#related: saw a woman at the bar last night with grey in her hair and went !!! only to realize she's actually about my age

[iamnotlookingidonotseeit]

my partner is roasting me about my taste

[caxsthetic]

Not Fine

Miya Osamu x F!Reader

Hurtful Truth: Not everyone was given the chance to have someone that they loved. And sometimes, we could only think about what could have been.

Pt. 2 ⇚ Part 3 ⇛ Ep.

─── ･ ｡ﾟ☆: *. GRAND MASTERLIST .* :☆ﾟ. ───

"All your services are brutal today, Atsumu."

The setter's grip on his water bottle tightened when his upperclassmen — now fellow teammates on Japan National Team — stated his well being all over again. He didn't answer, nor was he willing to explain why he looked like he was ready to kill anyone on sight.

Though, the wing spiker knew. Ojiro didn't have to hear anything from the blonde setter. The news about the Onigiri Miya scandal was all over the nation after all. The drama that no one ever thought would occur, knowing how much the owner and the woman behind the company loved each other.

But sometimes, this life was not all about fairy tales and happy endings. Not everyone had the privilege to have the love that they wanted. Not everyone could have someone they love to be their lifetime partner. And Atsumu, he knew that fact for a long time, ever since the first moment he laid his eyes on you.

"My sister will join us at today's practice." The middle blocker said after munching on his lunch. "Hope you guys would be okay with that."

Atsumu groaned, hating the fact that there would be some kind of distraction. He didn't care less though, knowing he would not even spare a glance. But a new face at practice only meant that everyone would swarm them, like a toy that everyone wanted to have. Especially since they were related to the members of the club, that made everything worse.

"Does she really have to?" Rintarou rolled his eyes a little when the setter parted his lips. Not because of the question, but more like how the question was being thrown.

"My parents are going to be home late. They will kill me if she's all alone in the house." Though the brunette just answered a matter of factly, knowing for certain if he answered with the same tone, all hell broke loose.

"Tch. Is she just like another squealing pig or something? Can't she take care of herself?"

"Sumu,"

"No, Samu. For real, do all girls really can't defend themselves? Why is she being treated so highly you can't make her stay at home all alone?" The commotion was not necessary, but he just couldn't help it when someone had the potential to wreck the practice.

"It's all about being a great sibling, Sumu." The opposite wing spiker answered with his usual flat intonation. "Something that you really lacked off, ya know?"

"Hah?! What does that mean?!" Atsumu really wanted to throw some pickles at his twin. But somehow he could imagine the silver-haired man opening up his mouth to catch the food instead, so he chose to stay silent and grumbled under his breath.

He played with his food, poking the vegetables as he had a big pout plastered on his face. "What is she anyway? A princess or something?"

But by God, you were more than just a princess.

The second you walked inside the gymnasium beside your brother, his jaw dropped as he felt like he was blessed by the deity. You were not like any other girls that were usually so timid and acting all shy — no, not like that.

You had your chin up, throwing your soft smile to anyone that met your gaze. So confident, as if it was the thousand times you were already meeting the whole team. Rintarou didn't even need to introduce you, you already talked to everyone like an old friend.

Something about you just made him feel warm. Atsumu didn't know you, he didn't even bother to ask the brunette middle blocker for your name. But he swore even though you were just standing there, eyes still focused on anyone else, he could feel his heart singing.

A genuine smile emerged on his face, the smile that only appeared when he looked at some cool volleyball technique or a row of fatty tuna at the convenience store.

"Hey, Samu." He called out to his twin brother as his brown orbs still planted on your figure. "At this moment, I claim Sunarin's sister as mine!" He expected to hear any remark, or maybe a volleyball being thrown towards his face.

But there was only silence. The setter was sure that his twin was standing right beside him, so why didn't he get any answer — oh. Oh, that's why. When he turned his face to look at the silver-haired man, he really wished he didn't.

The grey orbs that usually so dimmed, that didn't even spark that much when they were on the court, were now shone so bright with adoration and amazement. Atsumu followed where the gaze fell, what could possibly have made his twin brother have such intense expressions.

And he could feel his shoulder slumped when he realised that his twin was looking at the same person that he saw before. Why of all things in this world, they just had to have the exact interest towards one person. Not fair, he wanted to say that he was the one who looked at you first, he wanted to punch his brother's arms and told him that you would be his.

"Didja say something, Sumu?"

But right now as his twin brother finally composed himself and turned around to face him, Atsumu just realised how the love that he had for his twin brother was a little bit too much for his own good.

"Nah. Just some dumb things."

Guess happily ever after really existed only in the children's books.

"You have been scrolling through your phone for the last couple of minutes." The blonde setter didn't give any kind of response as he just drilled his eyes to the small screen. Knowing that he wouldn't receive anything, the stoic ex-captain of Inarizaki VBC decided to just sit beside the melancholic male, taking the empty stool.

It was not really like Atsumu at all, to seclude himself while everyone was either on the dance floor or bantering together — since it had been so long for the rest of the team to be in the same place. Though, Kita couldn't blame him from wanting to get away from here.

"You do understand that one day you have to make peace with Osamu, right?"

Just the mention of his twin was enough to make his blood boil. He gritted his teeth, scoffing at the idea of him to be on the same page with the businessman like before. As if he could see his twin brother without disgust, as if he could see his twin brother with the same fondness.

No, Miya Osamu didn't have the liberty to be considered as his brother the second he decided to cheat on you.

From the very first moment he saw you, Atsumu never thought that he wanted to have someone in his life as much as when he met you. Your sweet smile, supportive nature, so good and just felt so right even as time went by.

Though he never dared to say anything, not because he was a coward and afraid of rejection, it was not that. But because he knew too well that his twin brother used to look at you the same way he commits. What sickening was when he realised he still gazed at you like a fool in love while the younger twin didn't anymore.

And he wished, he really wished that he never let Osamu have a taste of your love since the beginning.

"Tch. Like hell I am willing to do that." Atsumu locked his phone and threw it mindlessly to the bar. "I am sorry, Kita-san. But you of all people should have known why I act like this." He clenched and unclenched his fist to calm himself down, to erase the little tremor that he felt.

The brown orbs that belonged to the setter now sent a dagger to the laughing man that was swarmed by a lot of people. How could his twin have such a joyous smile on his face after everything that he had done? How could someone act so free as if he didn't just tear someone else's life?

Osamu was blessed to have such a wonderful woman that never turned her back on him. When his twin called him that one particular day, saying that you said yes to his wedding proposal — Atsumu realised that he had lost the promise that he made at one of their fights.

"When we are in our deathbeds, I am gonna turn and look you right in your face! And say I had a happier life!"

He scoffed the second he hung up the call. His twin had won, there was nothing that could make him happier than to have you in his life, cheering at him on every match that he had. You were there though, on most of the tournaments that were held, being such a supportive sister-in-law.

You always sat on the VIP bleachers, the one that was located at the side of the court. When you were there to support him, you went all out, wearing his volleyball club's merchandise as if you were paid with how you looked like you were drowned by all of those items. And by all means, he wanted to run up to you after a service ace, he wanted to cup your cheek and smash his lips to yours.

Yet he knew that it was just a mindless dream. For years he buried his feelings that never wanted to leave. He was there to be the best wingman that he could ever be for his twin brother, he made sure that no one captured your heart except for Osamu — and of course himself.

Yet right now as he looked at how Osamu had his arms wrapped around Rintarou instead of you, he wished he never helped his brother to get your heart in the first place.

He couldn't, he couldn't do this anymore.

Atsumu grabbed his jacket and car keys, rushing out from the club that smelled nothing but sweat and alcohol. He used to enjoy it, to have fun and get wasted with his brother. But now a glimpse of the twin and he wanted to spit on his face.

His upperclassmen didn't even bother to stop him, knowing that if he tried to make him stay, it would only result in a fight. The setter didn't care how his brother called out to him, he didn't even turn his head as he walked through all the strangers that were invited here.

"Sumu!"

He sped up his pace, slipping through the swarm of people as he didn't want his twin brother to catch up on him. "Hoi, Sumu!"

Atsumu could finally feel the fresh air when he barged through the door. The night air was cold, but it was a lot more refreshing than the packed space inside. He stopped for a second, to gather his breath before continuing his pace to the car.

But then he tensed up when he heard someone else walking outside, following him. Something about a bond between a twin brother, was how they could feel each other's presence within some range. A scowl immediately appeared on his face as he could hear his twin panted behind him.

"Why the fuck you followed me?" His voice was flat, but from how he chose the words was enough to make Osamu know how much his older brother despised him. "I don't want to see you, go back to your — fuck, to that whore!"

Osamu snapped when the blonde setter insulted his fiancé. He couldn't control it as his body moved on its own, fist making contact to the back of his brother's head. It was as if there was a fire blinding him, what fire? He didn't even know as he continued to plant his fist to his doppelganger.

"Take that back, Sumu!" He was so enraged as he forcefully turned his brother's head to face him, hand gripping on the collar. "Don't you bring my fiancé's name like that! Rintarou didn't have any fault—"

"Didn't have any fault?!" Atsumu spit on his twin brother's face, making the black-haired man drop him to the ground. "You fucking cheat on (Y/n), and he agreed! The two of you fuck around on the goddamn house that you shared with her! He did it willingly, Samu!"

The parking lot was quiet, as everyone was currently inside and enjoying their night. Oblivious of what happened just outside the club. The setter dusted his clothes, gritting his teeth as he looked at his twin brother that he always boasted around here and there. But now, now the brown orbs looked at his carbon copy with disappointment. "And I still can't believe you did that too."

The two of them just stared at each other's eyes, five feet apart since they were sure another fight would ensue if there was no gap in between them.

Atsumu letting out a sigh, chuckling bitterly as he could feel tears pricked at the corner of his eyes. His twin brother could do nothing but to face the ground, funny how they were so close, yet felt so far as if there was no bond that connected them since birth.

The younger twin didn't dare to face his brother as he let every word that was just being thrown towards him sunk inside his mind. He knew that the setter now wanted nothing to do with him, he knew that perhaps for the next few years, Atsumu would do anything to avoid him.

Ever since everyone knew what he did with the professional middle blocker, he could feel how the string that linked them together — started to get loose. The two of them promised inside their own mind, that they would never leave each other behind. So he had to cling on that hope.

"Hey, Samu." The younger twins looked up, only to see the broad back of his brother. He didn't know what was inside the setter's head, he couldn't see his expression to predict the words that might come out. But somehow, he could feel his heart clenched as if it would be the last time he saw him.

"I wish I never had you as my brother."

And right at this moment, he just realised that he had lost not just one — but two people at the same time.

He had lost you, the only woman that would do anything for him in a blink of an eye, you that interlaced your hand with him as you walked right by his side from the beginning. You, you, and you. His first love, his first kiss, his first everything.

And he, too, lost Miya Atsumu, his very own twin brother that was there to accompany him when he breathed the first air in this world. Now his greyish orbs could only stare at the car that passed him, a sign that showed him from now on — he was on his own.

Osamu buried his face on the white sheet of his bed, covering his whole head with a pillow. This had been going on for the last minutes, and the setter started to get tired of hearing his usual quiet twin, acting like he just dropped some food down the floor, whining and grunting.

"Can ya shut yer trap?" Atsumu was not angry or something, he was just curious about what could cause his twin to be like this. "You are awfully annoying right now, ya know?"

He expected to hear some reaction, another insult just like how it used to. But surprisingly, he was only greeted by silence. The blonde that was playing the console before now paused his game, walking towards the bed and poke his head at the upper level. He nudged his twin brother on the waist, making the opposite wing spiker to jolt and yelped.

"What do ya want?!" Osamu grumbled and sat up straight on his bed, glaring at his twin. "I am busy thinking, what is it?"

"You are making disturbing noises as if you are going to die!" The blonde retorted, folding his arms in front of his chest. "What is it? Don't tell me you failed another exam."

"No, no." Letting out a sigh, the foodies leaned his head on the wall. "It's not that, it's something silly actually."

Atsumu raised one of his eyebrows, now really worried when he saw his twin brother looked so gloomy. He didn't want to show it, yet if someone saw him now, it was really visible through his brown orbs how much he cared for his younger brother.

