wanda’s naked body, as the pain of being ripped open rushed through your body. You moaned and grunted as you grew adjusted to the width and length of Wanda.

“Come on, baby, you can do it,” Wanda murmured into your lips and suddenly your wrists were freed. But then her own hands came up to wrap around them to press them against the pillows herself. “I know you’ve taken bigger. Do you think we didn’t know? Didn’t know you and Nat were fucking every other night?” The comment drew you out, just for a moment, and you shook your head but all she did was pull back slightly to slam inside of you again.

“Don’t lie to me,” Wanda snarled, “tell me, tell me the truth. Use your words.”

It took only a few more thrusts of her strap filling you up again and again that the words began to spill out of your lips. “S-she found out. About my status as a shield status. Fuck,” you hissed out, barely able to hear your own words over the lude noises of Wanda beginning to pound into you. This wasn’t fair-you couldn’t dream of talking when she was fucking you like this.

“So you whored yourself out to her to make sure she kept her mouth shut,” Wanda said, finishing the sentence and you nodded jerkily. “You little slut. I bet you liked it too, just like how you like me pounding into you. But you’re mine now. Not hers. Not Tony’s. Mine. My little whore.”

She shifted upwards so that her chest was dangling above your face. “Suck your mommy's tit, baby, I saw you admire them before.”

It was a welcome change, you had to admit, to trying to formulate sentences and words around the moans and screams spilling out of your mouth. Your head leaned forward, closing the distance, so your mouth could wrap around her erect nipple and your walls clenched around her strap as you heard her moan.

Her hand moved to the top of your head, her nails scraping against your scalp as she interwove her fingers through your messy hair. Your tongue lapped at the small bud between your teeth and she began to move her hips in time with your tongue.

Your now free hand wrapped around her body so your nails were digging into her shoulder, drawing Wanda down even closer so you could take more of her tit into her mouth.

The same heat that had built before was coming back, and you weren’t sure how long you could hold on at this point.

“You can cum whenever you want, baby, just this once,” Wanda purred, hearing your thoughts, and it was all you needed, that confirmation, to come undone. Your walls clenched around the strap and you could feel Wanda slowing down as thrusting became just a tad more difficult and you screamed into her tits, careful not to clamp your jaw shut, as the orgasm rushed through you.

Even through it, she continued moving inside of you, and you almost felt like you could pass out.

“Good girl,” Wanda whispered. “Oh, I could get used to this. I’m going to keep you in here, do you hear me? Make you a good little whore for me to come home to.” They did say your mission was to help Wanda calm down.

#wanda x reader #smut #wanda maximoff smut #dark!wanda maximoff #top!wanda #dark wanda maximoff x reader #misfitwrites #wanda maximoff x you

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sirthisisa-wendys · 3 years ago

Note

hope i’m not too late, but congratulations on getting 500 followers! i adore everything you’ve written so far, keep up the good work!

can i request an exes au with geto x f!reader? not too angsty, but whether they get back together or not is up to you 👀

You said "not too angsty" but my mind said "HIT EM RIGHT IN THE FEELS" and I don't know wHyYyYyY

Please forgive me, but this... this is the epitome of my "ex of Geto" feelings. It literally flowed out of me in two hours.

"Yes, But...": Geto Suguru x Fem!Reader

wc: 2k

tw: FLUFF AND A LIL' BIT OF ANGST

The large envelope slides from his hands to yours, and you look at the package in confusion as you open the flap.

“You want to get out of here and start fresh,” Geto begins, lacing his fingers together. You find a phone, two banking cards, and two passports inside, which is more than what you asked for. “You’ll need that.” When you open the phone, you see various apps loaded on the device - most of which are foreign to you. “Open the banking app.”

You do as your ex tells you, and see the collection of numbers (six digits) and the single comma that will change your life. You look up at the man in awe, trying to catch his black gaze as he looks outside, not speaking.

“Su, I just needed a new passport, not all of this.”

“It should put you in a good place for a few months until you get a good job. I have a friend in the States that should be able to put you up in a nice house, all paid for, of course. There’s a private school nearby so you don’t have to drive Haru there and back, just walk. And there are--”

“Suguru,” you stop him mid-sentence, placing your hand on the table to try and reach him. “We don’t need all of this. My parents are willing to--”

“I’m not sending you back to them, y/n. I want you to be independent of anyone else,” he retorts, nostrils flaring at the mention of your family. You know his frustration with your relatives comes from an honest place.

They had treated you savagely after you married into the Geto family, calling you all kinds of names and not even attending the birth of their first grandson. You weren’t sure if it was the ties to the underground that set them off or the fact that the Geto family had brought in a considerable amount of wealth and fame to your lives. Either way, you were cut off from them until you divorced Suguru due to--

“Our flight leaves at ten o’clock tomorrow,” you whisper, and Suguru shifts in his seat, sighing. “Will you come to see Haru before we go?” There’s a long pause as your ex-husband weighs his options, but you know his choice before he speaks.

“I wouldn’t miss it for the world,” he finally answers.

_____________________________________________________________

Tickets in hand, you try to keep your composure as you watch your son hold on to his father for the last time. Your other hand is captured in Suguru’s large palm, and he squeezes your fingers tenderly as you walk to the security checkpoint. While you walk, he talks to your son in gentle tones, telling him to write to him about all of the amazing things he sees and does, as well as the friends he makes, and how daddy still loves him no matter where he goes.

When he finally lets Haru down and places his Inosuke backpack around his shoulders, you turn to Geto, expecting him to say something final, something meaningful. But he doesn’t, opting to pull you into a deep embrace and kissing all over your face. “Please stay safe. Call when you make it in.”

“I will,” you whisper, inhaling the scent of his cologne and reliving your life together in a brief flash. “I promise.”

“I love you, y/n.” You want to reply that you love him, too, that the separation wasn’t his fault - but you just nod. The feeling of tiny arms around your legs makes you look down, and you both see Haru wrapping himself around your legs, holding you two together earnestly. When he lets go, Suguru lets go, and you hoist the toddler into your arms.

“Say ‘see you later,” you tell the child and he slowly waves his hand at Suguru as you walk past the agent at the checkpoint. Haru doesn’t stop waving until he can no longer see Geto, and he also waves until he can no longer see you, finally dropping his hand to his side and wondering why he felt so empty.

_____________________________________________________________

“Today we learned about the rainbow,” Haru sings as he skips with you down the sidewalk.

“Oh, yeah?” you laugh, holding his hand as he swings back and forth.

“And we played in the dirt.” That explains the messy pants, you muse, rounding the corner to the back of your home and unlocking the fence before letting Haru run up the back porch and inside the house.

You lock the fence behind you and follow your son inside, thinking of all the things you had to do before his sixth birthday party the next day. Suguru said he would be sending a surprise - you begged him not to send the fake nichirin sword you already purchased and stowed away - so you’d have to accommodate for whatever he sent your way, which was bound to be lavish.

Among other things that he provided (a house, a car, preschool, an on-call babysitter if you wanted to go out, a nain rug you looked at once and said you liked but you weren’t sure about), Suguru also spoke to Haru every evening, which made you feel at ease. He hadn’t ceased to be in Haru’s life after you divorced, so this wasn’t out of the blue. Co-parenting with him was still easy and somewhat effortless, even thousands of miles away.

You’re still lost in thought when the doorbell rings, and Haru leaps down the stairs to answer it, despite telling him not to do that time and time again. Quickly, you sidestep the boy and open the door, forgetting to check the peephole first. If you had, it might have prevented the massive shock both you and Haru have at the sight of Suguru standing in the entryway.

“Suguru…” you whisper, and Haru immediately goes to hug his father, squeezing him tightly.

“Oh, look at you,” Suguru groans, leaning down to pick up his son. “You’ve gotten bigger since I last saw you, huh?”

“I’m two inches taller!” You shake your head at the toddler’s estimation, smiling, but still in shock. Your eyes roam over the man’s appearance. He looks just as you left him, with long hair and that gaze that could see into the deepest parts of your soul. It’s been a year, but nothing’s changed at all.

“Come on in,” you urge him, and he carries Haru inside, setting him down in the foyer. Haru dashes up the stairs to retrieve something, and you walk into the kitchen, Geto following you around and looking over his surroundings.

“It looks beautiful in here,” he murmurs, stuffing his hands in his pockets. “You’ve really outdone yourself.”

“You should see upstairs,” you reply. “That’s your son’s domain.” Suguru chuckles, then places his hands on the counter behind him. “Why didn’t you tell me you were coming?”

“I wanted to surprise both of you,” he shrugs and you sigh.

“There’s no guest bedroom.”

“I’ll sleep on the couch,” he replies, and your first instinct is to balk at his suggestion and offer your bed. But you know Suguru’s considered his options already and would have gotten a hotel if he wanted to.

“Are your things--”

“In the car. I wanted to see if I was welcome first before I barged in with my stuff.” Haru reappears, holding up his drawing from school today.

“I drew this today! They told us to draw something we love,” your child smiles widely, showing his lack of a right front tooth. You peer over at the picture and see you - with a questionable hairstyle - Haru, and Geto holding hands in front of what you assume to be your house, and a grey… horse? cat? dog? off to the side. “And we have a cat. I named him Gojo after daddy’s friend.”

_____________________________________________________________

You hand Geto a pile of blankets and a pillow, hoping it would be enough to keep him warm on the couch. “You can turn the heat up downstairs if you need to,” you advise, and he nods, taking the offerings. He pauses in your bedroom, wanting to say something.

“Thank you,” he finally whispers, then walks away, leaving you in the room to contemplate your still brooding feelings for the man who walked into your home less than six hours ago.

“Wait,” you call out softly, and he returns, searching your face. “Did you get me that job at the museum?” you wonder, crossing your arms over your chest. “The head of the museum told me I came highly recommended for the Director of Curation position.”

“And if I did?” he wonders, angling his head to the left a little and frowning. You recognize his tell immediately and nod, biting the inside of your lip. “I promised to provide for you and Haru for as long as I’m alive. I’m not going to break that promise.”

Those words stay with you as you toss and turn in the bed hours later, trying to sleep. You’re failing miserably, you realize when you look at the clock, and you rise out of bed, padding downstairs to get some tea and calm down. You tiptoe past the hallway to the living room, hoping you wouldn’t wake Suguru as you heat up a cup of water.

You’ve almost succeeded in your mission when you hear a yawn and the familiar cracking of toes and ankles as Suguru walks into the kitchen, rubbing his eyes.

“Can’t sleep,” you explain and he nods, pulling a chamomile tea packet from the caddy by the cabinets. He rips open the packet and hands it to you, leaning against the counter as you dunk it in the cup and watch the color seep out.

“I still remember,” Suguru whispers, recalling the nights you spent awake while you were pregnant with Haru and how the tea was the only thing that could soothe you enough to sleep. He thumbs over to the living room and you follow, settling into the couch beside him. “Nightmares? Or just insomnia?”

“Insomnia,” you reply, and he motions for you to place your feet in his lap. He begins rubbing them methodically, taking his time on the soles as you lean into the arm of the couch and sigh.

“Remember when we used to watch Jeopardy before bed and you’d fall asleep mid-answer?” he chuckles, and you shake your head, a smile pulling at your lips.

“Those were some hard nights,” you reply, and he hums thoughtfully.

“I wonder where it all went wrong.”

You both knew where it went wrong. There was no privacy, no semblance of peace, nowhere you two could go without someone knowing everything and being in your business. And adding Haru to the mix made everything worse. The breaking point came when you were playing with him in the backyard and heard the sound of a shutter capturing your every move. Suguru broke the camera and the man’s arm, but the damage had been done. The only way you could escape the limelight was divorcing him and his name, then escaping somewhere where no one cared who you were or who you used to be. Here, you were just… y/n.

“I’m sorry I couldn’t be the wife you wanted,” you whisper, and Suguru shakes his head.

“No, you were - are - the wife I want. I didn’t protect you enough. I should be the one apologizing.”

“Don’t,” you urge him, setting the un-sipped tea on the coffee table. “Don’t apologize.”

“Then I won’t,” he replies, pulling you closer. “But I have to confess something.”

“Say it.”

“My family bought property nearby. I’ll be stateside more often than not.” Geto smoothes a hand across your cheek, cupping your chin as you move onto his lap slowly.

“Haru will love that,” you breathe.

“But will you love that?” he wonders, ghosting his lips over yours.

“Yes, but--” He presses his lips to yours tenderly, cutting you off. You wrap your arms around his neck and pull him closer, feeling all of your shared love in that one kiss.

“Yes, but...?” he asks, pulling away and raising a brow.

“Was this your plan all along?” Suguru smiles, nipping at your bottom lip. His arm curls around your waist as he pins you beneath him, pressing a kiss to your neck.

“And if it was?”

“It’s definitely working.” Suguru hums in pleasure and continues to kiss you until you're at peace in his arms again, and fast asleep.

#getou suguru #geto suguru #geto x reader #jujutsu kaisen #jjk geto #getou x reader

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graceverse · 3 years ago

Text

Yeah ok, you asked for it.

An Unexpected Invitation

Part 2

He had never really, truly known silence. Even when he was alone, there is always that buzzing sound inside his head. Sometimes if he listened closely enough it would sound like the sharpest blade slicing through silk and flesh. Or if not that, then the softest exhale of a last dying breath; or the whispering sound of snow falling on snow.

There’s a Japanese word for that, shinshin.

One of the few things that he actually liked about this god forsaken country: the beauty of his own language. Though he so very rarely used it in all the years that he had spent in China, he was pleased that it was not lost to him. Unlike everything else that tied him to his motherland.

Not that China as a country is any better than Japan, but at least it wasn’t filled with ghosts that haunted him. And they were many; all the ghosts inside his head. Tomoe was just one of them. He wasn’t bothered by it. She’d smile at him inside his head and everything else would just fade away. It was just her and her smile and he was content.

Yukishiro Enishi had not expected any kind of silence inside his cell, which unfortunately faced the alleyway that the police used to move captured criminals, either in and out of the prison. There was always someone unruly, heavily protesting the indignation of being bound and dragged inside the building. If it wasn’t that it was pitiful wailing, asking for forgiveness, begging for another chance. Worst were the angry screams of denial, the insistence of their innocence. It annoyed him endlessly.

Reading Oneesan’s diary diminished the vulgar noises hounding him. With her diary clutched in his hand, it was just him and her words. He would gently turn the pages, trace the ink on paper and as he read it, he hear his sister’s voice. It calmed him down. Most of the time, at least. There had been a night of pure rage and the agony; finding out how his sister had hidden her true heart from him. He’d slammed his fist against the walls, banged his head until he thought it would crack open and all of his craziness will just spill out from his split head.

Why, neesan? Why couldn’t you have trusted me enough to let me know what you were planning?

But it had only been the briefest of moments where he felt betrayed. In the end, even with Tomoe’s diary, nothing could waver his conviction of his sister’s faultlessness in everything that had happened to them. Neesan had taken care of him ever since he could remember, his first memories had been of her touch, her eyes, her voice singing lullabies well into the night. She had tried to make everything better and she had the courage to marry the man that had slain her own love. But she had ultimately been too soft, too trusting. She had a woman’s kind and gentle heart and had allowed Battousai’s despicable lies to change her resolve for vengeance.

Would it have made any difference if he had known what neesan had really felt?

He doubted it. The mere presence of Battousai in their life invited danger and death. And he remembered how it made him feel so deeply ashamed that the hitokiri was living with his sister, tainting her with the blood of his victims.

There was no reason for him to feel deceived by his beloved neesan. Battousai would have, one way or another, caused her death. It doesn’t matter how. Testament to this was the fact that even now, despite having distorted himself into the foolishness of a rurouni – a shameful farce of trying to atone for his sins – the woman he had chosen, the Kamiya girl that Enishi had taken and failed to kill, had been subjected to several abductions and all sorts of regrettable torture. From almost choking to death from Udō Jin-e’s curse to nearly drowning when she’d been thrown out of The Rengoku, Battousa had turned her into a target. One that he had not been able to properly protect.

How many times had Battousai failed that woman? More times that Enishi could care count.

Battosai was cursed. All the lives that he touches, he befouls. And eventually, he does not even have to wield his joke of a sword, in the end, they will all turn into nothing but torn silk and spilled blood against pristine white snow.

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

It didn’t take long for the Mibu Wolf to come and visit him. They had taken him to a room barely lighted by the lone overhead lantern, madly swinging and throwing dark shadows around him. He would have snorted at this childish game that Saitō Hajime, now known as Fujita Gorō, had chosen to play. Did he think that he was someone that could be so easily intimidated? Did he need any reminder of what he was capable of, weaponless except for a child’s toy, on the trin when he had allowed to arrest him? Or was this some sort of insult that he was supposed to angrily respond to?

Enishi felt no emotion to be honest, even when Saitō started laying down all the documents that he had been able to confiscate from wherever he’d gotten them. It wasn’t until a signed confession from the useless Heishin that Enishi felt just a twinge of irritation. He should have bashed that bastard’s skull.

Wordlessly, he picked the paper, idly glancing at it before tossing it back, silently fluttering to the floor.

The wolf bared his teeth.

Did the government ordered the ever-reliable Fujita-san to ask him the names of all the ten battleships that he had? Because Shishio’s Rengoku was the smallest of those ships. Shishio Makoto was all fight and salivating insanity but he hardly had any money to sustain his quest for war. Enishi had practically given that battleship for free and it was purely out of curiosity. He had gotten into so much trouble with the Chinese organization that helped him obtain those ships. He had to pay it out of his own pocket but it was all worth it.

He had wanted to see just how far Shishio could get in a fight with Battousai. Not so much as it turned out. He couldn’t even properly bomb Tokyo as he had wanted to. It was all so very disappointing but not in the least bit surprising. These Hitokiri’s were mere berserkers, nothing refined in the way they planned their attacks. To defeat their enemy was all, kill, kill, kill and it bored him.

He kept his silence as Saitō explained how he had taken him this long to piece together everything that he needed to ensure that Yukishiro Enishi will be tried as a spy, a traitor to the Meiji Government and for that, they both know that the punishment is death.

Blah blah blah blah

Did the ex-captain of the Shinsengumi (first squad – he made you remember that at least, like it was supposed to mean something to anyone) now a special agent for the Meiji Government's Department of Internal Affairs, really think that he would be bothered by his impending death? Or a lifetime of imprisonment? Anything that they throw at him would only be a shadow of what he had gone through in Shanghai. The years of suffering from hunger and humiliation, disease and violence, training on his own to perfect his own fighting style?

Enishi was prepared to die and meet his sister once again.

Unless, and here, the cunning wolf flicked his still lit cigarette – a foul thing – over Enishi’s shoulder, the heat and ashes leaving a trail against his cheeks. He would kill him for that, Enishi thought, unblinkingly.

And then, the wolf leaned forward to tempt the tiger.

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

Freshly released from prison, all of his papers proving the pardon so generously afforded to him by a government desperate to stop another war shoved inside the pocket of his jacket, Enishi calmly shook any traces of gunpowder residue from his hands. His now emptied warehouse (damn, the government for confiscating everything) was lighted with flames that will spread quickly enough. It would be a massive fire and Fujita-san would probably disapprove, but he did not, quite frankly, give a fuck.

He kept his head low, unhurriedly weaving in and out the crowd, trying to be as inconspicuous as possible. His height has some disadvantages, true but he was still weaponless and without his watō slung against his shoulder, he looked like the usual foreigner traipsing around Tokyo, not a care in the world.

The Mibu Wolf will only give him his sword back if he could get the Kamiya-girl to agree. And something tells Enishi that this was really more to piss off Battousai than anything else. What a tiring game these two old fools were playing, but he will play along. He had nothing else to do anyway. And besides, his watō was at stake. He could probably just steal it from, escape Japan and just live out his life somewhere far from this madness but then, where’s the fun in that?

He had allowed himself a leisurely walk towards the dojo, the constant sound of summer surrounding him: tiny voices of children playing inside their yard, underneath the shaded trees; parents calling out for a refreshing sip of cold water; that buzzing sound inside his head.

He always had sensitive hearing, a secret weapon that he had incorporated to his Watōjutsu. It was a source of pride, how this swordskill is known only to him and how it could have finally defeated Battousai had that stupid Heishin ruined his plan. Kami, if the wolf had not killed him yet, he would be looking for him soon enough.

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

Enishi stood by the familiar entryway of the dojo, tilted his head and confirmed the only presence inside. He pushed the wooden gate and wordlessly walked inside, heading straight to the engawa, where for the first time in his entire life, he hears nothing but silence as he stared down at the Kamiya girl sprawled on the floor, napping it seemed.

Her dark hair was fanned around her face, not in a flattering way, to be honest. But the contrast of her hair and her skin and the peach-colored kimono she was wearing, riding a little high on her legs, exposing her knees, made her look almost --- precious.

No, no. He shook his head. Not precious, but so exposed and vulnerable. He glanced around him. No bokken in sight. And defenseless. Again, Battousai had left her like this? This supposed ruruoni must be addle-brained and as inept as Heishin. They both deserve to die.

But yes, how odd. Enishi thought, not even the sound of their breathing. Because he was certain that they were both breathing. He could feel the steady beating of his heart and as he squinted at her prone form, the rise and fall of her chest was quite obvious in her partially opened kimono.

The sight offered him a brief distraction and he had been just the tiniest bit surprised when she suddenly woke up and threw a tea cup at him.

Maybe not so vulnerable and defenseless then.

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

She was feisty. He hadn’t known that she had it in her to fight like that. Clumsily and rather slow, but it could be that she was wearing a kimono, restricting her movement. He could not find fault in her fighting stance and with the way she swung her bokken, with outmost conviction, Enishi was certain she could lay waste to Heishin's pathetic bodyguards. Her skills were better than theirs at least and this was probably the highest compliment he was forced to give to a girl.

Her battle cry was also impressive. It brought back his hearing at least.

Now he could hear every whistling sound the bokken made as it sliced through the air; her panting breath, the way she muttered curses at him.

She was so very, very angry and he had done absolutely nothing to her but ask her if was already married. A rather important detail that he needed confirmation on if was really going to follow through with the wolf's sadistic plan.

Enishi needed her to calm down otherwise, he’d be forced to defend himself and then he would end up straddling, arms pinned above her – because that was the only way to get her to stop trying to hit him. Being motherless and growing up with his sister, Enishi thought he knew how to handle women or at least girls. But this Kamiya-girl, with her angry breathing and needless cursing was quite a surprise. The women he had dealt with in China were really almost similar to the women in Japan: docile and soft spoken, but apparently not this woman.

Was this the ruruoni’s choice? Or the Battousai? Enishi wondered if her violent temper triggered something in his worthless brother-in-law, because he could not understand how exactly did anyone take her so easily when she was like this?!

Another swing from her bokken and that was just an inch away from his nose.

The triumphant gleam in her eyes told him that she was aware of this and to prevent any further violence, Enishi finally stepped forward, which she must have taken as gesture of surrender, because she met him head on, bokken raised high on her head.

He grabbed it easily, tossing it away and wondering if he would have to break every damn bokken inside this training hall just to make her stop. Curiously, he asked her, without his formulated explanation because, really, he had forgotten everything that he had been planning to tell her, if she had wanted to go to Shanghai with him – well, it effectively shut her up, her whole body suddenly immobilized by surprise.

He let two seconds pass before he provoked her yet again with, “Is that a yes, Kamiya-san?”

Her eyes blazed and then, completely out of nowhere and totally unprepared for it, her fist connected with his nose.

It knocked off his eyeglasses and now ---- now he is pissed.

------

So I guess, tbc?!

