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kurlyfrasier · 4 years ago

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The Plan: Step Four (final)

Raph x Reader

Synopsis: Reader has a plan to win her favorite terrapin over. Step Four: This wasn’t part of his plan.

Warnings: some violence, somewhat dark raph (although I think I’d really enjoy some dark!Raph. Know anyone who writes that?)

Word Count: 2281

You weren’t paying attention as you walked home from a leisurely day in the lair- even if it did start kind of rough. Your thoughts ranged from Layla’s insincere words to a game you couldn’t seem to beat Mikey in. You thought maybe he had figured a way to cheat and had yet to share his insights. Then you thought about churrs, causing an unconscious smile to grace your lips. Raph hadn’t churred all day, though- which turned your smile into a frown.

“Hey there, girlie,” a rough voice said next to you, stopping you cold as you held your breath. “I liked that smile.”

“Yeah, me too, Vinny,” another stated behind you, his footsteps heavy on the pavement, his voice sinister. “I bet we can make her smile again. Whaddya think?”

“Real pretty like?” The first voice you assumed to be Vinny, snickered. “Ya really think so, Jim?”

Blood rushed in your ears as your breathing turned rapid and eyes raked over your surroundings in a panic. It had gotten dark on your trek home and you may have passed it a block or two back- you weren’t certain because you didn’t travel the opposite way of the lair very often. Not only had you passed your home, but you seemed to have turned into an unfamiliar alley. One that reeked of liquor and urine. So definitely not the best alley you could have wandered into.

“Yeah,” Jim chuckled, sounding closer, close enough for you to feel his body heat behind you. The eerie sound gave you chills. “I bet her scream sounds like a siren’s call, too.”

On some unknown reflex, you elbowed Jim in the stomach, sidestepped away from Vinny, and spun to face the so-called men in a fighting stance- the cold, rough brick behind you a comforting presence. The move surprised you and your wide eyes proved that.

“Oh-ho!” Vinny laughed as he nudged his doubled-over, hacking friend with a menacing grin. “She’s a feisty one.”

Jim spit at your feet. “Good. I like to tame them-”

“Do ya hear that?”

You strained your ears and steadied your breathing, hoping the rush of blood would go silent.

“Wha-”

“Shh!” Vinny put a finger up to his lips, eyes wide and frantic with fear. “I swear I hear-”

The pavement beneath your feet vibrated and that’s when you noticed the deep, rumbling, growly noise coming from the shadows behind the men. Whatever it was, wasn’t human and had your heart rate beating wildly in your chest.

“Ya promised, Swee’heart,” the baritone growl forced your eyes to focus up and into the shadows, latching onto familiar, furious green eyes. You ignored the new nickname, thinking it was the anger talking. His voice was deeper than you had ever heard. His gaze promised retribution. For the first time since you had met him, you were scared. Scared of what he was capable of. Scared the men before you may not see tomorrow. Scared of his fury and what it meant for you.

“Hey!” One of the men shouted, already facing away from you. “We found her first.”

“Yeah! Go find your own b-”

A hand reached into the dim light. Three-fingered and deep green wrapped onto the talking man’s neck, squeezing just enough to shut him up. The man automatically grabbed the wrist the hand was attached to- a sad attempt to free himself. His friend stood statue still and silent as he stared at the mutated hand.

“Ya promised ya wouldn’ go lookin’ fer trouble,” Raph said, slow and meticulous, eyes never straying from your own as the ground continued to vibrate beneath your feet. “An’ I tried stayin’ away, Swee’heart. I really did. But these lowlives kep’ talkin’ an’ I didn’ like wha’ they were sayin’.”

The statue moved, but Raph grabbed the back of his shirt in a flash. The man squeaked.

“Nuh-uh. Where do ya think yer goin’?” Raph held him in place. Now that he was facing you, you saw it was Vinny who tried to run. “She’s been workin’ real hard learnin’ how ta fight,” his eyes gleamed. “It would be a shame if she didn’ get ta practice.”

You cocked your head, slightly confused, arms long ago fell to your sides. Was Raph saying to hit the man?

“Ya elbowed this guy pretty good earlier,” Raph shook the man he held by the neck and you were certain he was going to pass out at any moment. Raph smirked. “Thought ya might like a chance ta hit this guy too.”

“R-really?” Your voice shook. You weren’t much of a violent person, but you had been curious if Raph’s praise during practice was truthful. Plus, it felt great defending yourself a bit ago.

“Yeah. Wide stance, remembah?”

You nodded, a gleam in your eyes as you got into a fighting stance.

Raph somehow grunted in approval over what you had, by now, figured out to be another one of his churrs. “Do me a favor, though. Only hit ‘im once. I don’ wantchya ta hurt yaself.”

You gave him a half nod, pulling your arm back and aimed for Vinny’s eye. Bone crunched under bone. Your arm vibrated from the contact and you pulled back, shaking the sharp pain out of your hand and wrist, causing more pain than you thought it would. When you looked up you saw you missed Vinny’s eye and instead, jabbed his nose. Vinny was groaning in pain, hands filling with blood as Raph chuckled, still holding the men in their place.

“Good hit, Swee’heart,” Raph tossed Jim into the side of the building and he slumped onto the ground in silence. Then Raph jabbed Vinny in the temple, knocking him out and dropped him on the ground before crossing the alley.

~~~~~~~~~~~

Raph stood in front of you, unable to stop the protective churr that still hadn’t quietened down even though the threat was literally passed out on the pavement. He had a feeling it wouldn’t stop unless he took you to the lair- where he knew you would be safe- and had Donnie check your wrist.

“C’mon,” Raph lifted you up into his arms and made his way to the roof. He stayed silent, aside from the churring, and was comforted by the fact that you wrapped your arms around his neck and rested your head on his shoulder as he hopped roof to roof until they arrived at the manhole closest to the lair. Reluctantly, he set you down, knowing he couldn’t hold you and enter the sewers at the same time. Immediately after he closed the manhole up he lifted you back into his arms and held you close. Thankfully, you didn’t protest. He never wanted to let you go. Pride filled his chest as he remembered the move you pulled the same moment one of the thugs reached for you. Not that you saw what that lowlife was doing, but the dread that filled Raph as he watched was a memory he would never forget. It made his blood boil, you being in danger. He was happy now that you had convinced him to teach you how to fight.

Now in the lair, he strode straight for Donnie’s lab, his obnoxious churring catching everyone’s attention as he walked by. They didn’t dare follow him. Not even Leo.

“Donnie,” Raph’s voice was demanding as he walked into the lab. “I need ya ta check Y/n’s hand an’ wrist.”

“I’m not touching her,” Donnie stated, backing into the wall, hands up in surrender as Raph sat you on the table.

“What. Why not?” He growled along with his churring, never taking his eyes off of you, a hand rested on your knee.

“Your churr, bro. I’d rather keep my shell in one piece, thanks.”

“I won’t hurtchya, I promise,” Raph gritted out, squeezing your knee without realizing it, still not moving his gaze from you.

“Raph,” you rested a hand on his, causing his grip to loosen, and the other on his chest. “I’m okay, see?” You moved your wrist and fingers to prove nothing was broken. You barely even winced, but he saw it and it kicked his churr up a notch in volume.

“Donn-”

“Please, Raphie?” Your plea had his heart skipping a beat, your eyes glistened with unshed tears. “I promise I’m okay. Please don’t be mad anymore-”

“Mad?” Both brothers spoke in shock.

“I’m not mad, Swee’heart. I’m-I-” Raph ripped his gaze away from you and looked to his brother for help. He didn’t know how to express that he just wanted you by his side. That he wanted you safe and away from danger. That he couldn’t live without you. That he’ll always be there to protect you. That you didn’t need to fight because he vows he will always be with you in whatever capacity you deem him worthy of. That you were never leaving his sight again if he had any say in the matter.

“He’s not mad, Y/n. Although, I could see why you would think that considering how domineering his protective churr is.”

“Protective?” Your face scrunched in confusion.

“Yes,” Donnie nodded and Raph looked back to you, never wanting to look at anything other than your beauty for eternity. “He wants to keep you safe and, in his eyes, the only thing he deems good enough to protect you is himself. Honestly, I’ve never seen him like this so I’m worried that if I touch you, he’d try to kill me.”

“Kill you-” Your furrowed brows raised in surprise. “Raph you didn’t?”

“No,” he held your gaze with confidence. He may not have killed those men in the alley, but he wanted to. His entire being begged him to squeeze the life out of one and crush the other, but he didn’t. He was worried you may never want to have anything to do with him again if he did and that thought kept him refrained.

“That’s good,” you breathed out. “So now what?”

“Donnie’s gonna check ya out,” Raph unconsciously rubbed his hand up and down your thigh in a soothing gesture. More for himself than for you. Touching you proved you were alive. That you were there- with him.

“Not with you in here, he isn’t.”

“Well I’m not gonna leave ya,” he rasped barely above his churr, leaving the sentence hanging. You now knew what this particular churr meant, he didn’t need to say it.

“Yes-”

“No way in-”

“Raph,” you cupped his face in your hands. His eyes closed at your gentle touch. “If you want Donnie to check my hand, you’re going to have to leave the room.” His eyes flashed open at the suggestion.

“No-”

“Five minutes.”

“Fiv-”

“No-”

“Minut-”

“No-”

“I promise.”

Your words made him pause for a beat. His churring the only sound to be heard. Donnie still hadn’t moved.

Two.

“Ya said that before, Swee’heart.”

“Donnie isn’t going to hurt me, Raphie,” the nickname made his heart soar even as your hands fell to your lap. “You know this. And you know I didn’t go looking for danger.”

“Tha’s not what it looked like ta me,” Raph saw the confusion cross over your face. “Ya walked past yer place and cut through three alleys headin’ who-knows-where before ya entered that last alley an’ those guys saw yer pretty little smile.”

Your eyes widened in shock as your cheeks turned into his favorite shade of pink before you finally stuttered out your question. “Y-you think I h-have a pr-pretty smile?”

He tucked some hair behind your ear. “Yeah, Dum-dum-”

“And you wanna keep me safe?” Your voice was determined this time, a certain gleam in your eye that had always frightened him. You looked as if you had connected more dots than he had ever planned to let you connect.

“Y-yeah-”

“Then why am I not your Layla!?”

“My Layla? Oh-”

“Yeah! I’ve learned how to fight. I had to freeze my butt off just so you would be forced to lend me a shirt! I-”

“Ya did what?” His sharp tone shut you up and had you looking to Donnie for help. So Raph blocked your view of his brother, smirking down at you. “Y/n, ya can borrow my shirt any time. No need for a ruse.”

“Fine,” you huffed. “But that still doesn’t explain why we- w-why we aren’t y-you know?”

“Togetha?” Raph finished for you, a small smile on his lips.

“Yeah,” you whispered, looking down at your lap, thumbs fiddling.

“‘Cause I nevah thought ya would wan’ somethin like me,” Raph answered, voice hoarse, his churring much quieter than before.

“Like you? Raph, I’ve liked you for months!” You exasperated, clearly frustrated he didn’t get the memo.

“Ya deserve more than me-”

“No! Don’t you dare do that, Raph,” you gave him a pointed look.

“But ya do-”

“Oh yeah? Then who do you think could protect me better than you?”

Raph stayed quiet, unwilling to answer that. He was certain nobody could protect you better than him, but that wouldn’t help him convince you otherwise.

“Exactly,” you whispered out before tugging him down by the edge of his plastron. Surprising him with your soft lips against his own.

~~~

Donnie never did check your hand that night and Raph’s churring didn’t stop for the next few days; going back and forth between his deep, growly protective churr and his rumbly happy churr- depending on who was close by. Layla claimed she became stifled because she was always stuck in the lair and was never able to go on any ‘proper’ dates, which eventually led to her breaking up with Leo.

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

A/N: Oh gosh...I had to write the little “L” word lol and I added in a tiny kiss too! I usually try not to do that lol Idk why cuz I like to read them lol but whatever. I hoped you like this! :D

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smol-and-grumpy · 5 years ago

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Cross My Heart - CH.16

Pairing: Bodyguard!Dean x Reader; Chuck Shurley x Reader

Summary: After opening up a letter, the life as she knows it, changes forever. Her husband hires Dean Winchester to protect her but is Dean really who he said he was? And is her husband really worried about her safety?

Warnings: Flangst

WC: 2759

SERIES MASTERLIST

As soon as they’re back, Dean places the groceries into the kitchen and Y/N was right about her period because it starts to kick in as soon as the stress level wasn’t that high anymore.

It’s not long before she finds herself cramping up a little so she uses her first tampon and plants herself on the couch, lays her head on the pillow and pulls the blanket up to her chin.

Dean walks in, grins a little before he scoops her up and sits her on his lap, still with the blanket and all. She curls up above him, presses her face into the crook of his neck.

“You need anything?”

“Nuh-uh,”

“Nuh-uh?” Dean kisses her temple, and then he whispers, “Okay, I know you’ve been dying to ask. Shoot, I’ll answer all your questions.”

Y/N actually doesn’t really know what she could ask, she doesn’t want to come across as jealous, when that’s actually what she is.

“The boy looks like you,”

“Yeah, but I can guarantee you that I’m not the father.” Dean’s voice rumbles underneath her.

“How do you know?”

He shrugs, his one hand rubs along her thigh over the blanket, “I came back from an eight month deployment. And after two months she told me that she’s pregnant. Turns out she was already four months along, so no, I don’t really think it was possible that I’m the father. Unless she kept one of the condoms in the freezer and kind of houdinied the semen out and injected it into her uterus.”

“You used a condom?” She raises an eyebrow, she’s curious, not because it’s supposed to be a dig at him.

“She insisted we always use one. Because she didn’t trust me and according to her, I could technically be having sex with everyone while I’m over there.”

“Wow,”

Dean lets out a soft chuckle, “Yeah,”

“She wanted you to trust her but she didn’t give you her trust in return?” She looks up at him, his scruff rubs along her forehead before he tilts his head down to look back at her. From this angle, Dean’s has a double chin but he looks cute with it and that again, is not really fucking fair.

“Apparently, trust in a relationship is not a two way street for her.” Dean just shrugs, “It��s in the past. I don’t even know if it was love at that time or just the comfort of having somewhere to stay with, and someone to be comfortable around with without having to pretend and hide. It took a big chunk of burden off my shoulders too, because I couldn’t afford rent and paying for Sam’s education at the same time.”

“You two already lived together?”

“With her parents,” He says with a chuckle.

“Oh my god,”

“Her parents were nosy,” Dean’s laughing now, probably thinking back to the memories, “The thing was, we were young, I was maybe too comfortable with what I had, too tired from war to make a change, and that’s why I stayed with her and then when she said that she was pregnant, I kind of rolled with it. I didn’t even think that I ever wanted kids. We never really talked about it. Looking back, I don’t think I did love her and I’m glad that I could walk away from it. I don’t think that I was ever really truly happy with her. And I have proof that she wasn’t really happy with me either. We were two cowards who were too scared of what was out there, and we were afraid to leave our comfort zones.”

“Were you ever truly happy in your life?” It’s not meant as an offense but the more he tells her, the more she gets the impression that Dean’s life was hard. Full of responsibilities and making choices that he shouldn’t make from a young age on.

“I am,” He smiles a little when he cradles her face with one hand and pushes his thumb under her chin to make her look up at him, “You don't see it, do you?”

“See what?” She frowns a little.

“Baby, you make me happy,” He kisses her nose, “Yeah, there are some minor inconveniences along the way but the truth is, I’m the happiest I’ve been in years when I’m with you.”

“Oh,” She really didn’t know.

Dean chuckles and kisses her and she grins against the kiss. She wonders if he feels it too, feels the butterflies fluttering around in his tummy, feels the stinging in his heart that hurts so good.

Their kiss gets more heated, gets deeper, and she really wishes that she’s not on her period. But there’s something that pulls both of them back to reality.

“I think that is really your phone in your pockets,” She jokes, mumbles the words against his lips and Dean chuckles while he pushes her off his lap playfully to take the phone out of his pants.

He stops and frowns when he looks at the caller ID, shows it to her before he picks it up.

Chuck.

“Mr. Winchester, where the fuck are you?” Chuck’s so loud on the other end.

“Uh, we moved,” There’s no sir at the end. She can tell that Dean’s sick of pretending.

“I know that. Where did you take my fucking wife?”

Oh, now she’s his fucking wife.

Dean places a hand on her shoulder, somehow it soothes her. It would feel a lot better if he wouldn’t be shaking himself, though. He’s visibly upset and the crease on his forehead deepens.

“I took her somewhere safe. Because that’s my job.”

Chuck laughs, it’s loud and mockery, “That’s not your fucking job anymore, is it? I haven’t paid you to do your work for over a week! Now tell me where she is or someone gets hurt.”

They hear someone whimpering, it’s a female voice. She realizes that she knows that voice.

Oh god, no.

“Why do you want her? It was you wasn’t it? It was you who sent that hitman after us!” Dean growls, his voice is deep, he’s angry. She’s never seen him like this.

He has Meg, She mouths to Dean and Dean’s frowns some more at that.

“I knew I shouldn’t have hired an ex-marine who left on his own will. I should have gone with an army outcast, someone who’s paid to do what they should and not fucking second guess everything I say!” Chuck snarls, “Look, Winchester, fair trade. You bring her to me and in return, I won’t kill off her best friend, how does that sound?”

“Yes,” Y/N whispers.

“No,” Dean’s voice is louder, it’s a deep growl, it makes her flinch.

“A life for a life, sounds fair to me!” Chuck says and he must be doing something to Meg because she cries out. It’s a terrible sound. Something hurts inside of her when she hears it.

“I’ll text you the address and I give you 12 hours, because I know that you’re far away and traffic is a bitch. Don’t even tell me that I don’t give you a fair chance.” Chuck sounds proud, “No police. Just you and me, Winchester. You pull something, she’s dead and I have friend in high places, Winchester, so don’t fucking play with me or I’ll send someone else, every fucking day.”