"Yeah? How silly?"

"I like Sunarin's sister."

He parted his lips, wanting to say something, maybe a joke or some playful response. But it was as if there was a huge lump on his throat, making his voice to be stuck there when the information finally seeped on his mind.

He should have known this fact by now, everyone that had eyes could see how clumsy Osamu would be when you were around, how by just having you watching the practice made his performance on the court even better. Yet when he finally heard it right from the younger twin, he knew that there was no chance for him to make a move on you.

Ha, as if he had a chance from the start anyway.

"You are not really subtle, Samu." Atsumu snickered, trying to coat his own pain that was now bubbling inside his heart with some laughter. "Why did you look so scared? You have this handsome face, it would be easy to catch her heart." He playfully pointed at his own face, after all the two of them were twins anyway.

"Jerkhead."

"Hey!"

The silver-haired man rolled his eyes, now snickering when the setter had a big pout on his face. Atsumu felt relieved inside his heart, that at least now his twin brother could laugh and came back to his usual self. He may not look like it, but he would do anything to make sure that his twin lives the best life.

"For real, though, Samu." He cleared his throat, a smug look was now written all over his face. "I will be the best wingman ever, and you will get that pretty lady to be your lover ten days from now!"

If that meant he had to sacrifice his own feelings, then so be it. Miya Atsumu loved his brother, maybe more than anything in this world, more than the woman that could make his heart skip a beat in a matter of seconds by just glancing at her.

And when he saw the grey orbs covered with hope, he knew that he had chosen the right thing to do.

Right now though, Atsumu really wanted to turn back time when he was still in high school.

He wanted to go back, to when he first laid his eyes on you. If he was given the chance, he would snap his fingers in front of his twin. If he could be on that day once again, he would make sure that the once wing spiker could hear him loud and clear when he declared you would be his.

Atsumu chuckled bitterly at how everything turned out. His brown orbs stared into the ceiling, ignoring his phone that kept vibrating on the drawer. Every time he looked at the screen, it was always the same name. Miya Osamu, one of the most successful businessmen below thirty.

Today, he was supposed to be the best man for the business tycoon. He should have worn the black suit that had a golden accent on the collar and the wrist. But the exact same suit was now still packed under the plastic wrap, hanging inside his massive closet as if it was just another old clothes that he would never wear.

When he got that suit all those months ago, he was appointed to be the best man at Miya Osamu and Suna (F/n) wedding, that was the deal. He already prepared the speech, as he wanted to be as perfect as he could be in front of the two people that he loved the most.

Even though he was jealous, even though sometimes he flipped his twin's portrait so it was as if he was the one inside the picture with you, he still wanted the best for the black-haired man. Yet now, to know that he sacrificed his own happiness, to know that you devoted your whole life for his twin only to have your heart broken at the end of the day — Atsumu really couldn't stop himself from thinking about what could have been.

He groaned when his phone vibrated once again, and he was ready to just throw it out the window or turned it off. But he was anticipating someone else, he was afraid that you would call him. He wanted to make sure that he was just one call away, that he was easy to reach.

And well, it was all paid off when your name was now all over his screen.

Atsumu immediately sat straight, bouncing like a child as a smile adorned his lips. He didn't know why he felt so nervous, it was just you after all. Ye,s you, the one woman that he had been pining from for the last ten years he lived in this world.

"The superior twin is here!" He declared with so much confidence in his voice, and he was so giddy when he could hear you snicker from the other line. "I am serious though, I am older, therefore I am superior."

"I don't know where you got that way of thinking, but I will let it slide for you." You answered, though his forehead scrunched up a bit when he caught how different you sounded like just now. But he shook it off, he would keep talking and become your company, that was his goal from the start.

Something that he noticed was how clear your voice was just now. Usually, it would crack here and there, the results of you crying for hours. But you were so much calmer, yet you still sounded so tired, as if you had been working nonstop.

"Ah, miss (Y/n), always so humble." But he wouldn't ask anything if you were not the one who opened up to him. "Say, what have I done to get such privilege hearing your voice?" Because for him, to be at least the one who you were comfortable talking to, was enough.

"I just need company, Atsumu." You breathed out softly, and he could hear a gentle splash of water from your side. "Are you busy helping around the wedding?"

"No, I am not busy. Not at all." He wanted to confess that he was not even at the venue, but somehow he could hear you scolding him for not being a good brother for his twin. So he decided to keep his mouth shut, focusing himself solely on you. "I am here, (Y/n). I am always here if you need me."

"Yeah?" Your voice was strained a little. "Then, would you tell me a story? Anything? I just want to listen to your voice."

His heart skipped a beat faster from your statement. Your words made him feel something that he had lost, the thing that he buried since he saw how his twin's eyes sparkled when he saw you. Hope. He cleared his throat, chuckling a little as he tried not to show how nervous he was right now.

"Since you asked so nicely."

Atsumu was a great storyteller, that was what you could conclude by hearing his tone went up and down so easily as word after word rolled down from his tongue. It was refreshing, to hear him talking non stop like this.

Something about his voice just made you feel at peace. As if you were back to your high school days where everything was all good. He always came up at you, usually talking nonsense and whined about his twin brother. It had been so long since you had a decent conversation, all because the work schedule and adulthood being harsh.

So to hear the same voice that used to accompany your teenage life, to hear the same cheeky remarks here and there that just screamed freedom — you knew that it was the right thing to call him.

"Hey, Atsumu."

"Hm?"

"Thank you."

The blonde setter was taken aback by the sudden gratitude that you gave. He never asked to be acknowledged by you, he never expected himself that one day you would see him without any lingers that reminded you of your ex-fiancé.

Then again maybe, maybe this was a good start, and he really couldn't wait to see you back in line, became the princess — without prince — that kept thriving to reach the ultimate ending.

"Really, it's nothing." He chuckled softly, carding his fingers to the strands of his blonde hair. "I just tried to be the best... friend that I could ever be."

One step at a time, Miya Atsumu. He reminded himself. Maybe one day you would find your happily ever after, but you needed to be patient.

"Hehe, you are the best." Your voice sounded more distance by now. "Now I wonder what would happen if only I am being honest at that time." As if you dropped your phone somewhere, and you were too tired to pick it up.

"Honest?" But he didn't pay too much attention to it as he was more curious by your words. "(Y/n), what do you mean? That time when?"

There was only silence, and right now his mind was creating a lot of scenarios. He bit his lips, wanting to know what was the meaning of your words. "(Y/n)? Please, what do you mean by being ho—"

"I used to like you, you know?"

And time seemed to stop, as the confession rolled down from your lips so easily. He wanted to say something, he wanted to ask you to define your words. Like was such an ambiguous word. It could be interpreted as how you like his personality, or you liking the fact you were friends with him, "I used to love you, at one time."

"W-What?" But this one word slipped from your lips, answered his questions from before. "Don't joke around like that. You always loved Samu, everyone knew that." Yet he didn't want to believe it. "You kissed him on your first date! Not any girl would kiss—"

"Because you were there, right?" He stopped talking, bringing himself back to that particular day. "You always tried so hard to make sure I fell in love with Osamu, I am not that dumb. So I just want to make you happy by opening up my heart for him." The same day where he tucked his feelings away. "You are one wonderful man, you know that, Atsumu?"

The day he let you go for his twin, was the same day you let your feelings go to love another man that was not him.

"(Y/n), I—"

"So even though now I wonder about what could have been," He just felt hope a moment before. "I am glad." So why now suddenly it felt like someone just burned the bridge that would lead him to his happy ending? "I am glad that you were the last person that I spent my time talking to."

"Wait, what do you mean?" He wailed, waiting to hear for your response. "(Y/n), fuck! What did you mean by the last person?!" He screamed to his phone, begging for any kind of sign that you were there. But there was nothing, once again he was greeted by nothing but silence.

Atsumu felt like he couldn't breathe. He needed to see you, he needed to make sure that you were alright. Maybe you were just falling asleep, maybe just like what Akagi had wished, you could finally sleep after days being in such a rollercoaster of emotions.

Ten minutes. He could be there in ten minutes by foot, a lot faster compared to how he needed to prepare his car and opened up the garage. The setter didn't think twice as he wore his shoes and ran to your house. He didn't bother to lock his front door as he dashed himself to see you, mind too predominated by lots of dark scenarios.

You used to love him. He tried to hold on your words. If at one time you fell for him, then perhaps one day you could love him once again. He wanted to believe in that as he ran even faster, thanking himself for choosing to be a professional athlete that could make him have a lot of stamina.

His mind kept replaying the fact that was being poured on top of him like a bucket of ice water. Ever since he knew you, he was too busy coating his own feelings. Telling lies to himself, belittled his own mind because he didn't want to have any regret when he helped his twin to be close with you.

If only he knew, if only he looked closer to your eyes and not just focused on his twin — maybe, he would have his very own fairy tale that he always yearned to have.

He knocked haphazardly on your front door, his heart still felt so heavy as he waited for the latch to be unlocked. But even after seconds went by, even after he kept screaming out your name without a care that people would call the police, you didn't even show yourself.

"Fuck it."

When he didn't hear anything from the other side of the door, he immediately spun his brain, searching around the terrace since he knew you had a habit to save a duplicate key somewhere — a habit that your ex-fiancé once told him.

Atsumu let out a smile of relief when he saw the silver key tugged on one of the potted plants. And without wasting another time, he immediately turned the key, eyes scanning the whole ground floor in case you were there, maybe falling asleep somewhere.

But there was no sign of you, not even in the bedroom of yours. Your room was clean, nothing but a bed, some books, and photographs. It was as if you never lived here with how the room looked like what people could find in a design magazine.

Everything was too neat like you have been gone for a long time. And he was ultimately afraid that you were not here to begin with.

Then his mind replayed the phone call from before; every sound that you made, the calm voice of yours, each of the syllables that came out from your lips, he tried to remember all of that. Splash of water. He heard it in the first minutes, and it was enough for him to take another step in this mission to find you.

He braced himself as he walked closer to the master bathroom that was connected without any door. Atsumu was ready to hear you scream, maybe throwing some of the shampoo bottles in his direction — he was okay with that, because at least, at least you were fine.

The bathroom was the same, so clean that no one could find any unusual things. Though his eyes were sharp enough to see the two bottles of sleeping pills on the sink. He took it to his hand, and he swallowed a huge lump when he saw the condition. All were opened, all were emptied.

He immediately jerked his head to the bathtub that was filled to the brim. The colour was milky white, and the surface was scarily stagnant. No. It can't be. He was scared to take another step forward. No, no, no. Because now as he was standing right beside the tub,

His orbs could catch the silhouette of a human body, one that was perfectly — still.

"No," He hiccuped as he could only feel dread. In a swift moment, he jumped himself to the enormous tub, trying to find where your head positioned with how blurred the water was. "Please, please." And he gasped when he could finally see your face.

You looked so glorious, that if you were a heroine in some kind of fantasy book, he was sure that you would become more than just a princess. Even with your hair sticking all over your face, even with how your lips slowly turned to blue, you still looked the same through his eyes.

Perfection, the only person that could make his life complete.

Atsumu cradled you, pulling your now cold body on his embrace in case he could hear your heart beats. But there was nothing. In this space he was in, the only thing that could be heard was the prickling waters and his own misery.

When he imagined himself to have you in his arms, this was not the scenario that he ever had in mind. He wanted to hold you close for a thousand times, he wanted to be the one that could make you feel better when you were feeling down. Maybe he was already like that, but it was not enough.

With trembling hands, his finger swept your hair gently, tucking the strand of it at the back of your ear. He eyed your expression as you fell asleep, and he couldn't help but let out a small chuckle that filled with bitterness and anguish.

"Can you hear me? Hey, (Y/n)?" His voice cracked, vision blurred with his own tears as he shook your body. "(Y/n), please, y-you haven't heard it, please." He swallowed a huge lump, biting his own lips as he was still clinging to some miracle that could happen.

"I love you." So fucking much. "Can't you hear me? I love you! I love you, (Y/n) why didn't you wait for me?!"