#you made me do it #now this story is stuck inside my head #rurouni kenshin fanfic #rurouni kenshin #post the final #movieverse fic #k/k #e/k/k #enishi x kaoru #kenshin x kaoru x enishi love triangle of death #yeah tell me i suck okay i do i know

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ficforce · 4 years ago

Text

Gokai Part 1

Konro x Reader

SFW

The sun was barely up when Konro left the guardhouse, he gave a yawn and rubbed his eyes, despite having always been an early riser he sometimes took a while to get his bearings. Often his body ached first thing, especially his shoulders and neck, he found that taking a patrol around the neighbourhood was a good way to limber up and check on things. Asakusa had been peaceful lately; Benimaru was behaving like a real Captain and the girls were giving him a break from their games. As he headed through the streets Konro greeted a few of the vendors as they set up for breakfast, a few of them telling him to come back soon so they could treat him to something, he stopped to speak with the night watch as they headed for the guardhouse. By this point, the sun had risen just enough into the sky to give the streets a golden hue.

As he headed toward the river a sound caught his attention, it wasn’t something he was used to in this particular area and he vaguely recognised it as the sound of wood hitting wood.

Clack, clack, clack.

He knew that sound, it was oddly nostalgic and his feet led him toward it, the constant clack, clack, clack became louder until he found himself in a small courtyard shared by the houses there. Silently he watched the back of the stranger - he was confident he knew nearly everyone is Asakusa some way or another - as they struck the side of a young tree over and over with a wooden practice sword.

They had poor form, he noted, they were wasting energy and movement in every strike, it was painful to watch and he cleared his throat to announce his presence before he could be tempted to take the stick from them. The other person paused and turned slowly to face him, he had already figured it was a woman by the clothes she was wearing, her expression seemed somewhat annoyed at being disturbed, “Did that tree piss you off?” He had never been one to start on a negative.

“Konro.” The Lieutenant answered as he walked a little closer and gestured to her practice sword, “You’re gripping it too hard, you should also decide whether you want to use a one-handed or two-handed grip.” He had seen her swap a few times, “Personally, I think two-handed would suit you better.”

Her expression softened and she gave a small breathless laugh at his question, she walked a few feet away from the tree and picked up a water bottle she had left there. Now that he could see her a little better, Konro realised her clothing was from the city, it was machine finished and had that synthetic look to it, not something often seen worn by the local Asasukians. “It’s winning,” she replied after getting her breath back, “Who knew swinging this thing around would be so exhausting, every hit makes my teeth rattle in my head.”

She made no secret of looking him up and down, her eyes lingered on the blue stripes on his pants that identified him as a Fire Soldier, the thing that caught her attention though, was the hilt of his sword on his hip - a real sword. Her grip tightened on her practice sword and she felt suddenly self-conscious that he had been watching. “I, uh… I’m Y/N.”

Not too proud to listen to him, Y/N tilted her head curiously, “And why’s that?”

“The way you place the weight in your feet and legs,” Y/N had a few of the basics down but there were things she could do to make it easier, “You would also double your effect with half the effort. If you have strong wrists and arms you might get away with one-handed…” Konro leaned against the tree she had been assaulting, “Also, it’s my biased personal preference.”

“You look like you know what you’re talking about,” Y/N took another drink from her bottle, “So, how bad am I? Out of ten?”

He didn’t even have to think, “Two.”

Y/N let out a peal of laughter at his blunt honesty, he had just massacred her in one word. At the same time though… he didn’t make her feel inadequate or embarrassed, he wasn’t being arrogant - just honest. “As high as that?”

Y/N supposed she had been too eager to start practising, “I’ll try that out, thanks.” She had only changed a few things but she could already tell the difference.

Konro couldn’t help smiling at her and shrugging slightly, “One point for holding it by the right end and the second point for effort.” He asked her to take up her stance again and stepped to her side, “You’re too loose with your upper body and you’re holding on too tight, relax your grip, take a deep breath and hold that posture…” The man watched her follow his advice and then he parroted the stance, “When you swing your sword, use your whole body, move your feet, follow it through…”

They practised together for a few minutes, he corrected her few times, small pointers that she took on board right away, “I know it’s tempting to hit something, it used to drive me mad when I was a kid, striking at thin air, same speed, same angle, same distance. Over and over and over, hours and hours until it was as natural as breathing, even until I couldn’t lift my arms anymore. Air can be as tough as any tree when you’re starting out.”

“Not a problem, if you’re here tomorrow I could show you a few other things.”

— -

Every morning from early spring, Konro would get up at dawn, as he always did, and head toward the river. That time of day allowed him to appreciate Asakusa in the gentle morning light, his beloved home quiet for a few scant hours before it would become rowdy and alive with its colourful inhabitants. The only difference to his walk was his new detour, he met with Y/N in the courtyard. Konro would tease her for her lack of skill but he always encouraged her with advice and pointers, he showed her a practice routine to follow through - only giving her more when she became better at the routine.

Through their playful banter, Konro was able to learn more about her. He discovered that she was from the city and that she had no love for the place she grew up in. She didn’t like the way the Church and big corporations ran everything, she expressed how she felt like a cog in a massive machine, an insignificant piece that worked a broken society. She had friends who were proto-nationalist, they had invited her on a tour around other groups and eventually on a day trip to Asakusa.

If people didn’t rely on it, then maybe they could break further away from the Empire’s influences and think more for themselves.

He had felt some pride when she revealed to him that she had fallen in love with the Town in that single day. That it had snapped her out of the dull, everyday life she had in the city and showed her that there was more to life than following everyone else. Y/N found him easy to talk to, she felt safe enough to share a few of her childhood fantasies - How she had wanted to do Kendo as a child but her parents hadn’t let her. It didn’t suit the plans they had for her life.

They had wanted her to study, get a good job, meet a man, have some kids… She had postponed as much as she could by specialising in studies for energy sources other than Ameratsu.

Asakusa had been a new start for Y/N. She had hoped it would provide a simpler, happier life for her, maybe her skills could be useful to the Town, for the time being, she had taken a job in one of the busier bars. She had left her engineering positions behind in the city, she had faced her parent’s disappointment and broken off the engagement to a man who she had thought she loved but had really settled for. She wasn’t ready to get married for the sake of society’s norms.

“Wrong,” Konro called out as she made a downward slash, it lacked strength and wasn’t anywhere close to a consistent angle, he watched her repeat the action and called her out on it again, she was way off balance. He could see her getting frustrated at herself and shifted his weight to his other foot, “Take up a basic stance. Always, always go back to the basics before you get too absorbed in bad technique.”

He was nowhere near as strict as his teacher had been with him, he wasn’t even close to the ruthless way he trained kid Benimaru out of bad habits.

She couldn’t think of a single person she had ever spoken to saying a bad word about him. Early on she had learned that Sagamiya Konro was well-loved and respected in Asakusa.

“I am!” Y/N snapped back, “I keep going back to the start, I’m doing it over and over! It’s just not doing what I want it to do and telling me to go back to basics isn’t helping me!” She wanted to throw the practice sword to the ground and scream.

It wasn’t the training and it certainly wasn’t Konro that she was frustrated with, she had so many things going on with adjusting to her new job as a generator technician and gaining the trust of the old men who reluctantly hired her, it was hard to concentrate on practice. Her expression was tense, a frown tugging at her lips as she looked over at the man, Konro showed no sign of being upset with her, he was patient as always. He was always kind to her, he often made her laugh and he was a good listener.

When he had flippantly revealed that he was the Fire Force’s Lieutenant her jaw had dropped. He had so many other things he could be doing but every morning, for two hours a day, he came to teach her. It wasn’t just her he had time for, from the little kids in the street that barely reached his knees to the old folk who remembered him as a baby - he had time.

Konro talked her through the move, he guided her with his hands until she was able to do it on her own and stepped back, “Good… I think that’ll do for today.”

“…Take up your first stance.” Konro told her firmly, he got up from where he had been watching her and stood behind her, “We’re gonna get a little cosy, Y/N, don’t take advantage of me.”

Before she could think of a quip or even laugh at his words, Konro’s chest was pressed to her back, his arms followed the line of hers and he covered her hands with his own, “Get rid of that tension, whatever it is annoying you, throw it to the side for now.” Y/N was surprised by how warm he was, even through their clothing she could feel his warmth seeping into her skin, his voice was so close to her ear that she had to resist a shiver rolling up her spine - he smelt so good… “Concentrate, Y/N.” There was a hint of amusement in his tone and she wanted to elbow him in the ribs.

Y/N nodded, she felt calmer as his warmth lingered around her.

— -

Six months had passed since Y/N had moved to Asakusa.

She didn’t regret a single thing, the people there now treated her like she was family, very few people gave her trouble for being an outsider anymore and she embraced their old country ways gladly. The first time she had tried on a yukata she hadn’t wanted to change out of it, it was comfortable and there were so many ways to wear it. She had adopted the styles of the women her age, something easy to move in with Asakusa’s flare for haoris. The food was always good, she had her favourite street stalls and had caused a small fire in her home when trying her hand at cooking, it had been her kid neighbour who had put it out and given her lecture on fire safety. And despite her initial shyness of the public bathhouse, she had learned to love those too. There was nothing like hanging out with a bunch of other naked women in a hot pool gossiping about who was doing what and with who.

She had attended and enjoyed her first festival at the peak of summer, it had been memorable for a few reasons…

Although his uniform made him appear bigger than he was, Y/N wasn’t disappointed to see that he was still quite broad and toned, he had worn a striped, navy blue yukata that matched his eyes. He had looked so masculine and the woman couldn’t help but be reminded again that he smelt so damn good as he kept her close to him on their way through the crowds.

It had been the first time she met Hinata and Hikage, Konro had spoken about the little girls fondly on several occasions and Y/N had been excited to meet them - she hadn’t quite expected their enthusiasm. The twins had bombarded her with questions, they had criticised her outfit choice and harassed her until she had crouched down for them to change her hair to their liking, afterwards they had dragged her around to play every game, try every festival food and every activity going on during the night.

The thing she remembered most, that played in her mind whenever she had time to indulge, was seeing Konro out of uniform for the first time. His usual clothing exaggerated his bulk and was extremely practical. He had materialised out of the crowds of people to rescue her from the twins. It had also been the first time Y/N had seen the Lieutenant with his hair loose, he had looked so handsome with one side of his hair swept up with a simple comb, she had barely restrained herself from running her hands through the silky looking strands.

Y/N vaguely remembered meeting Shinmon Benimaru. It was hard to recall when all she could think about was Konro’s warm, comforting hands on her lower back and Konro’s laughter as he spoke with the Townsfolk. Since then it had been difficult for her to concentrate when he met her in the morning for practice.

Winter snuck in and the days were getting shorter, her breath now misted in the morning air as she swung the wooden sword with relative ease, her fingers would go numb as the temperature remained cold well into the afternoon. It was a particularly chilly morning when Konro shocked her by drawing his sword and offering it to her.

It should have been something that excited her, she should have wanted to make a grab for it without a second thought but Y/N hesitated. It was such a beautiful sword, finely made, everything perfectly polished and balanced - it had been crafted for him and him only.

Y/N knew how he treasured it, she remembered him showing her once before as he taught her about each piece that made the whole sword. He knew the people who had painstakingly created each part and how long the work had taken, he went as far as to teach her how to keep in from tarnishing. He had worked long and hard to first master swordsmanship and then to be able to pay for such a thing. Konro was very proud of it, even though he was a third-generation fire soldier who had been incredibly strong, he had still trained his whole life fro weird the sword he was offering to her.

“You should at least learn how a real one feels in your hand.” He wished he had his camera, the face Y/N was pulling was absolutely priceless and he was humbled by her appreciation of what he held.

“Konro,” her fingers twitched, wanting so badly to take it, but she fisted her hands and looked up at him with a slightly concerned wrinkle between her eyebrows, “I’m terrified I’ll damage it.”

He smiled at her trepidation, “I trust you, Y/N.”

For a moment, the cold air she had breathed in so suddenly became trapped in her lungs, it stung. It felt like an icy hand around her heart and it made it difficult for her to breathe. When she looked up from the sword and into the man’s warm gaze, the feeling melted away. His eyes were so soft as he looked back that she felt his usual warmth seem to seep into everything from her toes to her frozen fingertips, the cold air in her chest evaporated and her heart beat a little faster.

She had never felt like that before.

Sure, it was just a sword. It could be replaced or mended if she damaged it but he dared to offer her something so precious to him and say that he trusted her with it… it was too much for her to handle.

Not even with the man she had once settled on getting engaged to.

Everything before Asakusa had been for convenience, to follow a routine that everyone else was following. Education, a job, marriage, children, getting old comfortably… forcing that routine on her own children.

Never had anyone so sincerely said that they trusted her.

“Konro.” Y/N murmured almost shyly as she reached for the hilt, her fingers curled around it hesitantly and she lifted it from his hold. It had a comfortable weight to it, lighter than she had expected and balanced perfectly. She was a little starstruck to be holding a real sword that belonged to a real swordsman, she felt her breath stutter a little as she felt the subtle wear in the silk braid that wrapped the hilt - worn there by his hands over time…

“Try swinging it, I swear it’s not going to shatter, Y/N, you don’t have to be that careful.” When she continued to stand frozen to the spot, the man stepped up behind her and covered her chilled hands with his, he was always warm because of his ignition abilities and her body absorbed it gladly. He noted that she tensed in his hold and put it down to her anxiousness over handling his sword, “We’ll go with an upward movement to start, then I’ll show you how to do a reverse… swing…” Konro’s words trailed off as he felt her head move, she looked up at him and he angled his head down to better see her expression.

Konro had thought that maybe she had a question or some objection but he hadn’t thought for a second that she would lean up that extra few centimetres and kiss him.

Her lips were soft on his, the touch was almost shy to begin and as she became a little braver he felt her kiss him a little more persistently. Konro didn’t move. He didn’t kiss her back and after a few seconds, he felt Y/N pull away slowly and duck her head to avoid his gaze. Konro carefully stepped away from her, the cold air wrapped around them both as soon as they were apart and he paused for a moment to think about his next words…

“Y/N…” He didn’t want to hurt her, “I’m flattered, really I am, but-”

Y/N wrapped her arms around herself and looked at him with a tense, forced smile, “I’m freezing!” She said a little too loudly, “I better head back inside - I’ll see you around, okay?” The woman fled as quickly as she could, running toward home all the while berated herself for misreading the signals, for humiliating herself like that. The icy chill in the air made it difficult to tell if her tears were from the cold or her narrowly escaped rejection.

#sagamiya konro #reader #fire force #enen no shouboutai #enn enn no shouboutai

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epiphany-of-a-madwoman · 4 years ago

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The Last Dragon | The Witcher & Game of Thrones

Chapter 12 | The Law of Surprise

Summary: Visenya Targaryen is the eldest and only surviving child of Rhaegar Targaryen and Elia Martell. When Robert Baratheon’s rebellion was won, instead of being slaughtered by the Mountain like her mother and siblings, she was saved by Ned Stark and taken as his ward. Years later, after she’s killed at the Red Wedding, she wakes up outside Blaviken. Now she finds her destiny intertwined with the White Wolf on her quest to go back home.

Word Count: 4600

Note: Click here to read the previous chapters ♡ Oh boy did this one take a reallllllyyyy long time for me to write. I hope it’s worth it! 🤍

“Stop,” the Queen yells, but the room doesn’t pay her any mind, only Geralt stays his blade.

“Stop!” she yells, louder than before. This time, all sound and movement in the room seize. Weapons clang against the floor, screams of rage and pain silence, no one in the room daring to move. Visenya lies on the ground, breathing so loudly she fears the entirety of the room can hear each shallow breath, yet her heart pounds too heavily for her to care. Shaky and pale hands touch the cold marble floor, using her remaining strength to pull her body into a sitting position. Jaskier places his hands - that are nearly as shaky as Visenya’s - on her back helping her slowly stand as she leans the majority of her weight against him.

Everyone stares at Geralt and Queen Calanthe, with bated breath and wide eyes, waiting for either of them to make a move. Instead, it’s Princess Pavetta who makes the first move. She pushes her chair back, dashing down the steps, and towards the knight, the chaos is centered around.

“Duny!” her sugar-sweet voice calls out, distress evident with every crack in her words. She closes the distance between them, throwing her arms around his body. He returns her embrace, lifting her off the ground and swinging her around before gently setting her shaking form down. “I told you to stay away,” she says, glistening tears falling onto cheeks that are flushed red, as she cradles his face with her hands.

Queen Calanthe’s eyes are glued on the two of them, watching as her daughter searches for any injuries on Duny. Calanthe’s eyes are wide and mouth agape, as her sword slowly lowers, but still rests firmly in her grasp. She moves around the two of them, heels echoing around the Main Hall. Pavetta and Duny look away from each other, Duny stepping away from Pavetta, kneeling before Queen Calanthe as he slowly sets down his makeshift weapon, only to stand moments later.

“Your Majesty… the Witcher speaks the truth. I was cursed as a young boy. My whole life was spent living in misery until the day that I saved your husband, King Roegner, from certain death. By tradition, I chose the Law of Surprise as payment. Whatever windfall he came home to find… would be mine,” he says, looking down towards the ground at the end of his statement.

Visenya watches with sharp eyes, no longer feeling delirious from blood loss, her strength slowly returning. The Queen’s face contorts into disgust, eyes giving away all thoughts and opinions she holds for her late husband.

“Oh, the stupid bastard. Better you had let him die!” she spits out, each word as venomous as a Dornish viper.

‘You knew he’d come, and you pushed me to kill him,” Geralt says, inserting himself into the conversation. His face is set in a grim scowl, clearly unhappy with the Queen trying to use him as a pawn. However, she ignores him, gaze solely focusing on her daughter now. Visenya pushes away from Jaskier, slowly stepping towards Geralt. Jaskier reaches his hand out, trying to catch her before she can get too far away, but she slips from his grasp like water.

“And you… carousing with the beast that swindled your stupid father!” Queen Calanthe exclaims, pointing an accusing finger at Pavetta, who shies away from her mother’s anger. Visenya feels her temper flare-up, the bitter words too similar to all the times Catelyn would berate and scold her when she stood too close to Jon. But she inhales deeply, forcing the fire out of her veins.

‘There’s already enough blood on my hands.’

“Tis no swindle. Asking for payment with the Law of Surprise is as old as mankind itself,” Lord Eist speaks up, moving closer towards the small cluster of people.

Pavetta moves towards Duny, grabbing his hand in her own, standing side by side with him. Her head is held high, with a challenging glint in her eyes. And for the first time that night, she finally looks like a proud lioness, instead of the scared pup she played all night long. Despite knowing nothing about the woman, Visenya feels pride burning in her as she watches the small act of defiance.

“Don’t lecture me, Eist,” Calanthe says, pinning a harsh glare towards him.

“It’s an honest gamble. As likely to be rewarded with a bumper crop as a newborn pup. Or… a child of surprise. He could not know. Destiny has determined the surprise be Pavetta,” Eist continues, unbothered by Calanthe’s angry demeanor.

“When I heard that King Roegner had returned to find a child on the way… I abandoned all thought of claiming the Law of Surprise. I knew…. I knew no woman would ever accept me like this,” Duny says, he then turns his head facing Pavetta. “And so I waited. I waited until the twelfth bell when the curse broke. I never intended to meet her. Just to watch from afar,”

“Until destiny intervened...and our hearts collided,” Pavetta interrupts, a small smile on her lips as she holds his face in her hands once again, staring into his eyes. A small smile tugs on the corner of her lips as she watches him with wide glistening eyes.

“And at dawn, I awoke with her in my arms and me… like this,” Duny says.

“Who are we to challenge destiny? A life was saved, a debt must be paid or the whole order of the world falls apart.” Eist pleads, stepping closer to Calanthe.

“Honor destiny’s wish, or unleash its wrath upon us,” Mousesack says.

“There is no us,” Calanthe spits. “I bow to no law made by men who never bore a child. Is there not a man before you who does not cower before destiny?” Queen Calanthe shouts, eyes passing over every person in the room, a challenge burning in her eyes. Her eyes land on Visenya, focusing on her for a moment. Visenya doesn’t waver, simply raising a single brow and raising her chin, a silent show of defiance. Only a lion could believe themselves above fate and the Gods. At least Westeros and this world have that in common. The queen scowls, but then her eyes rest on Geralt.

“You Witcher, who has known monsters of every fang and claw, are you afraid too?” she asks. Her tone is mocking, the scowl on Visenya’s face deepening.

“No,” Geralt says, his gruff voice a stark contrast to Calanthe’s smooth one. Visenya turns to look at Geralt, unsurprised by his lack of faith. “I’ve seen mother’s lash themselves raw over the death of a child, believing they crossed destiny, ignoring the stench of the fifty other children in plague carts outside. Destiny helps people believe there’s an order to this horse shit: there isn’t. But a promise made must be honored. That’s true for a commoner as it is a queen.” Geralt says.

Pavetta touches Duny’s face, causing him to turn and face her. “I love Duny mother, I will marry him. I will finally be free,” she exclaims, unbridled happiness overflowing in each word she speaks as her eyes stay locked on Duny.

The words sting Visenya, another parallel of what Visenya could’ve had if she’d only been brave enough to chase it; brave enough to demand Jon be with her and demand Lord Stark to allow it. But the feeling fades as quickly as it came.

‘There’s no sense in regretting what can’t be changed.’ Visenya berates herself.

Calanthe watches the two of them, her stone façade beginning to crack and crumble away. Her harsh and austere eyes grow glossy with tears. Her sword arm grows limp, Eist slowly pulling the blade out of her hand, and she allows him to render her unarmed. Slowly she holds a hand out and Duny grabs it. She leans forward to whisper something into his ears. She pulls back, a small smile on her face.

But Visenya isn’t convinced by the serene façade. Only moments ago, Calanthe was willing to tear apart the world if it kept Pavetta from Duny. A pep talk from Geralt about honor can’t change that type of stubbornness.

But then she reaches into her side, pulling a dagger from its sheath, blade pointing towards Duny’s neck. Horror paints itself onto Pavetta’s face as Calanthe pulls her dagger farther back and then forward, moments away from stabbing - and killing - Duny.

“No!” Pavetta screams as if she holds the power of ten banshees. It’s sharp, cutting through the room, leaving a painful ringing in the ears of everyone in the room. Glass begins to crack, spider webs forming in the tall windows in the Main Hall. Time moves in slow motion, almost stopping entirely, all the focus on Pavetta. A strong gust of wind explodes from Pavetta, pushing everyone within its grasp as far from her and Duny as physically possible. Glass shatters, hitting the floor and stabbing into unsuspecting victims. The furniture is blown to the ground and into the far corners of the room. Visenya yelps, her body hitting the wall, reopening the bloody wounds that Mousesack sealed with his magic only minutes ago. Her back digs into a particularly sharp corner, gritting her teeth as more pain ebbs through her body. The loud crack from the impact is quickly drowned by the scream.

Strong winds swirl around Pavetta and Duny, slowly lifting their forms off the ground and into the air. Foreign words pour from her mouth, tone monotonous, and inhuman. Her emerald eyes bore into Duny, unwavering and unblinking. The words echo around the room and into Visenya’s ears, getting louder and louder with each word. The words, despite the chaos around them, lull Visenya into a sense of tranquility, her tense limbs slacking instantly, eyes fluttering shut as the words swirl in her head. They’re familiar and maternal, giving a similar feeling that her mother’s bedtime stories gave her. Or when Lady Catelyn would read to her when she was sick in bed, too weak to even open her eyes sometimes.

It sounds like home, but it leaves behind a sharp feeling, like a paper cut that never healed right.

It’s intoxicating, yet invasive all the same, the feeling that someone can see into the deepest parts of her mind. The hairs on the back of her neck stand stiff, leaving a tingling sensation all over her body in its wake.

The words nearly take physical form in the darkness of her mind.

And then the blackness ignites, the worlds beginning to fade.

Suddenly she’s no longer in the Main Hall, devastated by the tumultuous magic of a distressed princess. Instead of stone walls and marble floors, there’s an open field, a roaring fire consuming it, encasing her body like armor. It dances around her limbs, licking her skin, but never leaving a burn. Left then right, there’s nothing but fire. She moves forward, stepping with bare feet on rocky terrain, and despite sharp ends piercing into her feet, she doesn’t stop, doesn’t even blink. Then, she pauses, so still, she doesn’t even breathe. The fire crackles, louder this time, thundering in her ear with the ferocity of a calvary ten thousand strong charging into battle. She inhales, sharply, watching with bated breath for...something to happen.