He hangs up before Dean can even answer.

“No,” Dean says and gets up to pace around in the room. She opens her mouth to say something but he holds out his finger, repeating himself, “Don't even start, the answer is no!”

“But—”

“—I’m not fucking losing you!”

“We have to! He’ll hurt Meg!” She argues and stands up too.

Dean’s phone pings with a message. It has the address on it and a picture of Meg. She’s been beaten black and blue.

Y/N feels nauseous and needs to sit down again after seeing that.

Dean moves over quickly to sit down on the chair, typing in the address into google maps, “Okay, we need about six hours to get there. We still have time to form a plan.”

“You’re going to help Meg?” She walks over to stand next to him and then he looks up to her.

“Of course I’ll help Meg,” He pushes his chair back, pulls her into his lap, “I’m not happy about it but I’m helping where I can. She’s important to you and you’re important to me, so.”

“I’m sorry I pulled you into this.”

Dean sighs, “We’ve been over this, haven’t we?” He says, places his chin on her shoulder as he wraps his arms around her waist, “We’re in this together. And now we need to see how we can all get out of it, Meg included.”

They arrive at a record shop. It doesn’t look like anything impressive on the outside to be honest, but they found out through google, that it has a recording studio in the back. Of course it would. That’s Chuck for you. He knows that it’s soundproof, he probably rented it out under a false name, either.

Y/N gets off the bike, takes off her helmet and waits for Dean to do the same.

He’s standing before her, “Remember what we said, okay?”

She nods.

“And here’s your gun,” Dean hands it to her too, “Just, this time, if you shoot, try to hit what you’re aiming for, alright?” He chuckles but it’s not a light-hearted or funny chuckle, it’s more sinister.

“Okay,”

“Right,” Dean takes a step closer, weaves his arm around her waist, pulls her into him, “Try not to get shot at, alright?”

“And you don’t get dead. Promise?” She stands on her tip toes, their noses touch.

“Cross my heart,” Dean smiles a little, seals his words with a kiss.

She watches Dean leave with a nod.

The plan’s for him to go in first and that they’ll improvise on the rest.

There was no time to plan anything else ahead because they didn't know what would be waiting for them once they arrived.

Of course they contacted Benny because Dean hasn’t heard from him yet. But since it’s now a pressing matter, Benny’s doing his best to inform the local authority, and even drives here himself. It would take him longer to get here from wherever he was, she never asked, but Dean’s phone is on standby with Benny and the call is recorded.

The plan was also for her to wait until Benny or the police is here but she can’t because she hears a dull thud and fuck—

—She runs in as fast as she can, almost trips over a stack of records but she keeps on going and pulls the heavy door open, her gun drawn.

She sees Chuck, and Meg’s next to him on her knees.

“Oh, hey, wifey.” Chuck greets her with a fucking big smile on his face.

The shot was only a bait to lure her in. Chuck has a gun in hand too and he waves it in her direction.

“Let Meg go,” She says with the calmest of voice she can muster up.

Chuck raises his eyebrow, pouts a little, “Where are your manners, Y/N! Say please,”

She looks at Dean and they exchange looks. He’s on edge, is ready to launch forward. There’s so much tension in the air and she doesn’t think that she’s breathing at all.

With a sigh, she says, “Please,”

“Was that so hard?” Chuck mocks, “I only give Meg to Winchester and you’re coming to me.”

“No,” Dean whispers, it’s faint but she hears it nonetheless.

Y/N knows that Dean doesn’t want that, but also she wants her friend safe. It’s the only other person in the world who she trusts next to Dean. She loves Meg. Meg was always here, even when she had a hard time herself with her failed business ventures. Y/N was always there for Meg and vise versa.

Looking at Dean, she nods, and she sees that he doesn’t like it one bit but he nods back.

“Lower your gun and I will, too.” She tells Chuck and that might be the first time in ages that they agree on something.

Chuck lowers his first, Dean follows and then her.

“Now Meg,” Dean says, holds out his hands, beckons her over.

Meg’s still blue in one eye and she walks over, she’s wearing an oversized sweater, something Y/N’s not used to seeing on her. Meg’s always dressed so good. She wonders what happened in the short time that she was away.

Her friend nods at Y/N in passing, and goes to stand next to Dean who’s a couple of feet away from her. And Y/N turns to nod at Dean one last time, sees Dean nodding back, holding Meg up with an arm around her.

Y/N takes a step closer to Chuck, then another one.

On her third step, a shot rings in her ear, it makes her jump. She turns around to see the source and sees Dean on the floor.

“Dean!” She calls out, wants to run back but Chuck’s voice interrupts her train of thought.

“Ah-ah, you stay.” He says calmly and he draws his gun when she sees her drawing hers.

She looks at Meg, sees that woman smiling. She can’t believe that she’s been played by her best friend, “Why, Meg? Why?” She starts to cry.

Dean’s grunting, he’s clearly in pain, blood seeps out from his stomach wound. She knows that she has to stop the bleeding but she’s caught between a rock and a goddamn hard place.

Meg’s smile dies down, “I’m sorry, I really am, Y/N.”

“Did he pressure you into doing this?”

“He offered me a million! Imagine, Y/N! A fucking million! I can start anew! I thought about it long and hard. I love you, I do, but I would also love a new start. You understand, right? I’m sorry but I gotta look out for mysel—”

Meg didn’t get to finish her sentence because Chuck shot her right in her face.

“I never liked her,” Chuck says, “She always talks too much. And she really thinks she’d get away with it.” He scoffs.

Y/N’s full on sobbing, she can’t stop even if she wants to. “So, you’re going to kill everyone? What are you going to tell them, huh? Three dead people?” She knows that she should get going, that she should help Dean, she knows that time is fucking running out.

“I’ll tell them that I’m a hero. I tried to save you from your crazy friend who wanted to take away everything from you. Not even your bodyguard could help protect you. So it was me, the loving husband who has to rush in,” He pauses for the dramatic effect, “But it was already too late.”

Dean’s still grunting, he’s still alive. Oh thank god. She risks a glance. Dean’s visibly pale, the blood starts to pool. His eyes are on her.

She nods at Dean and takes a deep breath before looking back to Chuck who has his gun cocked and ready. It’s really now a matter of who shoots first. His finger is tight around the trigger, but hers is, too.

“Go to hell, Chuck,” She mumbles and pulls the trigger, sees Chuck staggering and losing balance. His gun is still tight in his hand and he pulls the trigger, shooting into the ground before he kneels on one knee. She has shot him in his thigh, right above the knee.

Ready to pull again, a sound of someone barging in stops her, and then, everything happens so fast. Someone’s pointing a gun at Chuck and she sees him raising his hands. Someone has an arm around her, asking her if she’s okay. She hears it faintly, “Ma’am, are you okay? Ma’am, can you hear me?”

But she can’t, she can’t talk, she can’t hear, she can’t see.

She needs to get to him.

Y/N falls on her knees, crawls over the body of Meg to get to Dean. Someone’s already working on his wound. Dean’s face is the palest of pale she’s ever seen in her life. There’s sweat on his forehead and his eyes look empty. But he’s still looking at her. She’s crying, leans her head against his, kisses his cheek, his nose, “Please don’t leave me,” She begs with every fiber of her being.

CH.17

#cross my heart #dean winchester #bodyguard!dean #dean winchester fic #dean winchester fan fic #dean winchester fan fiction #dean winchester x reader #nahtalie writes

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soft-stormcloud · 5 years ago

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My name is Patton, and I’m your Guardian Angel [Guardian Angel AU]

Synopsis: Virgil tries to kill himself, but his Guardian Angel stops him.

Trigger warnings: Suicide attempt (not successful), crying, depression, pills, vomiting,

A/N: Really weird worldbuilding idk. This was supposed to be a high school type au but I’ve been listening to people playing DND so it’s a really weird mix between modern and fantasy. Wtv.

Virgil came in through the front door, making sure to slam it loud enough for it to echo through the entire house.

He had skipped his last class and turned his phone off, not to do anything particular, but to walk around town. He wandered through the shopping district, stopping at a bakery to pick up a cupcake, and drifted to a park with a duck pond near the gates. He was half paranoid that the guards would see him on their break and send him back to school, but no one paid him any mind. He just sat and ate his cupcake and watched the ducks and the sunset.

He had turned his phone back on on the way home and it buzzed with three messages, all from the same person.

Did you get detention?

I’ll wait here another ten minutes before going home. I’m not waiting for all the sports’ practices to get out just to find out you left without me again.

I’m coming over later. Don’t do anything stupid.

He couldn’t help the sharp pang of disappointment. He knew it was stupid, and it was childish, but he just wanted to see if anyone would notice he was gone. Adam did, but that wasn’t really a surprise. They weren’t who Virgil was hoping to hear from.

At the sound of the door slamming, another one swung open down the hall. Remus’s little feet slapped against the tile and, before Virgil could blink, he had an arm-full of his little brother.

“Where were you?!” He whined, grabbing fist-fulls of Virgil’s hair and shaking a bit.

“Ow, Remus, stop,” Virgil mumbled, settling him against his hip.

Roman came into the foyer, clutching his script. “Remus! Don’t be so loud, you know your dad just laid down.”

Remus pouted.

Roman frowned. “Virgil, did you just get home?”

Virgil’s heart rate picked up. He nodded.

His eyes widened. “Where were you? Has Remus eaten? Remus, did you eat? How did you get home?”

Remus shook his head. “Nuh-uh. I walked!”

Roman pressed his hand to his heart. “You walked? All the way from school? Virgil, what’s the matter with you?” He tucked his script in his waistband and went over to them, cradling both of their heads in each of his hands. “I’ve never known you to be so irresponsible. What’s going on?”

He shook his head and looked away. “Nothing. Sorry, I’ll make him dinner.”

Roman kissed Virgil’s cheek, and Remus giggled when Roman kissed his nose. “Just be quiet. Logan’s taking a nap in the living room. I’ll be in our room if you need me.”

The resentment-mixed-shame built up in Virgil’s stomach as he made Remus dinner. While he was cooking the grilled cheese, he slipped on some water and reached out for anything to grab to steady himself- Like the hot pan. He prepared himself for the seering burn with a small cry, only for his hand to be pushed away and his body to be righted.

“Vergie?” Remus asked with a frown. “Are you okay?”

Virgil caught his breath, breathing heavily. He was confused, but he tried not to think about it. “I’m fine.” He sat Remus’s food down in front of him and went to his room.

His phone buzzed as he sat on his bed.

Adam: I’ll be late. Don’t ask. Should I bring my camera?

Virgil: no

He flopped back on his bed, the wrinkled purple sheets a comforting, if albeit boring familiarity under him. His room was always very dark. When he was little, he had insisted, day in and day out, that he wanted to paint his walls black. He wanted it to resemble a cave, and he wanted to sleep upside down like a bat. Roman and Logan told him that he couldn’t do that, because if he painted it black he could never paint it any other colour, and that if they ended up wanting to sell the house, that would make it much more difficult. Virgil didn’t care. He insisted.

Finally, Logan did it out of spite. He bought all the paint and a bar you used for pull-ups and before he did anything, he asked Virgil if he was sure. Virgil was. So they painted his walls black together, and Virgil got it all over himself, and Roman nearly lost his mind when he got home but his parents were indestructible and Virgil had never seen them fight about anything serious. After his bedtime story, they both sat down and watched Virgil hang upside down on the bar for all of thirty seconds before he decided the black walls were enough and he wanted to sleep normally.

He now kept faerie lights to keep his room as light as he could, as many as he could find, all over his walls, purple and blue and yellow and green. There were ripped posters from bands he didn’t listen to anymore and photographs of him, his parents, Remus, and even a few of Adam, the short time they’ve known each other. By the only window, he had pushed his ferrets’ cage up against it so they got sunlight.

And as much as he loved it, he didn’t think he could bear to look at it any longer.

He reached between the wall and his bed and pulled out a bottle of pills he had taken from the medicine cabinet in his parents’ bathroom.

He had always thought he would be crying when he did this, but in truth, he dried himself out at the duck pond. He didn’t feel too much of anything, just a slowly increasing heart rate and some sweaty palms. It was like his anxiety was trying to poke through, but it was buried under wrapping muscle and bones and blood. It was all… Muffled.

He felt kind of sick after he took all of them, but that could be because of the overwhelming, chalky taste in his mouth. He grabbed the old Mountain Dew off his bedside table and downed the rest of it.

Then he went to sleep.

xxx

There were flashes of white, soft, soothing white, and he was floating. It was nice, until he threw up all over the carpet.

“Dangit,” someone whispered in his ear. He couldn’t recognize the voice, but he wasn’t scared. “Come on, a little further.”

Virgil collapsed against the toilet and dry heaved, ripping a sob from his throat. It felt like his body was trying to turn itself inside out, it was horrible. He had taken the Atarax to skip this part, sleep through it, but now it was like he was in a dream, the bathroom lights blurred and his skin tingling.

“Sorry about this,” the voice whispered before something was shoved down his throat.

It disappeared, and he threw up again. He coughed and gagged, smacking the base of the toilet a few times. An eternity later, he slumped back against the wall, gasping for breath.

“Oh, it’s not working…” They sounded panicked. “Nng, they told me not to do this… Oh, well.”

Suddenly, Virgil’s throat was cleared, and his stomach was empty. He sucked in a deep breath, blinking away the tears.

“What…” His voice came out a horrible, ugly rasp.

“Oh, no, don’t do that! You’ll hurt yourself. Here…”

A glass of water was forced into his hands. He didn’t question it, just chugged the whole thing. When he finally got his vision back, he came face to face with a boy around his age in a blue cloth dress, perched on his sink.

“We should get you to bed,” the boy said. “You need to rest after all this.”

Virgil blinked. “Who are you?”

“Oh, introductions already?” He giggled nervously. Comically small, pastel blue feathered wings sprouted from his back and carried him gently to the ground. He grabbed Virgil’s arm and helped him to his feet. “I’m Patton. And I’m… Well, that doesn’t really matter right now. Gosh, I can see now why we aren’t supposed to do this…” He settled Virgil on the bed and pulled the covers over him. “Oh, wow, I love your room…” He giggled. “Purple was my best friend’s favourite colour.” His voice trailed off into a murmur as he wandered around, his wings fluttering as he looked at photos and trinkets. “Well, his and about fifty others in my class… Anyway, it’s a good colour. Strong.”

The Atarax was pulling him in again, but… He had to know.

“I need to know who you are,” he slurred.

“Oh, you really don’t-”

“Now!”

Patton tensed up, and then sighed with a subdued smile. “Very well. Virgil Sanders-Rios?” Virgil nodded slowly. “My name is Patton, and I’m your Guardian Angel. But I’m new, so go easy on me!”

Part of him believed this was some Atarax-induced dream- He’s hallucinated before when he took too much. It’s never been this… Detailed, though.

“Huh?”

“I’ve been assigned to you for your lifetime to keep you safe. You trying to kill yourself isn’t quite something I’m allowed to let you do, so… Rest up! You’ll feel better in the morning.”

Virgil stared at him. He was asian, with a light brown pixie cut, peach-toned skin, and round, hooded blue eyes. Other than the ridiculous wings, he didn’t look like an angel. He just looked… Normal. Part of him wondered if the wings were pinned on, but no, he could tell they were real. They breathed with him, fluttered occasionally, and when Patton had bent over to look at the stack of books under his desk, they stretched like muscle.

The only thing he could possibly get out was an astounding, “But you’re… My age.”

Patton giggled and shook his head. “Unless you’re 315, I don’t think so.”

Virgil stared at him. And then he rolled over, pulled the covers up to his ear, and said, “I’m going to bed.”

There was no answer. When Virgil looked over again, a few hours later and in between dreams, Patton was gone.

Tagging everyone who reblogged the intro post, lmk if you want on or off the tag list:

@larry-angels @themysticfae26 @comicsimpson @anxietea-and-insanitea @nonasidesstuff @coffeewithhaiku @arri-aspects @sanders-sister @sanders-sides-uncorrect-quotes @anxiousmess82161 @iamthenewqueenofgames @ninjagirl9797 @luna--28 @a-deceit-salad @plunksaysnope @lovesupportandcookies @normallyaspen

#virgil is v emo in this lmao #virgil sanders #roman sanders #patton sanders #remus sanders #sympathetic remus #virgil #roman #remus #patton #guardian angel au

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bcdrawsandwrites · 5 years ago

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For Unity By @jaywings and me

Rating: T Genre: Friendship, Angst Characters: urGoh, skekGra, skekSil, skekSo, skekTek, skekVar, urVa, urSu, urSol, urZah, possibly others… Warnings: A LOT OF VIOLENCE. Description: One was as vile and repulsive as his brethren. He murdered, and maimed, and reveled in it. The other was as slow and indirect as the rest of his brethren. He hated his dark half as much as the others did theirs. But who they were did not matter, for Thra saw its moment, and seized its opportunity. View all chapters here!

—~~~—

Chapter 4: In Our Arrogance and Delusion Summary: In which the Wanderer and the Conqueror see something that changes everything.

---~~~----

The scent of terrified Gruenak was strong here.

SkekGra tore along the ground, his robes a flash of blood-red in the dim green glow of the tunnels, tail dragging heavily behind him and talons clinking against stone. He flared his nostrils, breathing deeply, but it hardly seemed necessary—the trail continued straight ahead.

His claws kicked up dirt and moss, sharp rocks occasionally cutting into his talon-tips, aggravating the burns on his hands and probably causing them to bleed anew, but he couldn't stop now. The further he ran, the more he could sense the clay-and-metal scent of his prey, still fleeing as far as they could from his advance. The tunnels he followed grew more and more narrow, and several times he found himself having to squeeze through tight passages. Part of him wondered if he was truly going the right way, but the scent of Gruenak only grew stronger—as did, strangely, the scent of fresh air. But how could there could be fresh air this deep underground, unless...?