His finger pinched your cheek, it was the fastest way to wake you up when you fell asleep on their practice all those years ago. He needed to see your orbs, he needed to see how your lashes fluttered open the second he woke you up, just like usual. One more time, he needed to see it just one more time.

"Hey, wake up. I promise I am not going to leave. I will always be here, I'm always here."

But your eyes still closed, and he shouldn't have expected a miracle when he knew there was not any.

"I am sorry. I am sorry."

And Miya Atsumu should have known better, that there was no such thing as happily ever after in this real world.

Tagged Lovelies:

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[lunewell]

The Lunewell Saga - Natura: Chapter 2

Can also be read on ao3 by clicking here

First part is here (:

Third part is here

Book Sumary:

Zarifa Birch, an antique shop worker with an unusual past, has made a home for herself in the sleepy town of Lunewell. Though the shop she works at is not exactly ordinary, with cryptid items and odd occurrences, she has managed to carve the normal life she always desperately wished for out of it.

However, all that comes crumbling down, as a woman from Zarifa’s past throws everything into chaos. Faced with unimaginable horrors, seemingly unsolvable mysteries, and returning repressed feelings and memories, Zarifa along with her coworkers, must find a way to return the balance- and escape the cruel hands of death in this eldritch horror mystery

Chapter 2:

At 03:45 in the morning, under a night sky covered in a thick blanket of storm clouds, Zarifa was woken, not by any natural phenomena, or by her antique alarm clock, but by the sound of her phone screeching out what was effectively deafening trumpets. Though this had never happened before, Zarifa knew instantly what it was, and threw off her warm, cotton duvet immediately. 

 Grant, who frankly was the only one who had anything even close to technology related competence, had wired up an alarm system in the shop not too long ago, and connected it to Zarifa’s phone. He had also, of course, been the one to design the hideous sound. As she gripped her phone with a speed that almost made it go smashing to the ground, she turned it on to see that the alarm of Thorn’s Antiques had, in fact, just gone off.

 She rubbed her temples, shivering slightly. Neither the room nor the outside world were particularly warm, with a chilly wind seeping on through the wall and around the room. Her bed was a haven of heat, and a place that could soothe the ever-growing, tired ache in her bones, and her entire body protested when she turned on her heels and began walking towards the closet, shuddering.

 Zarifa threw on clothes at an impressive haste; a warm turtleneck and a pair of jeans that were just the slightest bit too small, then snatched her phone and purse, and put on her necklace, before rushing out the door. 

 She wasn’t all that worried about the robbery, not really. While they were an antique shop, they didn’t have anything really valuable, at least not that she was aware of. 

 Besides, if anything of value truly had been stolen, there was pretty much only one culprit, and lucky for them, Zarifa knew exactly where to go should that be the case.

 No, her haste came not from a place of fear of the robber, or worry over the supply, but from Valour’s reaction. Valour, though usually apathetic, had an overprotectiveness of the shop, and any damage to it, might lead to the new rising of a mass murderer. The butterfly over her turtleneck saw one last glimpse of the light, before it was covered in a thick, black coat, and slipped outside into the shadowy night.

 The breeze was particularly strong, fiery trees not so much swaying in the wind as almost being knocked down by it. Zarifa pulled her coat tighter, shivering as a cracking whip of gust slammed her face. The stars above, usually visible in the dimly lit dirt paths, were shielded behind towering, puffed-up storm clouds, almost menacing in their own way. 

 She walked onto the pavement, passing her small and worn car parked outside the small cottage. She debated on taking it, before deciding it really wasn’t worth it. Lunewell was so small anyway, and the shop hidden in the far corner was but a ten-minute walk. Though driving should technically have been faster, navigating her way around the roads and towards Lune Lake, where the shop lay, would take just as long as walking there. Even after living there for five years, Zarifa still found the roads and paths an absolute maze, like the village was purposefully trying to trap its inhabitants.

 As she rounded a corner, and headed towards what had become a very small street of other local shops and one bar, a wave of newly baked pastries broke through the ozone-scented air, sending yet another hard hit of a gust that pushed her back ever so slightly. She didn’t mind the wind though, as her tight expression morphed into a delighted smile and her body became infinitely more aware of how long it has been since she’d eaten.

 Zarifa relished in the smell for just a little longer, though she kept her pace up, before she froze in place at the edge of a lamppost light. Mr. and Mrs. Carr, both bundled up in striped, hand-knit scarves, were walking towards the bakery hand in hand, clearly preparing to open for the day. Zarifa stood almost inhumanly still in place, as though the Carrs were hunting predators and she was their prey, her breathing having grown shallower and tighter. 

 Taking a step back further into the shadows, she hoped the light was poor enough and their eyes old enough that she would slip under their senses. Or, at least, that was the plan, until her feet knocked against an empty can on the ground, sending a rattling sound that resonated through the street.

 Their heads snapped up, landing first on the can that had rolled into the light, and then on Zarifa herself, who was still holding her breath, even her heartbeat muted. Mrs. Carr, who had never particularly liked Zarifa for whatever reason, gave a wave and a slightly tight smile as her greyed hair blew haphazardly around her head.

 Her husband turned to see what she was looking at, lighting up when he saw Zarifa, who had edged herself into the event horizon of visibility. “Zarifa!” he greeted enthusiastically, but quietly, “Hello dear. What are you doing out here at this hour?”

 Zarifa rubbed the back of her neck, shuffling further forward. “Good morning Mrs. Carr, Mr. Carr-”

 “As I’ve said before, just Harold’s fine love.”

 “Apologies,” Zarifa said, hands moving from her neck to the gold that hung around it. “I’m not in the best mindset right now,” Mr. Carr sounded an ‘Oh?’, as Mrs. Carr headed inside slightly huffy, “you see, the alarm for Thorn’s Antiques just went off.” 

 Mr. Carr’s eyebrows shot up in concern, wrinkles bunched on his ever-balding forehead. “That’s dreadful,” he exclaimed, “not the kind of thing you’d expect to happen ‘round here. You better be off, Lilly and I’ll drop by with some of the baked goods later in the day.”

 “Oh, that’s very generous but you don’t have to,” Zarifa reassured in a slight panicky tone, “no point in dragging you two into this mess.”

 “Nonsense,” he said, “everyone needs some baked goods in situations like this. Besides,  I’m sure that young lad of yours with the glasses - Graham? Brant? - would be very appreciative.”

 “If you’re positively sure it isn’t an inconvenience, that would be lovely,” Zarifa said, finishing it off with a warm if anxious smile. Any lingering silence was broken by the sound of Mrs. Carr calling for her husband and co-worker in a way fit for a dictator. Mr. Carr turned towards the door 

 “Yes, I’m coming, I’m coming!” he shouted, back, a stark contrast to the gentle lull of his tone before. “I believe my wife needs me. We’ll stop by later. Good luck!”

 Zarifa took off like a jetfighter, sprinting away with a wave and footsteps that bounced into the streets. At her speed, it wasn’t long before she was no longer landing on cobbled streets but on overgrown dirt paths covered in damp leaves. The shop, a small stoney thing with dirty windows that practically looked abandoned, came into view, and her eyes moved to the door, which was in fact left just the slightest bit open.

 Sliding inside, she closed the door behind her, though the shop remained equally cold. It looked almost eerie at this time, the furniture remnant of old times, empty and abandoned, a few vases smashed on the floor from where someone had been in a rush, and a stillness so quiet that it was deafening to her ears.

 Picking up a blue floral patterned shard, she continued onwards, keeping her footsteps as light as a ghost. Well, as light as a ghost that could not sneak past a deaf person, but she digressed. Pushing open the door to the back, wincing as the door hinges made a shrieking creek, reminiscent of a whining child, she made her way in. 

 The employees’ lounge looked, as she had expected, fine. Everything was exactly as they had left it, slightly disjointed, except for Bruin’s desk that had been organised meticulously. She began heading for the downstairs, to see if any of the inventory had been stolen, when she heard a muffled thud from upstairs, releasing the pressured silence in her ear and exchanging it with dread.

  Thud, thud, thud , multiple slamming sounds, equally light, equally muffled, radiated from upstairs. She could track the being’s every movement from the sound alone, see the continuous patterns of thuds make their way through the upstairs rooms. Her eyes trailed them vigorously, pupils jumpy, as she tightened the grip on the shard. The fact that it dug into her hand, almost piercing through her thin bicoloured skin, didn’t register.

 The shop yet again went quiet, though any illusion of silence was broken by Zarifa’s hammering heart. She glanced around the room, gaze going to the cellar where she could take her hiding, to the second exit, and back up to Valour’s personal floor. She looked up, waiting for any more signs of life, before snailing sneakily up the stairs with the shard held out in front of her. 

 The steps, normal stairs instead of the never ending spiral leading to the basement, stayed as silent as herself throughout the ascent, as though they themselves were afraid of the intruder above. Zarifa tipped-toed up them, the yellow stained walls that the stairs were encased in almost suffocatingly tight, and ever closing in. 

 At the top of the carpeted steps sat a black door crested in a slightly lighter shade, with a pair of Bobby pins stuck in the lock. It was the only entrance Zarifa had never taken in the shop, looming above her and guarding a floor that even so much as seeing would lead to great punishment. 

 It was too dark to peek into the room, and there was no sound but her own swallowing and the wind that had picked up outside. She took another step up, and reached for the handle as though it was shatterable glass. With a prayer directed more towards the cosmic force of luck rather than anything specific, she gave one push of the door.

 Luck, it seemed, was on her side, as the hinges opened without the slightest squeak. She took the final stairs up, giving one last glance to where she came from, and stepped inside what was effectively Valour’s house.

 Even through the fog of darkness, she could see the layer of dust, and the sheer amount of things thrown astray on the floor. Outlines of books with unreadable titles spilling over the carpet, sheets of aged papers crumbled into what she assumed had once been a paper bin, and antique knick-knacks placed in tall piles, disfigured by the low lighting.

 At first glance, it seemed disorganised, but as her eyes adjusted more to the lightless room, it became clear that similar items were bundled together, and that there was some kind of system. She just hadn’t quite figured out what that system was.

 Looking away from the silhouettes of mess that seemed ever-shifting, she turned her eyes downward, looking at where a path had been cleared. Whether it had always been there, or whether the dear intruder had made it, she was unsure about. She walked across it like a minefield, eyes trained on the ground and not looking at the piles which were getting higher as she went along and spilling further towards her. 

 She stopped at a hallway, leading in two different directions, which was deserted compared to the room she had just arrived in, only containing a painting, a few near empty shelves, and a drawer. Though equally riddled with swirling, sand-like dust, it felt cleaner, and had a little bit of light poking through a curtained roof window. It shone on the portrait hanging large and proud above the wooden desk, enough so that she could see the illuminated face of a younger Valour with colour still in her hair and a rather androgynous person she couldn’t quite recognise. They invoked the same familiar feeling she had felt yesterday, albei more distant.

 She took a step closer, staring intently. The person, a sickly pale figure with light brown hair and odd, pink, heart shaped sunglasses, was almost entrancing, to the point she had barely realised just how close her hand was to the canvas. 

 The trance was broken not by the touch of the oil canvas, but by a sound that Zarifa, when asked at a later point, could only have described as bounding . It was the sound of a constrictor wrapping around its prey, of tight ropes encircling a wrist, of becoming trapped and helpless.

 A flash of light blue light, ever so faint and ever so quick that one couldn’t be scolded for mistaking it with a hallucination, appeared in the corner of her eye. Her head snapped towards one of the doors, hair on her arms rising, as she made her ways towards the source.

 From the outside door, she could hear whatever was making that sound wrap further, deeper, and for a second, her mind cleared. She considered walking out; walking safely home, telling Valour that she couldn’t find anything stolen, and not getting involved. Letting this, whatever this was, live its life or death peacefully. 

 After all, was that not why she had come to find herself here in the shop in the first place? Was that not why Grant, Bruin, or even to an extent Valour herself had found themselves in this antique shop? To escape a past of unexplainable events, whilst simultaneously saving others from having the same brush with the eldritch, the unexplainable?  To, for even just a split second, live in the illusion of normalcy, the lie that nothing had ever been wrong?