And then her heart stops, brain freezing like an ice statue.

Screech.

The noise is small and breathy, not nearly as terrifying as she instinctively knows it will become. Before her eyes, Visenya watches as a large egg continues to crack, the burnt orange shell melting into the flames. A reptilian face is the first to break through the hardened shell, shimmering red eyes glimmering in the light, then one wing, followed by the other until it’s full body is free. It’s gold scales shimmer in the fire, nearly mimicking Visenya’s own eyes. She smiles, letting out a choked laugh like her throat is full of ash from the flames that dance around her.

Screech.

It roars again, batting it’s small bat-like wings as it steps out of the shell that encased it for so long. She moves towards it, but with each step, the dragon seems to get farther away until she can hardly see it. But she can hear it, Gods can she hear the dragon roar, each one louder and more terrifying than the last. The noise rumbles the ground beneath her, shaking her to the very core, but filling her with child-like wonder. She tries to run, hoping a faster pace will close the distance, eager to feel its scales beneath her fingers. Would they be smooth or rough? Soft like skin or coarse like salt?

The scene dissipates, leaving her in darkness once again. She stays this way, for seconds, minutes, hours: who could tell? But then she opens her eyes, and instead of a burning field, she’s back in the Main Hall, chaos still reigning in the room. Pavetta and Duny are higher this time as she continues to chant the same eerie words over and over.

Visenya glances to her right, watching Geralt slowly stand from the floor, fighting against the strong wind storm. He moves towards the two and thrusts two fingers forward. A burst of arcane force leaves his fingertips, causing Pavetta’s head to whip around, eyes focusing on Geralt instead of Duny. She lets out a yelp, ending the spell that holds everyone in the room hostage. Duny and her plummet to the hard ground, the wind dissipating as quickly as it appeared.

Visenya breathes out a heavy sigh, slowly standing from her position against the wall. Queen Calanthe wastes no time, rushing towards Pavetta who is slowly standing from the ground, harsh bruises blossoming all over her delicate body. Without a word, Calanthe wraps her arms around Pavetta, tightly holding her. A moment later she releases Pavetta, delicately cradling her face in her rough hands.

“I thought your grandmother’s gift had skipped you… as it did me. It seems I was wrong...about so many things,” she says with a softness Visenya hasn’t seen in the Queen all night. Pavetta smiles, and despite the messy state of her hair and clothes, Pavetta is still easily a shining gem of beauty in the room.

Calanthe slowly lets go of Pavetta, moving to face the large crowd that gathered around them. Duny moves beside Pavetta, the both of them moving to face the crowd as well, Pavetta tightly holding Duny’s hand in one and Queen Calanthe’s with her other.

“Destiny has spoken! And I have listened. The Law of Surprise will be honored. Pavetta will marry… Lord Urcheon,” Calanthe declares, loud enough that even the ghosts of the Lords and guards that died tonight can hear her from the beyond.

“React poorly and you won’t just face the Lioness, you will be facing the Sea Hounds of Skellige. Because Queen Calanthe has… agreed to my proposal of marriage.” Lord Eist speaks up, moving to stand on the other side of Calanthe, grasping her hand in his own. She looks over at him, a sly smirk on her face, but she doesn’t rebuke his notion.

“There will be two vows here tonight! I assume that’s agreeable?” Calanthe exclaims. Murmurs of agreement from nearly everyone fill the room, the majority of the room nodding as well. “Delightful,” the Queen relaxes her shoulders, a smile gracing her face.

o0o0o

All is quiet in the room, so silent each inhale and exhale echos in the room like a vicious scream. The lords and ladies stand in a large circle, each holding a lit candle. It’s surprisingly calm, despite the turmoil and chaos in the room only a short while ago. Duny and Pavetta are on the ground, kneeling before Queen Calanthe. Visenya is standing directly across from the Queen, with Jaskier to her right and Geralt on her left. The candle in her hand shakes ever so slightly, her arms weak and heavy, the adrenaline in her body completely gone, leaving her frail like Old Nan from Winterfell.

The Queen’s handmaiden stands beside the Queen, back straight with a small bowl of bright blue paint in her hands that is outstretched towards Queen Calanthe. She takes a finger and presses it into the bowl, soaking it in the paint. She leans forward using the same hand to press a line on Pavetta’s head, and then does the same to Duny, a melancholic smile on her face. Her brown eyes are tired like she’s just finished fighting a thousand wars. And perhaps she has, mentally wrestling with the prospect of her daughter marrying the man she did not intend for her.

The handmaiden then hands Queen Calanthe a velvet cloth that’s a rich blue with gold embroidery on it. Similar to the weddings the Southerners have in Westeros, she weaves the ribbon in between their hands, physically binding them together, just like their souls and hearts are now bound.

“With my blessing, I thee bind,” Calanthe says, her voice hardly above a whisper. She smiles at Pavetta again, this one wider and less sad. Pavetta and Duny slowly turn towards each other, wide grins permanently etched onto their faces. Slowly they lean towards each other, eager to seal the marriage with a kiss.

Their lips meet for a brief second, but Duny quickly pulls away, a snarl similar to a wild animal escaping his mouth. And then again, followed by a ferocious snarl. He collapses to the floor, his body twisting and contorting in unnatural ways as the loud noises continue. Visenya glances towards Geralt, noticing his stiff posture, intent golden eyes watching the scene. Visenya’s hand ghosts over where her sword should be, the anxiety building in her when she feels nothing but air.

Before she can scan the room for a weapon to make use of, the noise ceases. Duny lifts his head, but instead of being a beast, he has the head of a man; a very attractive man, He has a strong jaw, deep brown eyes, and matching thick hair that falls with a slight wave. He inhales sharply, shaking as he stares at his hand - his human hands. Pavetta stares at him in shock, wide eyes staring at her now human husband. Duny looks up, meeting her gaze. And like two magnets they immediately rush towards one another, though it lacks any grace due to their positions on the floor. They meet in an embrace, Pavetta’s hands caressing his face, a beaming smile on her fair face. They lean forward, capturing each other's lips in another kiss, this one more passionate than the previous, gasps of laughter pouring from Pavetta’s mouth in between each kiss.

“The twelfth bell has not yet rung!” Pavetta says once they pull away from each other.

“What has happened?” Calanthe says, sounding as dazed as Visenya feels.

“I think your blessing of this marriage has fulfilled a destiny,” Mousesack says, stepping forward from the circle. “The curse has been lifted.”

“Whoo,” Jaskier exclaims, one hand touching his chest and the other wrapped around the noblewoman that stands beside him. “I think this has the makings of my best ballad yet,” he says, wiping a single tear from his eye, looking towards the lady in his arms.

Visenya simply rolls her eyes, looking at Geralt with exasperation in her eyes.

“If you’re alive in the morning,” Geralt’s gruff voice roughly cuts through the beautiful moment and turns to face Jaskier. “Don’t grope a trout in any peculiar rivers until dawn.” Geralt turns to swiftly exit the room.

“Wait!” Duny exclaims, turning away from Pavetta to face the Witcher. “You saved my life. I must repay you.” Duny stands from his position on the ground, hand outstretched. Geralt stops and sighs, turning to face Duny.

“You’ve proven yourself to be the kind of man who would do the same, I want nothing.” Geralt turns to leave again but is interrupted once again by Duny.

“No please, please Geralt of Rivia, do not think you are doing me a service. I cannot start a new life in the shadow of a life debt.” Duny says, his lips tilting upwards, a gleam in his dark eyes. Geralt sighs once more, facing the Lord

“Fine I claim the tradition as you have, the Law of Surprise; give that which you already have but do not know,” Geralt says, the annoyance in his voice clear as day to Visenya.

“No!” Calanthe exclaims, fear clear in her glossy brown eyes. “What have you done Witcher?”

“Do not worry Your Majesty. The next time I’m seen in your kingdom will be to kill a real monster, not claim a crop or a new pup. Destiny can go fu--”

Before Geralt can finish his sentence, Pavetta leans forward, vomiting all over the floor. Calanthe rushes to the other side of her daughter, leaning down to Pavetta’s level to look her in the eyes.

“Pavetta,” she takes a hold of her daughter's chin, gently cupping it as she stares at her. “Are you--?” She doesn’t finish her sentence, the words unable to leave her mouth. In perfect unison, Pavetta, Duny, and Queen Calanthe look towards Geralt. Visenya follows their lead, looking towards Geralt with wide eyes. Geralt looks around, heavily sighing.

“Fuck,” he says, and then quickly turns away, exiting the room before anyone can stop him. Mousesack follows after him while Duny turns back to Pavetta, helping her to her feet. The rest of the room suddenly becomes unfrozen, the circle breaking as Lords and Ladies begin to mingle about the eventful night. But Visenya’s eyes are stuck on Calanthe. The Queen feels Visenya's burning gaze, turning to meet it.

They continue to stare at each other, and in her glossy hazel eyes, Visenya swears she can see death and destruction swirling inside them, the desolation in the years to come. At that moment Visenya feels like Daenys the Dreamer, seeing the fall of a great kingdom that should be indestructible. But just as quickly as it’s there, it’s gone, Queen Calanthe breaking their gaze.

She has no proof, no reason to believe Cintra would fall. Anytime Queen Calanthe’s name falls from the lips of anyone, it’s always mummers of praise at her prowess in battle, how fierce and deadly she is in the thick of combat. She has no reason to believe it, but yet, she can feel it deep in her bones.

Cintra is going to fall.

The Lions will fall as the Dragons did all those years ago.

“You should go, before he leaves you behind,” a voice breaks Visenya from her trance. Turning around, Mousesack is the one who spoke, standing behind her with a knowing glint in his eyes. Visenya cocks her head to the side. “Geralt, I mean.”

“I suppose it’s either him or--” Visenya moves her eyes around the room, focusing on Jaskier and the giggling noblewoman. They’re incredibly close to each other, as he whispers something into her ear, causing another round of giggles to leave her mouth. “- that.” Visenya mutters, raising a brow. Mousesack simply laughs, shaking his head, amusement glinting in his eyes.

“No wonder Geralt enjoys your company, you’re as dour as he is.”

“I’ll take that as a compliment,” Visenya says, a small smile on her face as she faces Mousesack. “It was nice to meet you, Mousesack, perhaps our paths will cross again.” Visenya moves to walk past him to catch up with Geralt, but his hand grips her arm, stopping her in her tracks.

“Jane, I know this may not be my place to say, but I can sense immense primal power inside you, similar to what the Princess displayed,” he says, his voice hardly above a whisper.

“I don’t know what you--”

“I would be a fool to not notice the energy thrumming inside you, do not take me for a fool, Jane. Nevermind that I saw you burn a man with your bare hand,” he continues, unbothered by the way Visenya 's eyes bore into his face.

“And what of it?” Visenya asks, straightening her posture and raising her chin slightly, like a wolf raising its hackles.

“I also know you don’t have full control over it. Without proper training you will find yourself at the center of a situation like this, with a far worse outcome,” he says, unperturbed by Visenya's intimidation attempts. Flashes of a burning building and screaming flit through Visenya’s mind for a brief second. Her posture slackens, not by much, but enough for Mousesack to notice.

“I suppose this is when you offer to be my teacher?” Visenya asks, sarcasm dripping from each word, a bitter laugh following shortly after. Her gold eyes narrow, lips pulled into a thin line. Mousesack chuckles, shaking his head, briefly looking away from Visenya, tracing the walls before his eyes flick back to her.

“I’m afraid not, destiny has other plans for you, it would seem. Your place is with Geralt and whatever grand adventures you get wrapped into,” he says, mirth dancing in his eyes, visible even in the darkness of the hall.

“Then it appears we are done here.” Visenya tries to maneuver past Mousesack, but his grip is tight, keeping Visenya in place. She turns back to him, eyes like hardened lava.

“If I might offer a piece of advice, find someone and let them help you control this power you have. But stay away from the Brotherhood, if you can. A mage outside of their grasp would be best.” Mousesack whispers, eyes staring deep into Visenya’s.

“Duly noted.” She moves to walk away again, and this time, Mousesack lets her. He releases her arm and watches as Visenya steps over the rubble and towards the exit.

“May the gods watch over you, Visenya Targaryen,” Mousesack says. Visenya’s footsteps stop, posture as stiff as a board, the little hairs on the back of her neck standing up. Her heart pounds, blood filling her ears until she can’t hear anything. Like she’s been turned to stone, Visenya slowly turns around, a grim expression set on her face. But when she turns around, Mousesack has disappeared into the crowd of people. Gold eyes narrow, searching for Mousesack in the crowd for only a moment longer.

She whirls around, eager to leave this castle and the kingdom behind. She swiftly walks through the hall, nodding at stragglers guests or guards as she passes them. It isn’t until she’s near the exit that she spots Geralt's stark white hair. The clothes Jaskier dressed him in are dirty and torn, pieces of rubble stuck in Geralt's disheveled hair.

“Geralt!” she calls out, picking up her speed to close the distance between them. He turns around, eyes locking on her.

“Jane,” he simply says, watching as the distance between them closes until she’s standing in front of him.

“Thought you could leave without me, did you?” she asks, a sly grin on her face. Geralt raises a brow, his lips pulling in a smirk that matches her own.

“I didn’t know you were joining me at all.”

“Well it’s either you or I stay with Jaskier and his new muse,” Visenya says, sarcasm oozing from her voice when she says muse. “And I don’t think it would be healthy to retch as much as I would be if I stayed with him.”

“So I’m your last resort?” Geralt asks, eyes glinting with mirth and just a hint of happiness.

“Of course, but don’t worry, I’ve had to put up with worse,” Visenya says. She pats Geralt on his chest as she passes him, moving towards the exit.

o0o0o0o

Tags: If your name is crossed out, it means I wasn’t able to tag you. Also I’m not 100% sure if most of y’all still want to be tagged, since it’s been so long since I posted a new chapter, so feel free to message me if you no longer want to be!

#geralt of rivia x reader #the witcher fanfiction #geralt fanfic #the witcher imagine #geralt x reader #the witcher #the witcher crossover #game of thrones crossover #the last dragon #house targaryen #targaryen!oc #geralt x oc

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littlemisslol-fic · 4 years ago

Link

Summary: Eugene was raised in a world of fire and blood. He barely remembers a time before the lights went out, the Blackout, that plunged humanity into a chaotic realm of violence and desperation. It’s been ten years since the end of the world, the birth of a graveyard that wasn’t kind to those too weak to take care of themselves- and it is there that Eugene finds a kid, abandoned to the wasteland and desperately trying to return home. Varian’s unassuming, easy prey in the hard-knock world Eugene’s come to call home, so it’s with begrudging acceptance he agrees to help the kid out. Not everything is as simple as he’d believe, however, and Varian hosts a few secrets of his own. In order to survive, they’ll have to learn to trust one another- though trust is a rare commodity in a world like theirs. No one man is an island after all.

Chapter Notes: It’s the end!

Eugene hadn’t expected to wake up again.

The first thing he notices is that his mouth tastes terrible. It’s a strange thing to notice first, but really, who can blame him? There’s no real noise, but he can hear something muffled; everything sounds like it’s through a filter, or underwater. Eugene’s thoughts swim through his head, impossible to catch, it’s like trying to grab a fish with his bare hands. Infuriating.

Whatever he’s lying on is soft, warm. A bed for sure. It’s a far cry from the rough concrete he’d been splattered on before. Eugene groans, shifting and reveling in the comfort for a second, allowing himself to nearly drift off again. God, he’s tired, he could sleep for a thousand years if the pain in his left shoulder would just knock it off for a bit-

Wait.

Pain. Getting shot. Andrew.

Varian.

Brown eyes snap open as Eugene feels a sudden pulse of panic. The man shoots up into a sitting position, ignoring the twinge in his shoulder. The kid, oh shit, where’s the kid, his mind screams at him on repeat, a cacophony of thoughts piling on top of each other in a way that keeps any of them from fully making sense.

Eugene flails on the bed, his legs quickly tangling in the sheets and sending him toppling to the hardwood floor with a harsh thump. It’s agony, a fiery pain that laces from his upper shoulder and into his chest properly, but Eugene doesn’t stop to contemplate it. He’s in unknown territory, with unknown people. He’s only in his undershirt and pants- boots, gone, jacket, gone, backpack, gone.

Kid, long gone.

Shit.

Eugene’s mind brings up the image of Varian’s face, streaked with tears and blue eyes blown wide in terror, and feels himself steel. The kid needs him. Andrew’s sure to be pissed, and something tells Eugene the Saporian isn’t going to be kind about that fact. The man can’t help the feeling of anger at the brief memory of how roughly Andrew had treated Varian when he’d seen them in the same space.

Case and point, he has to get going after them, and fast.

…As soon as he figures out where the hell he is.

It’s probably not with the Saporians, Eugene can’t see them healing him after attempting to murder him. Bandits, maybe? Sometimes they liked to grab people from the wastes once they were too weak to take care of themselves, and then coerce them into repaying the kindness of saving their ass. Seems the most likely, for sure.

Eugene grumbles as he pushes himself up off the floor. He stands on shaky legs, nearly falling over from fatigue and only staying upright by clumsily grabbing at the headboard of the bed he’d been laying on. His bare feet slap against the wooden floor, making a series of loud thumps. He groans, whoever had grabbed him probably knows he’s awake now.

Eugene rolls his shoulders, wincing at the stiffness. He sends a questing hand towards the wound in shoulder, assessing. Thick, well wrapped bandages cover the wound, which stings as he touches it. It was definitely a shot at his heart, but it had hit too high. Right in the fleshy part of his shoulder sits five new stitches, expertly done from the feeling of them. He doesn’t trust it, to be honest.

A good look around the room doesn’t yield much in the way of information. He’s in a smaller room, a bedroom to be sure. It’s barren, save for the bed, a nightstand with a pitcher on it, and a table pushed against the opposite wall. There’s large windows to his left, a door to his right. Bright sunlight flows in from the window. It’s a homey enough space, warm and clean, but Eugene knows better than to trust it. A closer look at the table brings good news. Eugene grins when he catches sight of his stuff, jacket folded primly and backpack seemingly untouched from how full it still looks.

That’s… suspicious.

But not what he needs to focus on right now.

The wooden floors creak slightly as he heads towards his stuff. Eugene’s mind whirls with a million plans. First, he has to get out of the house. Second, he has to figure out where the hell he even is. Third, and the most important: he needs to find the fastest route back to Saporian territory. Andrew thinks Eugene is dead, thinks it’s safe to take Varian back to their home base, and that is an incredible advantage. Eugene knows where they’re going, knows where Varian is going to be, which makes getting the kid back leagues easier than if the Saporians had split to somewhere new out of fear of being caught.

Eugene quickly slips his boots and jacket on, ignoring the burning fire in his shoulder at the motion. Damn he’d gotten lucky, even if it meant living with an injury this bad for at least a month. The backpack follows soon enough, something of a grounding weight. Varian’s boon, he notes, is missing.

Teeth grit, Eugene turns towards the window.

If he’s a prisoner, there’s no way the door isn’t rigged. If it’s not locked, it’s a trap. Eugene cracks his knuckles, quietly moving towards the window with practiced grace. It seems whoever had bandaged him up had yet to figure out he’s still awake, another stroke of luck.

He reaches the window, a medium sized opening that’s just as well maintained as the rest of the room, and slips his hands under the wooden sill. It opens soundlessly, allowing a fresh breeze to flow through. Eugene allows himself the quick moment to let himself enjoy it, as well as the feeling of the sun on his face. It’s a warm day, probably about mid-afternoon if he’s to guess, the air crisp with the smell of apples, of all things.

It’s during this moment of reprieve, that Eugene hears growling.

A blur of grey fur comes bolting through the window and into the room, startling the man into falling backwards with a very manly shriek, thank you. His ass hits the floor with a loud thump, muffled by the sound of high-pitched snarls coming from-

“A raccoon?!” Eugene snaps, shoving the furry creature away from his face. It lands on the bed with a yowl, its beady black eyes narrowed in a glare. “What the hell-?“

The rodent snarls again, spitting and pacing on the bed. It’s weird looking, for a wild animal, its coat shiny and fluffy. It looks like it’s had baths, like it’s a pet-

Eugene’s mind suddenly makes the connection, and he throws out his hands.

“Uh, shit,” he mumbles, “What did the kid call you? R-Reggie? No, that’s stupid. Remington?”

The raccoon stops the feral act, his little head cocking as Eugene stumbles over a few more R names.

“Ruddiger!” Eugene finally shouts, snapping his fingers. At the sound of the name, the raccoon perks right up, chittering something that almost sounds like a question. Eugene sees the spark of recognition in those beady eyes though, and things quickly start to fall into place.

“You’re Ruddiger, right?” he asks, grinning when the raccoon blinks. “And you belong to Varian?”

At the kid’s name the raccoon makes an excited noise. Eugene holds out a hand, smiling when the critter pushes into his palm with a purr. The raccoon, Ruddiger, is surprisingly soft. His little eyes shut as he shoves his face into Eugene’s hand. It’s ridiculously cute. Eugene feels a small smile cross his face, scratching the animal behind his ears.

“Alright, you weird cat.” He says, “Want to tell me where the door is? I know where your human’s at.”

Ruddiger squeaks at that, eyes wide at the mention of the kid. His ringed tail perks up, swishing from side to side. Eugene also notices that one of his ears, the one towards the door perks. The raccoon looks past the man and towards the exit; Eugene only has a split second to spin around before the door to the bedroom flings open.

With a startled yell Eugene bolts backwards, putting the corner of the bed between himself and the two people who come running at him through the door. They’re two women, one holding a sword and the other swinging a frying pan like it’s a bat. All three of them scream, the women in rage and Eugene in fear.

The one with the sword gets to Eugene first, swiping at him with a fierce cry. Her dark hair swings with the motion, nearly distracting as Eugene’s forced to duck to avoid her blade. He’s made a mistake, but he only realizes that when, with a perfectly executed switch, the women reverse positions and the blond one swings her frying pan up in a wide arc. Eugene can’t avoid it, taking the hit in the chin and toppling to the floor with a grunt.

He lands hard, blood filling his mouth from a bit tongue. Before he can even move the black-haired woman has him pinned, kneeling by his head with her hands keeping him on the floor while the blond one looms over him. Eugene’s head spins, his mouth filling with the taste of copper.

Eventually his vision focuses again, snapping onto a pair of stunning green eyes. The blond woman leans over him, holding something in her hand. He blinks at it for a second, confused and probably concussed, if he’s honest, until his head finally clears.

“Where did you get this?” Blondie demands. Varian’s boon sparkles in the sunlight. When Eugene tries to get his tongue to work, she shakes it in his face and leans forward.

“I said.” Her face darkens. “Where. Did you. Get this?”

“A friend!” Eugene finally snaps, struggling against black-hair’s grip. “A friend gave it to me, okay? And he’s in trouble, so I’d really appreciate you letting me go-“

“Who.” It’s less a question and more a demand. The woman’s green eyes are stony, there’s a rage there that Eugene can’t help but fear a bit.

“A kid.” He finally relents. The blond woman is familiar, and Eugene thinks he knows where from, though he’s not stupid enough to drop Varian’s name on assumptions. “I was helping him get home, we got separated. I got shot, and the people who did it took him.”

“Was his name-” Blondie starts, but black-hair cuts her off with a hiss.

“Raps, we don’t know this guy.” She says, “He might be lying.”

That cinches it.

“It’s from Varian.” Eugene says. The two women’s heads look down at him, blondie’s- Rapunzel’s- eyes going wider than dinner plates.

“You were with Varian?!” She gasps. Before Eugene can register what’s happening, she grabs him by the shoulders and forces him to sit up, her face getting concerningly close. “Was he okay?! Where is he now?” She shakes him once; Eugene swears he can feel his brain rattle in his skull.