Anger surged through his veins at the realization—these cowards knew a way out of here and were heading right for it!

Sure enough, he found himself moving up an incline, steeper and steeper with the air feeling fresher and more humid. The tunnels grew slick with mud and rainwater and he nearly slipped at one point, digging his talons into the rock and earth to steady himself before resuming his climb. He was amazed they could have made it this far, but then, these things did live in caves themselves. They probably felt at home here.

Just as he thought the tunnel would never end, it opened up into an enormous cavern, the Gruenak scent hitting him full in the face. He pushed himself back onto his hind legs; rain trickled from above, though this time it did not affect him, for he was on a mission—

But then, he saw… it.

---~~~---

Darkness enfolded urGoh as he ambled into the cave, rendering him blind.

He could not tell how wide this space was. His feet scraped against sharp rocks scattered over the ground, but the area around his arms was empty, he could tell the air did not press in too closely. Just as he was wondering how long this passage was, the space directly in front of him pulled open, flooding the cave with light and his ears with a clanking, whirring noise.

"Hm? AH!"

Startled, urGoh raised his head, looking for the source of the voice; of all things, he hadn't expected to hear such a tiny cry.

The voice’s owner came into view: a simple Podling carrying a feather duster. She crept forward, peered through the doorway at him, and scrambled backward with a loud scream. "AH! NO!"

"Um..." Passing through the door, urGoh watched as the Podling continued to back away from him, emitting a noise that sounded like a cross between a whimper and a growl. He regarded her calmly. "Hello."

That only made the Podling give a startled squawk, which grew in volume as she tripped over a stack of books she had evidently been in the process of reorganizing. Frantically she pushed herself up into a sitting position, and looked over her shoulder as though to check on something.

Following her gaze, urGoh spotted a quietly-snoring form beneath the Orrery: Mother Aughra herself. Or the physical part of her, anyway.

The Podling whipped her head between Aughra and urGoh several times before jumping to her feet and brandishing her feather duster at him with as much ferocity as a Podling could muster. She spoke quickly in her own tongue, and urGoh could only catch a few words: back, Mother Aughra, hurt, harm, monster.

"I am no... monster," urGoh said, taking a step closer, but the Podling only swung her feather duster and snapped something sarcastic and vaguely threatening. "I have come... seeking help."

"NO!" the Podling cried, finally daring to dart closer and bat at him her makeshift weapon.

The feathers tickled urGoh's nose, and he swung his head to the left, then to the right, the wrinkles in his snout deepening.

Shouting triumphantly, the Podling swatted the feather duster at him once more in what she likely hoped was a finishing blow. And urGoh let out a tremendous sneeze, sending the Podling sailing backwards in an explosion of feathers.

He blinked, shaking his mane. "My... apolo... gies."

Now halfway across the room, the Podling dazedly sat up, looked at the empty handle that had once been her feather duster, and gave a cry of despair.

"It is... all... right," urGoh said, moving closer. "I mean... no harm. I merely... need help."

The Podling frowned at him, her eyes narrowed in a challenging expression.

For a split second he nearly told her about the Skeksis going after the Gruenaks, but then he remembered: the Gelflings and Podlings both saw the Skeksis as Lords of the Crystal, as heroes. If he spoke against them, he would be putting his entire cause in danger. Instead, he chose his words carefully. "There are innocent creatures... being hunted... by a monster. A... true monster."

This seemed to catch the Podling's attention, and she carefully rose to her feet. The way she held herself remained cautious, but she no longer seemed to regard him as an open threat, at least.

"I need... something. Something... powerful." Slowly his gaze turned back toward Aughra's unmoving form. "Perhaps... something Mother Aughra... knew about...?"

A quick scan of the room revealed not much of interest. Certainly nothing that could be of use in halting a bloodthirsty Skeksis intent on massacre...

The Podling bit her knuckle in thought at his words, humming. She glanced from him to Aughra again a few times before nodding and toddling off to another part of the Observatory. Every few steps she turned to give urGoh a sharp glare, as though daring him to try anything. Still urGoh remained calm, hoping that whatever she found, it would be something that could truly help him.

The Podling shifted several piles of unorganized objects from one corner of the room before giving a shrill, but triumphant "ah-ha!" Lifting something up, she turned around, presenting it to urGoh with a smug look.

It was a basket of crystal shards.

Curious, urGoh moved closer to her, peering down at the objects. They were all vaguely similar in size and shape, and identical in color, each of them being clear as... well, crystal. The shape reminded him vaguely of the Crystal of Truth itself. But what help would these rocks be?

As though reading his thoughts, the Podling went off talking again, though slowly enough this time that he could pick up more words: Mother Aughra... study... crystals... important...

"What do... they do?" he asked.

The Podling only shrugged with a noncommittal grunt.

Well, if Aughra found these shards to be important, then they must be. With a nod, urGoh reached to pick one of them up, but the Podling yanked the basket backward with an angry retort.

"No!" she cried, holding it high above her head—which was, of course, not actually out of his reach, but he wasn’t about to force the crystals from her. "Nuh-uh! No!" The Podling went on, saying, from what he could tell, that these were Aughra's, and he could not keep them.

"Please," he said, sweeping his tail across the floor in impatience. "Time... is of... the essence."

The Podling frowned, staring down at the basket again and rattling the contents as she carried it around urGoh, so she had a better view of Aughra. She gazed at her for a moment, then back to the basket, and with a grunt set it down in front of him with a clatter. She then held up a finger, muttering that Mother Aughra would probably not miss just one of them.

"Yes. One... will do."

He hoped.

But which one? There were dozens in the basket, and he got the feeling that they were not all the same. He glanced at the Podling, but she didn't seem to know any more about them than he did. He fervently wished he could ask Aughra. Who was he supposed to ask in her stead? Thra itself?

While in thought, his eyes strayed upward to fix on the Orrery, which he had avoided focusing on for as long as he could. Shining, iridescent models of planets and moons swept through the air in infinite spirals, the strange machine clanking away and never slowing. Aughra’s spirit was somewhere out there, exploring and dancing among the stars. With a strange pang of envy, urGoh forced his attention back to the shards. They glittered at his feet, all looking remarkably similar.

He held his hand over the basket and closed his eyes in concentration. At least some of these definitely had magical properties—he could feel his fingertips buzzing.

The little Podling edged closer to him, apparently trying to act nonchalant as though hoping he wouldn’t notice her, before reaching out and prodding one of his lower arms. She jerked backwards and stared at it as though worried it would bite her.

UrGoh merely twiddled the fingers of that hand and smiled at her. “Four arms,” he said. “They are useful for things, like… juggling.” He paused. “If I could… juggle.”

The Podling did not look eased by the attempt at humor. If anything, she looked more concerned.

UrGoh placed a hand on his chest. “I am… urGoh,” he said. “And… you?”

The little caretaker peered at him suspiciously. “Fedle,” she said at last, nodding importantly.

UrGoh inclined his head. “It is an… honor to meet you… Caretaker Fedle.”

The Podling looked slightly taken aback by the greeting, but pleased.

“Doza aminia!” she squeaked, and made a fluttery little bow. A little tentatively, she peered at him and said, “You—urGoh—good?”

He hummed in affirmation, dipping his head again.

Fedle the Podling poked his lower arm again. “No monster?”

UrGoh smiled. “No.”

The Podling stood up straighter with a “hmph!” and gave a sharp nod, seeming to accept his presence at last. “Ta?” she said. “Want ta?”

UrGoh blinked down at her. “That would… be lovely,” he said, and the Podling bustled off to fix the hot drink.

He reached into the basket and fished out a shard—it was warm in his hand. Out of curiosity he clinked it against some of the others, achieving a pleasant noise but nothing overly interesting. Why would Aughra keep a pile of crystal shards in a box?

His thoughts slammed to a halt. Barely moving his head, he glanced slowly from the prone form of Aughra to the rock in his hand.

Crystal shards…

Aughra was looking for the missing piece from the Crystal of Truth.

UrGoh had not been in the Castle when the Crystal had been broken. No Mystic had been—the sixteen survivors had fled for their lives with the few other creatures who had managed to escape the Skeksis’ initial blind, murderous fury. The whole race from the Castle was blurred, indistinct, originating from his first few hours of confusing, terrifying consciousness in this strange new form.

He had not been there to see the Crystal cracked. But he remembered the feeling of it shattering. The entire world had shaken. Great fissures had appeared in the ground and it took him and the rest of his brethren to hold them back with song, to save all of their lives…

Hm… song.

UrGoh hummed a low note, opening his mouth and letting forth a deeper, richer sound, watching the shard in his hand. It seemed to tremble—by the slight clinking from the basket, it sounded as though the others were too. He tried different tones, seamlessly raising and lowering the pitch of his voice until he had to take a breath. Moments after the sound faded, the shards stilled. He stood with the shard held flat on his palm and waited for something miraculous to occur.

“Ta!” a Podling voice said proudly, and he looked down to see Fedle back at his elbow, offering up a steaming cup. It smelled delicious. Not exactly the miracle he was hoping for, though.

“Thank you,” he said, taking the cup and draining half of it in one gulp. He had not realized how thirsty the journey here had made him.

“Stones help?” Fedle asked, sipping from a smaller mug of her own.

UrGoh gave a disappointed sigh, feeling a tinge of frustration. No, the stones were not helping. At his core he felt that he was on the right track. He had been meant to find these shards, but he did not know what to do with them, and he had precious little time if he was to save the Gruenak refugees. If it wasn’t already too late.

Regret pierced his heart like a thorn—that he had sent the creatures away into the caves, that he had not insisted they stay with him at least a little longer. He could even have brought them to the Valley, perhaps, and the others may have let them stay…

As he took another gulp of ta to help him swallow back his guilt, he heard Fedle give an interested hum, and turned to her.

"Juggle?" she asked, waving her free hand casually at him.

“What?” urGoh said distractedly, staring at her, and she pointed to his flat palm. “No, no, I’m… not going to try… juggling…”

He froze.

He hadn't noticed it immediately, calloused as his hands were, but the shard he held was... trembling��no, twitching. Moving of its own accord.

Carefully he set his cup on the floor and closer to watch the crystal shard in his hand. Fedle leaned in closer too, giving an impressed oooo! On a whim, urGoh held the crystal out further, and its twitches grew stronger, until it began to spin.

It spun in the palm of his hand, like an erratic compass. Or perhaps it was a compass? He leaned in even closer, the tip of his snout inches from his hand; quite suddenly, the shard stopped spinning, snapping in one direction and trembling faintly, the long end pointed forward.

Following the point of the shard, urGoh traced his eyes up, but only saw the Orrery. He sighed—he still didn’t understand what meaning one was supposed to derive from the thing, incredible thought it was. He feared he would lose himself if he watched it for too long, and made to turn away.

He could not.

Something within him was... drawn to the Orrery. Everything else around him seemed to slow down, Fedle's curious speech fading into the background, while the enormous contraption before him seemed to speed up. It moved faster and faster, until it should have been nothing but a blur—and yet he was suddenly aware of every turn of the planets, every rotation of the stars, and it made perfect sense.

And then... he saw it.

---~~~---

The cavern before him was enormous, yet it was entirely filled with a system of massive roots that twisted all throughout the cave and over the ground. For a brief moment he wondered what plants these were, only to remember—of course, these were the roots of a sole plant: the Sanctuary Tree.

He’d seen it before, of course. It wasn’t all that impressive—just some massive tree that the Gelflings worshipped or something.

Had this been any other occasion, he may have spent more time looking around the place for treasures or anything else of interest, but right now his mind was set on one thing and one thing only: to find the deserters, and kill them.

Sure enough, they were here—he could see the three of them trying to make their way toward the central mass of roots.

"You!" he cried, and they looked back at him, yelling in horror. "Deserters! Get back here!"

In response, the three began to climb faster, and skekGra once again dropped down on all fours, barreling toward them. But a sudden thought made him take a split-second change of course, and he leaped onto a mass of roots immediately next to the one the Gruenaks were climbing. He scrambled up it, quickly passing the creatures, and drew his largest sword. With a wicked grin, he swung the sword downward, slicing the roots the Gruenak were climbing.

The roots were much, much stronger than he'd anticipated, however, and the blade only went about halfway through.

Before he could fully pull the sword back out to swing it again, the entire cavern began to shake and groan, as though there were something in its depths that were both alive, and massive. It echoed off the walls, seeming to come from all around them at once, and skekGra frantically yanked his sword away and redoubled his grip on the roots, heart pounding. Earthquake?

The Gruenaks had a harder time keeping their balance than he did, and were forced to drop back down onto the solid rock of the caves. At least that meant they were farther from the surface, but the thought that they might escape again made skekGra’s blood boil.

With an enraged cry, he twisted around on the roots and threw himself after them.

But he stumbled to a halt almost at once as his head seemed to fill with noise.

You...

It was a voice. Unfamiliar to him, and seeming to echo throughout the cavern. Frantically he turned his head this way and that, but saw no one other than the Gruenaks, still stunned from the quaking. It didn’t sound like a Skeksis, but if anyone were to witness him here…

"Who's there?" he cried. "Show yourself!"

You can already see me, O dark half of GraGoh…

“Don’t speak that name!” skekGra spat out, hackles raised, his own voice like splintered glass in his ears. He whirled around for the source of the voice, sword poised to kill, but there was nothing to attack. The voice came from nowhere. The only ones around were the three cowering Gruenaks, a few scattered birds fleeing toward the fresh air at the top of the cavern, and the…

...The tree.

The enormous, gnarled trunk and tangled roots suddenly took on a new light, becoming menacing forms that loomed over him rather than a harmless feature of the background. He faced the trunk, teeth bared, but ready solutions to this newfound problem eluded him.

This was ridiculous, of course—no Skeksis would believe in a talking tree—no Skeksis should believe it—

I have merely called you what you are, the voice said.

The words rang in his head, a deep voice-that-wasn’t-a-voice. Speech that came from thought alone. It was a familiar way of speaking—he remembered—as if from a… dream—

“Stop!” He balked, and there was a clatter; he realized his hands were clapped over the sides of his head, and his sword had fallen to the ground. “Lies! Stop speaking! You’re—you’re a tree!”

Well-observed, the voice said mildly. I am able to communicate with very few creatures of Thra. Even Mother Aughra cannot hear my voice. But for some reason you, offworlder, you fractured urSkek—

A harsh sound tore from skekGra’s throat and he ripped his talons away from his head. One flick of his tail and his sword handle was kicked off the ground and back into his claws. He brandished the sword tip at the trunk, pointing it at any spot in the ancient bark that looked vulnerable.

You can hear me.

“I hear nothing!” skekGra growled. He twisted around, eyes flashing, hunting for the Gruenak cowards once again. Whatever was going on, whatever was wrong with him—the strange feelings, the dreams, hearing voices now—it all tied back to them. When they were disposed of this would all be over with.

The Gruenaks had scurried toward the other end of the cavern, either hoping to find another way to climb out or to vanish down the tunnels again. SkekGra scrambled after them, darting in front of them to block their escape and snapping his beak inches from the largest Gruenak’s face. The small group skidded to a halt, looking at him in abject terror.

“You are not going anywhere,” he said lowly. “Not anymore.”

“B-back!” the lead Gruenak barked out at him, one arm spread in an attempt to shield the other two. “Back!”

It pulled a knife from its pocket and brandished it at skekGra. The blade looked like something that might be found on the Skeksis banquet table for cleaning their teeth.

SkekGra’s lips pulled back over his fangs in a smile. He straightened up a bit, fingers twitching on the handle of his own sword. “Look at this,” he said, tilting his head to the side. “Now we can tell those Grottan fools I was provoked.”

He raised his sword, the eyes of the Gruenaks widening in fear. For the briefest instant, he envisioned himself the way they must see him—a creature clothed in red, fangs bared, covered in the green stains of Arathim blood and wielding the weapons that had slaughtered their friends, their family, their entire clan—by Aughra’s eye, he couldn’t have looked more like a monster if he’d tried... But no, wasn’t that the point?

Before he could make a move, the sturdy roots under his feet jerked, casting him to the ground so that he landed hard on his wrist, jolting his already-injured shoulder and sending a flare of pain through his bandaged fingers.

They told you to back away.

The voice was now cold, a hard edge to it. SkekGra clawed his way to his feet, letting out a ragged hiss. The Gruenaks had seized their chance and were running again, clambering over the networked lattice of roots and making their way toward the top. He was after them in a heartbeat, only for the tree roots to retreat under his feet again and throw him once more to the ground.

You will not destroy more lives.

Again he climbed to his feet. Again he was tossed to the ground.

You can hear my voice, false Lord of the Crystal. Thra gave you this gift for a reason.

“I hear nothing!” skekGra shrieked again. He fell onto all fours and sank his claws deep into the thready roots, refusing to be shaken again, and crawled after his prey.

Yet, you respond. So. You obviously can hear. And you know that you cannot be this Conqueror anymore. You can no longer be who you once were.

SkekGra gave a great leap, bounding after the fleeing creatures and cutting off their escape once more, feeling rather like an arduff toying with its prey. He watched the Gruenaks slide back to the ground, breathing hard. “I am the Conqueror! I am a lord of the Crystal of Truth!”

If you are still who you say, then why do these three still live?

“Because I have not yet managed to kill them.” SkekGra dropped back to the ground, his grip tight on his sword and his eyes narrowed to slits.

You have had plenty of chances.

SkekGra bolted after the Gruenaks and ignored the voice. It was not worth conversing with. His prey would not escape again. This all ended here, and there would be no one left to defy him!

Defy him by… running desperately for their lives…

He closed in on the fleeing creatures, and at last, at long last, he snagged the largest by the collar of its shirt and yanked it toward him, the thing letting out a strangled squeal. The other two cried out in horror and huddled together. SkekGra dragged the Gruenak around to face the tree, raising his arm high enough to leave the creature dangling with only its toes brushing the ground.