 Zarifa turned on her heels, sneaking past the portrait of Valour and Heart-Glasses, which almost seemed to be judging her choice. Valour wouldn’t have turned away, which perhaps explained the scars and bruises. She couldn’t, however, bring herself to care, as her ever growing frantic footsteps made their way down the hall.

 Now, what must be understood for the following sequence of events to make sense, is that Zarifa, deep down, was one thing; caring. She sees her fellow employees as great friends, always up to help or let them take breaks, she handles her books with delicate strokes and gloves hands, and she is always up to help.

 Whether Zarifa’s caring nature always outshined her cowardice and self preservation is debatable, and a subject she preferred not to dwell on. However, in the word always , lies a hidden, implied one; sometimes.

 Like when Zarifa, halfway down the hallway, heard a cry and groan of pain that was so distinctly Lottie , that she would have recognised it even if her ears got chopped off. As though someone had a pressed a button, she turned right back around, sprinted with loud thuds, and pushed the door with a speed that almost broke a whole in the wall.  She stood panting in the doorway, all fear evaporated into a feeling that was not quite protectiveness, not quite caring, not quite pity, and not quite anger, before the muddled emotion transformed back into fear as her eyes landed on the strawberry blonde. 

 Lottie sat on the floor, legs dug into by long vines dressed in a barrier of thorns, arms tightly pressed against her body in a twisted bend that no human should have been able to achieve, and a streaming, jet black smoke arising from the leaf engraved ornate box in front of her and travelling right into her deep green eyes. Zarifa moved towards her and the box without even thinking, making her jerk, digging the thorns even deeper into her skin. “Don’t… to-touch a thing,” Lottie commanded, voice unbelievably hoarse, as though she had been shouting for hours, and Scottish accent more intense.

 “I can’t sit by and watch… whatever’s happening!” Zarifa shouted frantically, panic stirring in her. She crouched down to the floor, even as Lottie made a sound of protest. “How can I stop this?”

 “Y-you can get the fuck out,” Lottie managed to gasp out meeting her eyes. Her brows were stern, but her expressive emerald eyes were scrunched and her face was in a grimace that drew at Zarifa’s heart strings like a wound bow. All the while, the black smoke from the box-

 The box. Of course. If she just closed it, Lottie would, theoretically, be fine. She began reaching for the moonlight-reflecting gold leaf, one of the only items visible in the otherwise almost pitch black room. She stopped as she heard her name called desperately from beside her, followed by a string of curses.

 “Don’t touch it!” Lottie pleaded with a tone laced in anger, voice teetering on the edge of death, “Just get out of here, butterfly!” And oh, if her heart didn’t skip at that slip-up, “Don’t want to…” she gasped again, not quite managing to bite down another whimper, “d-drag you into this shit again.”  

 Zarifa looked at Lottie, her pained glare, the arms that looked like they had been put on backwards, and the pierced legs. She took a breath; “I’m sorry,” she said, and before Lottie could say so much as a word, she snapped the lid shut with a snap that hit like an atom bomb.

 As soon as the bomb landed, everything went quiet. Zarifa moved quickly, as Lottie fell limp into her chest like a stuffless ragdoll, arms clicking back into the place with an audible sound, and eyes fluttering open to give one last angered, intense stare before shutting. The smoke, escaping Lottie’s eyes in a violent manner, balled itself up into the center of the room, the thorns vanishing and joining it to create a rotating, black and dark green, spiral-patterned sphere.

 Keeping a close eye on the orb, she scrambled further backwards, pulling Lottie along with her. Her mind raced as she scanned the thing, trying desperately to decipher what it was, what it could possibly be. Though she wanted to leave the room, to drag Lottie and herself outside and never enter again, her eyes were entranced in the beautiful, indescribable spiral. It was, Zarifa thought grimly,  a bit like the train incident all over again. Or the summer camp, for that matter, but she preferred to keep a lock on those memories. 

 The orb continued spiralling, room still quiet except for Zarifa’s heavy breathing, and the wind outside. It was then that she saw something in the spirals, something beyond the mist of black. She squinted, though in the light and with the colour it was hard to see much of anything except the swirling pattern. She began leaning in ever closer, though recoiled almost instantly as soon as the orb came to life.

 A hand, pink and fleshy and clearly human, pushed against the pattern, stretching the orb to translucency like a tight latex glove. It pushed against the swirls, followed by another, then three hands, then 10 hands, and then an uncountable number. Everywhere you looked where skin covered fingers, all trying to break the barrier that had slowly stopped swirling.

 Though they pushed and pushed, hands clawing with the ferocity of a starving lion, pounding with all the force of a hurricane, the barrier refused to move, just stretching to expose the arms further up. It had gotten to the point where Zarifa could clearly see knobbly elbows bending robotically, aimlessly through the cover. She regarded the arms from where she sat, eyes trailing their every movement, before she turned over, head still on them, and took a single, crawling movement towards the door.

 All the hands stopped pushing, falling limp into the orb as though their strings had been cut. They were dragged back jerkily into the core, pulled out of sight as quickly as they had appeared. Zarifa held her breath watching the orb move towards her and out of the moonlight, the colours fading to nothing but a monochrome silhouette, and the shape morphing into something reminiscent of a bald human, albeit with arms just the slightest bit too long. She could not see its face, or any details on its body, even as it took an unsteady tumble towards her.

 When Zarifa was twenty-one, and visiting Lunewell for the first time since the train incident, a seventeen year old girl, younger than herself, but already the owner of a shop, named Valour Thorn had taught her a very important lesson; When faced with the unexplainable, always close your eyes. At that time, Zarifa had yet to see what that would do. After all, simply ignoring danger when it was so close seemed like a sure fire way to get yourself killed, but a method of saviour.

 Now, however, faced with an ever-approaching, vaguely human-shaped blob, staggering towards her like a drunken man with a concussion, she realised that situations like this could only have two outcomes, and closed her eyes. She kept her breath and body stiff, even if she knew she had already been spotted by the sound of bagged, wet meat slapping against the ground. The sound stopped completely mere inches in front of her, and everything went quiet, on what could very well have been the last moment of her life.

 A breath, muffled as though it was coming through fabric, though no less warm and moist than what would have expected, blew against her cheek. It sounded strained, as though it’s lungs were thick as needles, but the breathing was rhythmic and distinctly alive. The breath inched closer, warming by the second as she squeezed her deep brown eyes tighter, mind caught in a loop of prayers to all the gods she could think off.

 Lottie, who had previously been nestled comfortably against Zarifa’s jacket, let out a slightly pained groan. Her heart stopped, as she felt the creature's breath pan over her face, and towards where the pigtailed girl rested. In a flurry of movements that made Zarifa flinch violently against the wall, she felt the weight of Lotie lifted off her in one sharp movement. A dazed whimper once again admitted it from her, but it sounded distant compared to the one that had been right against Zarifa’s ear. 

 She desperately wished to open her eyes, to see what was happening, to make even a singular heroic movement to save Lottie, but she stayed in her prey position; paralysed and blind. It was a grim but realistic reminder that she had and would never be a saviour, nor a survivor, just lucky. Regardless of prior experiences, she was no more competent or threatening than a shot deer.

 The squishy sound returned, just as the warmth where the creature had poised left her neck. There was a distinct dragging sound on the floor, a sharp leather and zippers scrapping on wood, as the wet splotches rounded around her. She still didn’t dare open her eyes, until the footsteps and dragging vanished. 

 As the house and flat quiet, her eyes opened slowly, the lids still recovering from the glued fear. She glanced down to her hands, and realised that somewhere along the way, they had reached up to grip the necklace, which she squeezed as she took a shuddering, shallow breath. She reminded herself that both she and Lottie would be okay, that they’d both been through far worse, but the comfort only resonated on a surface level. 

 Looking around the dark room, she noticed the outline of a light switch right by the door, which stood more ajar than she had previously thought. With a final, semi-deep breath, she flicked it on. The room burst harshly into a bright yellow lamp, her eyes burning at the harsh contrast. She blinked rapidly, trying to blink away the tears that at first came from brightness, but as her vision cleared, came from a true realisation of what had just happened.

 In the light, it became clear that this tiny room was a study. There was a dust laden desk with old, leather-bound journals, a desk light with a shattered bulb, and a computer just slightly more modern than the one downstairs, a corkboard with images connected by different coloured strings that looked like a conspiracy theorist's wet dream, and lots of shelves populated with antiques and books. However, Zarifa was not so much focusing on the small glimpse into Valour’s elusive personal life, as the floor where the encounter happened.

 Splattered across the planks were puddles of a black, tar-like liquid, intertwined with small specks of blood. The ornate box itself had at some point been knocked over, tilted on its side, spreading a few small, thin sheets of ancient looking paper out. Zarifa gently made her way over, stepping past the puddles with a scrunched up nose, before reaching the papers. She didn’t pick it up, nor touch it, instead tilting her head to read what the dull, brown ink said.

  To whom it may concern…

  In this letter lies the seal, which I fear must not be opened till The Dawn. If the time is not right, you must close this box, and ignore this. Do not read onwards, or you will bring upon yourself the cruelest of fates.

  In a worst case scenario, if the seal has been unsealed before The Dawn, if doors ideally locked stand open, you must be prepared to make a key. 

  A key is forged by fragments of Touched sanity eating a sight of one that Sees, dipped in water oh-so divine. Once the key has begun, the fragments must sew themselves between the fabric, letting all webbed light shine on them. As they are blessed by the minute, and after the final step of-

 Zarifa’s eyes widened, turning the page frantically looking for the continuation of where the text had been ripped off. She glanced around the room, looked once again inside the box, only to find it an empty chasm. With a shaky breath, she wiped away her tears, determaimly, and pulled up her phone.

 Zarifa furrowed her brows as the time, reading precisely 06:00, appeared onto the screen. Had it really been two hours already? Nevertheless, she decided to ignore it for now, opening up her contacts, and quickly clicking the one person who she knew would already be up at such an early hour.

 “Hey Grant? I need you and Bruin to come in as soon as possible. We have a slight… situation on our hands.”

[vegetacide]

TaG: Bloodlines (Part 6)

Veg • notables: Little something for Fluffember .. works for several prompts... Brothers,  warmth and together...

Any errors in this are strictly my own

Ty to @gumnut-logic and @scribbles97 for the brainstorming help and the encouragement.

Previous: Part 1 | Part 2 Bit 1 & Bit 2 | Part 3 | Part 4 | Part 5

Rating and General warning: Mature content head. If you are not a fan of medical issues of a female nature in relation to pregnancy please proceed with caution.

Characters: Virgil, Kayo, (V/K)  Scott, Alan,  John, Gordon and Grandma.

Location: TaG-verse AU | Tracy Island

E N J O Y

8-8-8

Part 6 - Keluarga

The flight home was thankfully an  uneventful affair.

Kayo had fallen asleep almost as soon as the jet’s door had been closed and Virgil had been by her side holding her hand the whole way back to their island.

When the island finally came into sight there was a collective sigh of relief. The stress of everything having sucked the energy right out of all of them and home meant safety, comfort and more importantly; sleep.

Tucking Kayo safely back into their marital bed saw Virgil relaxing for the first time since… well since he’d woken up that morning..God, had it only been twelve hours ago? It felt like a lifetime and the exhaustion weighed on him furiously.

Not that he would be able to get much sleep tonight.

Leaning over his sleeping wife,  he adjusted the sheets and brushed her forehead with a kiss.  She stirred slightly and turned into him, always one to seek his heat even on a tropical island and her eyes blinked open myopically.

“Shhh,  it’s okay.  We’re home.  Go back to sleep.”

Kayo snuggled further under the covers and quiet ‘Love you’  drifted his way as he emptied his pockets of his ID, wallet and personal communication.

A light knock on their door, had him turning and he toed off his boots to muffle his movements before he traversed the short distance.  Opening it he was only mildly surprised to find his brothers on the other side..  All of them.

Holding up a finger he glanced back into the room to make sure everything was in order and that Kayo would have everything she needed. Not that it looked like she would be rising anytime soon.  The whole affair of the day had done her in.