“I- yeah, yeah, I was with the kid!” Eugene snaps, lightly slapping at her hands. She lets go with a sheepish expression, but Eugene continues on without prompting. “He’d been running from the Saporian gang, said they’d taken him from Corona.”

“They did.” Black-hair grunts. “Right under our noses, those bastards-”

“Cass.” Rapunzel chides quietly. “Please. Let him finish.”

Eugene feels oddly self conscious under her stare, trying hard not to look into her desperate eyes. It seems that now that he’s started talking, he can’t make himself stop. The words spill out, fast and rough- though that could be the blood loss talking.

“I found Varian out in the wastes,” He says. “He’d gotten away from the Saporians, asked me to help him find his way back… well back here, I’d assume. We were close, but Andrew found us.”

“Shit.” Black-hair, Cass, hisses. “If we’d known you were coming, we could have sent help. You were only a few clicks from here.”

Eugene grunts, testing his shoulder. “They took him again,” he says. The women’s faces fall. “But I know where they’re going.”

Rapunzel perks up at that, considering. “You’d help us go get him?” She asks, and her face breaks into a smile when Eugene nods.

“I promised to get him home,” he says. “And I’m not done until I’ve kept that promise.”

Rapunzel pauses, looks Eugene over with a calculating face. “And what’s in it for you?” She asks, and he freezes. It’s like a deer trapped in headlights, Eugene being faced with the horrific reality that he might actually care. A large part of him wants to deny it, to claim profit, but… well it just wouldn’t be truthful. He thinks of the kid, of how far lying got them at the start.

“Originally it was supplies,” he finally admits. “But… I dunno, the kid’s endearing, I guess. He grew on me like a mold.”

Cass snorts, standing from the floor. “That’s our Varian.”

Rapunzel smiles, something almost sad. Her eyes focus back on Eugene, before she keeps grilling him.

“Was he okay? Did they hurt him?”

Eugene bites at his lip, not sure if the truth would help at this point, but at those pleading, green eyes, he breaks.

“He was mostly fine,” he admits. “Lot of bruises. Pale, thin. They definitely weren’t feeding him enough. I don’t know what he was like, uh, before, but the kid’s skittish. Flinches a lot, scares easily.”

Rapunzel’s face falls with every word, but Eugene can see the rage building. “They hurt him,” she hisses. Eugene nods.

“Most likely.”

He sees her jaw clench.

“They’re dead.” Cass says, placating her friend. “We find them, they’re dead. With, uh-“

“Eugene.”

“-Eugene’s help, we’ll find him. We’ll bring him home, Raps. We just have to go and get him.”

Rapunzel nods at that, looks down to Eugene again. She stands, breathing deeply, once through her nose.

“Okay.” She says, and it’s more of a war cry than Eugene’s ever heard.

She extends a hand down to him. He takes it. “They think I’m dead.” Eugene says as she pulls him to his feet. “They don’t know that I know where their base is. Or at least, close to where their base is.”

“It’s more than we had to work with before.” Cass nods. Eugene can see the way she thinks, face flipping though multiple emotions. The hand holding her sword twitches. Eugene shifts his weight on his feet looking between them.

“It’s a fair way,” He admits.

“How far?” Cass’s face is grim.

“About a week. Me and the kid have been walking at least that long, maybe a little shorter.”

Rapunzel’s face falls again, before she looks to the two of them with a fire in her eye. It’s… well it’s attractive, Eugene will admit. She’s got spunk, especially when she twirls her frying pan with a showy sense of flair and focuses on the two other people in the room.

“Well,” she says, “I guess we’d better get going.”

>>>><<<<

Varian has had… better nights.

He shudders against the cold wind of evening, back pressed firmly against a tree. It’s freezing out tonight, the last of summer’s heat slowly giving way to fall. He knows his face is set firmly into a scowl, a bitter, angry expression. Good. Varian shifts his weight a little, wincing when the thick handcuff wrapped around one of his wrists digs into his skin when the movement tugs on the thick tree root Andrew had tied him to. Varian hates that’s he’s used to it, to the feeling of iron keeping him in place like a good little pet. Varian can feel as his anger festers, sinking deeper into him.

This marks the second night since Andrew had found him, since Varian had been dragged, kicking and screaming, onto the hot air balloon he’d designed and forced to watch as the highway had disappeared over the horizon. He’d been so close to home, barely a few hours more before they would have hit Corona. If they hadn’t stopped for the night, they would have made it, and Eugene…

Varian sniffles, rubbing his sore eyes with a bare wrist. They’d taken his hoodie long ago, leaving him in nothing but a thin T-shirt. He’d thought he’d cried himself out earlier, but the thought of the man always seemed to drag more tears from him. Varian couldn’t help but feel guilty, a festering, angry thing. Eugene had helped him, had ignored what his instincts had told him in order to help Varian to get home. He’d been kind, and it killed him.

Varian feels tears drip down his cheeks. The boy blinks quickly, scrubbing at his face. He casts a worried expression towards the center of the clearing the Saporians had landed them in, where a dull fire crackles. Andrew and his cronies sit around it, unaware of their being watched. It’s late in the night, a few of them have long since gone to sleep, but Andrew and a few others stay awake to keep watch.

Varian tugs idly on the cuff, yanking it against the thick root. Unsurprisingly, it doesn’t budge, the root embedded deep into the earth. He sighs, curling up under the meager safety of the tree and wiping at his red rimmed eyes. The sky above is dark, thick with clouds that hide the moon’s glow. Shadows reach towards them all with creeping fingers, choking out any light left.

Varian chances another look to the Saporians. They’re all chatting, clearly not focused on him in the slightest. They’re relaxed, easily confident that they’re safe for the evening.

Varian scowls, knowing they’re probably right.

He doesn’t have anything on him that he can use, Andrew had made sure of that, but he still had a trick or two under his belt. He manages to find a larger stick, long since split in half by the passage of time, along with a thinner twig. They’re bone dry, the summer heat sapping the moisture from the wood, so it’s in rapid succession that Varian’s able to pin the larger stick under his knee and swipe the smaller back and forth rapidly across a groove in the center. He repeats the motion as fast as he can, scraping the wood together until he can see smoke. Varian huffs out a small hah as he scoops up a few dry leaves, tipping the charred, smoking bits onto the tinder and gently blowing on it.

“C’mon,” he murmurs to himself, “C’mon.”

A small flame sparks to life. Varian nearly chokes on his gasp of excitement, dropping it to the forest floor and blowing on it again. The little fire splutters to life, catching on the dry tinder. Varian breathes a sigh of relief as it begins to grow, a tiny, flickering thing that finally offers a little heat, a little warmth. He slowly brings his hands away, intent on grabbing more fuel for the fire, when something else enters his view.

A boot comes slamming down, snuffing the fire out with a firm stomp. Varian cringes, looking up and seeing Andrew glaring down at him. The boy shrinks into himself, curling back as Andrew’s face darkens.

“Whatcha up to, buddy?” The man asks, twisting his foot firmly into the dirt. Varian feels a pulse of fear as Andrew looms over him, his back pressing against the bark of the tree. For a brief second, he finds himself longing for Eugene. He has to choke down the wave of sorrow the feeling brings right after.

“It’s cold.” Varian mumbles, refusing look up from the boot to meet Andrew’s glare. “I was-”

“Trying to escape?” Andrew asks, his face pulling down into a frown.

Varian’s breath hitches. “No!” He stutters, hands pulling up close to his chest. “No, no, I promise, I wasn’t trying to get away-”

“That’s good.” Andrew cuts him off again. Varian’s protest putters out, the boy going quiet. He tries to hide it, but his hands shake. Andrew notices, and his face splits into a smile. “You remember what happened last time you ran, don’t you? It was only a few days ago, after all.”

Varian’s breath hitches, the boy’s eyes going wide. “I…” He trails off, looking down to the earth.

Andrew’s weight shifts, the man crouching down into a squat. “Didn’t you learn anything? Fitzherbert died, because of you.” He says, and his face pulls into an exaggerated frown. “It was all your fault, Varian. Because you ran away, like a selfish little prick, a man died. Remember?”

The boy’s breath hitches, eyes going wide. “No, it’s- you’re the one who killed him!” His voice cracks, Varian’s face crumbling.

“And if you had just stayed put, I wouldn’t have done it.” Andrew shrugs like it’s an easy thing. “You dragged Fitzherbert into it, you made that choice to involve him. So yeah, bud, it’s on you.”

Varian’s face goes pale, the kid refusing to look up. Andrew reaches out, ignoring when the boy flinches away. He grabs Varian’s chin, forcing the boy to meet his eye. “I guess this was just what it took for you to learn your place,” he says, grinning when Varian’s shoulders hitch in a silent sob. “But it is what it is. So long as you do as you’re told, no one else needs to die.”

Tears run down freckled cheeks. Andrew lets go of Varian’s chin with a sigh, standing. “You’ll learn, one day. And when you do, we’re going to do great things together.”

With that, he turns and goes back to his fire. Varian covers his mouth with his hands, trying to muffle the fresh round of tears. His eyes burn from the salt, the boy blinking as his vision swims. His eyes slam shut as he lets himself be taken by another wave of despair, his whole body shaking with the force of the sorrow, the devastation.

The guilt.

In front of him, the small patch of soot quickly grows cold.

>>>><<<<

Eugene’s shoulder kills, but he refuses to let it stop him. The jostling of the horse underneath him does nothing to help, but he grits his teeth and bears it. They’d been riding for two days, hustling along the highway that Eugene had been found on, the same highway Andrew had attacked them. The horses are leagues faster than walking had been, and even Eugene knows that a hot air balloon is slow as all hell. At the rate they’re going, they’ll catch up with the Saporians sooner rather than later.

They only break for about eight hours, taking the risk of having no lookout to spend the minimum amount of time stopped before they’re off again. It’s a brutal pace, on rider and horse both, but Cassandra had made the good point that if Andrew and his crew could get the kid back to their base, rescuing Varian would be considerably more difficult. If they could catch the gang out in the wastes, it would simply be a matter of grabbing the kid and running like hell was on their heels.

Sure. Simple.

It’s been two days of riding. They’ve got to be close; they’ve already reached close to the gorge where he and Varian had almost died. They’d even stayed a night in the same farmhouse, its once cheery interior all the colder without the kid there. It’s early in the night, the sky dark and cloudy. They’d pulled off to the side of the highway to stop for the night, but Cassandra had stopped them before they could start to unpack a camp.

“Wait.” She whispers, quietly gesturing towards the forest. Eugene follows her motion, catching sight of dull light in the distance. A campfire. His eyebrow raises, a weathered hand settleing on the hilt of his sword.

“Could it be...?” Rapunzel trails off, hopeful. Cassandra shrugs, but catches Eugene’s eye. The man nods, already knowing what she’s implying.

“We should check it out,” he says. “The balloon barely caught up to us at a walking pace. I wouldn’t be surprised if we managed to overtake them on the horses.”

One of the animals, named Maximus as Eugene had learned, looks nearly smug as Eugene speaks. The man rolls his eyes, but still turns to where the fire burns in the distance.

“If there’s a chance it’s them, we have to check,” he says. Rapunzel nods, frying pan already in hand.

They creep forwards together, drawing close to the fire on quiet feet. The forest around them is alight with life, bugs and birds and small animals moving around and hiding their approach. Eugene is easily the quietest of them all, though Cassandra gets to the edge of the clearing first. She ducks into a thick bush, waving the others forwards once she confirms it’s a good spot. Eugene and Rapunzel dip in behind her, moving to either side. The thick brush is hard to see through, but it’s hidden, and for now that’s what’s important. The dirt under his knees is cold; Eugene shivers in the colder evening temperatures. From their place, kneeling in the dirt, Eugene can see the whole camp.

The first person he notices is Andrew.

“Oh, shit,” he whispers. “It’s them.”

The Saporians have a nice little camp going, to be fair. A large fire in the center of a clearing, the five of them scattered about. Three of them are asleep, the only ones awake are Andrew and the younger woman, Juniper. They relax next to the fire, relaxed and content with their places. A deflated hot air balloon sits nearby, small and chock full of odd little gadgets that must be Varian’s modifications.

Speaking of.

“Where’s Varian?” Rapunzel asks, her voice strained. “I don’t see him.”

“Me neither,” Cassandra hisses back.

Eugene scans the area near the fire. “He’s got to be around somewhere,” he mutters. “Andrew wouldn’t let the kid out of his sight, not after Varian gave him the slip once.”

“Wait- there!” Rapunzel nearly moves forwards, lurching towards the clearing. Cassandra snaps out a hand to stop her, grabbing the blonde by her arm and pulling her back down. Rapunzel struggles for a second more, but stops when Cass shakes her head. Instead the blonde points to the edge of the glen, where a large tree sits. There, handcuffed to the base of the tree…

“Varian.” Eugene whispers. Something in his chest, a knot that had been twisting in his gut for days, finally begins to unwind at the sight of Varian, though any sense of relief is cut short by the state of him. The kid looks like shit, even worse than the last time Eugene had seen him. The kid looks beat to hell; a fresh, purple bruise splays across Varian’s face, his wrist bleeds from where he’s been chained to the tree. Worst of all, however, is the obvious signs of the distress the kid’s in. Baby blue eyes are red rimmed and bloodshot. The kid’s crying, wiping at his face in a futile attempt to keep himself composed, but there’s no hiding the flush of his cheeks and the shaking of his lip.

Rapunzel makes a noise that’s close to a growl. Eugene can see the way her hand tightens around her frying pan. The sight of Varian’s distress obviously effects all three of them- Cassandra looks ready for murder, and Eugene’s sure his own expression can’t be much better. Even at the relief of seeing the kid alive, the sight of Varian in so much pain without anyone even trying to comfort him stirs a rage that Eugene rarely ever feels.

It’s not right- it was never right of course, but these bastards had ripped Varian away from his home, from his family. And now, faced with a crying kid that they had hurt, they couldn’t even be damned to give the kid a sweater or something, since they’d chained him far from the fire. Varian gets cold easily, even Eugene knows that.

The anger is like fire, spreading up from his gut and into his chest, a raging warmth that spurs the grip on his sword and the glare in his eye. It’s not right. He grits his teeth against the gnashing rage, sucking in a breath through his teeth.

“What’s the plan, blondie?” He asks, eyes never looking away from the distant figure of Varian. “Kid’s close to the edge of camp, but I don’t know how long the cuff will take to pick.”

“I can make a distraction.” Cassandra offers. “Go back to the road, make a bunch of noise. Excluding Andrew, they’re not the smartest bunch. Bang two sticks together and they’ll come running.”

Rapunzel pauses, thinking. “There’s five of them,” she says. Her eyebrows furrow together in thought, the woman biting at her lip. “I don’t think splitting up is a good idea.”

Eugene shakes his head. “We can’t take them head on. Even if we can get the kid free, it’s four against five. Varian’s not a fighter, he’s a-”

“A man of science.” Rapunzel finishes the sentence, catching Eugene’s eye. “That’s what he always says.”

Eugene’s mouth shuts with a click of teeth. Rapunzel’s face sinks into a warm smile. She puts a hand on his shoulder, leaning forward as much as she’s able. “You’re close with him?” She asks.

Eugene wants to deny it, wants to still pretend that this is all about some stupid ego-code, or revenge, or just because he wants to… but he’d be lying. He meets Rapunzel’s eye, nods.

“Varian’s… he’s a good kid.” Eugene scratches at the back of his neck. He looks away, refusing to acknowledge the heat in his cheeks. “So sue me if I got attached. He’s like a puppy, you can’t not.”

Rapunzel shakes her head, quietly laughing. “That’s exactly it,” she says. “Thank you, though. For taking care of him, I mean.”

“It was nothing-”

“No it wasn’t.”

No, it wasn’t.

Cassandra makes a small noise. Eugene looks back towards the clearing, glaring when he sees Andrew step away from the group and into the woods.

“Now?” He asks. Rapunzel pauses only for a second, weighing the options.

“Now,” she says. “Try and get Varian’s cuff unlocked without getting caught. If they spot you, Cass and I will step in.”

“Got it.” Eugene says, already moving back into the brush. He swings wide, keeping his distance from the camp as he circles around to where Varian is. His boots barely make a sound in the night, Eugene sneaking as quietly as he can. If he gets caught now, it will only end badly for Varian. They have one shot at this, and Eugene’s going to use it wisely.

He eventually gets close enough to see the kid properly, barely containing himself as the bruises, the blood, gets more pronounced against freckled skin. The kid looks worse up close, and it makes Eugene want to punch something. Specifically Andrew.

But that’s for later.

“Kid.” He hisses, trying to get Varian’s attention. The boy’s half asleep, cried out and obviously exhausted as he huddles against the tree to his back. Varian’s head looks up sharply at the whisper, staring directly at Eugene’s hiding place with wide eyes. The man takes the chance of popping out from between the trees, showing himself for a quick second.

He doesn’t get the reaction he was expecting.

Varian goes as white as a sheet, the blood draining from his face as it drops into a horrified expression. He looks like he’s seen a ghost. To be fair, though, from Varian’s perspective he probably has.

“E-Eugene?” He whispers, looking back and forth from Eugene’s hiding place and the campfire. “You’re alive?”

“Andrew’s a shitty shot,” is all Eugene says. It looks safe enough, so he chances crawling out from the brush and towards the kid. Varian’s face is still pulled in shock, baby blue eyes wide and nearly popping out of his skull. When Eugene gets close, he raises a shaking hand, looking scared to try anything more. The chain keeping him tied to the tree rattles with the movement.

With a small sigh, Eugene leans forwards and gently takes the cuffed hand. His heart aches at the shocked intake of breath the kid makes at the touch. Varian’s shaking, but not from cold.

“I thought you died…” The kid says. Eugene looks at him, sees the tears quickly springing up.

“Nah,” Eugene shrugs, trying to lighten the mood. “I’m like a cockroach. I’d love to see something actually succeed in killing me, I’m basically immortal.”

Varian laughs wetly, wiping at his face to dispel the tears. Eugene feels something in him settle as the kid’s face splits into a small, cautious smile.

“You’ll never guess who picked me up, by the way,” the man continues. Varian perks up, tilting his head. Eugene tilts his head in thought, playing it up to keep the kid laughing. “Some blonde chick and her crazy-ass friend, right. And, get this, they had a raccoon with them.”

The kid’s eyes go wide with surprise, the weak smile splitting into something closer to the wide grin Eugene’s come to know. “Rapunzel?” He asks quietly, like he can’t believe it. “And Cass? And Ruddiger?!”

“What are the odds, huh?” Is all Eugene replies with, trying not to smile as Varian grabs at his wrist.

“Are they here too?” The kid asks, nearly vibrating with excitement. “Did they-”

“Yeah, goggles. They came to help me get you home. Thought I could use the backup, this go around… but first we have to get you loose.”

Eugene looks down to the kid’s hand, more specifically the cuff around Varian’s wrist. It’s old, even in terms of the time after the blackout. The cuffs are rusted, but the metal’s still holding strong after all these years. Eugene is nothing if not resourceful, however, and he’s got just the thing.

“Hm,” he says. “Looks like an old police cuff. Should be easy enough to get you out of there.” Eugene reaches into his boot, drawing out his most valuable possession. The kid makes a confused noise, something small, but welcome.

“A paperclip?” Varian asks. “Are you serious?”

“Hey, don’t knock the paperclip.” Eugene quickly unbends the thing, shaping the little metal stick into a right angle. “This little guy’s gotten me out of more than one situation, thank you very much.”

He slips the impromptu lock pick into the keyhole of the handcuff, starting to shift it around in the mechanism. Varian watches with a keen eye, curious. Eugene catches the look, and begins to quietly explain.

“The lock has two latches on the inside,” he murmurs, barely even paying attention. “So, see, you want to bend the clip at about a ninety-degree angle and then hit both of them at the same time. Just gotta find the right spot-”

Click.

“Et voila!” He grins as the cuff falls open. Varian gawps at his freed wrist, pulling it back towards his chest as Eugene lets go. The man risks a peek over to the Saporians again, seeing Andrew still missing and the others half asleep. Good.

“Alright, kid.” He says, drawing Varian’s stunned attention back. “Let’s say you and I blow this roadshow, huh?”

The kid starts to nod, but pauses, thinking. “They’ll just follow us,” he says. Varian worries at his lip with those buck teeth, thinking hard. “We need to destroy the balloon.”

“Wha- Goggles, no, listen-” God damn it they don’t have time for this. “Your sister brought horses, we can outrun them.”

“And then what?” Varian’s voice nearly cracks. “We just wait for them to show up at Corona? Hide away for the rest of m-our lives? What happens when we can’t keep running?”

Eugene can’t even find anything to say. The protests die on his tongue, especially when Varian’s face hardens.

“If we don’t do something, they’ll keep hurting people.” The kid’s insane- “If I can stop them now, it’s my responsibility to do that.”

“It’s your respons- kid, we’re trying to survive, here!”

“What’s the point of survival without helping other people?” Varian snaps, “Without charity? Without hope?! I’ve seen the world survival brings, and I don’t want a part of it; I want to make things better, even if it’s a risk.”

“There’s no room for thinking like that out here.” Eugene’s protest is weak, and he knows it. “That kind of shit’s going to get you killed. Now, let’s get the hell out of here!” He reaches for Varian’s hand, and only feels a little hurt when the kid pulls back.

“I’m ending this.” Varian says. “For good.”

And like that, the kid’s up like a shot. Eugene makes another grab at him, hissing Varian’s name, but the teenager’s gone too quickly, off and vanishing into the darkness. The man grits his teeth- what the actual hell is the kid thinking- before getting to his feet and following.

The forest is dark all around them, but Eugene catches up with the kid quickly enough. Twigs snap underfoot, a barely-there crack in the silence of the evening. Eugene huffs for breath as he sees Varian skid to a stop in front of him, the kid crouching behind a tree.

The man follows the boy’s eyeline, sees the balloon parked near the trees. Its deflated for the evening, the garish, purple fabric laying flat on the forest floor. A large, almost ship looking platform sits nearby, connected to the balloon with a series of ropes and thick cables. It looks strong, to be honest, much sturdier than the hot air balloons Eugene thinks of from the before. If anything, it’s more of a warship that happens to be floating under balloons, than a hot air balloon in the traditional sense.

And there, bolted above the deck in the center of the ship on a pyramid of thin, metal supports, is a large burner. Or, at least, Eugene thinks that’s what it is. The way Varian stares at the balloon seems to confirm it; the kid’s glaring at it like it’s personally offended him. Eugene sees the same spark in his eye that Varian had the day they met, when the kid had refused to take no for an answer and had pushed until Eugene agreed to get him home. The man sighs, knowing exactly what that look means.

“So that’s it, then?” He asks, sidling up next to the kid and hiding behind the same tree. Varian jumps for a second at the sound of his voice, but the kid finally nods before looking back to the balloon.

“Andrew keeps the plans on the ship.” Varian whispers. “I saw them when… uh, after we were separated. They don’t understand how the ship works, so if things broke, they used the blueprints to figure it out.”

“So let me guess,” Eugene can hear the resignation in his own voice. “You want to get the plans, too.”

“Or just destroy them.” Jesus, kid, “Either way, if we don’t remove the plans from the equation, they can just build a new ship.”

“Fantastic.”

“Ha. Tell me how you really feel.”

Eugene takes the time to glare down at the little shit. Varian grins brightly back, and honestly, it’s worth the irritation to see the kid smile.

“Okay, goggles,” he says, “This is your song and dance. What’s the plan?”

Varian worries at the bottom of his lip, looking around. “I think I can get close enough without getting spotted,” he whispers, “All I have to do is destabilize the reducer bell, that would make it burn too quickly, causing the fire to be an uncontrolled burn, meaning-”

“To the point kid, please.”

Varian grins, something reveling and almost mean. “Meaning boom,” he says.

Eugene can’t help but laugh, tweaking the kid’s ear. “Boom it is, then,” he grins. “We’ll stick together, better to run in pairs.”