“You still believe I am not the Conqueror?” he challenged.

You once said you were light-bringers.

The voice was like a slam to his chest and he choked on what he was about to say next, frozen with the struggling Gruenak still in his grasp. “How—”

Pilgrims. Ambassadors. Dazzling travelers from another world, distributors of knowledge and culture. Light-bringers. This is what the urSkeks promised upon arriving through the Crystal.

He knew that phrase. Light-bringers. He remembered the words, on the edge of his mind, fuzzy recollections from centuries ago—millenia—

Where is that light now, you shard of the urSkek? Dwelling in the urRu? Faded entirely? Or do you believe you have the chance to be whole again?

The cavern seemed darker, his vision blurred. He swallowed hard; it was difficult to breathe.

“I am whole,” he said, his voice shaking traitorously. “I am not a half-creature. I am not part of an urSkek—” he spat out the name like a curse— “I am not fractured from anything—I am a Lord of the Crystal, one of the Twice-Nine—I am Skeksis, not URSKEK!”

His mind reeled. Before today he had not heard that name in hundreds of trine, let alone uttered it himself. It repulsed him, it felt vile on his tongue. Yet… in saying it…

There is longing in your voice.

A sob erupted from his chest, and he crumpled in on himself, his grip on his quarry going slack. The Gruenak immediately sensed its opportunity and attempted to break free.

NO! NO!

He gasped, the air painful in his lungs; he snagged the creature’s collar again, straightening back up and fighting to claw his frantic, spiralling thoughts back under control.

“You know nothing, you- you moldering piece of driftwood!” he snarled. His broken voice only served to fuel his anger. “I’ll come back here with a dozen Skeksis—we’ll burn you to the ground until you’re nothing but ash—it’s our right! It’s our duty! We’ll tell the pathetic Grottans that their cursed tree was diseased, rotten to the core, and they will worship the Castle and the Crystal as they should, and the Gruenak worms will be wiped from existence for refusing our rule!”

But you do not have to do this. The tree was speaking quicker now, but softer, more gently. You can be so much more, skekGra. Your Mystic counterpart has given you a fleeting glimpse of how it was on the other side, and you still cling to that image with a desperate hope, whether you acknowledge it or not.

In his mind’s eye he flew back to that moment of contact, the lightning-strike of wholeness he had felt; but also the bottomless, drowning sensation of remorse, a black sea that, once he fell in, he would never be able to emerge from—

The Gruenak in his grasp had stilled, but it was trembling, its eyes darting from skekGra to its fellows, and sweeping around the cavern as though searching for a way out. The other two had backed away but seemed reluctant to escape and leave this one behind. How predictable.

You do not have to do this, the tree repeated. Let them go. Let them go, skekGra.

He looked down at the Gruenak that he still held by the nape of the neck, a shaky breath escaping between his teeth.

You have changed.

His head snapped up, a screeching roar scraping his throat raw. “I have NOT CHANGED! I’ll prove it!”

SkekGra released his hold on the Gruenak’s shirt, dropping it to its knees on the ground. In one smooth motion he swung his sword in an arc and severed the creature’s head from its body.

The cavern rang with silence.

He did not hear the body slump to the ground. All he heard were raindrops and his own breath, sounding extraordinarily loud in his ears. He felt detached from his body; his sword hung limply from his fingers, and he sensed rather than saw the mother Gruenak screaming, holding her child close and hiding his face in her shoulder, shielding his view.

His heart gave a strange lurch. One of them was a childling? Why had he not noticed until now?

Without warning he was yanked backwards and slammed into the tree trunk, the force knocking the breath from him. There was a tightness across his chest—he scrabbled at it to find a vine wrapped securely around him. More flew in from nowhere, wrapping around his arms, legs, and tail, rendering him immobile. His hand strained for his sword but it had fallen, probably when he was snagged by the first vine, and he could not reach the one still sheathed at his back.

“Help!” he cried as soon as he got his breath back, his voice pitifully shrill.

But there was no one around to help him, save for the Gruenak who had just watched him murder her mate.

So. I was wrong.

The voice was loud, now. Thunderously loud, pounding in his head and making him wince. The vines binding his body tightened, and he gasped.

Thra was wrong.

Something caught around his neck.

“No—” He wheezed, struggling against it, tears springing to his eyes—he hadn’t even known that was possible. Through bleary vision he saw the two remaining Gruenaks back away, turning around and vanishing down the tunnel again. Roots grew up over the tunnel entrance, closing it off from him. Not that it mattered now.

The Gruenak he had killed was still sprawled on the ground. SkekGra’s gaze seemed drawn to the still form, unable to tear himself away.

You have done enough.

His counterpart—the light half of the luminous being they had once been—had said that to him, on a blood-drenched battlefield surrounded by slaughtered creatures that had wanted nothing more than to be allowed to live in peace. The words now rang unbidden in his head once more, and would not cease.

He wanted to scream. To yell, to curse until his throat was raw. He wanted to claw at his face and curl up alone in the dark to sort through the tangle of confused images and feelings bombarding his mind, make some amount of sense from it all, but the vine curled tighter around his neck. His vision was going black around the edges.

SkekGra strained weakly against the vines, struggling simply to take a breath. “Have mercy—”

Why should I, when you never did? The voice sighed, sounding drained. I am tired. I am so tired of watching my world be devastated by the likes of your kind. When you met the Mystic by chance, whatever happened between you, all of Thra was shaken. I thought, perhaps, that it was enough.

But I was wrong. A nature such as yours can clearly not be changed. And I am certain that in time, all of Thra would forgive me for this.

The vine constricted around skekGra’s throat so tightly that his eyesight went black and he froze in terror. He was going to die. It was unthinkable. He was going to die, here. He was going to be killed by a tree, in the claustrophobic home of the weakest Gelfling clan on Thra, when no Skeksis had died for five hundred trine.

He was going to die.

He tried to say something, one last plea perhaps, or a curse, or nonsense, but nothing came out but a choked, garbled rasp.

And then the pressure around his neck and body released, and he toppled to the foot of the tree in a heap. The world swam back into focus and he gulped down air, his stomach churning.

But I preserve life, the tree said. I give life, never take it. The voice took on a bitter, scathing tone. That’s for the Skeksis to do, isn’t it?

SkekGra made no response. He wasn’t sure he could move, let alone speak.

So go on, then, if you have not changed. Burn me to the ground. Run after the mother and her child and strike them down, bring yet another species to ruin. Continue on with the destructive cycle trying to sate your unending greed and rot away with the rest of your kind, until this world is dead. Maybe then you will finally understand what you have done.

Or perhaps even that will not be enough.

SkekGra remained still on the ground, his chest heaving in heavy gasps. One of his hands gingerly rubbed at his throat. He made no effort to do anything else, other than to lie prone on the ground, surrounded by the stench of wet dirt and metal mingled with blood.

Still the tree went on. Perhaps you will never understand just what you have been doing to this world. Perhaps you will live your entire life blaming everything else for your problems, or not caring.

Had the tree told him these things mere days ago, he would still be arguing. He would fight through the pain in his throat, continue to scream, and maybe even set the tree on fire himself, as he'd proposed, before going after the remaining Gruenak survivors. But now, he didn't. He didn't answer; he had nothing to say.

It took him a moment to realize the tree had stopped talking. The chamber had gone eerily silent, with the steady fall of rain from the world above the only noise he could hear. He wasn't sure just how long he'd been lying there, still too shocked to move, and for a time he almost wondered if this had all been a dream—if he'd slipped and fallen, cracked his head, and found himself in another nightmare, like the one he'd been in last night.

But then something happened. There was a quiet shifting noise, creaking wood against rough stone, and skekGra lifted his head to see that the tree had uncovered the passage to the tunnel that the Gruenaks had run down.

They've gone that way, if you intend to finish the cruelties you started. The tree sounded… strange, as though unbearably defeated.

"No."

It took him a moment to realize that the word had come from his own throat. But, even realizing that, he made no efforts to take it back.

The tree was silent.

Finally skekGra brought two of his arms beneath his chest, pushing himself upright and fighting to his feet. But he did not continue down the clear path to the survivors.

I suppose they've run too far by now, the tree went on. Though I rarely see a Skeksis give up.

Give up. The phrase burned in his ears, left his stomach feeling rotten. Giving up, failure—these were things he had feared, terrors that lurked at the back of his mind as he went out for conquest after conquest. If he failed, if he gave up, could he really be a Skeksis? Could he truly be the Conqueror? If he dared show his face after such an occurrence, he would surely face punishment.

Yet now, the thought of going after the mother and child again felt... wrong.

And the very idea that it was wrong seemed wrong in and of itself.

But that was how he felt, inexplicable as it was. Slowly he craned his head toward the opened tunnel, and slowly he turned away. "No," he said again, his voice hoarse. "I am not giving up. But I am... not doing this anymore."

Again the chamber was silent. Even the rain outside seemed to quiet.

...Perhaps I was wrong, again?

SkekGra looked at the tree, though there was nothing to focus on; the... object? creature? being? filled up so much of the cavern that it was hard to take it in. But a soft creaking noise caught his attention and he turned toward it, mildly alarmed to see what appeared to be another vine heading in his direction. But this one did not seem malicious—it wasn’t rushing up to strangle him again, as the others had. On top of that, it bore a flower on its end, the petals slowly opening as it neared him.

If you have truly changed, then I have something to share with you. But I can only do so... if you accept.

For a long moment he stared at the flower, and one of his hands found the hilt of a knife.

It would be very, very easy to cut through the vine. Slice the flower clean off, as easily as he had separated the Gruenak's head from its body. One swift movement, and he could effectively refuse the tree's offer, turn around, and go back to chase the survivors, to slaughter the former denizens of this cave, to fight endless battles, as he had for hundreds of trine.

And yet he reached forward with a burned, bandaged hand, and touched the flower.

And then... he saw.

---~~~---

UrGoh couldn't breathe.

He felt as though he were sailing through the stars as he had lifetime upon lifetime ago, the void of space threatening to draw the life out of him, the air out of his lungs—or so he assumed, though it felt more like something was wrapped around his neck, throttling him. Stars and planets sailed past him, and he wondered if he was truly in space, or just enraptured in sight of the Orrery. Everything moved so quickly, and he watched the paths of the heavenly bodies in a daze of wonder, in spite of his pain and discomfort.

UrGoh had not intentionally observed the stars before; he’d avoided looking at them as he traveled by night. He was a Wanderer, not a destination-seeker, and had no need of navigation. The sight of worlds beyond Thra made his soul ache; he felt the prickling at the edges of the crater in his heart, the place where something was missing, had always been missing, and he had always done his best to ignore. So he ignored the stars.

But now they were all around him, and they were beautiful. Like billions upon billions of glimmering crystal shards.

As they moved, three began to stand out, brighter by far than all the rest: the Three Brothers.

When single shines the triple sun...

The suns were drawing nearer and nearer with every rotation. Soon they would be united once more, as they had thousands of trine past—the Great Conjunction was coming soon, and urGoh felt himself overcome with a sense of urgency.

But... urgency for what?

---~~~---

SkekGra's ears were filled with noise.

Impossibly loud, cacophonic noise: screaming, crying, metal clashing, arrows twanging, flesh being pierced and torn. The sounds of battle—something that he should have looked forward to, but now left him feeling unsettled and sick. Above that, however, was the sound of Skeksis laughter, which grew louder and louder until it overtook all other sounds. The screams, in particular, grew quieter and fewer until he could hear them no more.

He saw the faceless, silhouetted forms of eighteen Skeksis bearing staffs and gathered in a tight circle around the Crystal, which glowed brilliantly violet. It was the Ceremony of the Sun, with every one of the Twice-Nine thriving on life given by the Crystal. But the vision was a lie—two of the ones he saw now had not lived to ever take part in the Ceremony, they had been dead for half a thousand trine, though now he could not even tell which ones they were.

SkekGra realized he was holding a hand out to them, stirred with an emotion that… he couldn’t explain.

They don’t even know what will happen.

The Skeksis voices, meanwhile, faltered but then continued to laugh and snort and talk over each other endlessly—bickering, taunting, mocking, gossiping, chattering about weapons, outfits, their latest food craving, and he clasped his talons over his ears, only wanting it to stop.

But the voices only grew louder.

Is this not what you always wanted to hear?

---~~~---

Out of the endless, star-strewn infinity, Thra, an orb of shimmering blue and green, drew closer to him—or did he draw closer to it? Its surface peeled away like a wrapper covering a smooth stone, unfolding before him like a map. He could see every land, every sea, every cave marked in ink, and his eyes took it all in hungrily, trying to commit it to memory—to find every inch of Thra he had not yet explored, so that he could travel there in the future.

But he couldn't. Try as he might to focus on other aspects, he found his eyes drawn to specific points on the map: the Swamp of Sog, The Caves of Grot, the city of Ha'rar, and others. Gelfling civilizations—no, not just civilizations. It was the places the different Gelfling clans lived.

Before him, the map began to distort, warp and tear. Stone-in-the-Wood was ripped away as though shredded by talons, then the Caves of Grot, and on and on, each location torn away, leaving gaping holes. UrGoh reached out with all four arms to grab the missing pieces, but when he tried to place them back, they didn't fit.

Sorrow gripped him, though he did not know why; almost a tear-rending frustration that he should be able to fix this but couldn’t, he had to fix this, and the stars around him were a mocking reminder that once, long ago, he had power that would have allowed him to...

---~~~---

A strange, blue-white light swam in skekGra’s vision. He saw the Castle as if from afar, bathed in the light.

When he suddenly found himself standing in one of the corridors, he was nearly blinded by it, his nostrils clogged with a sickeningly sweet scent reminiscent of decaying flesh. He heard talk and laughter from the banquet hall; peering inside, he found his fellow Skeksis drinking goblets full of luminescent, milky blue-white liquid, laughing and cheering and belching as they gorged themselves and drank. It actually wasn't much different from their usual feasts, and yet... it was. There was something different this time, the others’ behavior more gluttonous, more riotous, more grotesque.

He watched Emperor skekSo spill some of the glowing liquid down his throat, and balked as the entire castle shuddered. Yet none of the other Skeksis seemed to notice. SkekAyuk took a deep swig from his own goblet, and the castle shuddered and groaned again.

What's wrong with you?! skekGra cried out to them. Can't you feel it?

But his voice was drowned out by their endless cheers and chatter.

You shun the triumph of your own kind?

---~~~---

The map drew closer to urGoh, taking him nearer and nearer to the loathed Castle of the Crystal.

He wanted to pull away—he did not want to be anywhere near them—but it only drew him closer, until he saw the inked lines of the castle rise up from the flat surface, folding and unfolding until it was a three-dimensional object—a paper replica of the castle itself. He phased through the walls as though they were smoke, pulled farther and farther into the castle, floating through passages he had the vaguest memories of running down, hundreds of trine ago.

Tumbling through one last wall, he found himself face to face with the Crystal of Truth itself. Unlike the castle walls around him, it was not made of paper—it was real.

He could feel it.

He could feel its pain.

---~~~---

SkekGra tried again to cry out to his brethren to stop as the world convulsed around him, but his voice died in his throat.

Before his eyes, the others had changed. They were not themselves. Or, they were, but they were wrong. They were not... alive. Or they shouldn't be alive. And yet...

Emperor skekSo lifted a glass, seemingly unaware as one of his claws fell out and landed with a splash in the tureen sitting in front of him. SkekEkt's once-beautiful face grew more shriveled and ugly by the second, his hair becoming wiry and gray. SkekSil, seated next to skekTek, suddenly turned with a savagery that even skekGra had not known the slippery Chamberlain could possess and clawed out the Scientist’s eye, then resumed eating as though nothing had happened, leaving skekTek looking stunned with dark blood gushing down his face.

The merrymaking had vanished from their feeding—it now seemed hurried, desperate. And yet the more they ate, the more rotten they became. SkekSo tipped his glass back, frantically licking at the last drops of liquid, but his tongue shriveled and turned to dust. SkekTek, still bleeding, was hastily snapping food off of his plate, even as his robes and flesh seemed to crumble into ash. And skekLach was scooping handfuls of soup into her mouth, taking no heed to the fact that her flesh was melting off her face, dripping down into the very bowl she was drinking from.

SkekGra bolted out of the chamber onto a balcony, caught himself against the wall, and retched.

Again the floor beneath him shook, and when he finally saw why, horror gripped his spine like the long claws of an Arathim. It was not the castle that was shaking and groaning.

It was Thra.

Do you know where your path is heading?

---~~~---

The Crystal blazed before urGoh as he set eyes on it for the first time in five hundred trine. But it was not the Crystal of Truth—not as it was supposed to be. Rather than the brilliant white light it usually gave out, it was a dim, agonized violet hue, full of cracks within and without. For a single moment he even thought he glimpsed the silhouettes of Skeksis gathered around it. It pained his own heart to look upon the very heart of Thra in this state. And then he spotted the hole—the spot where a shard had been broken away.

He placed his hand on his chest, feeling the Crystal's emptiness and incompleteness as though it were his own.

Yet... no, that was not true.

He'd always felt this way.

---~~~---

Everything around the castle was a complete wasteland, with no life growing for miles around. Every time the planet shook and moaned, deep veins opened up in the ground, a violent purple light shining within them. If the desolation around him was a terrifying sight to behold, the dark veins were somehow worse, spreading a poison throughout the already-poisoned land.

And still the other Skeksis sat in the banquet hall, feasting and cheering as they gorged themselves on what was likely the last of their own food supply.

And yet, as much as they ate and drank, nothing would fill them; anything they swallowed spilled back onto the floor as though their skin was vapor. They were all empty. All of them, incomplete.

“Why are you showing me this?” skekGra gasped at last, clutching at his head with both hands. He willed himself to leave the vision, to pull his consciousness from the tree’s grasp, but his feet remained rooted to the castle stone and his talons stayed locked around the center of the flower.