Truthfully, he was happy she was finally getting some rest even if it was ordered and dismantling Shadow had been in his back pocket as a way to convenience her.

Surprisingly though after going through all the details with his family when they were discharged, Kayo looked like she wasn’t in the mood for any more lecturing so the Shadow card hadn’t needed to be played.

She’d barely moved since they’d left the hospital except when he’d move her.   He’d woken her up long enough to pour a drink of electrolytes down her throat and a protein bar into her belly and she’d been out again barely after swallowing the lot.

An uncomfortable trip to the bathroom later which his Grandmother had seen to though he had been hovering just outside the door in case he was needed.  A change of clothes and into bed she went. Out like a light again before her head even hit the pillow.

He was done in himself but his brain was running in circles which didn’t look like it would be giving up anything time soon. So the company just outside the door was a welcome distraction.

Satisfied that his wife would be alright.  He set his comms to alert him if she woke up and carefully crept out the door.

“Hey Virg,”  Alan whispered, stepping up to his brother and giving him a hug.  “How’s Kay?  She gonna be alright?”

Virgil hugged his brother back,  taking the opportunity to ruffle his hair while he was at it.

Alan grumbled at the action and wiggled away.  Smoothing his hair back into place as soon as he was free  and Virgil couldn’t help the smile that upturned his lips at the disgruntled look his littlest brother shot him.

“Hey Space Case.  She’s sleeping but Doc said she’ll be alright. She just needs to get some rest.”

“Looks like you could use some yourself.”  Gordon observed and moved in for a hug as well.

“Thanks, Squid.  Glad you noticed.”

“Well someone has to keep you honest and Kayo..” His eyes did a sweep of him from head to toe. “Well, she’s blinded by all that muscle."

The swat Virgil sent the aquanau's way as easily dodged as he danced out of reach.

Laughing as he used Alan as a human shield who protested loudly at being manhandled,  he tossed out  “All that bulk is slowing you down,  you should lay off the protein shakes.”

Virgil just rolled his eyes.  Trust Gordon to do whatever he could to lighten the mood with whatever tomfoolery he had at his disposal.

It was at that point that he noticed John standing in the back of the crowd of brotherly forms.  “John, when did you get here?’

John just shrugged,  “Not long ago.  I came as soon as I could but that storm system off the coast made taking the elevator down impossible.

“It’s good to see ya in the flesh.” Virgil smiled, stepping forward enveloping the communications expert in a hug. John’s hugs were rare but the returned squeeze was given freely, a testament to the support system his brothers were offering.

“You too, brother mine.”

Scott stepped up next, though he’d been at the hospital with the couple. “Anything you need, let us know.”  He offered and the round of hugging continued.

“I know and I appreciate it.”

He could always count on his family when the chips were down,  there was no doubt about that.

Scott released him, one hand giving his shoulder a squeeze and tipped his head towards the door at Virgil’s back. “Doc’s made arrangements to come out in a couple weeks' time.  Just had the call come through with the details. Shouldn’t be a problem getting him out here for it.  Between us and Aunt Val we have plenty of pilots who can give him a lift.”

“Great,  I’m sure Kay will be thrilled.” The hand on his shoulder squeezed again and Scott gave him a knowing look.

“She’s a fighter.  Hates being benched just as badly if not more so than we do.”

“That’s what I’m worried about..”

“Meh don’t worry about it.  With the Great Doctor Sally Tracy with her sights set on her,  Kayo doesn’t stand a chance.” Gordon piped up.  “Trust me on that one. She’ll be lucky if she can manage to wiggle a toe without Grandma noticing.”

“Well she had to be super vigilant with you, Gordo. We still have no clue how you managed to change the electronic audio to Spanish from the couch.”

Gordon stood up taller,  primped in all his mastery of everything prankster.  “Trade secret. If I tell you, I would have to kill you.”

This time there was no dodging the swats directed at his head from three older siblings though Alan yet again shrieked in protest as he was tossed about like a sac of meat. 

Sally was a practical woman with simple tastes and simple pleasures.   A night of bridge with the girls at the local social club,   bocce ball every other Tuesday with fellow medical alumni and curling once a month with her bereavement group who had become like an extended family to her after her husband had passed.

Simple things, never extravagant.

She grew up with the mentality that to get what you wanted took hard work and determination.  Blood, sweat and tears was her motto through her years of medical training and her intern placement in one of the busiest hospitals in the U.S.

She’d worked hard to get where she was today despite the trials and tribulations of being widowed, dealing with her own grief and that of her son’s and taking charge of his young brood while he wallowed in his pain.

She didn’t fault Jeff for his actions,  she understood them intimately.  She’d lost herself in taking care of the boys to help keep the pain at bay.  Oftentimes pushing them just as hard as she did herself. In the end though despite the odds, she thought everything had turned out all right.

Was the road easy?  No.  Far from it.   Was there things she wished she had handled differently?  Of course.  Her son disappearing into a bottle of despair being one of them.  But the boys had been raised well by their dear mother even if only for a short time.

The eldest who remembered her memory took that care, love and devotion their mother had been known for and poured it into the younger two.  Doing everything within the power of their shattered world to keep the family in one cohesive piece even when their father was absent both mentally and physically.

They’d survived and come out the other end stronger than anything she could have imagined and she wasn’t afraid to admit it and how proud she was of every single one of them.

And true form when one of the brothers stumbled the other four were right there to steady him and get him back on his feet. Providing whatever support that was needed in their own individual ways.

When others would bolt,  her boys rallied.  Diving in head first to shore up whoever was in need.  It’s what made them great at what they did. That core strength of love and support radiated out of everything they touched and because of that they’d helped more than she could count.

Here she was,  coming to check on her adoptive granddaughter and her loving boys where right were she expecting them to be.  Standing as a unit outside Virgil’s door.  Surrounding him and holding him up with hugs, pats on the back and caring words.

She stopped and kept back a few paces, letting them have their moment and watching all the love. They deserved this moment cause they were few and so far in between.

Rescuing the world didn’t leave much time for brotherly interaction and these precious moments needed to be cherished.

Leaning against the wall, she allowed a soft smile to grace her lips.  Something in her movement must have alerted her boys though because no sooner had she settled than one by one they turned her way.  Not surprised in the least to find her there.

She looked at them, taking in the details of the men they had grown into and she locked the details away for safekeeping.

Scott with the little licks of grey at his temple a sign of the stress the last years had put on them all but his eyes sporting the beginnings of laugh lines.

Virgil,  his quiet nature and artist spirit.  Steadfast even with his wife just feet away resting with their babe growing in her belly.   As worried as he was for he felt things more deeply than all of them he put on a brave face. Not wanting youngest brothers to see him waver even though she knew he was.

His eyes spoke volumes.  She could see the exhaustion and fear in them but even so he graced her with a small smile in return.;

John, her star baby.  When had he come down?  Shocked, she frowned slightly as she took in his uniform. He’d need to wear that for a while until he acclimated to Earth’s gravity again.. A downside to living in the stars so far away.   How he managed the isolations, she had no idea. He’d grown up in a house so full of life until there hadn’t been but he’d silently held on.  Striving to be the best at what he did.  

Next was the vivacious Gordon.  Beams of sunshine in his hair and mischief in his eyes.  He’s seen and done a lot in his short life. Days so dark with despair as his broken body healed.  She’s spent many an hour sitting with him in the VA hospital watching and keeping him company as his body painfully knit itself back together again after every surgery but for all of it. He never complained with the exception of food.   Just grinned and bared it though she could see the cracks.  He'd come through it all, scarred and sporting a motley collection of surgical steel plates and bolts and kept on smiling.

And lastly her baby boy,  Alan. Her rocket man.   He’d missed so much in life.  A normal childhood, school, friends and typical boyhood misadventures.  First date,  prom, graduation but he’d still done the family proud and held his head up high.  He flew the stars and was living a dream most kids his age could only dream about.  A tender age but the top of his field and he got to fly a rocket ship.  What kid wouldn’t love that? 

Her boys.  No, her men.  Through diversity and trauma they all stood tall and together.

Pushing away from the wall she went to them and was lost in a sea of hugs.

8-8-8

TBC

NEXT

[infinites-chaser]

dark night fireworks | mlqc | lucien/mc | dreams and memory

spoilers for ch.13 and somewhat inspired by ch.16

warning for drinking and vague + non-explicit sexual content

“Lucien,” you whisper, as if speaking his name aloud will somehow make it real.

It doesn’t matter, you tell yourself. The only thing that matters is this moment. This moment a million times over. And what’s a moment in a dream if you make yourself believe it’s true?

‘oh, love, even if I wake up and it all disappears and becomes a mess

oh, love, I’ll wait for this night again’

xii.

Once, when you were young, you caught a butterfly, trapping its delicate wings between your hands. Most of your childhood memories have faded to sepia and tones of grey, but this you remember in vivid color. It comes to you now in fragments, like a painting ripped to shreds: The butterfly's wings, bright yellow blurs that tickle your palms. Your father's horror. The warm wind, his panicked scolding, and the wide blue sky.

You remember him telling you that trapped things, once let go, are never the same after. He told you catching the butterfly crushed its wings, and it would never fly straight again. You cried, you think, as you often did, and opened your hands.

You can't remember the rest. Did the butterfly emerge from your finger prison, its cocoon? Did it fly away? Did it fly straight and true?

Memory is reconstructive. If you reach for the pieces enough times, your mind will build its own answer.

But, now, the truth: the butterfly was already dead. It had been dead since you first snatched it from where it danced in the golden spring sky.

When you laid your palms flat, the butterfly's bright wings had stirred once and then fell still. You cried. To this day, you're still not sure why you don't remember this, your Schrodinger's butterfly. In your hands, it had become a lesson from your father, something with the possibility of being not quite dead. In your memory, it becomes immortal, that butterfly you remember entrapping but can never vividly picture flying free.

i.

The bar is not pink, as its name, The Peony Pavilion, might suggest. Its walls are a deep purple that fades upward to dark blue, then a black which stretches across the ceiling, uninterrupted save by tiny pinpricks of light. The floor, by contrast, is a softly glowing grey, carpeted and plush, muffling even the heaviest of footfalls of more intoxicated customers or louder, untrained personnel.

It is crowded normally, seats filled with patrons, troubled dreamers, and drunks. On busy nights, a spiraling chandelier will descend from the endless ceiling, shimmering with the colors of sunset: yellow, pink, and white. The air will still-- the frequent visitors know what’s coming, they tell their newer compatriots to be quiet, to wait.

A woman will unfold herself from a crouched position in the half-light, hair like unbound midnight, her dress a pure sparkling white. On cue, the patrons will clap and cheer, but she will gaze past them all, her eyes worlds away, caught up in a vision only she can see. She'll sweep a bow. They'll all fall silent.

The clock will strike twelve, and the lights of the chandelier will dim to a shade of purple, a twilight hue a few hours softer than the color of the walls.

The woman will open her mouth and begin to sing.

But not tonight.

Tonight, the bar’s doors are closed. Only the bartender stands behind the counter. All seats sit empty, save two.

xi.

He catches your attention from across the bar. (It’s easy. You’re the only two inside.)

One stolen glance and you're lost in his eyes again, like a moth to a dark flame. You're reminded, briefly, of the sleepless nights you once spent following him through the city, a lonely journey down moonlit alleys, into the cinema, into bars. They're nights from a time you know you can't return to, a time you, even after everything, still hold dear.

You read about the primacy effect one time in a psychology textbook, following along for a few pages over his shoulder before you stifled a yawn. He’d marked the page and closed the book, and turned to caress the top of your head with a gentle smile.

The study those pages had described surfaces in your mind now, as he raises his glass and drinks, dark eyes never leaving yours. The scientists had split their participants into two groups, and given them the same list of traits in different orders, one presenting a fictional man with his flaws first and strengths last, the other, the reverse. They'd then asked each group for their impression of the man.

Despite being given the exact same listed traits, they had opposite responses. The first, remembering most clearly his flaws, thought him a terrible person. The second saw him simply as human, and sympathized with those natural flaws.