Varian nods. Together they slowly creep out from the woods. Eugene can’t say he’s pleased about being so exposed, but if this is what it takes to get Varian to agree to leaving… well they’d better make it quick. Varian reaches the balloon first, quickly hopping into the wooden portion and out of sight. Eugene follows, pressing his back against the wooden wall. They hold the position for a second longer, waiting, listening. Nothing happens, the Saporians still unaware of their loose prisoner. Together they breathe a sigh of relief, Varian slouching more than Eugene against the panels.

The kid’s gotta be tired, there’s no question of it. Better get this done sooner, rather than later. Thankfully, there’s a series of crates that will keep them mostly hidden, with a few odds and ends stacked on top. It’ll be more than enough to hopefully make this quick.

“Alright,” Eugene murmurs. “Tell me what to do.”

Varian peeks up pausing. “I’ve got it,” he says. “If you do it wrong, we could blow up with it.”

“Ah.”

“Yep.”

Varian flips onto his feet in a squat, quickly reaching into a nearby crate. With a grin he pulls out his hoodie, still stocked from the way that it seems to glow from the chemicals within. The kid slips it on, looking already more like himself. He also pulls out the knife Eugene had given him, still sheathed. The boy waves it with a small flourish, smiling widely at the ridiculous look Eugene shoots him.

“Andrew knows better than to chuck a good knife just because he wants to be petty.” Varian shrugs. The kid moves closer to the burner, tilting it this way and that before pulling the knife from its sheath. He uses the tip to unscrew a panel from the bottom of the machine in a precise, practiced motion. A sense of amusement makes Eugene snicker as the kid sticks his tongue out in concentration, fiddling with the guts of the burner.

“Just a little more,” Varian whispers to Eugene. The man nods, looking around. Something doesn’t feel right, like it’s too easy. It gets his hackles up, the quiet of the evening. In theory it’s good that it’s quiet, but something about it just seems too perfect. Their luck has sucked so far, so something going right sets him right on edge.

Case and point, a sudden shout comes from the other end of the glen not two seconds later.

“Where’s the kid?!”

Andrew.

Varian flinches violently, borderline dropping to the deck of the ship. Eugene follows, settling into a crouch before peeking through the top railing with a cautious eye. He sees Andrew storming into camp from where they’d chained Varian, shaking the empty handcuffs. The fury across his face is evident, a snarling, vicious anger.

Eugene hears Varian suck in a terrified breath next to him.

All the Saporians have turned to look at their leader, shock written across their faces as the man shakes the cuffs roughly.

“I said,” he spits, “Where. The hell. Is the kid?”

“I- we- he can’t have gone far!” Juniper stumbles over her words, fear written plainly across her face. “He’s just a kid, we caught him before, right?”

“We caught that little shit because we shot Fitzherbert, which scared him into listening. You want to volunteer next, Juniper?”

Oh, Andrew’s pissed. Juniper wilts immediately, shrinking down. “We’ll find him,” she says, more a pleading thing than a declaration.

The boy next to Eugene shakes at the mention of the night on the highway, flinching as the man quietly offers his hand in consolation. The kid takes his hand, clinging tightly to the illusion of safety. Varian shudders and shifts, to try and see the camp better.

Knocks into a nearby crate.

The whole thing rattles, sending a glass bottle toppling to the deck below. Eugene throws a hand out, trying to catch it, but he’s just short; his fingers graze the bottle before it passes him by, slamming into the wooden surface of the ship and breaking into a million pieces. The noise it makes rattles in Eugene’s ears, the high-pitched crack of shattered silence.

There’s a pause, Eugene and Varian staring at each other in abject horror before they hear hurried footsteps.

“Whelp,” Eugene says, already standing. “I think it’s time to go, don’t you?”

“Agreed!” Varian shouts, shooting to his feet and starting to bolt. His knife drops to the deck, abandoned in the panic. Eugene vaults over the edge of the ship first, landing in the dirt. He unthinkingly twists, already holding his arms out to catch the kid. Varian lands in his grip with a little oomph, clinging tight as Eugene softens the fall. It’s a quick second of unconscious comfort, feeling Varian safe in his arms, though it doesn’t last long.

Eugene can hear the Saporians shout behind them, angry and loud. He chances a look towards them and see all five charging towards the airship, and towards them. Varian locks up in fear for a second, but a small push from Eugene gets him moving. They run, bolting for the woods, a fierce sprint that Eugene knows he’s going to feel in his knees tomorrow. Varian easily overtakes him- damn the kid’s fast when he wants to be- but skids to a stop at the edge of the forest. Eugene finds himself running past, digging his feet in to stop before he ends up leaving the kid behind. He twists on his heel just in time to see Varian reach into the depths of the hoodie and draw out a bomb, throwing it with a practiced motion.

It explodes into a cloud of fuchsia dust, the gas spreading through the entire clearing. Eugene can hear the Saporians shout in surprise- at least one of them hits something with a loud thump and a curse- but he loses sight of Varian in the process.

“Shit, goggles!?” He shouts, looking frantically around. Eugene stumbles over a rock, unable to see his own hand in front of his face. The sword in his hand is heavy, a comforting thing, but he doesn’t dare to use it. If it’s a friendly face and he swings… it would end badly, to say the least.

“Varian!?” He yells again, hearing chaos in the thick cloud. There’s a sudden clang of metal on what’s probably a skull from the way someone screams; it’s enough to set Eugene’s hair on end as the noise was close-

Another clang, another scream. Eugene whirls around with his sword held high, caution be damned-

Rapunzel.

The blond woman pauses, her frying pan held behind her not unlike how someone would hold a bat, ready to swing. Eugene jerks to a stop, bringing his sword down. Cassandra’s close behind the blonde, her green glare scanning the smoke. Rapunzel does the same, her eyes widening when she doesn’t see the kid at Eugene’s side.

“I thought you had Varian?!” Her voice pitches higher in a way that screams frantic. “Where is he?” “I lost him!” Eugene snaps, “He threw the bomb and vanished, what do you want from me?!”

He would keep shouting, but a quick motion behind him startles him. Eugene whirls on his heels, bringing his sword up in a block. He feels, more than sees, the impact of another blade connecting with his own, a harsh weight that makes the hole in his shoulder scream. He just catches sight of grey-green eyes before Andrew snarls, pressing hard into the block before backing off. Juniper stands at her side, already moving around like a stalking predator.

He hears Rapunzel shout behind him, the shuffling of footsteps interspaced with the clang of metal on metal. He chances a small look behind him, sees Rapunzel and Cassandra backing away from Kai, the large man towering over them. Juniper starts to move to Eugene’s left, even as Andrew stands in front.

They’re trying to flank him, he realizes with a dawning horror. Distract him long enough for one of them to get an in and cut him down. It’s a dirty ploy, but one that he’s seen done even in the animal kingdom. Unsurprising that the Saporians would use such a tactic.

“Fitzherbert,” Andrew’s voice is cold. “Looks like you’re harder to kill than I thought.”

Eugene shrugs. “You shoot like a bitch,” he says. Andrew scowls, a sour look crossing his face. Eugene can’t help but smirk, shifting his weight to keep both Saporians in his line of sight.

The girls seem pre-occupied with Kai, from the sound of it, so he knows he’s on his own here. He’s never fought Juniper before, but she looks capable, especially in the way she circles him with a quiet precision. For a second there’s an almost peaceful moment between the three of them, a weird sort of stalemate.

That is, until Andrew starts to back away, disappearing into the pink smoke.

“Juniper,” he says. “Be a dear and entertain our guest, would you?”

Eugene catches the glint of her smile. She holds a silver rapier in her hand, her dark skin turning nearly white at the knuckle with how tightly she holds it. His attention flits back to Andrew; the cocky bastard’s fully turned away now, waltzing into the pink cloud without a care.

“Don’t worry, Fitzherbert,” he calls over his shoulder. “I’ll take real good care of the kid, I promise.”

Eugene’s hackles raise at that. He starts to go after Andrew- ready to tear that asshole limb from limb, how dare he threaten the kid again- but Juniper stands in his way. Her sword’s held parallel to the ground, blocking his path. Her face is nearly blank, save for a calculating gleam in her eye.

There’s only a fraction of a second that passes before Juniper lunges forwards, a loud cry leaving her as she swings her sword. Eugene only just deflects it, a pulse of adrenaline guiding his hand as he knocks her sword away and parries with a swipe of his own. She barely gets out of the way, crouching and throwing one of her legs out in a perfect arc aimed directly at Eugene’s knee.

The man manages to hop over it, landing in a solid stance as Juniper switches her weight onto her hands. The woman continues her leg’s arc around in a full circle, swinging back around to connect her foot perfectly on Eugene’s jaw. It’s a good hit, solid. Eugene’s head swirls from the impact, the man bending double as his vision goes cross eyed.

He tastes blood where he’d bitten his cheek.

Juniper somehow ends up back on her feet, directing another kick at Eugene’s undefended side. It topples him, the taste of dirt mixing with the blood. Pain flares up from his shoulder like fire, burning until it’s all he can focus on. He flips onto his back, staring up at the moonless sky as Juniper towers over him.

In the distance, he hears someone scream.

Juniper isn’t much of a talker, it seems. She simply raises her sword high, obviously gearing up for a killing blow. Eugene winces, ready for the hit like all the others before. His eyes slam shut, waiting for the agony-

Only to hear the crack of a frying pan meeting skull.

His eyes fly open as Juniper goes oddly stiff, wobbling for a second before toppling into the dirt. Behind her stands Rapunzel, haloed in the light of the fire. Her pan’s held high as her backlit figure holds itself like a queen.

Beautiful, Eugene can’t help but think.

Time slows, the two of them meeting eyes and staring at the other with a sense of magnetism Eugene can’t place. He feels drawn to her, her fire, her drive, her joy. Something in her calls to him, like a lighthouse on the coast. From the way she stares at him, he thinks she must feel it too.

“Are you okay?” She asks, lowering her pan now that Juniper is well and truly knocked out.

“Fine,” he says. The pink smoke around them is still thick and cloying, nearly impossible to see through. “Fine. Are you and Cass-”

“We’re okay too.” Cassandra. She appears through the smoke, the fuchsia swirling around her like a shawl. “But there’s no sign of the kid.”

“Andrew was going after him,” Eugene gasps out, pushing his aching body off the ground. “We have to get to Varian before he does-”

A sudden explosion of wind bursts from the edge of the haze. Eugene slaps his hands over his ears and slams his eyes shut, crouching down to protect his head as he had learned to do during the chaos after the Blackout. When he opens his eyes again the pink smoke from Varian’s bomb is mostly gone, dispersed by the shockwave. He spins, looking for-

Oh, no.

Andrew stands tall on the airship, the gust being caused by the whirling propellers on the tail end starting up. The man smiles, raising a hand to wave at them as the ship begins to raise into the air on the newly inflated balloon. Andrew’s hand lazily waves, the other holding onto a struggling figure by the wrist.

“Varian!” Eugene hears Rapunzel scream, only just registering what she says past the roaring of adrenaline in his ears. As he blinks away the last of the pink fog that’s exactly who he sees, the teenager shoving at Andrew with his free hand as the airship raises higher into the moonless sky.

“Son of a bitch, you’ve got to be kidding me!” Eugene mutters, already kicking himself into a sprint. He hears the women close behind, Rapunzel shouting insults to Andrew the whole time. The ship’s only a few meters off the ground, but they’ll never make it at their current pace. Eugene’s heart races from the exertion, from the panic, anger, and adrenaline cocktail that comes from seeing Andrew with his nasty mitts on the kid again. The rabbit’s pace of his heartbeat is wild in his ears, drowning everything out as he sprints the twenty-meter distance between them and the airship.

By the time he gets there the ship’s at least five meters off the ground, easily higher than any of them can jump. Eugene only pauses for a moment, staring up at the underbelly of the machine with a sense of dawning horror before Rapunzel sprints past him and snatches a rope that’s dangling off the side of the ship. Cassandra follows without question, grabbing a rope of her own. Seeing their plan is enough to shock Eugene to life again, the man grabbing another line; he can’t help but feel grateful for balloons having to be tied down in order to keep them in place.

Eugene grits his teeth as his feet leave the ground, tugged higher and higher by the raising ship. He doesn’t dare look down as he starts to climb towards the ship, but the way the passing trees start to seem shorter and shorter isn’t a good sign.

Rapunzel and Cassandra climb nearby, the tree of them scaling the ropes towards the main body of the ship. Eugene’s shoulder burns, the exertion of holding his body weight and having to climb causing a strange numbness in that arm. Probably not good, but he’s in it for the long haul that this point. He’ll just have to deal with it later.

Cassandra and Rapunzel are on the two ropes attached to the left side of the ship, Eugene on the right. They all swing like pendulums as they clamber upwards, the wind battering at them. Eugene breathes through his nose, gritting his teeth against the pain in his shoulder as the lower side of the ship draws close, so close-

Cassandra shouts as her rope suddenly gives way, the woman plummeting into the trees below. Eugene sees her manage to grab a hold of a branch a meter down, stopping her fall. Her line falls to the ground, the cut side of it hitting the side of the ship. Cassandra shouts in rage, quickly left behind as they continue to float away.

”Andrew!” Rapunzel barks. No prizes for guessing who’s cutting the lines, then. Eugene behind to push himself harder, climbing faster as the edge of the ship draws close. He hears Rapunzel scream, catches sight of blond hair disappearing into the trees just like Cassandra had. Her cut line swings uselessly in the wind.

“Later, princess!” He hears Andrew cackle, laughing as Rapunzel curses at him from the treeline. Eugene’s only a meter away from the railing, the stress on his shoulder burning.

The ship cracks the treeline at last, bursting from the forest in a sudden boost of speed. Eugene feels the tips of his boots skimming the tops of trees, even as he finally gets a grip on the railing. He hoists himself up with one last pull, forcing his aching arms to bring him up and over the edge.

Eugene’s boots hit the wood, already drawing his sword from the scabbard. It’s easy enough to take stock of the scenario, it’s not like the ship is overly large. The same crates and tools are scattered about the deck, obviously in a state of chaos after the hectic takeoff. The main burner still chugs away in the center, a large plume of flame spluttering from the top and heating the air in the balloon to make it fly. Varian’s knife’s still laying nearby from where the kid dropped it, the light of the burner reflecting off it. The shards from the broken bottle are long gone, scattered to the wind.

And there, on the other side of the deck, stands Andrew and Varian, locked in a scuffle.

The kid’s fighting with everything he’s got, smacking at Andrew despite the sword held in the man’s other hand. The brunet’s got a hand locked around Varian’s wrist, keeping the kid in place even as Varian struggles. Two ropes swing from the railing, obviously Cassandra and Rapunzel’s lines that Andrew had cut.

“Let go!” Varian screams, kicking at Andrew. The man grunts with each hit, though one good kick to the ankle is enough to get him to swing his sword to a stop under Varian’s chin. The kid tenses, eyes darting between the blade and Andrew.

“You,” The man hisses, “Are going to shut. Up. Are we clear?”

“Go to hell!”

“Ha, hell spat me out, try again.” Andrew shakes the kid once before shoving Varian down to the deck. “Don’t give a reason to chuck you over the edge.” He threatens, smiling as the kid flinches.

The second Varian’s out of Andrew’s grip Eugene charges.

The taller man doesn’t even have time to turn before Eugene’s on him, tackling the man to the deck of the ship. They land with a thump, the contact rough on Eugene’s injuries. His shoulder aches, even as he pins Andrew down with a hand. Something in Eugene screams for blood, for revenge, for justice for what he’s done to Varian, to countless others.

There’s something infinitely satisfying as he draws a fist back and brings it down, cracking his knuckles across Andrew’s smarmy face.

In fact, it feels so good he does it again.

Andrew yowls at each punch. Eugene feels flesh give way under his fist, a burst of crimson red blooming under the bruises he leaves. It’s good, the feeling of this bastard’s pain at Eugene’s hands, the feeling of blood and suffering for once caused to those who choose evil.

But it can’t last.

Andrew manages to get Eugene off him, a rough shove sending him backwards and onto the deck. His back hits wood with a thump. Eugene doesn’t pause to think about the aches, flipping onto his stomach and pushing himself up with a grunt. He hears the whizz of a blade through the air, and only just manages to roll out of the way before Andrew’s sword cleaves his head from his shoulders. He keeps the momentum, rolling clean across the polished wood of the deck.

He comes to a stop by a familiar pair of boots.

“Hey, kid,” he says, quickly standing and putting himself between Varian and Andrew. The boy looks dreadful, gaunt and thin in the harsh light thrown from the burner. “How’s it going?”

“Been better,” Varian responds, an exhausted look fluttering across his face even as he borderline hides behind Eugene.

“Fair enough,” Eugene shrugs. Andrew paces in front of them, spitting blood onto the deck. “Got any bright ideas, goggles?”

“I used my last bomb down there,” Varian admits. Shit.

“Hm. We’ll take care of this the old-fashioned way, then.”

“Can you stall him?” Varian whispers. “I have an idea.”

“No, just stay out of it-”

“Eugene.”

He’s forced to look back. Sees those baby blues focused on him, a fire burning deep within them. There’s a light, a determination, that he hasn’t seen in Varian before.

“Please, trust me.” Varian begs, his eyes wide and pleading.

Before Eugene can reply, Andrew makes himself known again.

“Are we doing this today, Fitzherbert?” He tone is demanding, only punctuated by the slight ting of the tip of his sword hitting the ship’s deck. “Or are we just going to stand here and glare at each other until one of us drops dead?”

Eugene’s sword is a heavy weight in his hand.

“You’d better have a plan, kid.” Eugene mutters.

And then, he strikes.

Andrew’s fast, Eugene will give him that, but it’s also easy enough to keep him distracted and away from the kid. If Varian’s got a plan, Eugene would trust him on it. It’s like pulling teeth, allowing someone else to take the reigns and control the situation while Eugene does nothing but distract and put himself in harm’s way, but…

Well the kid had done more than enough to prove his mettle.

Neither Eugene nor Andrew are in top shape at this point. It’s been a long fight, Andrew’s tired, Eugene’s injured. They’re both about as even as they’ll ever get, even as their swords clash in a shower of sparks. It’s obvious in the way that Andrew sticks to circling that he isn’t strong enough to be as offensive as he usually is, despite the fact that Eugene is just as exhausted as he is.

Doesn’t stop him from trying, though.

There’s a few more parries and dodges. Swipes of blades through the midnight air. A block here, a kick there. A splash of blood on the polished wood of the deck. Eugene catches sight of Varian, out of the way of the fighting, fiddling with the burner again. Ah, so that’s his plan, then.

Andrew makes another swing of his sword, yelling with rage. His face is shiny with sweat and blood, his hair dishevelled and wild in the wind. The Saporian looks near feral, bloodied and animalistic as he sloppily slashes at Eugene. Something in him, Eugene thinks with a pulse of fear, has snapped.

“I’m going to fillet you!” Andrew hollers over the wind, “And when I’m done? I’m gunna take that goddamn kid and I’m going to throw him off the ship!”

There’s a sudden whining noise behind Eugene, high pitched and nearly agonizing to listen to. He whirls around, seeing Varian pull his arms away from the burner with a mean smile, the boy facing the two men. His eyes glint in the light of the fire, as does the knife in his hand.

“Hey, Andrew?” He says, quiet and casual, and almost confident. The Saporian sees the knife, sees the burner. His eyes go wide, something almost like fear sparking. Varian raises the knife high, still looking at his abuser with a sudden sense of power.

“Get fucked,” The kid says.

And he brings the knife down.

From where Eugene’s standing he can’t see what exactly Varian hits, but from the resulting scream the burner makes, it must have been important. The burner immediately lights up in a way that seems uncontrolled, fire bursting from the top in a plume of light and crackling flames. They raise high into the balloon, so hot that Eugene can even feel them from three meters away.

Varian runs, leaving the knife embedded in the burner. The kid sprints for Eugene, grabbing the man’s coat and tugging. The fire puffs even larger, and then-

The fabric of the balloon catches.

Andrew lets out a panicked shout as the balloon holding them up quickly bursts into flames, bright and hungry as the canvas begins to turn to ash. The ship gives a sickening lurch, quickly beginning to lose altitude. It’s too slow to be called a drop, but it’s certainly fast enough that the trees they’d left behind quickly begin to skim the bottom of the ship, and then within the blink of an eye they’re coasting through the treeline instead of above it.

Eugene shouts as the ship gives another lurch. The purple fabric of the balloon’s nearly gone now, pockmarked with steadily growing holes as the fire claws at it. Varian screams as the deck beneath them shudders, the ship bashing into a larger tree trunk with a horrible thunk. The platform begins to spin, thrown off its trajectory by the impact. It’s nauseating, the added rotation as they fall, and before Eugene can think he’s grabbing at Varian and tugging the kid close.

On the other side of the ship, Andrew screams in fear. Eugene just catches sight of him disappearing over the edge of the ship, his section of the railing snapping away under the stress of the hit. Eugene holds Varian close, deliberately shielding the boy from seeing as Andrew plummets to the ground.

He’s not sure if the man would survive.

Part of him really doesn’t care.

They’re only a few meters from the ground at this point. One of he lines holding the ship to the balloon snaps; the whole deck begins to list, held only by one side. Varian screams again, Eugene can feel small fingers clutching tightly in his shirt. Fire crackles louder now, with the majority of the balloon eaten away. As the ground draws closer at an alarming rate, Eugene feels a sense of dawning horror.

They can’t stay on the ship.

“Kid,” he shouts, his voice nearly lost to the raging winds. “We’re gunna have to jump!”

Varian lets go of where he’d been clinging to Eugene like an octopus, staring up at the man with barely concealed fear.

“Are you insane?!” He screams. Eugene flinches at the loud voice next to his ear. He chances a look down, sees the ground only a meter away from the belly of the ship.

“Varian, you gotta trust me, okay?” Eugene’s voice is stern, but more so to stay off the rising panic. “We can’t be on here when it hits, it might explode.”

Varian looks shaken, but Eugene can tell the kid knows he’s right. “I- okay.” Varian stutters, “What are we going to do?”

Eugene doesn’t waste time, scooping Varian up. The kid shouts in protest, though Eugene’s momentarily distracted by the fact that Varian weighs about as much as a handful of grapes. The minute we’re out of here, I’m feeding him, Eugene’s thoughts grumble. With the kid secured, he peeks over the railing at the ground whizzing by. He winces, knowing this isn’t going to be pleasant by any means.

“Alright, hang on,” Eugene mutters. He feels the ship shudder again, feels Varian flinch at the harsh noise of another one of the cables snapping under the stress. He looks down once last time, sees a large set of overgrown bushes at the base of a tree. Varian shakes like a leaf in his arms, clinging tightly. Eugene grits his teeth.

And then, he jumps.

The impact is painful, a series of small aches and pains that Eugene knows he’s going to be feeling for over a week. His shoulder burns, the agony of it hitting hard. Varian shrieks as they fall, only to go frighteningly quiet on impact. The bush breaks their fall, but only just. It’s like landing… well it’s like landing on a pile of sticks and leaves. There’s no two ways about it, it sucks.

Eugene rolls with the inertia. The dirt under him is cold, but soft, so at least there’s that to be thankful for. He finds himself borderline skidding along the ground, popping out the other side of the bush with a shout. He feels his grip in the kid loosen, Varian yelping as he rolls to a stop a little ways behind him. Eugene finds himself flat on his back, staring up at the moonless sky. The stars are out now, he notices; small, twinkling lights scattered across an inky sky.

The ship crashes to the ground nearby, a large boom rattling the teeth in Eugene’s skull. It’s a fair way away, though, far enough to be safe.

Eugene takes a moment to pause, let himself breathe. He forces air into stuttering lungs, watching as the stars swim. Everything hurts, but if a limb is hurting that means it’s still attached, which is good.

There’s a rough cough to his left. Eugene rolls over, sees the kid slowly shift, flat on his back in the dirt. Varian lays closer to what used to be the airship, sprawled on his back after probably getting thrown by the force of the explosion. Eugene feels a spike of panic for a second before the kid sits up, his black hair standing straight up, and his face covered in ash. Eugene slowly forces his aching body the few feet towards the kid, already scanning for injuries.