Had this been the terrible tree’s plan all along? To trap him here and torture him with visions of his world and his own kind crumbling to dust?

Do you still feel the longing, you dark shard?

---~~~---

UrGoh found himself once again in front of the desecrated map. It still felt empty, destroyed, and yet placing the locations—the Gelfling clans—back where they once belonged didn't seem to restore it. Uncertain, he placed them all back on top of the map.

To his surprise, the torn corners of each piece seemed to fit together, though they had come from separate places. Curious, he arranged them in the way they now fit, each piece linking together.

Strange... did the map seem more complete now than it did before?

Many things passed before skekGra’s vision as he crouched there, by the wall. He felt as though he had been turned to stone while the landscape around him changed and shifted endlessly, the sky revolving in circles. He thought, vaguely, that this must be how a mountain perceived the world, watching ninets pass like heartbeats and unable to do anything but observe.

Time passed like the shadow of a flier flitting overhead, and around him, the world died.

And he was at the forefront of it all, face streaked with blood that was not his own, directing hordes of Gelfling and the shadowy forms of other Skeksis to slaughter the skittering Arathim, cowering Gruenaks, lumbering Makraks… and when nothing but skeletons and empty shells littered the land they used to inhabit, he saw himself tilt his sword downward, and the Gelflings struck at the Podling villages. The Grottan caves. The Drenchen swamps.

But they were our allies, he thought, bewildered, and to his surprise, almost horrified.

And yet the army grew. SkekGra found his forces joined by creatures the likes of which he had never seen—hulking, soulless things with shells and glowing purple eyes, with enormous claws made for ripping. They knew no fear, no mercy. The perfect weapons.

In the blink of an eye there were no Gelfling left but the Vapra. Then, with a nod and a smile from skekGra, the Skeksis descended on the silver-garmented creatures, their claws ripping skin from bones and wrenching wings from shoulder blades.

Even the Emperor joined in the attack, beak split with harsh cackles. SkekGra turned his head away. There must be a reason for this.

He saw Mother Aughra, asleep underneath her ever-revolving mechanical Orrery, unaware of the tragedies, her soul free to wander the stars forever while her body gathered dust on a dying world.

You know the only way to end this. You have always known, but no one dares to speak it.

---~~~---

The shard that urGoh had taken from Aughra’s store was still held flat in his palm. As he watched, it spun wildly, so fast that he could not tell one end from the other—it had become one, a circle.

It lifted from his hand until it hovered in front of his eyes, in front of the completed map, brighter than any of the stars around him. Brighter, it seemed, than the Crystal of Truth in its full glory.

The light tickled faded memories at the back of his mind. He thought that he himself might have glowed like this, once. It was a light that would carry him home.

And then the light began to burn.

---~~~---

A thousand years had passed since the terrible split. And three suns came together, the third Great Conjunction skekGra had witnessed on this world.

As the light shone bright, the other ones entered the castle of their own accord—the beady-eyed creatures, the urRu, shambling across the stone floor with heads lowered and tails dragging, nothing left to protect.

The Crystal had called them here, but there was no triumph for them. It was skekGra himself who locked them away.

He saw, one last time, his brethren gathered along the banquet table, laughing and shoving food into their beaks, their flesh dripping from their putrid faces like the skins of spoiled fruit. It was only when skekSil leaned back in his chair that skekGra saw what he hadn’t before—that sitting in his own place at the table was a shell of himself, gaping black holes where his eyes should be and his armor rusted and chipping away, his beak open and laughing with the others, rotting with them. He remembered urGoh the Wanderer, locked away forever beneath the ground in pitch darkness with the other Mystics.

So this was how it would look. The great and powerful Skeksis, the immortal overlords of a dead world, with no one left to rule.

This can’t be the future.

Slowly, agonizingly slowly, his double at the table raised its head and fixed skekGra with a stare, its empty sockets locked on his own eyes.

This is the only future.

---~~~---

He jerked backward, heart throwing itself against his ribs like a relentless drum, thrumming an impossible two beats for what should be every one.

He felt raindrops pattering onto his face, and the slight breeze from the mechanical wonder whirling above him; raising his head, he saw the twisting tree trunk against weak sunlight, the same light that filtered through the crystal ceiling and reflected off the shining metal representations of the planets in orbit.

His eyes flicked downward, where he saw a crystal shard in his hand, as well as a puddle of dark, glistening blood pooled among the gnarled roots of an ancient tree. Two reflections gazed at him at once, one from the crystal and one from the blood on the ground.

Do you now understand?

Two reflections, but one body. One mind.

“Never,” said one.

“I won’t,” said the other. “I can’t.”

Then you’ve already seen your future.

With a final, desperate surge of strength, he at last tore himself away, and blinked his own eyes.

And then he crumbled, and the world fell into blackness.

#skekgra #urgoh #the dark crystal #the dark crystal age of resistance #my writing #fanfic #for unity #so exciteda about this chapter!!

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timelordthirteen · 5 years ago

Text

In All Things 8/?

Mr. Gold/BelleFrench, Explicit (eventually)

Summary: A Rumbelle arranged marriage AU.

Chapter Summary: Gold arrives home from the palace, in a less than pleasant mood, and asks a very important favor of Jefferson.

Notes: I promise Gold and Belle are going to start getting closer soon, and we're going to get a bit more of Jefferson's backstory as well. For the 31 Days prompt #8: snow.

[AO3]

Previous: [1] [2] [3] [4] [5] [6] [7]

The trip home from his visit, four days later, did nothing for Gold’s mood.

His leg was killing him, and he longed to stretch out in his own space and drink tea made in his own house. The previous night had seen a chilling rain move through the region, leaving some portions of the road even bumpier than usual, and with an added slickness that made the carriage slow to a crawl at several points. He grumbled about it, but an injured horse was the last thing he needed, so he told himself to stuff his impatience and keep quiet.

Thornhill was a welcome site as they came around the bend, and he sighed. He was not fit company at the moment, but Bae was already out front, waving as the carriage rolled through the gate. Jefferson was next to him, but no one else, and he felt a small tinge of disappointment that Belle wasn’t there as well. No doubt she was glad to be rid of him for the week, and it was just as well, since there was now the matter of sorting out what had gone on between her and her previous fiance, Sir Gaston, that triggered a slew of rumors being spread around the royal court.

The scowl on his face must have conveyed all the information that was needed, because his own son took a step back, suddenly shy and nervous in the presence of his father, and Jefferson was suspiciously reticent.

“Bae,” Gold said tiredly, holding out his arm. Bae came forward and hugged him tight, and he exhaled heavily. “Did you miss me?” Bae shrugged, the corner of his mouth turning up, and Gold bent to kiss the top of his head. “Of course not, probably too busy causing trouble with Moreen and Grace.”

That perked Bae up a bit, and he immediately stepped back, shaking his head and looking affronted. “Nuh-uh, it was Grace who broke the dish, not me!”

Gold raised his eyebrows and shifted his gaze to Jefferson, who hung his head and sighed. The weight on his shoulders lightened a bit as he laughed, and Bae giggled too as wrapped his arms around Gold’s waist again and squeezed. Gold let out a grunt and feigned injury, but he was smiling too wide for it to be believed.

Coming home to his son had always been a balm for his soul, no matter how arduous the journey.

“Sir,” Jefferson said, “There’s a small matter that needs your attention; a letter that’s arrived from Mr. Humbert, but other than the incident with the plate, it’s been quiet.”

“Good,” Gold mumbled, reaching into the carriage to take out his satchel while his cases were unloaded from the back of the carriage. “Have those taken to the laundry. I need to change and freshen up, and then I’ll see you in my library, yes?”

Jefferson gave a short nod and a half bow as Gold strode into the manor.

A brief wash and a change of clothes made Gold feel marginally better.

Jefferson came to see him after an hour, at which point he’d already read through the letter from Graham Humbert, caretaker of one of his properties to the west, and reviewed the rest of the correspondence that had come in while he was gone.

“So it seems the issues with the orchard are continuing,” Gold said with a sigh as he let the letter fall to the desk.

Jefferson nodded glumly and mirrored him from the sofa near the fireplace. “At this point, we’re not sure what we can do. We may have to let some of it go fallow for the next year and see if it improves.”

Gold frowned. “That will reduce the yield even further. The King will not be pleased.”

“It’s already at a five year low,” Jefferson said with a shrug. “And the King, as you’ve said before, can ‘sod off unless he’s willing to get down in the dirt with the regular people.’”

That earned Jefferson a momentary smirk. “We have extra stores and extra funds, but we may need most of it to get through the winter. They’re still saying it will be one of the worst in a decade.”

The two men sat in silence for a few minutes, until Gold stood up. He moved to the fireplace and prodded at the logs as Jefferson watched him thoughtfully.

“Let’s hear it,” Jefferson said, stretching his arms out along the back of the lounge.

Gold frowned over his shoulder and then set the iron poker aside. “Hear what?”

Jefferson gave him an exasperated look. “Whatever it is that’s bothering you. It’s been evident since you returned.”

Gold exhaled and nodded, then moved to sit across from Jefferson in a high backed leather chair where he put his feet up on the ottoman.

“King George, he - he mentioned Lady Belle’s first engagement.”

Jefferson’s head tilted. They had both known that Belle was supposed to be married to Sir Gaston and that after only two months the whole thing had fallen through, but the particulars had never been divulged. Gold laid out every detail of what the King had said, his hand curling into a tight fist as he recounted the implication that Belle had taken other suitors and perhaps tried to entrap multiple eligible men into marrying her by getting pregnant.

“Ridiculous,” Jefferson said, his usually gentle voice sharpened by derision and irritation. “Lady Belle is far too sweet for any of that nonsense. She doesn’t have a manipulative bone in her body!”

Gold’s fingers tapped against the leather arms, drumming lightly on the brass rivets that went along the sides and front. He wanted to believe Jefferson was right, but something was nagging at him about the whole situation, beyond that his new wife was being talked about at court so distastefully.

“You don’t believe it, do you?” Jefferson sat forward, frowning. “You can’t, it’s - it’s -”

“Undetermined,” Gold finished.

Jefferson sprang to his feet, flipping his long coat out behind him. “What?”

Gold raised a hand to settle his friend and stared into the fire. “Something happened between her and Gaston, and now Gaston is spreading lascivious rumors, but -”

“But what?” Jefferson nudged Gold’s feet aside and sat down on the ottoman, facing him. “It bothers you that you don’t know the truth, and you won’t feel like you can trust her until you do?”

He huffed out a breath and closed his eyes before nodding slowly. “I don’t like it, but I can’t shake it.”

“You could ask her you know.” Gold looked up, eyes wide, and Jefferson shook his head. “It’s the simplest solution, and she has a right to know that she’s being slandered.”

“Yes, I’m sure that will go over well.” He looked from Jefferson back to the fireplace. “My Lady would you be so kind as to tell me all the terrible details of how your first engagement was broken and nearly ruined your family for good?”

Jefferson snorted. “Well, I imagined you’d be a little more tactful and eloquent than that, but if you want her to throw a teapot at your head, then so be it.”

Gold swallowed and looked down at his hands as he fiddled with his ring. “You could do it.”

“Pardon?” Jefferson leaned forward and dipped his head to catch Gold’s gaze. “I’m sure you’re joking.”

“You’ve done it before, it’s -”

“No.” Jefferson stood again and crossed his arms. “We agreed that was over. No.”

“Jefferson, please -”

“Cameron!” he hissed.

Jefferson’s eyes were wide and pleading, and Gold felt a pang in his chest. He knew that asking this might damage their friendship forever, but he needed to know the truth if he was going to trust Belle with everything. With his son. More than that, he felt an obligation to protect her reputation, now that he’d participated in sullying it. If there was something in her past that could be used to harm her in the future, and it brought harm to Bae as well, he’d never forgive himself.

“This is for Baeden, not me,” Gold said softly. “I have to know. I don’t want anything to be used against her, and if it’s all bollocks as we think it is, then I want Gaston to pay for whatever he’s done to her.”

Jefferson took a breath and leaned against the mantle, resting his head on his forearm. The heat from the flames warmed his leather boots until they felt like they might melt before he straightened and then turned to Gold.

“Fine,” he said evenly. “But this is absolutely the last time.”

Gold inclined his head. “Agreed.”

“And,” he continued, “Grace gets Hampton House.”

Gold’s eyebrows lifted and his mouth opened in a soft ‘oh.’ “Making a deal, dearie?” Jefferson’s glare could have stopped a bear in its tracks, and Gold sighed. “Fine, yes.”

Jefferson gave a quick nod and tugged on the lapels of his jacket. “Good.”

His steps were sharp as he walked to the door of the study, and Gold sagged in his chair. “It was going to be hers anyway.”

Jefferson stopped at the door and turned around, meeting Gold’s gaze as he leaned around the side of the chair. “Hampton House. I was going to wait until she was sixteen and sign it over to her. Pretty young girl, with a sharp wit, a house, and an inheritance all her own? She could marry anyone she wanted.”

Gold pushed up and stood to face Jefferson. “I just want my boy safe and cared for, the same as you want for Grace.”

“And Belle?”

Jefferson’s stare was hard, and Gold nodded solemnly. “Her too.”

They seemed to agree on that, and Jefferson left without another word. Gold dropped back into the chair and leaned forward, his face in his hands as he breathed in and out steadily. He hated asking his friend to do such a thing, especially after their shared history, but he needed to know the truth and Jefferson was the only one he trusted to do it discreetly and thoroughly.

With another heavy sigh, he pushed to his feet and rang the bell for the maid. He would take his dinner in his room as he was even less fit for company now than when he arrived.

Jefferson stewed for two days before he got down to the business of making inquiries about Lady Belle and Sir Gaston’s engagement.

He started by trying to prod Belle into just telling him what had happened, but all his subtle hints went unnoticed, and he was afraid to be more blunt for fear of pushing her away. He had come to respect and care for Belle in a very short time and was happy to consider her a friend. One day he was certain they’d be dear friends, and he was glad that Bae and Grace would have her in their lives. Both children had lost their mothers young, and while he and Gold did they best they could as fathers, he knew having a mother was a different thing entirely. He hoped that Belle might be that for them, the kind, strong, and caring figure they needed later in life.

He did manage to find out that Belle’s mother had also died when she was young, barely passed eleven, and it solidified even more that whatever stories were being told about her were untrue. She was far too good for all of that nonsense, but there was a hint of something in her countenance that was closed to him. He began to understand where Gold’s fear had originated, but he got the sense that whatever it was, it wasn’t known to anyone but herself.

That morning, he sent out letters to a few key contacts at the royal court, making small inquiries after Sir Gaston. He knew the man wasn’t well liked overall, and assumed it would be easy to find where the bodies were buried, hopefully only metaphorically.

He had just finished calculating the staff’s wages for the month, when Belle came into the downstairs study.

“Oh, I’m sorry,” she said, starting to back out of the room.

“No, no, do come in.” He set the ledger book aside and returned the pen to its holder. “I was just finishing up.”

She eased back into the room, and he smiled. Her dress was a delightfully bright and springy yellow with white piping at the edges and a scrolling pattern of pearls around the bodice. The lace around the hem had clearly seen better days, but that was easily remedied. Ms. Potts was an excellent seamstress, as were two of the younger ladies, but he thought that fairly soon, she’d probably have a whole new wardrobe if she wanted it.

“So,” she started, drawing out the ‘oh’ sound, “how are you?”

“I’m well, you?” He moved from the desk to a chair near the window and gestured for her to take the other.

Belle shrugged. “Well, I suppose.”

He frowned. “That’s not very convincing. Would you like to try again?”

She gave a short laugh and then sighed. “I haven’t seen, um, Gold today. Or yesterday. I’m starting to think he’s avoiding me.”

Jefferson sat back, the fingers of his left hand fiddling with the buckle at the top of his boot as he absorbed that bit of information and made a mental note to speak to Gold. “He’s always a bit grumpy when he comes back from the palace, I wouldn’t take it personally.”

“It’s a bit hard not to,” she admitted. “Is he...grumpy often?”

He shrugged one shoulder. “Only a little more than everyone else. There’s a lot of...pressure from the King to help keep things in order.”

“Ah.”

Jefferson remained silent for a long moment, but when she didn’t say anything more, he reached for her hand. She startled at bit at his touch, and he gave her a small smile.

“Are you alright?”

She took a breath, and then pulled her hand away. “I’m fine.”

“Again, not very convincing,” he said, starting to grin. “You would make a terrible actress.”

Belle gave him a momentarily scowl and then shook her head. “I’ve never been good at lying, I couldn’t get away with so much as a muddy shoe print on the rug as a child, and I had no siblings to blame it on.”

Jefferson laughed softly. “I’m afraid that at one time in my life, lying was as easy to me as breathing.” Belle frowned at him and he sighed. “That, I am happy to say, is all behind me.”

She smiled and rested her hand on his, giving it a light squeeze, and he felt his stomach sink. Lying was still entirely too easy for him, it was just that he actually felt the effects of it now, the guilt of it all burning its way through his soul. He reminded himself that this was better for all of them in the long run.

“The other day,” she began, “last week, actually, when - when we met in the garden?”

Jefferson swallowed. “Yes?”

“I, um - well, before that, I came out of my room and I heard - I heard you and - and Lord Gold.”

He blinked and something clicked into place as she nibbled on her bottom lip. He and Gold had one of their spirited arguments that everyone at Thornhill was more than used to, but it occurred to him that someone new such as Belle wouldn’t know the kind of relationship he had with his friend and employer. She wouldn’t understand that Gold’s snappishness and sarcasm was well matched with his own, and that there was never any offense meant. He’d only been trying to coax Gold into being honest with Belle about his situation and Bae’s, which he’d given up on for now.

“Ah,” he said finally. “Well, that explains things.”