At the time, you hadn't understood it. You couldn't think of how it related, out of the study and academia, back to everyday life. Of course now, you do. You're in his experiment. (You're in the second group, presented strengths first, flaws last.)

You can't help but continue to stare, your traitorous heart twisting with endlessly conflicting feelings at the sight of slim fingers you still remember holding, and the elegant panes of his face that you’ll never forget.

ii.

He'd explained primacy again, after you'd watched Memento, a movie he'd called one of his favorites. You don't know anymore if that was true. You don't think you know a single true thing about him. But still, you remember it. His words. The movie. The Polaroid. Don’t believe his lies.

The movie starts centered around the main character, and it’s intensely subjective, he’d said. We see him and his world through his eyes. We learn the details of the plot along with him, even as he forgets, and by the time the movie tells us he’s not as good of a person as we’d like to remember and we finally step out of his head and question his character, it’s too late. We're back at the start. A beginning at the end, an ending at the beginning.

The movie’s a bit like those classic math puzzles, he had said, and had chuckled at your groan. We begin with two trains going in opposite directions towards each other: one from the past, in black-and-white, going forward, one, in color, from the present going back, and they meet somewhere in the grey in between, at the start of the movie. Only, we’re introduced to his positive perception of his present self first.

So we call the movie’s arguable villain hero, up until the movie’s end. Just as you would like to think of him not as Ares, as a villain, up until this dream ends.

xi.

You know you’re dreaming when you blink, and he’s gone from the shadowy corner only to reappear right next to you, your name on his lips with a smile.

“Lucien,” you whisper, as if speaking his name aloud will somehow make the moment real. As if a dream could ever become reality.

It doesn’t matter, you tell yourself. The only thing that matters is this moment. This moment a million times over. And what’s a moment in a dream if you make yourself believe it’s true?

He raises his glass to your lips, a silent invitation.

You meet those dark eyes. You drink.

(A different movie, but. You fall. He's your totem, your ever-spinning top. You wait for the kick.)

iii.

The world shifts and swirls around you. Only he stays steady, awash in a sea of sunset colors and midnight starry lights. You take his hand, your anchor, and he lets you.

Your dress is a soft purple now. Now, you say, since you think it used to be pink, and before that, white. (If the bartender would speak, she'd tell you it looks like the chandelier: dripping in crystals, iridescent, reminiscent of the fading day, the coming night.)

x.

There's an invisible glass wall between you and him. (You don't remember Ares. You don't remember why.)

You press up against it, and it shatters.

iv.

He calls your name, and you surface, dizzy, from your daze.

"Why did you come here?" He asks. His hand's hovering, almost reaching, on the verge of taking your glass away or perhaps tucking an escaped strand of hair behind your ear.

"Why do I do things? Why does anyone do anything?"

You're definitely a little drunk.

"What I do isn't meaningless just because there are things I don't remember," you say, and what you mean is things you've made me forget.

"The world doesn't just disappear when you close your eyes, does it?"

"Memento," he notes with that same gentle, enigmatic smile. "Touché."

Then, musing, quieter:

"So, you remember that night."

"I remember everything."

(You both know that's a lie.)

ix.

(a tangent.)

Once, you asked, waking from the middle of a nightmare to a starless night:

"Daddy, why do I forget so many things?"

Your father held you close without a word. (You weren't expecting an answer.)

Now, you think it suits you, being a girl cut loose in time.

v.

Your head hurts.

You'd ask the bartender for a glass of ice water, but the silent, white-clad woman's gone. In her places stands a gleaming door. Behind the door lies silver stairs.

Your temples throb again, and you think, fresh air. He takes your hand, and you let him. You pass through the doorway together.

viii.

(another tangent.)

A question without a proper answer: what does it mean to forget?

You searched it on the internet for Miracle Finder, found Wikipedia pages on the different types of memory and how your brain wires them all. Each article was long, convoluted, and a little pretentious.

(You gave up.)

Spoiler alert: neuroscientists still don't know.

You asked Lucien. He doesn't, either.

(The beginning of the hypothesis of an answer, buried in words about synapse strengthening and weakening: forgetting is just another word for loss.)

A better question, but one you'll never get a proper answer for: when your memory of someone is erased with Evol, which part of the brain is it affecting? What neural connections are lost, overwritten by the unnatural?

After all, Evol goes beyond the explainable, but it'd be wrong to say it doesn't affect those circuits at all.

A quick lesson that Lucien will never teach you: memory loss isn't like what you see in the movies.

There's many types of memory. You already know the first two: short-term and long-term. The temporary. The eroding. (outside these two-- the already lost)

(Memento's different. In it, he's lost the ability to make new long-term memories. Not quite memory loss. More like he can't feel time.)

Within the eroding are two subtypes: explicit, and implicit, or conscious and unconscious.

First, within explicit:

Semantic memory, our memory of general facts. It's how we familiarize ourselves with the world. (The sky is blue. Grass is green. The city the company headquarters are in is Loveland City.) A knock on the head to important bits involved here, and you won't remember the name of the president or how many cents add up to a dollar, but you'll still remember your childhood.

Episodic memory, the memory of our personal experiences. Many people argue this is the memory that makes you you. Say the amnesia-inducing Evol removes this. You forget an important event (a dream, a nightmare where he was Ares and you still called on him for protection, and he came, he saved you).

There, you say. Question answered. Problem solved.

But wait. The lesson's not over yet. There's still implicit. The unconscious part of your memory. (Freud's favorite.)

Implicit memory contains multitudes. (We'll just focus on a few.)

The important bits: implicit memory stores the memories necessary to learn. Procedural memory covers skills.

Then there's association, and key to association are your emotions. (You'll remember things that make you happy, make you angry, make you sad. You just won't remember why.)

Lastly, priming, also known as pattern completion. (If a puzzle was put in front of you, you'd be able to solve it, if you had before.)

Long story short, memory loss by Evol, if scientific, doesn't wipe them all out. Let's say it just wipes episodic. No more memory of the event. No more memory of the event itself. Let's say the emotions remain. Let's say you're still primed. But we digress.

(Lesson over.)

vi.

You race up the stairs, past pipes, through smoke, and burst onto the roof, giddy, flushed, his hand in yours the whole way. In the night air, your dress shimmers and darkens to a midnight blue, just a touch shy of the black of the silk of his suit.

The roof is wide open and empty, save for a delicate floating canopy of fairy lights. Beyond the rosy glow, vivid colors of fireworks shatter bright against the velvet curtain of night.

He pauses at the sight of the fireworks, the city far below, and you stagger back against him, one hand raised to the sky, laughing, drunk. Neither of you notice when the silver stairway disappears.

You loop your arms around his neck and stare up into his eyes. At first, the light doesn’t reflect off of them and you almost freeze, but he clasps a hand to the small of your back and draws you closer. When you blink up at him again, the dark of his gaze is warmed by the shine of the veil of lights.

“Where are the stars?”

“Shall I go and fetch them for you?”

Before you can respond, he leans in and catches the swell of your lips between his, dark eyes closed.

The first kiss is gentle and teasing, like his words. The second kiss is yours when he pulls back for air and you follow him. The third devours you.

His hands move in opposite directions; one floating up to cup your cheek and draw you in further with a caress, the other creeping down your back, leaving a trail of fire, aroused nerves, in its wake. It settles on the back of one of your thighs, and grips rough, possessive, hard and--

you gasp a single word between stolen breaths,

Lucien.

His name burns stronger than any alcohol on your lips, on his, it consumes you both, and you're glad of it, you're content to go up in flames. Your hands move to match his, to mark him as your own. You think this is perhaps what fireworks feel like, the moment before the end.

(You explode. It's not as pretty as a fireworks display.)

You arch your back against him and you suddenly remember the butterfly, those vivid splinters from your childhood so small they could hardly be called memories. You are not certain of much anymore but you are certain of this: You are his Schrodinger's butterfly, dancing futilely, dead in the palms of his hands.

He pulls away, panting, and you want to, but this time you do not follow. You don't move at all. Trapped things, you hear your father say, voice shaking, the butterfly long gone, once let go, are never the same after.

Your mind doesn't remember, but something in your heart does: this has happened before. He's altered your memory so many times, but you still can't remember to forget him.

(Emotional memory, and now. Priming. Some part of you sees the same pattern fall into place.)

His hand, cold against your flushed cheek moves to cover your eyes, and you know: you won't remember the ending of this, either. You don't try to stop him.

"Go back to sleep. Forget this nightmare."

His voice comes, silky smooth and soft. Sad, you want to think, though you know it can't be.

"What if I wake up, and this isn’t a dream? What if that's the nightmare?"

"Then find your way back here. I'll be waiting."

You close your eyes under his cool fingers, and wake to warm sheets.

In your dream, he's still smiling. You're sure of it.

xx.

You're waiting for someone. Someone's waiting for you. (You aren't sure which it is. You aren't sure who.)

The butterfly's wings flutter in your small child hands, light yellow heartbeats tickling your fingers. The sky is grey. A chill wind blows. Your father is silent, frozen and smiling. Gone.

You remember (or at least you tell yourself you do):

When you opened your palms, the butterfly flew straight. It flew true.

[briefololtragedy]

More ways than one

Pairing: Indra x Sakura

Rating M

Words: 1157

Summary: It was supposed to be an easy target. Indra didn’t anticipate being one upped by a pink haired woman.

Inspired by Alt-J’s In cold blood

Warning: Assassin, cussing, slightly dark themes

The beat of the music could be felt through the whole club. It was a techno song that made his head throb. The lights flashed different colors. Some of the women were wearing dresses that glowed in the dark. Neon yellow, pink, and green assaulted the eyes. His black eyes took in his surroundings. There was a pool with a bar just outside of the club's doors. Many of the club goers didn’t seem to care as they jumped in. He was just looking for one man. Once he found him he could complete his job and leave this god forsaken place. 

He leaned back against the bar, his whiskey in hand. He looked at his gold rolex watch, 11pm. His target should be here. As he continued to wait he could feel the eyes on him. He knew he drew attention with his long brown hair and black eyes. He was not an overly arrogant man, but knew women found his face and body attractive. His body had to be agile, fast, and strong. The armani suit also helped with his appeal. It was one of his favorites: silver grey in color with a jet black dress shirt. In a sea of brown and black hair, he didn't think that finding a red head would be this hard. 

Now onto his third drink he spotted him. Sasori was on the dance floor. He had simple black dress slacks and a white button down shirt. The shirt looked like it was unbuttoned halfway down. Indra had to roll his eyes. He was going to make this quick. 

However, his best laid plans hit a snag when he saw his target grinding into another club goer. Hmm this was going to make it a little more tricky. He needed to get his target alone. Indra downed his drink and went to the dance floor. As he stalked up to his prey he took into the companion his target was dancing with. She was a petite little thing. Her dress was a midnight blue with cutouts on the sides, showing her porcelain skin. It was not as revealing as the dresses around her, but hugged her body like a second skin. Her hair was a striking pink, that graced her collar bones.

Indra found himself memorized by the way the woman danced. Her body was fluid, attuned to the music. He watched as Sasori moved his hands up and down the figure of the woman against him. Indra couldn’t see her face, but watched as she bent her head back. He took in her long graceful neck. She then spun and whispered something in Sasori’s ear. 

Fuck. was the only thing he could think as he saw the two go off together. His mind started to work through different scenarios. A wicked grin crossed his face, especially as he saw them go into a secluded hallway. He watched as the drunk girl stumbled next to his target. The girl grabbed his collar and was then shoving him into a room. He was shocked when a few minutes later the girl walked out of the room. His target not following. Unlike moments before her balance was impeccable. She walked by him and when she looked up he froze. Forest green eyes looked at him. Then a wicked smile danced across her delicate features. Orange and antiseptic filled his nostrils. 

A feeling of dread overcame him. As he opened the door he realized he would not be getting his payment. The woman with forest green eyes  beat him in killing Sasori. Indra looked at the lifeless light brown eyes. In a fit of rage he punched the wall. 