As he draws close, he hears a small litany of shocked laughter coming from the kid as Varian watches the ship burn. The fire spreads quickly, the balloon already eaten away and the wooden structure quickly following. Plumes of white smoke fly from the burning wreckage, thick and cloying in the moonless sky.

As Eugene draws close, he can hear Varian’s laughter putter out. The boy turns to Eugene, his eyes wide with shock.

“I-I may have miscalculated how big the blast would be,” he chokes out.

Eugene can’t help but snort, flopping down onto the ground next to the kid.

“You think?” He asks. The fire burns in front of them, bright in the evening. It’s… well it’s kind of nice, to be honest. Warm, at least. Eugene throws an arm over the kid’s shoulders, drawing Varian closer. The kid leans into him, hugging tight.

“Hey, goggles.” Eugene whispers. He hugs the kid to him, taking a second to press a small kiss to the crown of Varian’s hair. “You did good up there.”

“You were okay,” Varian mumbles. “Might need some more practice.”

Eugene sighs. “Well, maybe your sister will give me some pointers.” He says, feeling the exhaustion of the day sinking into his bones. Varian pauses, pulling back and looking at Eugene with a tilted head.

“So you’ll stay?” He asks, voice laced with a feeble hope.

“For now.” Eugene shrugs, like it’s a casual thing.

Varian smiles brightly. He leans back into Eugene’s embrace, hugging tight. The man returns it, wrapping the kid up in his arms and rocking them, happy to enjoy the moment. Eugene feels himself finally settle, that tight knot in his chest finally easing knowing the kid’s safe. He lets himself breathe, taking the moment to just be content.

Above them, the moon finally peeks out from behind the clouds.

>>>><<<<

There’s something to be said about the quiet of the settlements.

Corona is quaint, simple. Calm. Eugene can walk the streets of it without needing to look over his shoulder all the time, which is a new feeling but not one he’s upset about. Corona is… different from other settlements. Be it Rapunzel’s rule keeping the peace, or the people just generally being good, Corona runs like a smoothy oiled machine.

The streets are paved still, well maintained and swept. He wanders past stores and homes with a sense of ease. Eugene’s been in Corona for a few months now, more than long enough to know where he’s going. It’s been a good amount of time, between getting to know everyone, especially Rapunzel, better, and adapting to working with others, but to Eugene it hardly feels like any time at all.

He used to fear living in a settlement. Needing the support of other people, needing to support other people- being left on his own had always been more appealing, but after being exposed to Rapunzel and her group, after helping Varian out… well he can’t say he misses it.

He comes up to a larger building near the center of the town square, probably what used to be a town hall of some kind. It’s a huge structure, plumes of fluffy white smoke splutter from the tallest chimney and into the bright blue sky. It’s a grand building, made of large stones and heavy timbers, huge even in context of before the Blackout. Eugene hops up the stone steps, taking them two at a time, before pushing the large, oak front door open.

The space within is organized chaos, a myriad of machines and chemicals taking up a lot of the open room. Thick stone walls are covered in different colour mixtures, the results of failed experiments from years gone by. Dozens of tables are scattered around the room, all of them just as cluttered as the rest of the laboratory. It’s anarchy, but obviously a laboratory, lit by a series of large windows and candles placed strategically around.

And there, sitting right at one of the tables in the middle of the room, is Varian.

Eugene smiles, waltzing over. “Hey, kid,” he calls. “How goes it?”

Varian perks up, looking up from whatever it is he’s been building. He’s wearing his goggles, giving him a hilariously bug-eyed look. The kid smiles when he sees Eugene, shoving the goggles up onto their usual place on his head. He looks… better. Great, even. The miserable little slip of a boy that Eugene remembers from months ago is gone, replaced by a heathly, perky teenager. It’s a good look on him, to be honest. Rosy cheeks and bright eyes, fluffy hair and tanned skin.

Varian looks like the kid he’s meant to be.

The boy waves Eugene over, scooting his stool over so the man can get a look at what he’s doing. It’s a mess of wires, all hooked up to a small drum and what looks almost like an engine. A small lightbulb, obviously made by Varian himself, sits in the very center, hooked up to it all.

“Hey, Eugene!” Varian grins. “You’re just in time, I’m about to run trial thirty-seven of the flynnolium, to see if it’s a viable energy source.”

Eugene raises a brow, settling onto his own stool next to the kid. “And how’s it going?” He asks, smirking when Varian blushes.

“Uh,” Varian gestures to the nearby wall, where a new, charred hole is still smoking. “It’s questionable, but this time for sure it’s going to work!”

Eugene nods, watching as Varian fiddles with his invention a little more. It’s like night and day, this new Varian and the one he’d met before. Even if he looked the same, the way Varian acts is almost an opposite of how he used to. Once Andrew was out of the picture, once he’d gotten home and cleaned up and back with his family, the kid had shown the excitement he had rarely had on their little walk.

And with the excitement came the talking.

“See, it’s a steam engine!” Varian says, “Using the flynnolium as a fuel to burn, boiling water, making steam.” He gestures to each piece as he talks. Eugene pretends to understand, nodding along. He’s just happy to see the kid excited, to be honest. Varian keeps chattering, gesturing wildly.

“And look, here,” the kid continues, “The steam turns the turbines, right? And that generates electricity.”

“Wait, like before the blackout?” Is he serious?

“Exactly!” Varian’s smile is wide. “In theory, we could get some lights going, maybe even an irrigation system!”

“Kid… That’s amazing!”

Varian blushes, rubbing at the back of his neck. “I still need to test it,” he mumbles, “So no promises yet.”

Eugene still claps him on the shoulder, encouraging him. “Let’s give it a shot, huh?”

Varian’s face lights back up, the kid pulling his goggles back down onto his face. His smile turns nearly manic as he brings a nearby match close, lighting the compound on fire. It’s controlled, a slow burn. Water suspended above quickly begins to boil, causing steam. Just like Varian had said, a little turbine over the water begins to spin.

A tiny motor made from pillaged car parts begins to whine as the turbine spins, turning the interior mechanism. The flynnolium makes a strange pop noise; Varian cringes back, flinching and waiting for another explosion, but the compound settles down slowly. Eugene steadies him on the stool with a hand to his upper back, keeping the kid upright.

Varian spares a second to smile gratefully, before going back to watching the contraption. Eugene snickers at the way he sticks his tongue out, quickly writing in a small notebook. The engine makes another noise, the whining getting a little louder.

Eugene grins, reflecting. The kid in front of him is going to do amazing things, so long as he had the support to do so. Eugene, as much as he would deny it outwardly, can’t wait to watch him succeed, to mould this new world to his whims. He’s going to do amazing things, with that big brain of his, and Eugene can’t wait to see him do it.

It feels like years ago, when he’d found that skinny, scrappy kid stealing for survival in the wasteland. Before he’d known exactly who he’d been dealing with, when they both were lost to the wasteland caused by those who came before them. When Eugene had been resigned to a life of suffering and scavenging.

It feels like a different life. Eugene smiles, a sudden surge of gratefulness for the kid to his left hitting him like a freight train. Gratefulness to Varian, for showing a bitter old asshole how to have a little hope, a little faith in humanity. A little determination to see a better future. It’s something he didn’t know he needed, but now that he has it, Eugene can’t see himself ever giving it up. Not for anything.

The machine before them makes another strange noise, the container holding the burning flynnolium rattling on the table. It looks ready to explode, to be honest, but even as Eugene’s hands tense, the kid seems confident in his invention. Varian bites at his lip, stressed but determined.

“C’mon,” he whispers. “C’mon.”

Eugene’s hand pats at his back, Varian leans into the touch, his eyes begging the machine to work. There’s a tense silence as the engine whines, only broken by the soft bubbling noises of the water.

And then, flickering in the darkness, coming from the bulb.

Light.

#tangled the series #tts #team awesome #varian #alone we have no future #adios wee ficcy #we hardly knew ye

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jojo-reader-hell · 5 years ago

Note

Haloo bebe. May i request for some ocean man content where shes hes twin and they're both solving mysteries in morioh. Also where josuke and the gang admires her personality (which is a complete opposite of joot's) thankyouuu

OCEAN MAN TAKE ME BY THE HAND LEAD ME TO THE LAND

Also forgive me, I couldn’t find any NICE pictures of Jotaro with his Uncle so instead we get a prime example of why you’re the favorite in the family.

For obvious reasons, Josuke really likes how polite and caring you are, and let’s be honest, it really helps that his “little” niece or nephew is this really cute person in their 20s.

The resemblance to Jotaro is uncanny, and by extension to Josuke. At first he was unsure and didn’t need the attachment of more family other than his mother, but when you begin to tear up and hug him tightly saying you’re happy to meet him, he can’t help the swell of pride he has knowing in some way you belong to him. It’s a hard to describe feeling.

“Don’t you think we look alike?” He smiles, pointing to his face. “Especially around the eyes?”

“Haha! Well... I can’t really tell, you see I’m actually kind of really blind at the moment without my glasses, and Bubba crushed them with his fat ass on the way here. But I’ll agree with you, since you kind of sound like me too!”

“My sibling means to say you sound as dorky and plucky as they do.”

“SHUT UP JOJO!”

“Hey, so, ignore my Bubba, he’s got no manners. But it’s really nice to meet you. If I’m being honest... I’ve always wanted an Uncle, and I hope maybe if you don’t want to take on that role maybe we could be friends? I’ve got a Stand too!”

Queen’s Requiem of Sword looks different when you call her out, sporting a visor over her eyes that echoes your developing blindness and wearing what looks to be a Victorian wedding dress, but that’s to be expected. Since your Stand awakened you’ve been training nonstop with her. She’s learned a lot of neat tricks, and she entertains Crazy Diamond with her new Kulning ability. You told Josuke that you were dragged to Morioh by your brother during a particularly intense training session in the French Alps, so you’re still bundled up like you’re going to fucking Antarctica. Josuke makes a comment about how you’ll never have to hear him scold you for leaving the house without a sweater.

“You live in France?”

He’s positively fascinated when you nod excitedly and tell him about your life in the French countryside with your husband and twin boys. Josuke was unsure about getting to know his new found family, but you make it so easy with your friendliness that he can’t help but encourage you to go on about yourself.

Josuke is a Grand Uncle! He’s got two grand nephews: Thomas and Guillaume Emmanuel Polnareff (you tell him when he struggles over the pronunciation that you can simply call him Guy Manuel, it’s what Grandpa Joseph does), and you produce a small photo album which he flips through eagerly. Amazed to see two little boys with freckles and starlight hair, and even more touched when in some pictures he can see little twin stars on the back of their necks.

“I live in Hautvillers. My momma, your sister Holly, she moved with me when we had the kiddos, I didn’t want her to stay in Japan where she didn’t have anyone. Honestly Bubba isn’t the best at keeping contact, don’t tell anyone that, but this whole thing with the will and upsetting Granny has been the most I’ve spent with him in like, ten whole years...”

“You didn’t want to stay?”

You shake your head, telling him about all the bad memories you had here, the neglect from your father, the death of your first love, nothing tied you down here except your mother. And the second your husband put the deposit down for the ring you asked your Grandpa (his father) to sell the house and give her the money to move into the house next door.

Josuke finds himself asking you all sorts of questions about his grandfather. What kind of a person is he? Why cheat on the love of his life? There are quite a few hurtful ones peppered in there as well that you don’t quite know how to answer, because Josuke is trying very hard to hate his father, and you were practically raised by him your entire life.

“I can answer some questions for you Uncle, can I call you that? But I’m going to be honest with you... all I’ve ever known is that Joseph Joestar is a good man, and that’s the god’s honest truth. If he would have known, he wouldn’t have let your mother pay for anything for you. He would have possibly taken both of you to New York with him like he did when I didn’t want to finish high school in Japan. He all but dragged my mother with me, I know what it’s like, and I can’t imagine what your mom went through. Mine did it with two kids, and there were times I had to keep my mouth shut so my grandpa wouldn’t find out how much my mom was struggling. I know what a deadbeat dad is, my parents were married all nice and proper and he barely gave her enough money to feed me and my brother, let alone her. Greedy bastard didn’t even come home often enough for me to remember what he looks like.”

He’s quiet as you let out your frustrations and rage against your father. It’s familiar, this feeling of abandonment. Underneath that kind exterior he works so hard to maintain he’s just as angry as you are, and for a minute doesn’t want to believe what you’re telling him. He wants to believe he’s alone because it’s easier, you told him you never asked where your deadbeat dad was but he did. Neither he nor his mother aware of the double life Joseph was living at the time, Josuke would see other kids on the playground and cry wondering how come he didn’t have a daddy to push him on the swings.

He’s actually fairly jealous of you, and it doesn’t help that his friends are just as captivated by your enthusiasm and overly friendly nature. You got all the best parts it seems, and now that you’ve told him all the best qualities of Joseph: spending your summers playing with him in Central Park, the times at the Met, or even just the general sweetness, he can’t help but let the resentment bubble that you had the life he wanted.

All of that resentment melts away however, when you casually wrap your arm around Josuke, and he feels your warmth even though your body temperature is unnanturaly low because of your stand.

“Hey, if you ever just wanna get away, you and your momma always have a room in France or a plane ticket. If you don’t have passports I can help with that too. I don’t know if you’d like to, but my boys wanted to meet you. Jean Jean was really excited too, and he couldn’t stop blabbing about how wonderful it was to find my family. Now I’m starting to see how right he was. I’m really glad I came with Jotaro to meet you.”

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sweetest-honeybee · 4 years ago

Text

To Hell and Back

Chapter 17

Summary: Wels basically tries to kill Tango.

Characters: Wels, Tango, Beef mentions

TW: Hella violent chapter, includes blood and pain

———————

Even a couple days later after his little dispute with Beef, Wels was still quite annoyed. For those couple days he decided to just stay around his base, careful not to wander over into Beef’s territory. The butcher was now the last person he wanted to see right now and he was fine with staying home alone if it meant he didn’t.

But inevitably, he’d have to leave for some particular reason at some point. Today was that day and he was going to have to meet with Tango. He already rejected the offers to visit or receive visitors from other Hermits, but suspicion was bound to rise if he continued to reject the many invitations. Especially since he started in the series so late. The others wanted to see him again.

That being said, he laid in bed wondering if he could come up with some kind of excuse. He had to breed cows for hours, his portal needed some recalibration, he needed to grind for new stuff because he lost all of it again, something like that. It would be believable but Beef was bound to chatter off to someone.

Not that Wels thought anything was wrong. He was still the same old chivalrous knight he was for years beforehand, Beef was just overreacting. But if the butcher happened to tell Xisuma what he thought, the admin would definitely ask some questions.

While he thought, his communicator buzzed a few times. Kicking off his blanket with a groan- despite being only noon- he saw that Tango was persistent in making sure Wels left his house. There were at least ten new messages pestering him to come over.

Mostly with bribes for good trading which Wels knew he probably wouldn’t be able to turn down if he tried. He needed some stuff that Tango was willing to trade for a lower price than the shops in the shopping district. The buzzing continued.

<TangoTek> Helloooooo

<TangoTek> Wels

<TangoTek> I’ll give you a bunch of iron

<TangoTek> Gunpowder?

<Keralis> I’ll take some

<TangoTek> :(

<TangoTek> I can see you reading my messages

<TangoTek> Please come over

<MumboJumbo> What on earth is going on?

Wels rolled his eyes. Desperate much? He winced at the thought. No, no, Tango had a point. He’d never call him desperate just for wanting to see him again. Actually that was odd. Wels was not the type to ignore everyone.

Was that what Beef meant? Of course not, Wels felt fine. Great, in fact. He hadn’t felt this good in ages, just a little more irritable than usual, he supposed. Maybe he was just stressed from continually trying to avoid everyone. He really did probably need to see someone.

And that someone would be Tango, he guessed. Might as well. His communicator kept buzzing repeatedly. With a sigh, he finally replied.

<TangoTek> WWWEEEEEELLLSS

<Welsknight> I’m coming over

He threw it back into his pocket and left his bed for the first time in probably at least 24 hours. Stretching his legs felt odd after being still for so long when he was used to walking around every day. Still, he threw on his armor and elytra, not immediately noticing how grey his feathered wings looked than usual.

Wels assumed he wouldn’t be gone for long so food wasn’t necessary- not that Tango wouldn’t lend him some if it became a problem. However, he still kept his sword on his hip if there were any….complications. Unknowingly, he snickered at the thought. With a last look in the mirror, he decided that he was fully ready to leave, completely disregarding his feathers’ new color.

As he walked out the front door, his head turned to the general direction of Beef’s village. An intense scowl crossed his face but before he could think further, he fired off his rockets. He had no time to keep thinking about that lying little butcher.

He winced at the thought again. He didn’t like Beef much now, but that was a bit harsh. Either way, Beef was going to start drama if this continued and Wels wasn’t a fan of being in the middle of one huge argument, especially something having to do with Helsknight of all people. The dark knight was also one of the last people he wanted to see either. He was almost too glad that Evil Xisuma kept him so far away from Wels.

Though, he was beginning to not like Ex either, to be honest. Avoiding the other hermits for three days left more time to think and most of his thoughts consisted of recalling different memories of other evil hermits who threatened to destroy something they loved. Evil Xisuma was certainly one of them.

The counterpart thankfully lost most of his power over the last couple of years. Ever since he decided to move back into the Overworld, he wasn’t granted as many abilities by Xisuma as he had when he lived freely off of the powers given to him by ‘The Lord of Darkness’.

But Wels was getting sidetracked. He plastered on a grin and kept his pace, soon eyeing the colorful asymmetrical buildings on the horizon. The sight always brought on a chuckle from the knight and the grin quickly softened into a more genuine expression. Despite his previous thoughts, he was beginning to grow more excited to see his demon friend.

He opted to land on one of the rooftops and pulled out his communicator. Wels didn’t immediately type in any messages in case Tango was somewhere nearby or flying around while he waited for Wels to arrive. That assumption seemed to be correct when the bat winged figure came into view about a hundred feet away and quickly made its way over.

When Tango landed, the knight was pulled into a spine crushing hug followed by some pats on the back. Awkwardly, Wels just lightly patted the other on the back, not really reciprocating the hug as enthusiastically as Tango probably would’ve liked.

The demon pulled back but kept a hold on the knight’s shoulders which Wels gladly showed some disdain towards. “Jeez, where have you been, man?! Nobody’s heard from you for a couple days now!” At the uncomfortable expression from Wels briefly glancing at his hands, he pulled them away.

“Just needed to be away from people for a while, ya know? I had some personal stuff going on.” He picked something dirt off his shoulder and flicked it away absentmindedly as if Tango dirtied his shirt sleeve.

“Oh, anything you wanna talk about?”

Wels shook his head. “No, no, just Helsknight stuff.” He clapped his hands together. “Anyways! You had some trades in mind? I’m really running out of iron and I’ve got beacon pyramids to build.”

Abandoning his previous worry, the demon lit up with a snort. “I may know a guy….” Tango eyed Wels with a grin. “Iron shop sells a stack of blocks for a diamond, I’ll give you two stacks for a diamond. Or, if you can provide me with a ton of concrete, we can work something out there.”

The knight thought for a second, considering the offer. “Hm, that sounds like one hell of a deal. I’ll think about that while we discuss some other deals.” Wels brushed his fingers over the hilt of his sword absentmindedly. “Heard from the grapevine that you have a creeper farm too.”

Tango eyed the hilt curiously. His eyes followed back up to Wels. “There’s a TNT and rocket shop in the shopping district, but if you want to be fully self-sufficient, I’ll just let you use the farm whenever if there’s something you can offer of equal value.”

“Awesome, one more thing. Obsidian, tons of it, just tons of obsidian. It’ll make sense in a couple months, but I can’t say what it’s for right now.”

Tango raised a brow. “Tons like….a hundred stacks? Or….”

“About four hundred stacks.”

The demon’s jaw practically fell to the floor. “F- Four hundred?” He rubbed at his neck and whistled for emphasize the amount. “That’s….a lot. And a LOT of hours. Even with efficiency and insta-mine, that many stacks is still days worth of mining.” He sighed. “I’d love to help with that but I’m not exactly made of diamonds or have that much time on my hands. It’s not exactly something that can be automated like iron or gunpowder.”

Wels rolled his eyes which Tango made a confused face to.

“Fine, fine,” Wels began with huff. “I’ll find someone else then. Make it four stacks of iron blocks for a diamond and I’ll give you half my loot from the end for the creeper farm.”

Tango stuttered at the utterly ridiculous proposal (though some shulker boxes would be nice, but Wels didn’t visit The End often). “Wha- four stacks of iron blocks?! For a diamond?!”

The confusion didn’t phase Wels in the slightest. “Yes, that is what I said.” His gaze hardened on Tango, fingers tightening around the hilt of his sword. “Is there a problem with that?”

“Is there a proble- Wels that’s the worst deal I’ve ever heard of! I mean I guess a few shulkers would be nice for the creeper farm but you rarely visit the end!”

“Four stacks.”

“Two.”

“Three.”

Slowly, the sword was being pulled from its sheath. Tango noticed instantly.

“Put the sword away, Wels. You’re better than that,” he gulped. His voice wavered ever so slightly which Wels merely smirked at. This wasn’t like him….

“Four stacks, Tango. Or we’ll have a better form of negotiation.”

Tango lifted his hands defensively, moving one to the hilt of his own sword. “Okay, please tell me that you’re Hels in disguise or something. You’re not actually going to try to threaten me into a deal here, right?”

That seemed to set off something in Wels’s mind when Tango saw the familiar bright blue eyes bring on a redder hue.

And that in itself was already more concerning. Almost too quickly, the knight lost his previously colder stare and lashed out.

“Argh!” The knight unsheathed his sword. “Why do you guys keep saying that?! I’m fine! I feel fine! I-“ Wels swung once at Tango. “-Don’t-“ The demon drew his own sword to block the hit with wide eyes. “-Want-“ The knight swung again. “-Anything-“ Swing. “-To do-“ He lifted it above his head. “-With that-“ He threw an intense glare at Tango. “-Stupid knight!” He brought the sword down, only narrowly missing Tango’s left.

Frantically pulling up his inventory, the demon threw on his armor. He ducked and hopped around and leaned away from each swing of the blade. Each time, he tried to persuade the knight into calming down but evidently to no avail while the other spewed curses at him.

“Wels- Wels stop! I’m not fighting!” Tango took some rockets and flew away, Wels only just on his tail. “What’s gotten into you?!” He shouted. He felt the blade just barely nick his boot. “I’m sorry I said that-!” He turned and took his own swing at Wels, grazing his shoulder. “We can talk about this!”

“I don’t need to talk! I’m not-“ Wels swung again. “I’m not anything like him!”

Only now while the knight struggled to balance himself out after the swing did Tango notice how dark his feathers were. Were they that grey before? The sun was shining right on them earlier, they seemed so light before. With a closer look, the demon could see feathers falling to the earth with each frantic flap, revealing patches of dark skin underneath.

“Okay, okay! You’re not but will you stop trying to kill me?!” Using a kick to the other’s chest, he boosted himself away from Wels. Wels on the other hand only kept struggling. Flying wasn’t his strong suit, Tango knew, and he’d use that to his advantage.

Using another couple of rockets, he tried to get as far away from Wels as possible. Mostly, he flew in circles around him to keep an eye on what he was trying to do. Wels mostly just sent glares in his direction because he knew that he wouldn’t maneuver his way towards Tango that quickly. That in itself only angered him further.

While he flew each lap around him, he took the chance to talk at least some sense into him.

“Wels, what’s going on? Did something happen?” He asked from afar. Wels didn’t answer, still giving him the death glare. Tango spoke again, this time touching on something a bit more personal. “What did Hels do?”

The knight’s hands balled into harder fists around the sword. “I don’t need to tell you anything!”