Her head tilted. “I don’t understand. He was so -”

“Loud?” he offered. “Abrasive? Rude?”

Belle shifted in her seat. “Um…”

Jefferson chuckled. “All three?” She gave him a sideways look and then nodded. “Oh, darling, don’t mind him. We’ve always been like that with each other, and truly there is no offense meant or taken. I was pushing him to do something, and he was pushing back, that’s all.”

She seemed uncertain and began to pick at a loose thread on her skirt. “Oh. Well, I’m sorry I overheard.”

“Did it...scare you?” he asked, sitting forward.

“A bit, maybe.” She looked out the window and then back to him. “I barely know him, and I didn’t know what to think.”

His look was soft and sympathetic, and he reached for her hand, pressing it between both of his. “His bark is far worse than his bite, that I can promise you. He’s like an old toothless dog.”

That made her laugh, and he grinned, basking in the lovely sound. Lady Belle of Avonlea was truly a gem, and he knew that once they dealt with this nasty business with Gaston, that all would be well.

“I was actually looking for him earlier,” she said. “I was hoping we could - we could talk.”

He patted the back of her hand and agreed. “Yes, I think that would be a very good idea.

Belle leaned her forehead against the cold glass, watching as the little puffs of breath from her nose fogged the window.

What Jefferson had said about his relationship with Gold seemed truthful, and she felt better having said something about what she heard, even if it she had yet to broach the subject with Gold. Since he’d returned from King George’s palace, he’d been keeping to himself and the few times she tried to seek him out, he seemed to be well secluded somewhere in the house.

Jefferson insisted that if she was honest with Gold, he would be honest with her, and while she had no reason to doubt it, the thought of confronting Lord Cameron Gold about anything seemed daunting.

Do the brave thing, her mother’s voice echoed.

She let out a heavy sigh, obscuring the view momentarily. At the bottom of the window, snow had begun to accumulate, and she shivered before turning away from the window to draw the curtains.

#rumbelle #rumbelle fic #belle x mr. gold #in all things #my rumbelle fic #fic #31 days of fandomas #fandomas 2019

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parkerspicedlatte · 6 years ago

Text

First Mornings and Little Feet (Peter Parker) REMASTERED

Pairing: Peter Parker x Reader

Word Count: 2.5k

Content: fluff and lots of giggles

Warning: do not read unless you want to squeal and clutch your knees to your chest from these cute little brunettes.

A/N: I figured that since it has been about a year since I posted the original “First Mornings and Little Feet” that it was time to have a do-over and the amazing @you-love-myself helped me out big time with this. Literally took the piece of garbage this used to be and turned it into a master piece. Big round of applause for her! So anyways here it is....

You would have been alerted by the slow footsteps that were headed towards your bedroom door if it wasn’t for the giggles that followed. You didn’t need to open your eyes to know that they had entered the room as the door creaked open, the body that slept next to yours shifting slightly.

“She’s sleeping.” It was spoken in a whisper, as if he were trying not to wake you. His sister made no effort to lower her voice and pried further, entering the room, “There’s a boy in the bed.”

“Maybe she got married,” he offered but he was shut down by the other, rudely telling him that there would have been a wedding with a ‘pretty dress’ and a ‘big cake’.

You smiled to yourself while listening to their little conversation, but the smile was enough, alerting the two that you were awakened by their talking.

“She’s awake.” At this you removed the smile from your face and nuzzled into your pillow, saturated with a familiar scent of shampoo that was absent in the room prior to that night.

A set of small feet shuffled closer to your bed, “No she’s not, her eyes are closed.” He said, as he stuck one of his fingers into the corner of your eye, as if to prove his point.

“Nuh uh, it’s just pretend.” It was spoken matter-of-factly, leaving no room for her brother to argue with her deduction.

There was more whispering but the words being said weren’t clear enough to be made out. Their footsteps walked towards the door, and then you heard the door as it clicked shut. A sigh of relief passed your lips as you were worried that they might have awoken Peter with all of the noise they were making. It was obvious that you wanted them to meet, but you just didn’t really know how he would react to your brother and sister as he had no siblings of his own.

He was always good with children. Whenever Peter was around the kids in the apartment building he always talked to them, asking about their day, or telling them how cool he thought they were with their colourful cartoon backpacks and matching shoes. But, as good as he was with kids, being woken up at 7am on a Saturday didn’t sound like the best way for them to meet for the first time, especially considering it was the first time that he had stayed over. You also knew that he would have to deal with your parents very soon, so you didn’t want to cause him any additional stress by having him meet your siblings so early in the morning. Though, since they had already left, luck seemed to be on your side.

As you opened your eyes, you were startled to find a small pair of bright green ones staring right back at you, just mere inches away.

“I told you she was awake.” Abbi giggled, poking your cheek as you sat up on the side of the bed.

“Shhhh,” You held your finger up to your lips, indicating for her to talk quietly, “don’t be so loud, Honey.”

A voice spoke up from where you would least expect it, “Is he your husband?” Your little brother emerged from his hiding place behind your desk chair as he asked the question. You hadn’t even seen him because of the pile of coats and clothes that were flung over it in disarray.

“No Theo, he’s not,” you whispered as you hoped to inspire them to speak more quietly. They were only four and hadn’t quite grasped the concept of whispering or speaking softly when others are asleep, or at any other time.

Abbi turned towards her brother who was now standing right next to her, “See Theo, I told you so.” She sang as she stuck her tongue out at her brother.

You spoke up, “Hey, be nice.” She quickly moved away from you before you could reprimand her further. You were a bit relieved when she did as you didn’t have the energy to scold her this early in the morning, plus you usually left the discipling to your parents. You settled back into the bed, facing them, as you refused to deal with your sister’s antics.

The whole family were used to Abbi’s assertive and bossy behaviour, being the more feisty one while Theo was more shy and reserved, happy to go along with whatever his sisters were doing.

Before she could mouth back at you, Peter rolled over, snuggling into your back. His brows furrowed as he tried to make sense of where the voices were coming from. A smile crept up your face as he sleepily grumbled incoherent words into your shoulder.

“Hey, it’s alright, you can go back to sleep.” You reassure him, rubbing your thumb across the forearm that he had lazily slung across your waist.

Theo came close and sat on the edge of the bed next to you, “Can you make us breakfast?” He asked giving you a look that would put a million puppies to shame. Whoever said that puppy dog eyes didn’t work with green eyes was clearly wrong and Theo was the living proof.

You just wanted to go back to bed with Peter, so you tried your best to get them to leave for a bit, “How about you two go get some cereal and watch TV until Mum and Dad wake up instead, yeah?” As you were saying this Abbi started shaking her head frantically.

“We can’t,” Abbi gestures largely, as if she were in a teen-drama, “there’s no more milk.” She said it as if you should have known there was no milk.

You decided to give in to their request before Abbi got any louder, “Okay okay, fine, just give me a few minutes to get up, alright?”

They nodded eagerly and scampered out of the room, but before Theo shut the door, he looked back and gave you a little smile and wave. You chuckle to yourself at how sweet and adorable he was, a great contrast to his sister, especially in the morning.

What you didn’t realise was that Theo was actually waving to Peter, as, not even two seconds after the door clicked shut, you felt him smile into your shoulder before pressing gentle kisses to your neck.

“How long have you been awake?” you turned around in his arms to face him as you spoke.

“Just a few minutes.” He answers, grinning sleepily at your messy bed-hair. “They’re so much littler than I imagined they would be. The way you talked about your siblings made me thing they were ten or twelve.

You shook your head lightly, “Yeah nope, they’re only four.”

He raised his head slightly to see you better, “Both of them?”

“Mmm hmm. They’re twins. Not identical, obviously, we don’t even know who’s older.” You played with his fingers as you were speaking.

Peter looked at you quizzically, trying to understand what you just told him. He couldn’t tell if you were being serious or not.

You let out a breath before answering the unspoken question, “We weren’t there when they were born. They were dropped off at a hospital the day after. They’re adopted.”

He looked surprised as his eyebrows shot up, nearly to his hairline, as he listened to what you were revealing, “Wow, I had no idea, I don’t know what to say.”

You shrugged, “It’s alright babe, it’s not that big of a deal. They know they’re adopted, it’s not some big secret. My parents have told them from day one, it was easier than trying to hide the truth their whole lives. Plus my parents are both red heads, I think they’d get suspicious after a while since they’re both brunettes.”

“Yeah, probably.” He looked up at you and squinted his eyes slightly, “Are, uh, does that mean that you’re adopted too?”

You just nodded, “Yeah.” There was an awkward pause in the conversation as Peter mulled over what he’d just learned.

“Huh, me too.” He half whispered, “I’m adopted too.”

“Huh, yeah, I never thought of it that way.” You said, as you held onto his hand tighter than you were before.

“Me neither.” He chuckles at his confession. “Is that why, in eighth grade, you said that you would rather adopt kids then have your own?”

“Um, yeah actually.” You paused for a minute, “Peter, I honestly don’t know whether to be impressed or weirded out that you remember that.”

“Oh, I see. You clearly didn’t believe me when I said that I had my eyes on you for a while.” He laughed as he spoke but you could tell that he was telling the truth.

“I know now.” You giggle “That actually makes me feel kind of bad that I didn’t notice you earlier than when I did.”

He shrugged, “Meh, I think it just gave me time to really fall for you.” You could tell he regretted saying it as soon as the words left his mouth.

“Eww, oh my goodness that was so cheesy.” The both of you laughed.

“Always for you.” His reply made you visibly cringe, scrunching your whole face up. Peter leaned over to close the gap between your lips. They’d just barely connected when you heard a chorus of giggles and ‘ewws’ erupt from the doorway behind you.

You sigh and roll over to tell them off but as soon as you moved, they bolted out of the room giggling as they went.

Peter chuckled lightly at your departed audience.

You covered your eyes with your hand, “I am so sorry about them.”

He gently pulled your hand away from your face, keeping hold of it, “Why be sorry? They’re cute.”

“Believe me, they stop being cute after a while.” You said, patting his hand lightly.

“Where are you going?” he questioned as you wiggled out of his grasp to sit up on the edge of the bed.

“I have to feed the monsters remember?” you reminded him as you searched through the sweaters laying over your chair, finally settling on a navy blue one that was just slightly baggy on your frame. You stood in front of the mirror while you fixed your messy bed-hair.

“And where do you think you're going?” you asked as you noticed in the reflection of the mirror that Peter had pulled the blankets off himself to sit on the edge of the bed and stretch.

“Thought we were feeding the quote-unquote monsters. Unless you don’t want me to.”

“Peter, I’m not going to say no.” You giggle, sitting down on his lap, bringing his arms around your torso. “I just didn’t think that you’d want to.”

“You already know that I’d do anything with you.” He smiles, kissing the tip of your nose, then your forehead and at last, your lips. You grin into the soft kiss, pulling away after a few moments.

“Did you sleep well.” You whisper.

“Yeah, the best I have in a long time.” He leans back in for another kiss but you move your head before he can connect his lips with yours.

“Can’t get too distracted remember?” You said as you stood up, pulling him up with you.

“Mmmm of course.” You didn’t know it was possible for someone to look that cute after denying them a kiss.

“Well then, off to feed the monsters.” The two of you walked out of the room and into the kitchen to see Abbi and Theo sitting in front of the TV watching Paw Patrol. You put two pans on the stove to heat them up while Peter took the eggs and bacon out of the fridge. By then you’d caught the attention of your brother and sister, who had decided that they wanted to help with breakfast.

You decided to assign them the task of toasting and buttering the bread. While they were waiting for the toaster to pop, they took turns tackling Peter. One of them would cling to his leg or foot while the other jumped onto his back. Eventually the toast was forgotten by them but you didn’t mind. All of your previous worries involving Peter and your siblings disappeared the moment you looked back to see them all playing together.

After a few moments of flipping the bacon and eggs you turned to see Peter. He walked back into the kitchen, his arms flexed and a child hanging off of each bicep They were dangling a foot or so off the ground, giggling and squealing the whole time. He carried them around as if they weighed nothing.

That just happened to be the moment your parents walked in to see their youngest children hanging off the arms of a stranger. It wasn’t a complete surprise to them as you had mentioned the day before that Peter might stay over. You couldn’t believe that they didn’t say no immediately. You were prepared to have a big list of reasons why they couldn’t say no, but thankfully, that wasn’t needed. They were okay with the idea under the promise that there was no funny business. They would rather their daughter stay at the house than sneak off somewhere with someone they hadn’t met yet.

“Morning hun, that smells delicious.” Your mother said as she walked into the kitchen, then stopped when she noticed the clowning around that was happening. “Ahhh this explains the gigling. You must be Peter. It’s nice to finally meet the boy who stole our daughter’s heart.”

“Mum!” you scoffed, mortified and blushing as bright as the bacon in the pan.

“He’s cute.” She whispered as she passed you, stealing a piece of bacon from the plate.

“Hi, um, it’s nice to uh meet you too Mrs. L/N.” Peter stammered blushing nearly as red as you were, if not more. He’d barely had time to recover before your dad walked in.

“Ah yes, I was definitely not prepared enough to deal with this this morning. Meeting the boyfriend.” He stalled as he tried to figure out how to handle the situation. He’d completely forgotten about Peter staying over. That was kind of the plan though, you had asked while he was watching golf so he wouldn’t give it too much thought before saying yes.

You groaned quite loudly, “Dad, stop being weird.”

“Right, sorry, uh I’d shake your hand but I see that they’re both a little full.” He recovered nicely, gesturing to his kids that clung to Peter arms.

“That’s alright.” Peter said starting to calm down once he realized that your dad was just as freaked out by this as he was.

Peter had admitted earlier that he was nervous about meeting your parents, especially your dad. Apparently the last time he met someone’s dad it didn’t go over too well. Other than the first awkward conversation, the rest of the morning went smoothly, Peter was smart about not showing PDA with your parents around. Your mum loved him right away while your dad was a lot more hesitant, but he eventually came around.

Honestly, the morning could not have gone any better. It was just you and your little family that you’d accumulated over the years and you couldn’t imagine your life without them.

#peter parker #peter parker fanfiction #marvel peter parker #peter parker headcanon #parkerspicedlatte #spider-man #spider-#Spider-Man Marvel #spider-man fanfic #spider-man imagines #spider-man headcanons #spiderman #spiderman marvel #spiderman headcanon #spiderman fanfiction #spiderman imagines #spiderman fluff

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gray--dragneel · 8 years ago

Text

The cutest thing he’s ever seen

[Ao3]

Drunk. Kageyama is so fucking drunk.

In hindsight, going out with both Nishinoya and Tanaka was not the brightest idea. Kageyama knows he’s a lightweight. While Tanaka considers himself ‘an alcohol vet’, between him and Nishinoya, Noya is the goddamn tank. Letting them talk him into trying to keep up with them, he was doomed from the start.

“How did I wind up being the one who got cut off?” Nishinoya cackles as Kageyama rubs his forehead. “I'm not the one who walked face first into a pillar.”

“No one saw that but you,” Kageyama huffs. “Stop bringing it up.”

“Besides,” Tanaka says, slinging his arm around Nishinoya’s shoulders, “you're the one who got caught yanking Kags’ shirt down and motorboating his pecs. Anyone would cut you off after that.”

Nishinoya shrugs unapologetically. “His fault for wearing a V neck.”

“And for having such an impeccable chest.” Tanaka waggles his eyebrows and nudges Kageyama in the ribs.

Nishinoya doubles over with laughter and Kageyama covers his face. “Guys, shut up, you're embarrassing me.”

By the time Tanaka has calmed down, Nishinoya is already onto the next thing. “Food!” he cries excitedly. “I need a chicken caesar pita!”

“That's so gross. Why don't you just eat a salad?” Tanaka asks.

Nishinoya grabs Kageyama’s hand and drags him towards the Pita Pit. “They're delicious, ‘Naka, you gotta try one.”

“Nuh uh.”

They playfully bicker all the way up the street and Kageyama shakes his head, barely suppressing a smile.

They barely make it in the door before another wave of drunk college students line up behind them, extending the queue to the sidewalk.

“There are, like, 8 people ahead of us,” Tanaka groans. “Let’s just go to McDonald's.”

“No way! The wait’s worth it, right Kageyama?”

Kageyama just nods and stares ahead at the man taking everyone’s order. Shouyou . He has to squint to see the familiar name tag from back here but that's probably because he’s wasted.

“Well, there’s gotta be some reason Tobio comes here four times a week,” Nishinoya argues.

“Yeah, ‘cause Shouyou is the cutest thing I've ever-” Kageyama promptly snaps his mouth shut when Tanaka and Nishinoya go wide eyed.

“Whaaa?!” Tanaka asks, voice verging on a squeak.

“Shh!” Kageyama covers his mouth. “He’ll hear you!”

“Tobe,” Nishinoya says, tone accusing, “why didn't you tell me? I come here with you all the time.”

“Because I knew if I told you, you’d say something to…oh god. I'm leaving.”

Shouyou looks up at that moment and waves, an ear to ear grin stretching across his face and Kageyama’s cheeks burn. The way Kageyama’s stomach swoops when he waves back keeps him rooted in place.

“Heh, bet you won't be going anywhere now,” Nishinoya chuckles.

Tanaka pries Kageyama’s hand off his face. “He totally likes you back,” he says in his version of a whisper. “You should ask him out!”

“Forget it,” Kageyama hisses. “I’m not gonna be that guy.” He refuses to harass Shouyou, no matter how adorable he is or how badly he wants to hold his hand. Heat pricks at his face. His already lacking filter is completely obliterated. He’s never getting this drunk again.

“What’s the worst that can happen?” Nishinoya asks.

Kageyama’s brows furrow together as he looks ahead, catching yet another drunk customer flirting with Shouyou. Kageyama is annoyed for him, listening to the girl prattle on about how cute he is and how they have to go out sometime. The same as always Shouyou barely suppresses a sigh by running his fingers through his unruly hair and prompts her to keep ordering, “Lettuce, onion, tomato?”