___________

The office staff parted like the red sea as Indra stormed down the halls. This was the last place he wanted to be. He was going to sit through a board meeting with his idiotic brother. He debated putting some rum in his coffee this morning, then quickly decided against it. 

“Are you ready for the meeting this morning? Tsunade Senju from Konoha Hospital will be joining, since this merger will affect her hospital.” He just glared at Asura. Indra would never understand why their father gave the reigns of their company to his baby brother. It was that decision that led him to channel his anger in his side job. He could never bring himself to kill his brother, but others were a different story. His failed job last night caused a sour taste in his mouth. That fucking pink haired woman. 

Indra was known for being cold and indifferent so didn’t have to put on a fake smile for the meeting. They would be meeting with the Senjus and Uchihas this morning, both distant relations to the Otsutsuki. He took his typical seat at the long mahogany table. The smell of leather comforted him. Soon one by one other board members filtered in and the other company's representatives. His heart started to pound when he saw who was walking by Tsunade. 

Coral hair and forest green eyes come into his view. He thought the lights from the club made her hair appear pink, but it looked natural. She was wearing a light grey pencil skirt and a light green blouse. That wicked smirk caused his heart to skip a beat. 

He vaguely heard his brother talk to the Uchihas and Senjus. Indra rolled his eyes at Fugaku’s youngest son, the kid was a prick. 

“Let me introduce you to my protege. This is Dr. Sakura Haruno. She just became our newest general surgeon on staff.” Sakura just extended her hand out for him to shake. 

“Nice to meet you Mr. Ostutsuki. I’ve heard so much about you.” Her hand nearly crushed his with her strength. 

Indra had a hard time focusing in the board meeting. Sakura was sitting across from him on Tsunade’s right side. Indra had to excuse himself at one point in the meeting. 

The cold water splashed on his face. It stung, but helped to center him. He felt pressure around his waist and on instinct his elbow shot out. It was stopped before making contact with the person’s face. 

“That’s not very nice.” Her voice whispered in his ear. She hadn’t let go of his elbow yet. 

“What are you doing in here?” She nuzzled into his neck. 

“I think we have a lot in common. What are your plans for the night?” Indra debated what she said. He was mesmerized by her last night and now the fire in him grew. 

“I don’t have any plans, but think we can have some fun together.” After he spoke he acted. He liked how she sounded when he spun her around. She was light and easy to pin against the tile wall of the bathroom. As he kissed her and felt her move against him, he knew they would have fun together. In more ways than one. 

[cateringisalie]

FFVII Halloween Day 1

Written for the prompt ‘Frankenstein’

As long as Shinra occupied the mansion there had been rumours. Speculation over what was happening in there. Certain parts of the Nibelheim population were convinced they knew only too well the kinds of things. It was a secret base for escalating the conflict with Wutai – a notion Shinra strove to downplay at every turn despite the town’s relative proximity to the island nation. Others were convinced it was connected to some new energy project, a refinement of Mako power and a way to truly usher in the kind of theoretical future generally only seen on sci-fi TV shows over the last twenty years. For many this argument was the most persuasive given the first Mako reactor was located nearby and many inhabitants could remember its introduction and construction. Particularly the strange occasion something happened at the site and seemed to spook all those working there. A number of town denizens had been present but could not be persuaded to let any details slip – outside of they had been there at the time, and the root cause of the event centred around work on the foundations. Many of the town viewed this event in a far darker light. They pointed to an abrupt upsurge in night terrors among all sections of the population. Nibelheim was a town forever steeped in myths and traditions – notions Mako power was intended to sweep away. Instead the construction of the reactor only increased belief in archaic and long-ridiculed notions. And it was impossible to truly argue there was no basis. The newer generations would never realise, but those present around the time of construction noted a change to the town. A sense of constant surveillance. Of strange whisperings in the dead of night when alone. Of the mountain growing more inhospitable and difficult to cross than it ever had in the past. In short the Mako reactor ushered in a new era of out-moded belief much to the chagrin of those pushing for modernisation and who publicly dismissed all such superstitious talk as nonsense, but were privately all too familiar with the strange symptoms. Shinra’s occupation of the mansion should have been a further turning point, a further detachment from the legend-soaked past. Instead it became exacerbated. The decrepit mansion was capable of housing a great number of research staff, but few stayed within the walls at night, opting instead to make use of the town’s inn. Some members of the infantry were on permanent posting inside the building, and some of the researchers; notable Professors Gast and Hojo were rarely seen outside. The townsfolk were more familiar with the unexpectedly glamorous Doctor Crescent and her perpetual shadow Vincent. But wasn’t it odd, the whispers inevitably voiced. A single woman amongst all those men. And Vincent clearly hopelessly enamoured of her. What might have been an amusing match-maker notion was swept away as the town’s haunting became worse. Shinra had been in place for perhaps six months when the night-terrors abruptly intensified. Some reported lights on the mountain, figures struggling through the rain up and back down the mountain. Afterwards the dreams came so often. Strange disturbing dreams, all detail vanishing with the morning light, leaving nothing but a lingering discomfort and a sense of a song whose lyrics no contortions could voice. The six month mark also saw Doctor Crescent move permanently within the walls of the mansion. Inquiries to her status and health were brusquely dismissed by the guards. Vincent stayed closer to the mansion increasingly exhausted and harried. The dreams and sleeplessness worsened. A month later a distracted Vincent circled the town asking if anyone knew of Professor Gast’s whereabouts. He made the same futile checks for three weeks before rarely venturing outside of the mansion again. Nine months, the whole town awoke in the early hours of the morning and no one was able to sleep. For the next few months the sun did not shine on Nibelheim. Grey clouds hid away the sky, the town plunged into perpetual gloom. The dim light allowed the Mount Nibel monsters to draw closer to the town, to lurk in the deeper shadows in the outlying areas. Venturing out of doors was risky and the increased demand on the Mako reactor saw frequent breakdowns and numerous repair teams dispatched to put it right. Most expressed surprise at the presence of another Shinra team in the town and were barred from accessing the mansion. Many abandoned ancestral homes and their families. Nibelheim was increasingly outdated and left behind, but those who once clung to it as their only home made the conscious decision to escape it. To seek out the sun, to settlements not plagued with monsters. The bright lights of Junon and Midgar forever shone in the distance. A far cry from the town’s crumbling power grid and inexplicably tepid well water. Those who remained endured the hardships and the strange blight seemingly brought on by the presence of Shinra. Until the child. At first, nothing but a stray sound on the wind; the scream of a hungry baby. There were numerous young children in the town; the Strifes, Lockharts, Heartilly and Alexandros’ had all been blessed with children recently. But Undyne reported it sounded as if it came from within the walls of the mansion. What was a child doing in among the group of scientists? The rumours came fast. The notion Doctor Crescent might have become pregnant over the course of their project was no stretch – and some entertained speculation of Vincent being a decent match for her. But if Crescent had given birth, why was she hiding away. No doctor had been dispatched to the mansion, though perhaps the men of science knew enough to cope. But strange and cruel; to keep a child locked up away from the world. The parents must be overprotective or outright cruel. Attempts to ask after Doctor Crescent and a potential baby were rebuffed as all queries to the guards were; the rumours twisted further. Perhaps Crescent had not given birth. Perhaps she and Gast vanished together. Or she had a child – but not her own. Both rumours swirled around the notion of a child obtained from elsewhere. Fanciful stories of changelings drew shivers and uneasy feelings when discussed. Were the children of the Strifes, the Lockharts, the Heartillys and the Alexandros’ truly their children? Not simply some hideous exchange with the scientists. Were there twins amongst the births, one held by the families and the other given away? All four families angrily denied the accusations, the town doctor corroborating the single births. Tempers became frayed and short. And the rumours would not be quelled. Every town had tragedies, and still births and distressing catastrophes struck other families. How certain was anyone the tragedy was true, or perhaps the tragedy might have been reversed? Cruel rumours, increasingly setting one group of townsfolk against the other. Proof demanded of death, of not making some deal with Shinra. Still rumours and nothing more. Until the night the scream of a child split the air; the freakishly loud shriek emanating from the Shinra mansion. The same night the reactor failed, the phone lines failed. And yet light still shone I the Shinra mansion. A cry went up. Those who feared what lay within the mansion, who were concerned for the child no matter his origins, those who blamed Shinra for everything. The town rallied, flaming torches to see in the darkness encompassing the town. They swarmed to the mansion, snarling guards ordering them back, levelling guns against them. Some in the crowd responded with rocks; the guards fired. They had no hope after. The town swarmed them, trampling them and tearing their weapons from their hands. The mansion was stormed- And of the secrets discovered within, none are willing to relate. The entire structure was put to flame before the crowd marched to the top of Mount Nibel and set about destroying the inert reactor. Few would ever talk about the time Shinra came to town after, awkward questions from children resulted in them being hugged close and told to drop the subject. The ashes of the mansion were ground further down, new soil laid to cover the vast reach of the grounds. They planted flowers and trees, no trace of the mansion remaining. But the petals and buds of the plant life were inexplicably purple and silver-hued. And a young couple - Tidus and Yuna -  continued to raise their son. There were occasional slips of the tongue when conversation touched on the family; of a tragic, difficult birth before. Of the parent’s sorrow prior to the fire. Of some who viewed their son with suspicion and something bordering on hostility. A perfectly normal boy. Maybe a little tall for his age, but for the most part unexceptional otherwise. The hair colour was unusual though genetics was such a strange thing was it not?

[tazzytypes]

Apocalypse: Sanctuary - Chapter 11

I cannot tell y'all how long I've been waiting for this chapter. I can't wait to hear what your reactions are to it. As always, thank you for your comments and the like. They always make my day and I can't thank you enough for them. Now -- onto the chapter!

Read also on AO3 or find more chapters on the Masterpost

Langdon liked to wander the halls at night. Around three in the morning, there was be nothing but silence. Even the Greys and Miss Venable were retired to their rooms. It was the only time he had to think without interruption.

Things were falling into place. He’d be free of the place by Halloween if everything went according to plan.

The shipment of apples would arrive in the morning and the blond had riled up Venable enough to push her over the edge. She was self-involved and short-sighted enough to commit mass murder. If not, he always had alternate plans in place.

Gallant had killed his grandmother just hours earlier. An illusion was all it took to get the man where Langdon wanted him. The body had been easy to get rid of, the crime easy to conceal. It had been a heart attack, technically. Just wasn’t the textbook definition.

All that could be heard in the hall was the faint, crisp crackle of fire and footsteps echoing off the walls. In these moments it was easy to remember they were at the end of the world. Five billion eight hundred and eight million people were dead. 120 million were either underground or slowly dying from radiation.

The feeling it gave him was almost poetic. He was inevitable. It was him that brought this into place… him and his army.

Silence was pierced by the sounds of pain-filled moans. Without the smothering silence, Langdon might not have even heard it. Brows furrowing, he started towards the sound. It was muffled… probably behind a door or in another hall. The sounds of his own footsteps drowned out the sound, forcing him to stop every few feet to reassess his position in relation to the cries.

Eventually, the sound grew loud enough for him to locate. Whimpers came from the other side as he placed his hand upon the knob. It stopped mid-turn, locked.

Glancing down the hall both ways and finding nothing but shadows, Langdon waved a hand. The lock clicked out of place and the door swung open. With one last glance around his surroundings, he slipped inside.

The faint light from the outside did not rouse its resident, brows furrowing in sleep and limbs moving about restlessly. The sheets had been thrown off the woman, a pillow leaning against the bed frame after being shoved to the side.

“No,” she muttered and groaned, feet kicking away the sheets until they slumped to the ground, “no.”

With careful steps, Langdon made it to the woman’s side. Kneeling next to the bed, he smoothed brown hair away from a pale and sweaty brow. Fingers traced her cheek after moving the hair behind her ear before moving back to her forehead.

He smoothed the skin between her brows, thumb running down her nose and up again as he muttered in a foreign tongue. “Do eat pacem — Da santificatio.”

Em’s face relaxed and she looked almost peaceful.

“Why?” she whispered in her sleep, voice lacking the distress from before.

Langdon smiled sadly at the woman, gently trailing his thumb over her cheek despite the spell being completed.