Tango sighed. He was running out of rockets. “Okay, you don’t, but whatever you’re going through doesn’t justify trying to kill your friend!”

“You-“ Wels growled “- are not my friend!”

As Tango circled by too close this time, Wels swung once more, slicing a straight line across his side and into his right wing. With an audible gasp, the demon was sent flying with now broken elytra into the direction of the towers. The familiar blue concrete came into view quickly and he already knew how much the impact was going to hurt from previous experiences. God, how much he hated respawning. He was almost certain he was going to die the second he made contact with the roof.

But that didn’t happen. Instead, he initially felt his face slam into the cold concrete roof but in a panic, he took his wings to shield himself from further impact. It was a pathetic attempt at not injuring himself more than he already was. His armor shattered and disappeared in a wisp of blue and purple, leaving room for scraping his arms and legs.

His bad wing burned when it tore further and when he finally landed, he laid on his side and curled in on himself with heaving breaths. It hurt, everything was hurting and he hated that he wasn’t dead already. His sword flew off somewhere else but he assumed Wels would just put him out of his misery.

Wels landed and practically stomped towards the demon, sword still in hand. Tango could only watch as blood- his blood- dripped down the blade disturbingly. On the bright side, he wouldn’t be awake for much longer, he was out of it. He coughed meekly.

“N-nngh….hh….” he muttered out. He couldn’t speak. It hurt to move anything in his face. He simply opted for closing his eyes. Hopefully, someone would come and see what happened. Wels needed some serious help.

And as if his prayers were answered, he heard an all too familiar deep voiced, robotic accent.

#my fic #hermitcraft #welsknight #tango tek #tangotek #to hell and back #long post

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ragnaofazure · 4 years ago

Text

Reasons Why.

(BGM)

It was time to pay a visit to someone he really wished to see. The man had not felt the excitement to have a rendezvous with another person in quite a while, he was outright... Eager. After all, he rarely met with anyone directly anymore. A smile stretched across his face, it was refreshing, he was picturing the whole event...

Ah. To be able to experience this set of emotions put some spring to his step. Given his status in the world, anyone found to have connections with him was as good as getting marked, due to that, he gave up hope to form any sort of lasting connections unless it was possible for the other party to remain safe and unseen with anyone else. It was a true price to pay for everything he has done, an unrestorable status in society, unsurprisingly.

Alas, that was but the price to pay for his path, and he knew it well from the beginning. He continued increasing his pace over the outskirts of the city, getting ever so closer to the big mansion, where he was meant to go to his meeting.

About ten minutes later on top of the half an hour of on foot travel, it finally came into view... And that is when he started to run... And then broke into full sprint, faster than any human should go, aiming for that front gate. That grin on his face becoming wider.

(BGM)

Right over the walls, they were already rushing to give him the warm welcome he was expecting, a hail of bullets that were missing the target by an extremely long shot due to the speed he was moving at. It was literal seconds before he shoulder tackled the robust gate and busted it right open with little effort. As it went flying off the thick hinges, all the way to the big fountain not too long a distance from it right behind, smashing it apart considerably. And before the two thugs that went to welcome him ahead of time could do anything, aside from the couple waiting at the main entrance...

They did not see him leap at their higher elevation on the steps on each opposite sides of the gate. One got skewered by huge weapon before pulling out, the other earned a huge diagonal gash from shoulder to hip, both deep and serious injuries that caused immediate collapses.

After watching them fall to the floor in fatal agony with almost simultaneous thuds, should immediate help not be brought to at least one of them, the other two were witnesses and nothing more to the effortless short and brutal work they made of their fellow cohorts. Shaking hands pointed firearms at him, he was unimpressed as he shook the initial scarlet fluid staining the blade, as soon as he was within arm's reach of the two, he had a simple question as he sighed.

"Where is he? You all knew I was coming." He looked smug, as if he had just done nothing wrong whatsoever, “And don't even think about lying, no matter if I respect the loyalty that you could have to the piece of garbage, make it easier on yourselves." Giving a chance, it then came.

'He ran away hours ago!' 'The best, most honking office all the way back!'

‘What are you doing?! Traitor!!' 'Screw him! We're all dying anyway!'

"Only one."

Ragna interrupted, kicking the liar down and through the double door with inhuman force before stomping on his chest, cracking noises echoing before impaling his weapon right between his ribcage, finding the heart after small, painful torture. Turning back to face the one that helped and flashed an honest smile again in a full easy mood change.

"Run now. I'm not chasing, better not see your face ever again if you don't turn a new leaf." Allowing escape, he then turned to the mansion standing before him. Echoes and fear of the spared life fading to the distance...

"The Grim Reaper is here! I suggest only the most loyal to the prick step up! The rest? One chance to start escaping!" Making his callout, he waited at the fancy foyer, right in the center after waltzing in.

"..." And sure enough, some devotees sprang up, jumping over the railing of a second story, armed with japanese swords, pipes, chains, more fierarms... The whole classic variety of criminals. "I hope that's not all of you at once..." And right as he was speaking? One of them took the first swing as he was turning around, addressing them, managing a clean cut from the back of his ear down to the carotid artery, causing his blood to begin flowing and making him grin.

...Yet Ragna still stood. And seconds after?

His wounds began closing like nothing. Collective fear took place before he cracked his neck. "...I should have expected one of you assholes was going to try the cheap shot." He slammed the tip of the huge blade on the floor, metal loudly echoing against carpeted tile.

"Come at me then! All of you in whatever manner you want! You're all that brave and loyal?! Willing to die for nothing?! Huh?! Show it to me!" Calling them out, he waited for the next swing, which was a sickle, aimed straight at his chest, which was immediately deflected, he then took it in hand... And crushed it in half. After letting that sink in, "My turn..." He whispered at the shocked thug, raising a fist then smashing it against their face, the rattling sound as he sent the poor bastard packing resounded as he slammed against the wall with decent impact.

Stretching his hand and wrist, he turned to the baffled rest once more, "Next. All at once. Again, if you don't value your life, keep tossing it. You had your chance to be spared." Throwing out the confident taunt and warning, he then waited for the swarm to congregate around him... Which came out swinging. A hail of bullets, many sharp and blunt weapons swung at him, he obviously could not block all of them, yet... No matter the cut or where, it closed almost instantly, even one landed in his eye. And while that was annoying? It was restoring.

A pipe smashed his head? Cracking the skull? Shook it off, everything within rearranging. It was a small massacre of about twenty men or more surrounding him as they were dropping dead, or being blown away... A loud, violent ranbat of one man being surrounded to the very end.

(BGM)

Soon enough, it all was calm as he momentarily caught his breath, lifeless or gravely injured men sprawled at his feet, few more decided to try and attack, so he could only assume everyone in the back came forth. Those were all of them. A bloodbath. There was no other way to call that.

"I ultimately respect your devotion... But it could have been much better placed." He slowly returned his sword to it’s resting place behind him. After a couple of minutes with his head lowered... It was time to find who he came to see. A tour of what was now a ghost house.

Making it through many a kind of hallways, rooms, all the regal household until he was kicking one last door that stood out. Velvet red, gold around the frame, egotistical initial... This was it. And sure enough, there he was. Sitting like it was nothing.

(BGM)

“You didn't run? Facing this like a man?" Immediately, he asked as he slowly waltzed in. The man he was after was the head of a real bad mafia, adhered to no standards. No exception to colaterals, no real grace periods... No mercy even to children, the little ones were outright trafficked or used as bargaining chips. All of this? It was a recipe to absolutely piss off the big bad considered as Ragna, and it was why he was excited all along. To kill him as deserved in his book.

‘You would have tracked me down easily, no matter how far I ran.'

"Heh, I see any big wig has the head right on he shoulders enough." Fake compliment, but still, outrun him? Very few get away. But he was grinning, this bastard was... grinning? To what he narrowed his eyes in immediate reaction, there was literally no reason to be happy about this.

"...What's funny? Proud of the little dirty legacy you're leaving behind? A goddamn pile of unnecessary corpses, and that's due to innocents and those who were never involved, you lack any standards unlike most other leaders, a bad kind of iron fist."

Fist balled in anger as he retold everything, a quiet, clear anger that could burn so much...

'And where do you get off talking to me about morals? Grim Reaper? Your body count is above the goddamn four digits... And that's an estimate.'

‘You figured: “Oh, I'm no longer bad but I don't want to get jailed! I'll just pluck every other bad that will only keep appearing in this world!” ...Give the act a break. Even you know you would make a much better life committing to the underworld all over again.'

"..." No words, which caused the fellow criminal to laugh, it was true... But there were reasons why he didn't. He reaffirmed his gaze, a piercing glare, unbreakable... "There's a difference." He responded, "I know how this whole world works... And you are true evil."

"Your kind normally has standards. They know who is supposed to get what they deserve under any circumstance, you? You don't care. You are greedy, you tossed all your men at me as if they were disposeable, most likely forced because they don't know better." Scoffing, he continued on.

"The only reason you grew was due you having no limits, no matter what, and that... That's exactly why I hate." And what circled back to his reasons. "Evil is unremoveable, after all... I am here. But you? That goes beyond it."

The comment caused the fat cat in suit to grimace, 'That still doesn't make you or anything around you better, you are still the most hated man in the world, the chain of command that comes clean up takes your credit. They outright know your MO.'

“And?" He immedaitely interrupted, “To what he was surprised, "I don't care." Then confused, "I don't give a shit how many times your particular kind reappears either... I'll root you out, our grime and stain will always exist, but you? You have no place in this world..."

“You are not remotely human. And that is what makes us different... You threw that away and became a real monster, and you know what? I GODDAMN exactly knows what it is like!!" It was then he was tightly gripping him by that white, fancy suit, rage coursing his body...

"Evil is necessary, but not you, and if I can cull it to make the right one remain? That's all I need. I don't need thanks, glory, forgiveness... None of that. I only want to do what's right."

'You are out of your mind...' Shaking his head, laughed in disbelief, unable to comprehend how could someone just do and accept that... Such selfless, thankless life while treated like scum of the world beyond even his kind...

"...And you lost yours. Just like any heart." It was the moment weapon was raised, pressed against his chest... "...Yet you still can bleed. But not enough to make up for it all." Those being his words, the fear became apparent in his face at long last.

A solid, swift impalement, right in the chest, squeals filling the air. And this time? He could not resist the desire to twist the blade for good measure this time too. Until he stopped moving for good, he never pulled the weapon out...

After the deed was done, he sprawled the corpse on his fancy wood desk, perfect to be discovered by said authorities that would be sure to arrive within hours. Taking deep breaths, he would begin relaxing as the last spill of fresh blood dripped off the weapon.

(BGM)

Looking out the big window to his side, the day was beautiful outside in contrast to the fatality fest that was this whole development. And this was far from the first time as implied.

"...I can't ever go back, but this is all the good I can do. I am the big evil. And I erase what I think should not exist." Repeating that, he finally returned his blade to the resting position behind him. As he looked at the vast sky, opening the window, gentle breeze blowing from the ocean nearby despite his still messy state from the massacre...

"The monster who kills monsters, one said that one time... I don't care what they call me. I don't care if it's thankless." Determined voice spoke out loud to no one but himself.

"If you want to do what you believe is right, stick to it, don't expect happiness, gratitude, nothing... It is why I will continue calming the raging waves of the vast ocean known as evil... For I am the pushing force from it to begin with."

"Until then... That is also what I can do to counterweight not only what I've done, but what I am." The hint of sadness was heavy, but one of acceptance, he was not truly lost... But determined. Unbroken. The evil itself to keep it's balance.

That was who he was. That is why he chose to destroy other evils he deemed too much worse than himself in terms of morals and threats to life.

All evil began and ended with him, he was the one to judge the evil...

Until his last day.

#ic #ic musings #drabble #drabbles #ic drabble #ic drabbles #tw blood #tw murder

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ardentmuse · 5 years ago

Text

Hath No Fury (Ned Stark x Reader) - Part 1

Game of Thrones / ASOIAF - Ned Stark x Fem!Reader

Wordcount: 3.8k

Masterlist // Series Masterlist

A/N: Part 1 is here! This was rattling around in my brain one night and I just had to make it real. This story is going to follow Robert Baratheon’s younger sister, the reader, through the period several years before and through Robert’s Rebellion. But ultimately, this is just an excuse to romance hard on Ned Stark, which is kind of the dream, to be honest. But I also just love the idea of how the story might change if, for instance, Renly had someone to raise him, Ned was married before the war broke out, and the Baratheon’s had another player in the game, one with softer edges than Robert.

Part 1 – A Visit to the Vale - 278 AC

The road from Gulltown to the Eyrie is much less mountainous than you had envisioned from your brother Robert’s letters. He had described the Vale as an impenetrable land with rocks and cliffs for as far as the eye could see. But now, sitting in your carriage alongside your father, trotting along through the crisp green valley that spread out towards Iron Oaks, you can say this place was downright pleasant. You have a few books and the company of your lord father to keep you entertained as you travel the several days into the mountains to reunite with your older brother. Robert’s position as ward of Jon Arryn has grown him into one of the fiercest fighters Westeros would come to know, that is if Robert’s own musings on the matter could be trusted.

When you begin the mountain ascent, you start to see Robert’s way of thinking. The mountains are treacherous but your father entertains you with tales of his time at court, the fineries and the foods, the fools and the fancies. Your father had his own carriage but he is a man who prides himself in his relationship with his children, and, being the only daughter, he often seeks moments to enjoy your company.

By the time the stark white towers of the Eyrie come into view, shooting up into the sky like paths to the heavens, you are ready to rid yourself of your travel clothes, stop the incessant bouncing the wheels and rocks cause and find some stable footing. And pulling up to the gate where a tall, broad young man with your brother’s face stands beaming makes you the happiest you have been in many moons.

Robert wants to run forward but an older man with a long face and short blond hair whom you assumed was Lord Arryn places a hand on his shoulder. Your brother collects himself, cupping his hands like the proper lord he would be someday. And beside them both still stands a quiet, rugged boy whose piercing grey eyes find yours through the windows of your carriage.

Your lord father exits and offers you his hand. You take a gulp, not sure where the nerves are coming from. You aren’t the kind of lady to concern herself with appearances but suddenly your simple grey silk travel dress seems all wrong on you. Your palms grow sweaty as you feel the handsome young man with the kind eyes staring at you.

You take careful steps forward until you are bowing before the lord who would be hosting you for the next two moons. Your father still holds your fingers in his own as you stand.

“Lord Arryn, good to see you once again. It’s been too long.”

“Too long indeed, my dear friend,” the older man’s toothy grin is pleasant if not for the handful of missing teeth.

“And let me introduce you to my daughter, Y/N Baratheon.”

Your father passes your hand over to the older man who clasps it in both of his.

“My lady, I am charmed.” He has a sweet voice and kind eyes. You understand why Robert sees him as a father to him.

“Your lands are beautiful, my Lord. Breathtaking.”

The old man simply beams, squeezing your fingers a little tighter.

“You have no idea how much it warms me to hear you say that. And let me introduce you to my household, which at the moment consists of only your brother and the young Eddard Stark.”

He turns you to the Stark boy, one who Robert has told you about time and time again, his best friend and brother even more than Stannis and the baby Renly. But what your brother had failed to prepare you for was just how cute the man’s pouty lips were or how silky his dark hair or how his smile could set embers ablaze once more.

“My lady,” says the young lad, his voice a little gruffer than you expect for a boy of six and ten but it carves its way into your soul like the sword he wears strapped to his hip, one you have no doubt given his broad shoulders and muscled forearms, he knows just how to swing.

He bows deeply, his eyes on the ground before he looks up to meet your gaze, as if waiting for invitation to stop worshipping at your feet. And then he does the one thing that could make your heart do flips. With his head still down low, looking at you through his lashes, he smirks — a single twitch of his lip, like a bit of mischief just for the two of you — and all of a sudden you know that nervousness you were feeling when exiting your coach will not be leaving you any time soon.

And so, you offer him your hand. One he takes and kisses without even a hesitation.

“It’s lovely to finally meet you, Lady Y/N. Robert has sung often of your grace and your wit but he seems to have failed to mention your beauty as well,” he says, quiet enough that Robert, who is currently in a bear hug with your father like only the two of them can give, can not hear. For a boy that Robert has often called shy and thick in the matters of women, he seems to be doing quite well at winning you over. And honestly, it fills you with pride that maybe this sweet and somber man might find a soft spot in you.

Your brother’s arms around your shoulder pull you away from Eddard. Robert engulfs you against him, squeezing you into his chest.

“Gods, these formal greetings are bloody dull,” he roars. “I’ve missed you.”

And soon you are up in his arms, a foot off the ground.

“Let me get a good look at you!” Robert calls as he inspected you high above him. It is hard not to fall into a fit of giggles, “My darling sister. My, you’ve grown.”

“I can say the same for you. These muscles couldn’t quite get me off the ground last time,” you laugh.

“Not my fault you flowered so young.”

You feel your face completely flush as he places you back on the ground. The last thing you want is your brother’s best friend to know all about your first blood and the curves, the inches, and the weight that came with it.

But the talk of you flowering would be much of the discussion of this trip. Little did Robert know, your father’s hesitation in matching you off with a respectable noble family has much to do with his oldest son. This trip is to secure that Robert is fit to lead as Lord Baratheon someday, to decide if marrying you off to secure ties within your own lands is necessary or if your father could think about strengthening bonds with the other noble families. And that thought has you excited. The Martells have a son — handsome and strong if the rumors are true — in need of a bride, not to mention your cousin Rhaegar has already inquired about your hand, which might even make you queen someday. And within your own lands, you have danced with many a lovely suitor. You are hoping if things go that way that your father might choose Jon Connington, who has just been knighted and always says the sweetest things, but you’ll settle a Penrose or Rogers if necessary.

But that talk would be for later. Instead, Lord Arryn leads you off to the Maiden’s Tower with gorgeous views out to the east, over the valley towards the waters that led to home. A few handmaidens from local houses help you bath and as you wash the rosewater through your hair, you think more about whom your father might see you fit to marry, and if that man would set your body on edge the way the second son of Rickard Stark seems to have done in just a matter of minutes.

You pick from among your best dresses — ones your lady mother handpicked for the trip. You consider your light blue silks, given the heat of summer, but decide against it, hoping not to disrespect House Arryn by wearing their colors. Instead you opt for the burgundy gown with the golden leaves embroidered into the bodice that complemented your figure so nicely. Your hair is done in the southern style, showing off your neck and shoulders and though you feel a little exposed, you also feel insanely beautiful.

When the knock on your door comes to escort you to dinner, you expect to see your brother, but instead you find Lord Arryn waiting.

“My lady,” he says, offering you his arm. The host escorting you to dinner is a high compliment, but one that saddened you a little given how much you have missed your older sibling.

You place your hand in the crock of his arm and the old man, pleasant as he is, walks you clumsily down the many spiral stairs towards his dining hall.

To your surprise, he leads you to the seat right to his left, across from the young Lord Eddard and far from your father and Robert, with a smattering of minor lords and ladies filling out the space for a proper fest. Lord Eddard smiles pleasantly at you, lifting his glass as he eyed the collar of your dress.

“Dear Y/N,” Lord Arryn says as the feast began, grabbing your hand in its place on the table, “Your father tells me you are quite well-studied in the accounting of a keep. You’ve been working alongside your mother at Storm’s End, have you not?”

And as the old man smiles at you, holding your fingers in his own, you finally understand a few things about this trip you hadn’t really processed until this very moment. If Robert proves himself in a good place as heir, you will not be going home to the Stormlands at all. There’ll be no big ceremony in King’s Landing where Rhaegar makes you his or a lovely boat trip to the Sunspear to partake in riches of Dorne and of a new husband. No, the noble lord to whom you will be tied is currently without an heir, looking for wife number three to claim her seat at the Eyrie beside him. You are not here as guest but as a thank you gift for Jon Arryn’s work in raising Robert into a proper lord. And suddenly, you don’t want to eat anymore.

You answer Lord Arryn’s questions as nicely and shortly as you could, suppressing the fury growing inside of you. He may be your husband someday soon and you aren’t about to burn down the bridge just for fear of crossing it. Besides, your anger is not with the man who has need of a bride, but rather at your father for offering you up on a platter to a man who could be your grandfather without any consult or forewarning, ignoring perfectly good candidates for the sake of an old friendship.

Across the table though, each time you offer Lord Arryn a pleasant but forced smile, Eddard tried to give you a genuine one, though the sadness in his eyes for you seemed too strong for a man just offering you a little comfort for a sticky situation.

Everyone seemed to know what was happening here but me, you think as you take measured bites of your leaks and game, sipping your wine as an excuse to nod along to another tale about life here in the Vale, one you know is meant to make you see the beauty of the place, but only serves to remind you just how much older than you your future betrothed is.

“Now the late Lady Arryn — the first, not the second — really loved to visit the port cities, simply adored the chaos of the markets. So many riches from the Free Cities find their way to our shores, as I am sure is much the same for your lands, sweetling—”

Your eyes travel to the far end of the table where your Robert sits. You smile at him but he doesn’t smile back, instead his eyes are fierce, rage-filled, as he looks at Lord Arryn.

“Lady Y/N,” Eddard says abruptly, pulling your attention to him. He stretches out his neck and offers you a smile. “Your brother said you’re quite the strong rider. Do you keep your own horses at Storm’s End?”

The smile that grows on your face feels so foreign after all the forced politeness. It is so refreshing to be asked about something that doesn’t have direct barring on your ability to wife, mother, and run a keep. Finally, it feels, someone cares about you as a person.

“Yes, actually. Our lands have quite a vast terrain between forest, valleys and mountain ranges — much like here — so riding is essential. Sometimes it feels like I was born on a horse,” you say, your cheeks flushing a bit at your rambling, and at Eddard’s consistent eye contact as you speak. “I have two palfreys and a destrier in my care, though I’m embarrassed to say more often than not I opt for a pony.”

Eddard laughs, and so does your host whom you honestly forgot was there. Eddard’s entire countenance brightens and you realize just how much more you want to know about the boy who seems completely undisturbed by your less than womanly interests.

“No shame in that. A pony seems the right size for you. Wouldn’t want you falling from too great a height.”

“Might that someone were there to catch me.”

The words slip out of your mouth before you can stop them, a clear flirtation. But honestly, that seems right for you. You aren’t some shy maiden hidden in a tower listening quietly to tales. You are brazen and fiery and a Baratheon true in spirit. You don’t shy away from the things that interest you. And right now, the Stark boy certainly interests you.

You smile up at him from your lashes, your eyes shining in challenge more than display. He blushes furiously and you feel like you’ve won.

But before he can answer that he’d be happy to have you fall into his arms, your host pats your hand.

“My, I had no idea you were so interested in equestrianism!”

You didn’t ask, you think to yourself. You didn’t ask a single thing about me.

But what you say instead is, “I have a wide array of interests. As long as I complete my studies, the rest of my time is mine to use as I see it.”

Your eyes travel once again over to Robert, who is in hushed debate with your father, both with their brows so knitted you are surprised they aren’t already in a proper row.

Your plates are taken away and the musicians take their place to begin their songs. Lord Arryn stands, his mouth opening to speak to you, but before he can get the words out a voice booms behind you.

“A dance, dear sister?”

You look up at your brother who is more red than white at the moment. His words are for you but his rage is for his adopted father.

“I believe it is the host’s right to first dance, is it not? Surely I’ve taught you a thing or two about decorum over the years.”

“And I believe—“ Robert booms, but you grab his forearm, so large now you can hardly wrap your hands around it.

“Lord Arryn here has raised you like a son, Robert. It seems you are host tonight just as much as he is,” you smile sweetly at Lord Arryn, who takes a seat, his blue eyes piercing you.

“You are right, my lady. Who am I to deny a family reunion? But spare a dance for me, will you?”

You nod, but it doesn’t get much traction as Robert practically yanks you out of your chair and onto the dance floor.

Once on the dance floor, Robert’s hand grips tight at your hip as he leads you in your movements.

“Did you have to wear the goddamn lowest cut dress you own?” he hisses.