The girl answers him, only to insist immediately after that he at least take her number if he won't give his out to customers. Shouyou’s bright smile falters and Kageyama nearly feels sick imagining being responsible for that.

“Well?” Tanaka asks.

Kageyama takes his eyes off of Shouyou to fix his friends with a strained expression. “Have you guys even thought about what you're going to order? We’re almost at the front.”

Heaving a sigh of relief, Kageyama is actually thankful when they return to loudly arguing about whether chicken caesar salads belong in a pita or not.

Their distraction is short lived once they reach the counter and Shouyou grins brilliantly at Kageyama again. “Hey, Bo!” Shouyou calls to the man working the grill, “Chicken bacon pita, tomato, onion, spinach, extra green pepper, and chipotle mayo.”

“Oooh,” Tanaka singsongs. “Tobio must be a special customer if you have his order memorized.” It takes every ounce of willpower Kageyama possesses not to kick his senpai in the shin.

“Of course,” Shouyou laughs and Kageyama’s pulse stutters out of rhythm. “He’s the highlight of my shift Mondays, Thursdays, and twice on Saturdays.”

“He even stays half an hour longer on Thursdays so he can see him,” the silver haired man prepping food practically yells. Nishinoya’s smirk is so obvious in Kageyama’s peripheral he’d want the floor to swallow him up if he weren't internally screaming.

“Koutarou!” Shouyou gasps. “Be cool!”

“Oh?” Nishinoya finally pipes up. “And do you find my precious little blueberry here cute?” Kageyama gapes at him.

“Noya!” Kageyama hisses, colour creeping up his neck.

“Because he thinks you're, oh what did he say?” Nishinoya looks at Tanaka with a mischievous smile. “The cutest thing he's ever seen.”

Shouyou blinks those big, warm eyes at Kageyama and all he can do is blurt out a quick I'm sorry before stepping behind Nishinoya as if that’ll shield him from Shouyou’s shocked gaze.

“Tobio, stop hiding!” Tanaka chides playfully. “That's so rude.”

“Yeah, Tobio!” Nishinoya says, trying to pull him back around.

“He does know we can see him, right?” the tall, spiky haired man wrapping the pitas asks Koutarou.

“You're holding up the line,” Kageyama growls to his traitorous friends, crossing his arms over his chest and glaring at the floor.

Nishinoya and Tanaka practically pout and grumble their way through their orders, only lighting up when Shouyou sneaks little glances at Kageyama and visibly melts.

“Order up!” Koutarou declares loudly, sliding Kageyama's pita across the counter.

“Here you go,” Shouyou says shyly. “It's on me tonight.”

Kageyama gapes at him a moment before mumbling his thanks and digging into his pocket. He drops a handful of change into the tip jar before taking the pita from Shouyou and bolting outside.

He watches Nishinoya and Tanaka chit chat with Shouyou a little longer while they wait on their food and he prays to literally anything listening that they aren't embarrassing him further.

Tanaka whispers in Noya’s ear and the two throw a devious look at Kageyama over their shoulders before scribbling something on the back of their receipt and tossing it into the tip jar.

They've barely bid Shouyou good night before Kageyama is glaring at them.

“What was that? What on earth did you do before you left?” Kageyama demands once they've stepped outside.

“Oh, nothing,” they answer at the same time.

“Stop that. You know it creeps me out.”

Tanaka shrugs. “Then don't ask.”

Kageyama groans. He has a bad feeling about this. “Let's just go home.” If he's lucky, he’s drunk enough that he won’t even remember this in the morning.

Kageyama’s phone blares, yanking him reluctantly into consciousness. He cradles his pounding head for a moment before rifling through his jeans for the offending device. He one eyes the screen and almost ignores it when no name accompanies the number.

“Fuck,” he murmurs and swipes across the screen. “H’llo?”

A familiar chuckle comes through the line. “You sound rough.”

“No shit,” Kageyama huffs. “Do you have any idea what time it is? Who is this?”

The sound of barely stifled laughter does little to lift Kageyama’s mood. “It’s 1 in the afternoon.” Kageyama merely grunts and lets the silence stretch on until the stranger clears his throat. “It’s Hinata. Uh, Shouyou. From the Pita Pit.”

Shouyou?

Oh god. Oh no, oh fuck. Kageyama buries his face in his pillow as memories from the night before flood in, mortifying and unwelcome. “I am so, sososo sorry,” he rushes out. “I was so-”

“What?” Shouyou asks. “I can’t understand you.” Kageyama doesn't have it in him to repeat himself. He doesn't think he can ever speak to Shouyou again let alone face him after last night. “Anyway, I think your friends left your number in the tip jar? And I never call customers who come in all wasted-” Kageyama makes a small, pitiful sound in the back of his throat, “- but since you come in a lot, I figured it’d be okay!” Hinata says quickly. “And, well, if your friend was telling the truth, I'm really flattered and I was hoping you’d go out with me?”

Kageyama bolts up, blinking and starting to wonder if he's still drunk.

“Tobio?”

Kageyama chokes and hangs up his phone.

“You did what?” Tanaka laughs so hard he snorts.

“I panicked,” Kageyama grumbles, forehead leaning against the table. “Is the coffee ready yet?”

“No avoiding the subject,” Nishinoya says. “Do you want to go out with him?”

Kageyama scowls.

“Well?” Tanaka asks around a mouthful of cereal.

“Do you two ever mind your own business?”

Tanaka and Nishinoya look at each other. “That’s a yes.”

“So creepy.” Kageyama finally pokes his head up. “Gimme some coffee.”

“No coffee until you promise to go see Shouyou,” Tanaka says in the most stern voice Kageyama’s heard him use.

“What the-”

“Go get dressed,” Nishinoya says. “We’ll have your coffee ready when you come out.”

Kageyama stands outside the Pita Pit completely dumbfounded. How had he been talked into coming back?

He grips his thermos until his knuckles whiten, trying to steel his resolve. All he has to do is say yes and he can go out with Shouyou, right? Unless he thinks Kageyama is a total fucking weirdo after last night and this morning.

A man Kageyama recognizes as the manager pokes his head out the door. “Can I help you with something?” His name tag reads Sawamura. “You’ve been standing here for 10 minutes and I think it's starting to count as loitering.”

“Oh, sorry,” Kageyama says quietly, following after him. Sawamura looks at him expectantly when they're inside. “Is Shouyou here?”

“Check it out, Bo. Lover boy came back.”

Sawamura shoots him a warning look. “Quiet down, Tetsurou.”

Kageyama’s ready to flee again but Sawamura interrupts him. “Yeah, Shouyou’s here,” he says much louder than necessary. “He’s not on shift today but he came in to distract his co-workers during post lunch rush clean up!”

A small squeak sounds from the back room and Shouyou comes barreling out of the back room, already apologizing. “I was just asking Hitoka about the new procedure on- Tobio!” he gasps, bright smile taking the last traces of fear off his face.

“Oya? Did you hear about a new procedure called Tobio, Kou?” Tetsurou asks.

“No, I didn't. We should ask Hitoka to tell us all about it.” Koutarou laughs when Shouyou sticks his tongue out at him.

“Knock it off, boys.” Sawamura shakes his head and walks into the back.

Once Shouyou is able to give Kageyama his full attention, he remembers to be nervous. “Hi, Tobio.”

Kageyama nods, eyes glued to the floor.

“Did you forget something last night?” Kageyama shakes his head. “Did you come to see me, then?” Kageyama squeezes his eyes shut and nods. “I’m glad.”

After a few seconds, Kageyama manages to open his eyes and look at Shouyou a moment. “Yes,” he blurts out, ignoring their little audience. “I mean I'll-” Kageyama stares at the wall. “Yes.”

Shouyou’s face lights up. “Are you free right now?”

Kageyama peaks at him out of the corner of his eye. “Yeah.”

There's a glint in Shouyou’s eye. “Want to go for a drink?”

Kageyama gags, but he thinks it's worth it to hear Shouyou laugh. “Not funny,” he says despite the giddy feeling in his belly.

“Okay, okay, I'm sorry.” Shouyou bites his lip as he looks up at Kageyama. “Ramen’s pretty good for a hangover and I know a great recipe if you're interested.”

Kageyama doesn't answer for a moment, just watches pink dust over the handful of freckles on Shouyou’s cheeks until he tugs on his hand, anxious for Kageyama to say something.

He squeezes Shouyou’s hand. “Yeah. Definitely interested.”

#kagehina #life ruining jerks #kageyama tobio #hinata shouyou #tanaka ryuunosuke #nishinoya yuu #my writing

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ts-nightingaleislands · 5 years ago

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Episode #10- “Is Cheatham actually high regularly or is it just a figment of his imagination?”- Sara

that was such a HARD tribal for me. i loved having noah on my side and stuff but also i know he would be one of the ppl to make a big move on me if he stayed . its getting harder and harder for each vote . i just gotta stay focused and hope my alliance stays strong another round or two . tumblr survivor gods i hope your pulling for me!

Austin and Vincent have to be testing me. I dont get why Austin is playing dumb with me or why he act like he didn't know. According to Vincent Austin was in on it. I mean regardless I know who Im just wanting to stick with but yeah, the weird jumped out. Cheatham is also saying this was a week or so then went MIA so thats cool

(LATER)

Austin and Vincent are coming off super sketchy. I mean it is nothing new with Austin, but Vincent oof. I dont mind it all that much because of who I prefer to go with, but it is interesting. If these guys are coordinated then, well, seems uncoordinated

(LATER)

So right now Austin, Cheatham, and Vincent have added me to a chat I guess to work together. I actually worry I am not Natalie Anderson, but Sierra Dawn Thomas Worlds Apart. Nonetheless, I think its smart for me to wait til F7 or so to make the move against Austin/Cheatham. I can't allow enough time to pass for the idol to bite me in my butt!

(LATER)

I now see that Austin probably thinks he can manipulate me, so I have to time when I vote him perfectly. Him feigning ignorance on the Noah vote tells me he likely feels I'm naive enough to believe him and hey people do prefer to keep the ones around they feel are lesser than themselves!

(LATER)

Ive had a change of heart- I think now Kyle is going to get dragged by people, however, I strongly believe he would choose me over anyone so its just a matter of navigating 6 tribals

Inane ramblings from Vincent's cf, dated 3 AM on December 26, formatted terribly bc this cf is dated 3:06 AM on December 26: >i'm looking ahead to the future >austin is likely going to want liam out >bc when he said he wanted to make a move he'd have to mean one of them >them being liam/am/sara >and as far as i can tell liam is being perceived as the glue >so if he goes then am/sara become lone wolves who are easier to manipulate >however if liam stays then the other one, maybe am, is linked with them and they will be mad at austin for doing this >so those are numbers on our side >my previous boot order (EDITOR'S NOTE: never discussed in a cf, but will be discussed at length later) changed due to the unexpected development that austin is willing to flip on his group >however i'll note now that there is a very good chance he's faking >although if he is i can't imagine why he'd put his true allies in such blatant danger when kyle is literally right there as a vote >*person to vote >so let's say 5-3 vote up next >me/cheatham/austin/chris/kyle all against liam's trio >ideally voting out sara >bc she is the messiest and the one i trust least >my goal will be to convince the others that this is the best vote >liam and i are good and he is my decoy f2 >too early for goat stuff but am is a better goat than sara imo >just keeping my options open >liam/cheatham/annmarie could easily each be in my f2 >but not in a "ideal f4" way >so if austin is with me for this vote then he should at least appear to establish further connections with me >he can't do anything without one of chris and cheatham >or kyle i guess >kyle is easily the most expendable of those 3 >so to limit austin's options we need to vote kyle >we >my old boot order is more or less the same >just kyle vote goes from getting austin's trust back to weakening him >then at f6 cheatham chris and i stick together >vote out am unless liam becomes dark horse threat >f5 austin goes >f4 chris >f3 liam >then maybe i win >wow this seems so real >like usually in orgs when i'm at the merge im like'well maybe it's still possible that i could maybe end up at the ftc but lmao imagine getting votes' >oh no i'm becoming overconfident >wow meeting noah in jury again is going to be awkward huh No matter how I place this is honestly one of my better confessionals. Either full of dramatic irony and I look stupid or I win and I look good. One outcome is significantly more likely than the other, of course. But neither isn't so bad, is it?

God I feel this challenge is gonna stir up so much shit! I just hope my target dont get bigger because of it.

Where I stand now is that Austin is very willing to have Kyle go this round quote unquote, but what is to say he may not actually want somebody else? It is interesting seeing him discuss his perception and everything. I guess he cannot help but try to downplay himself, but I feel the ship has sailed for him and now it is only a matter of time. Watch him pull a W

(LATER)

I can't wait for someone to get offended by this Touchy Subjects challenge. I know I won't. If anything, I'll just adapt with it! I also feel like now, it's important to see how AnnMarie and Sara handle things from here on out- either they're willing to try and go for Austin/Cheatham/Vincent, or they'll settle for Kyle. If this happens to go the way I think, I may end up as a potential swing in F7, but I sure as heck am not about to be like Miss Sarah Lacina Cop-Turned-Criminal in Cagayan. No Ma'am! I'm not ever feeling safe until I'm sitting in the Final 2

(LATER)

So Austin asks me for a name and I am like ok I dont mind if it is Kyle unless you guys are up to do someone else. Austin proceeds to say he wants to have options and just wants a name and I'm. It really feels like a bit of a bait just to go to X to say I said their name. I could be wrong but its just weird becaise I haven't heard him say a name yet

(LATER)

Austin! Do not think that Ive forgotten your leaky faucet ways! Like that's the odd thing about it- Austin has shown what he is capable of and it is just weird of him to press about this when I know he has lied to me before. Like right now I literally told him I am fine with anyone going and his response was to know who I actually want out. I really don't know what he wants me to say other than a name to implicate myself but nuh uh! Not I!

(LATER)

The way it looks, I can make the move to get Liam out but I highly doubt I will last much longer. All it will take after that is to say Chris did X lets do him and so I want to try and wait at least to chat to Kyle. I also want to see how willing AnnMarie and Sara are willing to talk about this vote instead of waiting. I definitely do not want Cheatham/Austin/Vincent all in F6 or at worse F5 however that is easier said than done for this lot

Wowza, Cheatham is playing hard now. SO, basically the votes are supposed to go 6-2, Chris being voted out. Now I do not wanna go any further with Sara, AM, and Liam bc they will take out me and Austin first. So I talked with Chris and now there is a 4 person alliance with Austin, Me, Chris, and Vincent. Im going to use my idol on Chris and then Chris and Kyle will vote out one of the others. Kyle is a wild card and we don't wanna tell him EXACTLY what's going on because he is kinda crazy. So we are thinking about having Vincent vote with Chris to ensure that one of the others go home. This is yet again ANOTHER big move on my part. Im getting worried that people will think that I'm the biggest threat with MORE idols in my hand and doing all the big moves. All I can do is wait. If I keep winning individual immunity like this week then I'm golden.

I think I've had an epiphany and it took talking to Cheatham to figure it out. Apparently I am the vote for tonight, though he wants to do something I've been wanting Cheatham to do in this merge and that is take advantage of the idol system- in doing so he gains a lot of leverage and I felt disppointed that he wasn't optimizing it. Having that said, I think I got a little sad because he told me people feel like I never give a name and truth be told I don't and it is a mistake on my end. I feel like I'm so scared to say a name because it failed miserably for me in the first half of this game and now that I don't do it anymore, people use it as a reason to vote me out. I do feel like its like I can't win with these people, but I want to change as much as I can to give myself a chance

(LATER)

HI am seeing that Austin, Cheatham, and even Vincent legitimately want to work with me and so perhaps I should consider going with them. The question with this vote is how I do I go about it. I've already named Sara because I have the most reason to do her AND I know Austin/Cheatham lowkey wanted her so its a win win for all of us, but it would be interesting to split it if the idol were used on me. Regardless, I just want this to end greatly for me, be that new start to a Chris that has what it will take to make it to the end and win.

I have...lots of questions right now... Am I being voted out tonight? Wouldn't surprise me. Does AnnMarie have a f2 w/ Austin? Cuz I accidentally caught her in something the other day where she told me she knew Austin was asking others for finals. But it might have been an accident because I mentioned that Austin asked for us 2 in a f3 with him....never said f2. Is Cheatham actually high regularly or is it just a figment of his imagination? Why do people get weird and quiet when they're planning a blindside or change loyalties? I literally brought this up to Liam last night a while after results. Gwen/Rizo/Chris did this exact same thing. It's Survivor. Lie and make a move if you have to. I'd respect that a whole lot more. Ignoring people is just shit jury management and I'll totally call Cheatham out at tribal now if I go! At least Vincent gave me an ANSWER! *Giggle* And also...is Austin actually that nice or is it game? Cuz I lit dunno if I'll ever be able to write his name down if that's really his personality. x)

Cheatham wants to invent a situation in which he would play his idol and gain full access to two others. This really feels like a resume padding thing more than a legitimate move out of necessity, because we have the numbers to vote out our target now, and there's no reason that would change any time soon. To me, this solidifies that Cheatham really can't make it to the end, just like Austin. Ideally I want to be able to choose between Liam and Chris because I think I have an ok shot against them both, and it's reasonable for both of them to make it very far. Of course it's the final 8 so it's still way too early to think about the end, but I definitely can't take Austin or Cheatham with me bc they both have a good shot at winning against me.

Sara me and Liam are apparently a strong group so there are plans to usurp our place on the throne! I'm watching a documentary about Queen Elizabeth while writing this. Cheatham apparently wants us gone as well, which hurts. I thought he was with me. I guess not. That is all.

So this round is insane, originally it was gonna be Chris but apparently Cheatham is gonna idol him so we’re having to take out the biggest goat in this game, which is so annoying, but if it must be done to save Sara so I have a shot at making it to the end then so be it. There’s still so much game to play so I need to make the most outta it.

youtube

5 votes Kyle (w/ self-vote), 2 votes Sara, 1 vote Chris (negated by idol.)