“Did mom have to pack it for me or dad forget to inform me that I was on the menu? Don’t you dare pass the blame to me here, brother!”

His hand bunches in the linen of your skirts, still fuming.

“I know, I know, but you didn’t exactly help yourself here.”

His words hurt you because you know exactly what he means. Robert is a god among women — tall, chiseled, bold, and virile — and you know exactly how he sees women with a little bit of cleavage, a little too much leg. Your exposed shoulders make you meat, not maiden to him. And it sickens you a little.

But just as he is a maiden’s fantasy, so are you the fulfillment of a lord’s desire in your own right. You dress the way you do because you know you wear it well. Men beg for your dance, stare longingly at your features. You are the gem that adorns the crown of your sigil, the Jewel of the Stormlands as your people call you often, as your parents call you occasionally, and as Robert calls you now.

“Listen to me. I will not have you as my step-mother. I love Lord Arryn. He raised me well and he would be a good husband to you in time, but a beggar does not deserve a jewel and you do not deserve to be locked in a tower for all of your days.”

He stands tall, his eyes scanning the room like he doesn’t want to look at you.

“Speaking from experience?”

“More than you know. I’m bloody ready to run free of here.”

You look back to the high table where your father sits clasping hands with Lord Arryn, both in the most jovial of spirits.

“I don’t think either of us have much say in the matter, I’m afraid.”

The song ends and you feel a tap on your shoulder. If your brother wasn’t pouting before, he was certainly pouting now.

“May I steal a dance with your sister, Rob?” Eddard asks, his voice only a little sheepish at Robert’s examination.

He just huffs.

“Fine, do what you will with her. I need a drink.”

And Robert storms off in true Baratheon spirit, right to the nearest flagon of mead and chugs without mercy.

“He’s in good spirits, it seems,” Eddard says, holding out a hand in invitation, not in demand. Choice is rare for you, and the fact that he sees to your desires at all has your heart racing. You place your fingers in his, feeling the warm tingle that good touch could give you, and slowly he pulls you in towards his chest.

“Thank you, Lord Eddard, for this dance.”

His smoky grey eyes soften to you.

“Please call me Ned.”

Ned. It sounds nice in your head —warm and simple, no stress — just like the man before you.

“Okay, Ned. Thank you.”

“You’re welcome, Lady Y/N. Though it seems I should be thanking you for honoring my horrible dancing with your graceful steps.”

You giggle a bit. He’s leading fine but he’s definitely stiff.

“None of this lady business if I’m calling you Ned.”

His gaze casts downward.

“Then what would you like me to call you?”

This voice grows husky, raw, and the timbre of it hits you right in your core. Suddenly, this cute boy who makes you nervous and giddy also makes you eager and hot, two sides of a beautifully enticing coin.

“Wh-Whatever you want to call me, really.”

Ned’s hand on your hip slips a little up your back, pulling you closer to him. He smells of honeysuckle and saddle oil, two scents you know well and two scents you’ve grown to love over the years, just never together in such a way. Your bodies are only centimeters apart, just on the line of what is appropriate for such a public display, but no part of you is complaining. In fact, you are on fire.

“I like the sound of your name on my lips, but I like the idea of having something just for us much more.”

His whisper is a purr. You cling to his neck, gripping at his long hair in anticipation. He seems to like it if his smile is any indication.

“Is calling you doe too expected?” he asks, his fingers now drawing the tiniest circles into the leaves of your bodice.

“Do you think of me as a doe?”

“No, you seem fiercer than a doe, but much more nuanced and mannered than the rest of your family. A bubbling fury controlled, just underneath your chest.”

His eyes cast downward to your neckline as he speaks. Immediately he blushes.

“Perhaps I’m more wolf than stag then,” you laugh. “And you seem more a deer than I do.”

“I’m less a stag or a wolf and much more of a bird at this point. The Eyrie consumes you if you let it.”

He spins you once more through the song change, with no concern for the fact that you are now sharing a second song for everyone to see.

“But birds fly free,” you muse.

“How free are any of us to choose our path? Freedom is about how you choose to respond, not the circumstances themselves.”

He smiles at you then and you aren’t sure if he means the words for you or for himself, but they are comforting nonetheless.

You run your hand across his neck as you think, goosebumps rising on his skin at you go. You realize in that instant that you had forgotten about the watchful eyes of your family, of the court. You are safe in this moment in the comforting arms of a boy not unlike yourself, living the life his parents set forth for him, making the best of it as much as he can.

The song ends as you look up at Eddard — Ned — and find his smile soft and his skin pink as he looks at you. Your breath catches in your throat at his dimples just showing on his cheeks.

“I believe I’m owed a dance,” Lord Arryn huffs between you. You startle, pulling apart from the boy who holds you a little too close for the circumstances. His fingers tense in your skirts, but he relents.

“Of course,” Ned says, pulling away from you and opting for you hand. He pulls it up to his lips, your sleeve falling downward to graze his fingers. He kisses your knuckles with the kind of slow reverence you often dreamed from princes and heroes of old.

“Goodnight, my dove,” he whispers so only you can hear. And with that, he slips into the crowd and away, leaving only your thumping heart and earning soul in his wake.

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pahrak-the-sinnoh-slizer · 4 years ago

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Right of Law, Section XXIV

(Atero’s attack on Xia continues, with the rebel forces doing all they can to find a way to victory.)

Still hiding unnoticed behind the broken stone wall, Clera watched the battle unfold with a grim sense of responsibility. Radiak continued to throw himself about wildly, driving Hewkii and Neton into the range of either Defilak or Garan, meanwhile their counterattacks were reduced to glancing blows at best. The two warriors were holding their own, but she knew they couldn’t keep this up forever. Clera gazed into the crystal head of her rod. An empty dullness stared back.

“It’s really a shame you turned against us, Hewkii,” Garan said as he clashed with the Toa of Stone. “I was looking forward to playing in the upcoming kolhii tournament with you.”

Hewkii perked up. “A tournament? This is the first I’m hearing of it.”

Garan drew his swords apart as he leapt back, firing a bolt that narrowly missed. “Well, it’s a moot point.”

Hewkii was about to pursue when he suddenly felt lighter. Leaping high, he avoided a strike from Radiak, nodding his thanks to Neton before launching a Rhotuka at the Toa of Fire. Radiak gnashed his teeth.

“Darn it! Just hold still!”

Defilak teleported around Neton, swinging and missing. “Take it easy, Radiak! Since when do you give up so easily?”

“I’m not giving up!”

A fireball shot from Radiak’s mouth, sailing right past Hewkii as he landed. He took another Rhotuka but charged forward nonetheless, catching Hewkii by surprise and knocking his legs out from under him before slamming an arm down onto his chest, the increased weight now working to his advantage. Garan ran right past them as Neton barely evaded a razor-sharp wave of air. The Gravity Rahkshi saw him coming, but Defilak forced him to guard against another sword strike, leaving him vulnerable as Garan fractured the ground beneath him.

Clera’s heart leapt into her throat. As she stared wide-eyed at the Toa advancing upon her brother, a small glimmer of green light finally tore her away--it was the head of her rod, lighting faintly for only a brief moment before fading out again. Clera paused, and then, with a heavy sigh, tightened her grip on her weapon. The faint light began to return.

Defilak kept his sword pressed against Neton’s neck, not looking up as he asked, “What should we do, Turaga?”

Garan ground his teeth. “...It’s the enemy’s Rahkshi. We need to dispatch it.”

The light intensified. Looking back to the battle, Clera focused on Radiak--Hewkii was doing his best to throw the Toa off, but to no avail. At Clera’s command, a gust of wind blindsided him, and then she crouched down as fatigue filled her. Radiak held firm but instantly bristled at the strike, turning to look at Defilak with a rising growl. With a ferocious roar, he leapt towards Defilak, knocking the Toa of Air off of Neton and pinning him to the ground.

“Woah, woah! What’s wrong with you, Radiak?!”

Radiak only snarled wordlessly. Not wasting a second, Neton reduced Garan’s gravity and struck him with his hammer, sending him flying off into the wall of a nearby building. Hewkii reached up and willed the stone walls to grow out around Garan, trapping him there, and then rushed to Neton’s side as he flipped Radiak onto his back with another hammer swing. Defilak teleported clear, keeping his eyes on the Rahkshi. One of Hewkii’s Rhotuka caught him off-guard, striking his Kanohi--stumbling under the increased weight, Defilak was too unbalanced to defend himself as Neton reached out and ripped the mask from his face. Hewkii restrained the other Toa in the same way he had Garan, and then he let out a long breath.

“A bit close for comfort,” Hewkii said. “I’ll wager that breeze was your doing, Clera? Much appreciated.”

Stepping out onto the street, Clera nodded slightly. Neton set a hand on her shoulder and hissed.

“Hewkii,” Garan said. “Think about what you’re doing. If you think you can get away with turning your back on Atero like this, you’re sorely mistaken.”

Hewkii delayed his reply as a curious sound reached his ears. Something between footsteps and falling raindrops, it echoed out from an alleyway, heralding the arrival of a strange being now making their entry into the square. Standing before Hewkii was a constantly-churning mass of water in the shape of a broad-shouldered Glatorian, with golden branches of coral forming ridges along its limbs, reaching out in uneven spikes from its shoulders, and forming a crest atop its head that reached down over the front of its face to divide the icy blue eyes that shimmered in its depths. Hewkii went totally stiff at the sight.

“General Tarix!” Garan said. “Regrettably, we’ve hit a snag in our mission…”

“I see,” the newcomer said. “Hewkii, isn’t it? You’ve sided with the enemy?”

“...Not as such, General,” Hewkii said. “I merely saw these forces targeting civilians, destroying their homes and whatnot, and thought I should protect them.”

“Hm...I suppose you didn’t exactly have a chance to be briefed on our current objectives.”

“Is that...really you, General? You, ah, look a bit different from the last time I saw you.”

“Lord Velika has given us the power necessary to stop Zaekura. Tell me, Hewkii: will you return with us? This misunderstanding can be overlooked.”

Hewkii shook his head. “I may not have the whole story, but I’m not liking what I’m seeing. Think I’d rather continue to misunderstand.”

“I see,” Tarix said, voice dripping with disappointment. “I’ve yet to master these new powers, and so I do not know if I can subdue you three without killing you.” He took a very long pause. “I will be honest with you: I take no joy in our current duty. If you leave now, I will not pursue.”

Hewkii glanced at the two Rahkshi, who each nodded. “Yeah...I think we’ll take that deal. Thank you, General.”

“Make it count, Hewkii. I will not offer again.”

The three of them left the square in a hurry as Tarix set about freeing Garan and the others. Once they had put a few streets between them and their foes, Hewkii said, “Well, this is bad. General Tarix was deadly enough without powers. I wonder if General Vastus has done the same thing?”

They slipped into the square at the center of the city, next to Antroz’s tower. Neton hissed something.

“The Makuta’s armory might be our best bet. Shy of that...hard to say how exactly we’re going to hold out.”

Clera looked up suddenly. Turning to Neton, she hissed excitedly and ran for the tower’s door; Neton seemed to perk up as well, and beckoned Hewkii to come along. Curious, the Toa followed. The door was already open when Clera got to it, but she charged in without any worry, and Hewkii quickly saw why.

“Oh, Clera!” Charla said, jumping slightly as her sister threw her arms around her. “Are you alright? I’m sorry, we came back as soon as we heard what was going on!”

From the other side of the room, Zaekura looked up. At her foot was a small box of equipment, but whatever was inside was forgotten for the moment. “Glad to see you still in one piece. I shouldn’t have been so lax--of course Atero was already working on a plan…”

“What’s done is done,” Hewkii said. “The question is, what now?”

Zaekura nodded, crossing the room and counting something on her fingers. “So what’ve we got, Velika and these new drones? Now that Krika and Fangs are here they can help clean up, though I’ll probably need to get some more details on what Velika’s doing…”

“There’s more: we just bumped into Tarix, one of Atero’s Four Generals, and it looks like he’s been turned into a new Water Lord.”

Zaekura’s eyes went wide.

“And, uh, there’s also a chance General Vastus could be here too...I haven’t seen him, but those two are pretty inseparable.”

After a few long moments of silence, Zaekura surprised everyone by smiling. “Huh. Actually, I have something for that. Charla, would you mind getting in touch with Krika? I need him to stay close-ish and put this thing to use once I finish it.”

“Oh, um, yes!” Charla said, gently sitting Clera down. “Right away, Lady Zaekura!”

Turning to Neton and Hewkii, Zaekura said, “If you’re up for it, I could use eyes and ears on Velika. Don’t want to completely ignore him, as if he’d let us.”

Neton nodded. Hewkii said, “You got it. Just have Charla focus on us once she’s done with Krika.”

“Thank you!” Zaekura took off up the stairs.

“Hold on: do you really have something that can beat an Element Lord just lying around?”

Pausing, Zaekura leaned out from the staircase with a big grin. “Nah. But give me ten minutes.”

***

Emsar stayed low as another explosion went off, trying to keep herself still so as not to agitate her broken leg. Ehrye lay unconscious next to her, badly wounded but still alive, meaning it was entirely up to her to make sure the broken metal plate protecting them held.

“Such an assortment of Rahkshi, and this is what we’re stuck with,” she mused.

Out in the street, the combined drone faced off against a large, hunched-over Rahkshi Kaita with enormous purely mechanical arms--a Rau-wearing Toa who fled earlier had called them Haydroma, if Emsar recalled correctly. Their armor had all the colors of Cyclone, Regeneration, and Heat Resistance Rahkshi, but while Emsar was skeptical about each of these powers individually going against this machine, it was the Kaita’s unique ability that made them both a boon and a danger.

The drone fusion energized its claws as it charged once more. Haydroma raised one arm as if to block, but the weapons shredded through it with little resistance. Before the drone could retreat, however, Hayrdroma’s wounded arm exploded, hurling it down the street and burying a few bits of shrapnel inside its scorched shell. Slowly advancing, Haydroma held what remained of their arm off to the side: a glow surrounded it, and in seconds a new arm identical to the last had grown.

There hasn’t been much collateral damage, all things considered, Emsar thought. I suppose it should be fine if we simply keep our distance for now.

The drone stood up. Making a quick scan of the area, it blasted a balcony hanging over the street--Haydroma raised an arm to shield themself from the rubble. The drone rushed in, but at the last second, Haydroma threw a punch. With no space left to dodge the colossal fist, the drone was caught, pushed back, and blasted away by another explosion, only to be picked up by a cyclone and slammed into the wall over and over. Haydroma leapt forward to slam both fists onto the drone as it landed, detonating them both and breaking their foe in half.

Oh...seems I worried for nothing.

Haydroma turned towards their allies’ hiding place. They went stiff as they spotted Vastus appearing around a corner.

...Then again.

Vastus paused to take in the scene. Then, as he held one hand out, branches grew from his palm and twisted into a thorned glaive. “Stand down, creature.”

Narrowing their eyes, Haydroma summoned a cyclone around Vastus. Roots extended from the Element Lord’s feet, digging into the pavement to anchor him; Haydroma advanced, thinking they had their foe pinned down, only for the ends of the roots to emerge right before them, wrapping around their torso and slamming them into the ground. With the twister gone, Vastus pulled himself free and came closer.

“Very well.”

Haydroma blew up one of their arms to free themself from the vines. They dashed to one side, raising their remaining arm to block as Vastus thrust his glaive at them, but a single vine pulled their limb back at the last second. The weapon dug into Haydroma’s shoulder--instantly the wound burned, causing the Kaita to shriek in pain. Vastus spun the weapon around, growing a massive Thornax on the opposite end, and bludgeoned Haydroma before encasing them in more vines. He reared back to deliver a fatal blow when suddenly, he fell over backwards. Seeing their chance, Haydroma detonated both arms, and then scrambled to a safer distance as they regrew.

Vastus slowly sat up. “Show yourself.”

A long spike shot out from a nearby window. Vastus threw himself just out of the way before returning fire with his Thornax. As the fruit blew apart the surrounding wall, Krika came charging out of the explosion, trying again to skewer Vastus only to barely miss once again. Vastus thrust his glaive, but Krika held both hands out--the Element-Lord stopped short.

“Seems I’ll be delayed a bit, Charla,” Krika mumbled.

“We meet at last, Makuta Krika,” Vastus said. “I will take great pleasure in being the one to finally end you.”

“Bold words, for a being made of plants facing someone with Plant Control.”

Vastus smirked. “It will certainly be a challenge...but if you had the will to completely overpower me, you would have done so already.”

He pushed forward, his glaive slowly but steadily inching closer to Krika. Haydroma, meanwhile, clutched their wound as they waited for the world to stop spinning. A jolt of pain brought things back into focus: a shining dagger had hit the same shoulder Vastus had attacked, and not far away, they could see Emsar edging back behind her cover. Haydroma growled, but then realized the burning pain had subsided.

“It’s a Remove Poison Kanoka Blade,” Emsar told them. “Try not to get stabbed again, if that’s not too much to ask? I only have the one.”

Nodding their thanks, Haydroma then turned and ran at Vastus, punching him into the nearby pile of rubble his Thornax had created. Krika said, “I suppose that makes us even. Now, the good news is that Zaekura has prepared a countermeasure for this foe, but I don’t think either of us would do especially well in this fight alone if the other went to retrieve it. I’m willing to hold out until it’s delivered if you are.”

Haydroma hissed in affirmation. Vastus was back on his feet now: he threw his glaive at Haydroma, Krika able to use his power to shred it just before it made contact. Having anticipated this, Vastus rushed Krika, his fists becoming the tough, spiky hide of Thornax as he punched the Makuta back. Haydroma’s swipe missed, but they were able to pick Vastus up in a cyclone before he could find proper footing. A half-dozen thorns were shot out at Haydroma, but Krika was able to halt those as well, and Haydroma directed their whirlwind to bash Vastus back into the ground. Vastus lay prone as his foes watched carefully for any sign of movement. A burning sensation in their feet informed them of their mistake, and they leaped clear of the newly-grown patch of acid grass fast as they could. A cage of vines sprang up around Vastus, who now stood and returned his foes’ watchful gaze, the acid grass slowly spreading at his command.

“He knows that I can easily dismantle that defense,” Krika said. “Seems he’s trying to bait me...which means we need a way to outmaneuver him.”

Haydroma conjured another cyclone, ripping up a huge swath of acid grass as it bore down on Vastus. The acidic whirlwind melted clean through the Element Lord’s barrier, forcing him to focus his power on transforming the deadly vegetation into harmless flower petals--seeing his chance, Krika threw all the focus he could muster upon Vastus, whose plant body quickly began to rot. Vastus switched focus to restoring himself as Haydroma closed the gap to deliver an explosive punch. When the smoke cleared, however, Vastus still stood, looking more angry than damaged.

“Meddlesome creature…”

Wooden spikes rose from the ground beneath Haydroma. Krika was able to divert them enough to avoid the Kaita’s vital areas, but that was the best he could do. Before the Makuta could offer any more assistance, an exploding Thornax was hurled directly at him, and the next thing he knew he was at the far end of the street. As he picked himself up, however, he noticed a Lerahk running towards him.

“Ah, you must be Nora,” Krika said as he picked himself up. “Charla said to expect you. I take it you have the weapon?”

The Lerahk nodded--xe stopped next to Krika and offered a thin dagger, before turning and seeing the predicament Haydroma was in. Xyr body froze.

“Hm, no time...I’ll draw his attention, you see if you can put that to use.”

Krika launched himself forward without waiting for a response. Haydroma was doing their best, but Vastus was able to evade their every strike, countering each one with a punch of his own. As Krika drew near, Vastus finally knocked the Rahkshi Kaita flat, conjured a sickle, and hooked the blade around Haydroma’s neck. Krika slowed to a halt.

“Do you really care so much about this Rahkshi?” Vastus asked. “It isn’t even one of yours, according to what I’ve been told.”

“Bitil would be quite cross with me if I let anything happen to his children, and I have enough people cross with me already.”

Vastus shook his head. Meanwhile, Nora carefully crept closer, sticking to the shadowy piles of rubble to avoid being seen. This didn’t stop xem from catching Emsar’s eye, however--the Vortixx beckoned, and Nora ducked into her hiding place, holding up the blade with a long string of hisses.

“Dear, I don’t understand a word you’re saying,” Emsar said. “If this lovely dagger is important somehow, you need to find another way to tell me.”

Nora huffed. Xe pointed at Vastus, imitated a stabbing motion, and then gestured broadly at the plant life scattered about before making a final slash with her arm.

“...Alright, that gives me an inkling. If sticking that irritating shrub with this blade is what we need to do, I might be able to help you with that.”

Nodding furiously, Nora pushed the dagger into Emsar’s hands. Her leg protested as she repositioned herself, but Emsar ignored it, peeking out from her cover to get a better visual on her target.

“”Let’s not be rash here, General,” Krika said. “Surely we can agree that avoiding unnecessary loss of life would be preferable, can we not?”

“Even if we could,” Vastus said, tightening his grip on his weapon, “I fail to see how a Rahkshi counts.”

Nora nudged Emsar, who replied, “Yes, I know! But I only have one shot.”

Krika said, “Listen to me, Vastus. If you let them go right now, I’ll return the favor. Otherwise...I personally guarantee you won’t make it back to Atero.”

Vastus smiled. “Hm. I suppose we’ll just have to see.”

Suddenly, light engulfed Haydroma. Vastus moved to finish them off, but his sickle passed through empty space as the Kaita separated back into three Rahkshi once more. Krika seized hold of Vastus with his Plant Control powers, and that was when Emsar threw the dagger. The blade buried itself in Vastus, who screamed as sparks of green burst all over his body; Krika glanced to Emsar and Nora, and once the sparks dispersed, he walked closer to Vastus. He no longer felt any resistance to his hold.

Vastus groaned. He tried to speak, but Krika kept his mouth shut.

“What a useful little device,” Krika said, extending his arm to retrieve the dagger. “I wonder: will your powers return in time, or have they been shut off permanently? Curious as I am...I don’t think now’s the time to find out.”

“Not so fast, Makuta.”

Krika looked up. Perched atop a nearby building was Tarix, sunlight glinting off his watery form. As he glided down the wall, Krika said, “I imagine this will work on you too. Are you sure what you’re doing is wise?”

“You won’t be able to surprise me with it. And, unlike with Vastus, you don’t have any powers able to puppeteer me, now do you?”

Krika said nothing. Behind Tarix, Haydroma reformed, keeping their distance but not wandering too far.

“We could certainly fight each other and see who comes out on top. But even if you were to defeat me, I think you know that not all of your allies would survive.” Tarix stepped up beside Vastus. “I will take Vastus and leave in peace. Your forces have done well defending this city, and I feel it necessary to regroup with Lord Velika for new orders.”

“Interesting. Then I shouldn’t let you go, either.”

“The decision is yours to make, Makuta. Just know that my mercy does have a limit.”

Krika locked eyes with Tarix. Eventually, with a sigh, he released his hold on Vastus.

“Thank you. Now, if you’ll excuse us.”

Taking Vastus by the shoulder, Tarix left in a hurry. Krika made his way over to Emsar and Nora, saying, “My gratitude for the help...even if I wasn’t able to capitalize on it.”

“It sounded to me like you bought my survival, so I’ve no intent to complain,” Emsar said. “However, there is something bothering me...the direction General Vastus came from seems to be the same direction Ackar went in earlier. He’s not exactly an ally, but losing him would make things a bit more difficult for no good reason.”

Krika nodded. Turning to Nora, he said, “If it’s not too much to ask, would you and Haydroma go search for our fiery companion? I think I should get these two some medical attention, as well as inform Zaekura of how our predicament has developed.”

Nora hissed and went to join Haydroma. Emsar said, “Much obliged, Makuta. I think I’ve done all that I can do at the moment.”

“With luck, it will be enough. Can you stand?”

“Not a chance.”

“Hm, then this will take some doing…”

#Bionicle #fanfiction #Melding Universe #Right of Law #*crawling in* not...done...yet...

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