#announcement

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hersheygrace · 8 years ago

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Seal of Dark Fate

CHAPTER 2: Something Weird

Genre: Fantasy / Mystery / Romance / Action

Characters: OC / BTS / GOT7 / EXO

Word Count: 3,606

Summary: Min Haeyoon had no idea that a simple trip to the fortune-teller would lead her into meeting a mysterious boy and discovering that she was destined for something that will require her to choose between light and dark. And along the way, she will realize that the people she knew and the life she led so far were not what she thought them to be.

[1] [2] [3]

"There are three things that cannot be long hidden; the sun, the moon and the truth." -Buddha

“OKAY, SO LET me just get this straight,” Yoongi said from his seat on the plush couch in their living room as he gave his parents a disbelieving look. “We’re gonna take that kid in?” He turned his piercing gaze towards the scared-looking young boy who was seated close next to his sister—too close for his liking. Yoongi’s eyes narrowed into slits when he noticed how the boy was almost burying his face on Haeyoon’s shoulder.

The auburn-headed girl shushed her brother with a disapproving look. “You’re scaring him, Yoongi.” She gave a sideway glance at the trembling boy beside her, her eyes softening out of sympathy. Ever since she brought Mrs. Jeon’s son to their house and introduced him to her family, the boy did nothing but to hide behind her like a kid hiding behind his mom on his first day of school. It seemed like it’s the first time he came out to the world. He wouldn’t even want to release his tight grip on the edge of her shirt. “It’ll be just for a while, until we found his other relatives. Let’s not make a big deal out of this.”

Yoongi heaved a heavy sigh, “Mom, dad, are you really okay with this? We barely know the guy.”

The two adults hadn’t uttered a single word since Haeyoon introduced the boy to them, letting their eldest son do all the interrogation. They’re both sporting a solemn and thoughtful look like they had just learned that the world will end tomorrow. A tense silence followed after the brown-haired boy’s question and it took a while before Mr. Min broke it and said, “It can’t be helped, son, we’re the only ones who can take care of him right now.”

Yoongi slumped on his seat as he thought about the situation before sighing in defeat. “Damn, right.” Upon arriving at the conclusion that they’re going to take the orphaned boy in, Haeyoon broke into a soft smile.

“Anyway, what’s his name?” Yoongi asked, throwing a look at the silent boy whose head was still ducked low, his fringe hiding part of his eyes.

“Oh, now that you’ve mentioned it,” she trailed off as she looked at the boy and asked softly, “What’s your name?”

When the boy heard Haeyoon directed a question at him, he lifted his head a bit higher and answered in a very low voice, “Jungkook.”

“How old are you, boy?” Yoongi asked but didn’t get an answer. However, when Haeyoon asked the same question he replied immediately. They learned that Jungkook was sixteen, a year younger than Haeyoon. When Yoongi asked another set of questions, they were never answered unless Haeyoon asked them herself.

Yoongi can’t help but raised an eyebrow. “So, he’s answering your questions only?” His sister giggled at him, saying that he’s probably scaring the kid that’s why he wasn’t answering his questions. He can only scoff in reply.

“Should we all call this a day?” their father suddenly piped in. “You, young people, should all rest now.”

“Haeyoon, dear, why don’t you show Jungkook to the guest room?” Mrs. Min said in her calm voice but her face was still sporting that troubled look.

“Okay, mom,” said Haeyoon as she stood up from her seat, Jungkook in tow, and kissed her parents goodnight.

“I’m coming with you,” Yoongi offered, still warily eyeing the tall young boy walking closely behind her sister as if he’s so scared of being separated from her. This boy is sure weird.

Upon reaching the second floor, Haeyoon opened the door next to her room and walked inside. She turned to face the boy whose head was still hung low and said, “Jungkook, look at me,” she called softly at him, making the boy lift his head until Haeyoon could see his eyes wide with anxiousness. “You’ll be okay, trust me. We’ll take care of you and no one will hurt you here so don’t be scared anymore.” Jungkook continued to stare silently at her with his doe-like innocent eyes. “This will be your room and if you ever need anything, mine is just right next door, hmm?” She smiled at him in hopes of easing his fear.

“And my room is right next to Haeyoon’s,” her brother butt in, his words sounding a lot more like a warning than a statement. He shrugged when his younger sister shot him a look. “What?”

Haeyoon rolled her eyes at him before turning to Jungkook again. “Sleep tight, okay? I’ll see you tomorrow.” She was about to leave when she felt a tug on her sleeve. She was taken aback when she saw Jungkook looking at her with eyes wider and more alert in fear. Before she could even ask what’s wrong, Jungkook spoke with a rather shaky voice.

“P-please don’t leave…” he muttered, desperation written all over his innocent face. Something tugged at the girl’s heart and was about to say something when her brother beat her to it.

“Nuh-uh,” Yoongi walked over them and held his sister by the elbow. “Nothing’s gonna eat you here, so calm down and sleep.” He pulled Haeyoon against his side and away from Jungkook. “Or do you want me to put you to sleep?”

“Yoongi!” Haeyoon gasped, whacking her brother’s arm. “Just let me handle this, so, shoo!” Yoongi didn’t even have time to blink when he was pushed out of the room by his sister. He stared dumbstruck at the closed door, unable to believe that his own sister kicked him out.

Haeyoon sighed when her eyes landed on Jungkook who was standing in the middle of the room with a lost-sad-puppy look on his face, making him look a lot younger than he really is. She walked towards him before tugging him by the hand towards the bed. “Jungkook, I’m just right beside your room, no need to be afraid,” she tried convincing him as she made him lie on the bed. She can perfectly understand where his fear of being alone was coming from; being left by someone important to you does that to people. Not to mention the fact that this was probably the first time he was seeing so many new faces in his whole life. Though reluctantly, the boy settled under the sheets, letting Haeyoon tuck him in. “I promise you, you’ll be safe in here. I’ll take care of you.”

The boy gazed at her with wide hopeful eyes that seek for an assurance. “Promise?”

Haeyoon broke into a warm comforting smile, “Promise.”

IT WAS ONE-THIRTY in the morning when Haeyoon woke up with parched throat. Tossing her comforter to the side, she slipped out of her bed and headed downstairs to fetch a glass of water. The moment she reached the foot of the stairs, she was surprised to see light flooding from the kitchen. She was almost at the threshold when a pair of arms grabbed her from behind. Panic and fear coursed through her body but she wasn’t able to scream when she heard the person spoke.

“It’s me,” Yoongi whispered against her ears as they were both tucked closely to the wall beside the kitchen, well-hidden in the shadows.

She whirled around and glared at him for almost giving her a heart-attack. “Are you crazy?! What was that for?” she hissed, demanding for an explanation. The boy just shushed her and made her listen to the conversation from the kitchen.

“It’s already happening, Jaeyoon,” their mother spoke in a hushed manner but with the deafening silence surrounding them, her voice was clearly heard. “Our fear is definitely happening!”

“It was bound to happen sooner or later,” their father answered in a grave voice. “We can’t hide the truth forever.”

Haeyoon turned to her brother with wide curious eyes. “What are they talking about?” she whispered to her brother.

“I don’t know, but all I know is that they started acting weird when they saw that Jungkook boy. I knew right then there was something wrong,” Yoongi replied in his deep quiet voice.

“I can’t believe it all happened this way,” the woman spoke in a cracked voice. “It’s too early, we’re not prepared. They’re not prepared. This isn’t supposed to happen this early. How come we haven’t sensed it at all? It was right under our noses!”

There was a pause and Haeyoon found herself feeling so confused and scared. She unconsciously gripped her brother’s arms that were protectively wrapped around her.

“There are things you can’t prevent from happening,” their father said cryptically. “There are things that can’t be kept away from each other for long. It’s how fate works.”

“Then how are we going to tell them everything?” their mother demanded almost hysterically, voice rising a bit above whisper. “The truth will surely put them to harm.” Then they heard a sob. “I can’t believe we failed in our tasks, we failed the whole Lucere.”

At the mention of the last word, the siblings exchanged confused and questioning glances. Just what in the world are their parents talking about?

“No, Look at me, Haemin, there’s still a chance” the man said. “We just have to find The Guardians and they will be safe.”

“We have to find them soon. It’s just a matter of time before the tainted ones come looking for them.” their mother replied after she had collected herself.

“But I don’t know where to start looking,” their father said again, voice laced with frustration. “We’ve been searching for almost two decades but we still can’t find them.”

“We need help. We need to talk to the Oraculum, they might know how to find The Guardians. I know it’s risky and dangerous to go back but it’s the only way I know to keep them safe.”

There were so many questions formed in both the siblings’ minds but they can’t find the right words to voice them out. It was like their parents were talking about things that were totally out of their world.

“You’re right, it’s the best thing we could do in this situation,” their father concluded. “We need to go back as soon as possible.”

“Should we tell them already?” their mother asked.

“No,” the man quickly turned the idea down. “We can’t tell them yet, not even Yoongi. Not until we found The Guardians.”

Sensing that the conversation was almost over Yoongi stealthily dragged his sister back to their own respective rooms.

“Pretend that we didn’t hear anything when in front of mom and dad, okay?” he instructed his sister who asked why they would have to do that. “I have a feeling that they won’t tell us anything yet even if we ask them. It will just complicate things so let’s just keep quiet for the mean time, okay?”

“Okay, but, Yoongi,” Haeyoon looked up at her brother with uncertainty. “I’m…I don’t know…I’m scared.”

Even though the boy was kind of shaken himself with what they had just heard from their parents, he needed to show his sister that she can depend on him. With a reassuring smile on his face, he pulled her into a protective embrace. “Don’t worry; I’m always here to protect you, princess.” Then he planted a gentle kiss on her forehead. “Always and forever.”

THE WARM RAYS of sunlight peeking through the gaps in her curtain was enough to rouse Haeyoon from her sleep thirty minutes before her alarm clock go off. She stayed lying on her side for a few moments, mind drifting to last night’s event, before deciding that she must prepare for school. Her brows furrowed when she realized that she can’t move and that her back actually felt toasty. Why does her back felt warm when her cheeks were cold? Looking down, her eyes went wide when she saw a blue sweater-clad arm draped tightly around her waist. Quickly twisting around from under the arm, she was greeted by a peacefully sleeping angelic face of Jeon Jungkook. She was frozen, mouth slightly parted in surprise. How did he get in her room and more specifically on her bed? Did he somehow move in here sometime in the morning? She was shocked but she can’t find it in her heart to get mad at the boy. And just like last night, she found herself staring at his childlike features until his eyes fluttered open.

“Goodmorning,” the boy muttered softly, eyes blinking languidly, as if waking up next to each other was the most natural thing in the world. Haeyoon snapped back to reality making her shot out of the bed.

“W-what are you doing here?” she asked, flustered. “How’d you get in here? Yoongi will kill you if he knew you slept here.”

Jungkook slowly shifted into a sitting position, his right fist rubbing against his eyes sleepily and Haeyoon can’t help but think how cute he was. “I’m sorry,” he sadly said. “I was scared and I can’t sleep and whenever something like that happens, Mother lets me sleep beside her. I just thought that…you wouldn’t mind…I’m sorry.”

Seeing his apologetic guilty face melted Haeyoon’s heart so she approached him and patted his head. “It’s…It’s…okay with me but I don’t think Yoongi and my parents would be happy to see you sleeping in my room.”

“Why?” he asked as he tilted his head cutely to the side.

“Uhm, because a boy and a girl shouldn’t sleep in the same room together, you know,” she said as if it is common sense to know something like that.

“But why?” the boy innocently asked again.

She lifted a hand against her temple, racking her brains for a proper explanation to his inquiry. Is this boy for real? Is he really that innocent? “Because something might happen between them, something that should only happen after marriage.”

“What might happen?” he asked again, eyes wide with childlike curiosity and innocence.

Taking a deep breath, Haeyoon decided to go for the kill. “They might have sex.” She bit her lip, blushing at her own boldness but at least it’ll put an end to his questions. The girl waited for a reaction but Jungkook just blinked at her.

“Why?” he furrowed his thick eyebrows. “I’m confused. Because according to the dictionary, sex is a noun and it means the state of being male or female…so why?”

She almost fell face first on the ground at his statement. “Are you for real?” she can’t help but blurt. Then she realized that he must’ve lived a very sheltered life under her mother’s care, thus, making him as innocent as possible to the worldly things. “You know what, never mind, let’s just go downstairs before Yoongi decides to check up on us.” She tried to change the topic, not wanting to corrupt the boy’s innocence anymore and not wanting to go discussing sex early in the morning.

She peeked out the hallway and when she saw that they were clear, she dragged him down the dining area.

“Goodmorning,” she greeted her mom who was cooking in the kitchen and her dad who was reading a newspaper while having his coffee. They both greeted her back like they would always do, like nothing happened last night and Haeyoon found it weird. And if ever they noticed her and Jungkook coming down at the same time, they didn’t point it out.

Mrs. Min started setting up the table all the while asking Jungkook if he was comfortable in his new room and whatnot. All the boy did were little occasional nods and shakes of his head as an answer and Haeyoon realized that he only talked in full sentences when it was with her. It seemed like he was still afraid of other people aside from her.

“So, Jungkook-ah, I’m bringing you with me today so that we can fix the matters that would help you enter highschool,” her mother said as she started placing the dishes on the table.

“But mom, is it really, okay? I mean…” Haeyoon trailed off because she knows that her mother knows what she was talking about. Jungkook had never left their house when her mother was still alive and throwing him in high school so suddenly might not be a good idea.

“It will be alright, Jungkook was being homeschooled before by his own mother who was a former teacher and if he passes the necessary tests, he can handle high school just fine,” her mother explained.

Her gaze travelled to Jungkook and she was surprised to see him staring at her as if seeking for an approval or reassurance. After a moment of contemplating, she broke into a smile and said, “It’s okay. You should go with mom.” It seemed like the boy really trusts her words because he agreed when she told him to.

Not long after, Yoongi went down and joined them for breakfast. It was a seemingly normal morning for the family, with the addition of the silent Jungkook, complete with random topics and all. But the siblings would exchange secret glances from time to time with the knowledge that something was definitely up with their parents and they were sure that it was anything but normal.

“MOM AND DAD were acting so normal it felt weird,” Haeyoon said to her brother as they were getting their things from their lockers.

“You said it,” Yoongi replied as he slammed his locker door shut. “We need to know what they were talking about last night.”

The girl was about to open her mouth and reply when someone tackled her form behind, trapping her into a bone-crushing hug.

“Goodmorning, babydoll!” a squeaky voice said merrily and she recognized it as Park Jimin, one of her and Yoongi’s childhood friends. He gave her a peck on the cheek before releasing her from the hug. Before she could even turn around, her books where lifted away from her arms.

“Hi,” her orange-haired best friend greeted her with his signature rectangular smile brightening up his handsome face.

“’Morning, Haeyoonie,” Jung Hoseok smiled dotingly at her as he pinched both of her rosy cheeks.

“Goodmorning, guys,” she smiled back at them.

“You look so cute today with your pink headband,” Kim Seokjin cooed at her which made her giggle and say that he loves everything that is pink.

“Come here, princess,” Kim Namjoon pulled her possessively against his side by the waist before turning to her brother. “I’m walking her to her room today, Yoongi.”

The boy scoffed at the tall blonde. “As if you’ll actually listen if I say no so why bother telling me?” Namjoon only smirked as a reply. “Why don’t you, guys, get a sister of your own and stop stealing mine?” Yoongi said to the five males as he crossed his arms petulantly. Haeyoon can only chuckle at her brother’s behavior.

“Uhm, because we want Haeyoonie specifically?” Jimin said half-jokingly and half-teasingly.

“And I’m sure that this guy here,” Hoseok piped in as he slung an arm around Taehyung, “doesn’t want Haeyoon to be just his sister.” His statement made the poor boy blush up to his ears, making everyone in their group erupt in laughter except Yoongi who looked like he wasn’t pleased.

“Oh really?” Yoongi said in a warning tone. “Let’s see about that.”

There was a chorus of ‘Oooohh’s before the warning bell echoed through the hallway. They split up with Taehyung, Namjoon and Haeyoon going the same way and opposite from the others.

Upon reaching their room Namjoon bid her farewell with a peck on her forehead. “Laters, baby,” he smiled, his cute dimples appearing on his cheeks, before sprinting down the hallway.

When they entered their room, they were surprised when their homeroom teacher was nowhere to be seen. She glanced back at Taehyung who only shrugged with a have-no-idea look.

“Where, Ms. Song?” she asked Shinhye as she settled down on her seat.

“I’ve heard that there’ll be a new student so I’m guessing that she’s at the office to take care of the matter,” the girl replied.

After a few minutes, Ms. Song entered their classroom and sure enough, they’re going to have a new classmate.

“Okay, students I would like you to welcome your new classmate,” she said with a smile before turning towards the door and motioning for the person to get inside.

There was a collective gasp from the female students as soon as the new student stepped inside the room. Then the gasps immediately turned into murmurs of excitement because of the new male student. Haeyoon can’t blame her classmates for reacting that way because the boy had strikingly handsome features. Although he wasn’t that tall, he still had an aura around him that demands attention. He’s got an angelic baby face and a pair of wide bright pretty eyes that were complemented by his thick dark eyebrows which matched the color of his short black hair. His kind brown eyes scanned the room and when they met with Haeyoon’s caramel-brown ones, his heart-shaped lips slightly parted while his eyes widened a fraction. Having noticed this, Haeyoon’s eyebrows furrowed before she looked away. There was something in the new student that made her feel weird.

“Please introduce yourself,” the teacher kindly asked the boy.

“I’m Do Kyungsoo, please take care of me,” he finished his self introduction with a ninety-degree bow.

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