“Guilt is a powerful thing,” he whispered, “and you are prone to bending under its weight.”

“What are you doing?”

Startled, Langdon quickly turned and rose to his feet. The second action was deliberately slow. He couldn’t look human to these people. It would ruin everything he had been working for.

Emily stood in the doorway, eyes wide and candelabra in one hand. The other was on the door frame, ready to push herself away and flee down the hall. Her eyes flickered between her friend and the man who had been looming over her.

Carefully and with control, the blond placed his hands behind his back.

“Same as you.”

He took a step towards the ebony-haired woman. She was in her nightdress, hair no longer held back and curls bouncing out and frizzing around her head. Emily didn’t move, she was too stubborn to, but she curled in on herself like a cornered wolf raising its hackles.

“Go back to bed.”

Emily found his words like honey, his breath a fog. She relaxed despite her alarm, shoulders releasing their tenseness and hand coming to fall to her side.

“You saw nothing.”

Brown eyes glazed over, Emily turned on her heel and started back the way she came. Her movements were like those of a toy soldier, stiff and unnatural. To an outsider's view, she was simply sleepwalking.

Langdon had overstayed his welcome. He’d let his guard down. If the woman had spoken any louder, his position would have been compromised.

Em sighed, turning in her sleep. The blond turned towards her, a small sliver of golden-orange light dancing across her face. With a small smile, he regarded her for a second. A hand reached out to her, resting on the bed frame for but a moment.

Then, he retreated into the hall, straightening his clothes as the door closed behind him, lock clicking into place.

Everything was going as planned.

***

A blood-curdling scream woke Em. Chest heaving as she shot up in bed, it took her a second to realize the sound was from somewhere in the outpost and not inside her own head. The second scream threw her to her feet, blindly stumbling to the door and throwing it open.

“No!” a scream came again, “No! Please! Venable’s crazy!”

“Get off her!” a male’s voice shouted.

“Emily,” Em gasped, breath shuttering as she could only stand frozen as her body attempted to catch up with her mind. Forcing herself from the spell of fear, she dashed down the hall. All she could hear was the screaming and the sound of blood in her ears, the thudding of her bare feet on cold tile accompanying it like a steady drum.

Approaching one of the many balconies, Em nearly toppled over the side. Her hands shot out to grab the iron railing as she curled over the bar, green eyes frantically searching the ground below. All she caught was the tail end of a dark black dress.

Gritting her teeth, Em turned her head this way and that. What way would get her there quicker? Letting out a cry of frustration, she pushed herself down a hallway. She was wasting time trying to find the best course. Action had to be taken now.

Finally, after stumbling around corners and nearly running into walls, Em caught up to them. She stopped for a moment at the end of the hall, chest heaving as she panted.

What now? What now?

Surprise. Em still had the element of surprise.

Their red-haired prison master was closest to Em, bringing up the end of the terror-filled parade. Timothy and Emily were a good ten feet in front of the woman, thrashing against the iron grip of The Fist and another Warden. A few more figures in black were ahead of them, no doubt to prepare the execution.

Em needed to make chaos. It was the only thing that would give them all a fighting chance.

A growl forming in her throat, Em stalked towards Venable like a cat would a bird. By the time her presence was noted in the hall, it was far too late. The red-haired woman was blinded by her own superiority, relishing in the pain she was causing… the power this single moment would give her. The idea of her own vulnerability wasn’t even something that crossed her mind.

Venable’s eyes widened as her cane was quickly pulled out of her grip, stumbling to the side. By the time she processed what was happening, the world had spun around her and left her staring at the ceiling. Her spine cried in protest, pain rippling up from her tail-bone.

Em had used the woman’s cane to swipe Venable’s feet right out from under her like a baseball bat. As she followed through on the strike, she brought her other hand to hold the other side of the cane. Using the cane like a battering ram, Em delivered a blow to the woman’s face.

The crack of the blow and the cry that came from Venable’s lips was satisfaction in and of itself, but Em wasn’t there for revenge.

Erika, renowned in the outpost as The Fist… Venable’s undefeated warrior hardly had a moment to recognize the danger behind her. The brunette kicked at the back of her legs, forcing them to cave in on themselves. The Fist fell, their grip on Emily loosened enough for the ebony-haired woman to break free.

“Run!” Em ordered her friend, quickly blocking a strike The Fist aimed at her legs. She could feel the bruise the blow would leave already forming on her arm. With a cry, she whacked the woman in the head with her new makeshift weapon. The Fist fell back, dazed.

The other Warden let go of Timothy and started towards Em. He thought coming at her from behind would give him an advantage, but the brunette spun on her heel to face him. A swift and hard kick was delivered to his gut. He groaned, but pressed forward and threw out a fist.

Hissing, Em blocked the punch with the cane but left her other side open. The Fist grabbed her hair and Em let out a cry, dropping the cane as her hands instinctively went to her head.

“Stand down,” The Fist ordered holding Em at arm's length. She was trying to give Em an out. She didn’t want to hurt her.

The brunette only snarled, “Never.”

Em’s nails dug into The Fist’s hand atop her head. Her fingers were like talons, holding it in place as she threw herself downward, taking the woman with her. The Fist’s grip remained tight around Em’s hair the brunette kicked outward, landing a blow to the warden’s groin.

The Fist doubled over and Em freed herself, spinning on the other warden who was rushing her on the right. He took the low, moving to tackle her to the ground. She took the high, aiming a blow at his head with her elbow. The second it met his temple, he crumpled to the floor into a heap of limbs.

Her other opponent rose back to her feet, stepping over the unconscious body of her coworker. The Fist grabbed Em from behind, easily lifting her off the ground and pinning her arms to the side.

Em threw herself forward and bit down hard on the woman’s hand, the metallic taste of blood filling her mouth. The Fist cried out and Em fell to the ground with a painful thud.

With barely a moment to react, The Fist’s foot came to stomp down on her. The sight filled Em’s vision like an eclipse over the sun. At the last second Em rolled to the side and up to her knees, feeling the impact of steel-toed boots rumble through the floor like an earthquake.

Another punch swung at her head and Em grabbed onto it. She shoving The Fist's arm under her elbow and used it to bring her closer to her opponent.

The Fist grunted as Em’s elbow dug into her ribs, using it to propel herself away from the warden. Stumbling into the wall, Em steadied herself. With a swipe of her fist, she smeared the blood from her mouth across her face.

Langdon was right. Anger was exactly what she needed to win. It burned in her veins, thirsted for the feeling of the fight as if Em was born for the battlefield.

Em’s position against the wall left her open, The Fist going in for a punch to the woman’s gut. A hand on Em’s shoulder held her to the wall. Em’s knees curled into her chest as Erika delivered a single punch, putting her whole body behind the blow. The air was knocked out of Em’s lungs and she groaned, stumbling forward as the hand that held her up suddenly disappeared.

The last thing Em felt was a blow to her head. Then, darkness. She was out before she hit the floor. Her body lay not even ten feet from the warden she had taken down, curled in on itself, defeated.

Erika straightened and looked to her boss. Venable had risen to her feet, limping over to her discarded cane. As soon as it was in her hands, she settled back into the air of control she strove for. With a few controlled breaths and a tap of her cane, it was as if she hadn’t been attacked in the first place.

During the commotion, other Wardens had gotten the prisoners to the end of the hall. Em’s fight was fruitless. Outnumbered and out cold, she never had a chance of winning. Emily and Timothy hadn’t the chance to run far until they were apprehended once more.

“What should we do with her?” The Fist asked. Part of her felt guilty, but she had no choice but to fight. Em had given her no choice.

“Leave her,” Venable ordered, sparing the unconscious woman a single disgust-filled glance, a smug smirk forming, “it’s not like she can run very far.”

***

Em hadn’t been the only one to hear the commotion. It was impossible to escape. What felt like an eternity to the three musketeers was no more than a few minutes. Greys whispered and fled from the area, some daring to stay close enough to see what happened. Purples poked their heads out of doors.

Hearing the cries, Dinah rushed to her son, making sure he was okay before holding him to her with wide, shocked eyes.

Coco looked upon her fellow Purples with narrowed, bleary eyes. She was more annoyed at being awoken than anything else. It didn’t take long for her to return to her room, burying herself in her sheets and pulling a pillow over her ears.

Gallant’s eyes shifted between the other residents. He was more concerned with his own paranoia than the distressing sounds from somewhere below them. Like Coco, he returned to his room. He hadn’t been sleeping before and he certainly wouldn’t sleep now.

Langdon had been just about to retire for the night. He had never been one to require much sleep, a few hours at best. The blond had just shrugged off his suit jacket when he heard the commotion, throwing it back on with a sigh before starting towards the door.

A few squabbles were normal in these circumstances. He’d seen his fair share of Greys and Purples fighting amongst themselves and the fellow members of their group. Sometimes it was planned… other times a slight inconvenience.

A gunshot echoed through the compound, spurring him to quicken his pace, rushing down the steps and through the maze of halls. Weapons, by protocol, were only supposed to be used on the outside. He should have known Venable would have altered rules

The first thing he saw was a crowd of wardens gathering at the scene. Then, Em sprawled across the ground. Venable was not far off, giving orders to the wardens that rushed here and there, trying to regain control over the chaos.

Jaw clenching, he forced himself to remain calm. He slowed his pace and rested his hands behind his back, tight fists hidden from view. With careful steps, he stalked closer. It was amazing how well he could hide in plain sight. At least five wardens must have passed him without a second glance.

Sparing one final glance at Em, he focused his gaze on Venable.

His voice quickly seized control over the room, “What’s going on here?”

Shoulder’s tensing, Venable turned towards him. Her face settled in an expression of contempt. Poor woman… she truly believed she had checkmate.

“Two residents broke the rules against fornication,” The Fist answered from behind Venable after a long and silent moment. The two stared at each other with the upmost disdain. “Emily tried to intercept the execution…”

Erika spared a guilty glance to the woman no one had bothered to move from the ground. “… she was quickly subdued.”

Not bothering to look at the Warden, Langdon took a few steps forward. One more and he and Venable would be chest to chest. Everyone had frozen in their tracks, watching the lion corner his prey. He narrowed his eyes at the woman, lips pursing into a thin line.

“These are rules of which Miss Venable created in a blatant abuse of power,” he spoke, staring into the woman’s eyes and leaving no room for argument. He did rank above them, after all. “Call off the execution.”

The Fist spared a glance at one of her fellow wardens. They quickly turned their head to face her, leaving as she gestured with two fingers down the hall to the execution chamber.

“She injured two of my wardens,” Venable noted. She tapped her cane and let out an astonished laugh, “and the boy shot another. Surely, you do not intend to—”

Langdon simply brushed past her and towards the Fist. Venable was forced to turn as his shoulder pushed into her own. He paused at the side of the warden, turning his head to address her. Blue eyes sent a brief, unconcerned glance towards the red-head who stood gaping at the audacity of it all.

“As of now, Miss Venable will be stripped of her power until my selections are complete.” Langdon said, “You will refer to me on any and all issues. Do I make myself clear?”

The Fist nodded, “yes, sir.”

“Now leave,” the blond said with a wave of his hand, keeping his back towards Venable. In all honestly, he felt like he may snap her neck if he looked at her for a moment longer. “Escort Venable to her room and make sure she stays there. I have more pressing matters to attend.”

Venable was in shock, unable to form a single word. She stared at The Fist with an expression of confusion and amusement. Venable was in denial, chuckling as the leather-clad woman approached.

“This is my outpost.” She scoffed, eying The Fist up and down in an unspoken dare, “I will not be going anywhere.”

Langdon didn’t even turn to look at them, waving a hand for The Fist to continue. Erika’s loyalty quickly shifted, a firm hand going around the woman’s arm as she gently pulled Venable from the room. The red-haired woman knew better than to resist.

The second they cleared the room, he dropped beside Em. His hands hovered over her, unsure of what to do. Finally, he brushed back her hair and rested two fingers on her neck. A sigh of relief left him as he felt a pulse, attention going elsewhere.

The blood on her face was not hers, no tear of her lip or sign of a broken nose. A bruise formed at her arm, but it also did not seem broken. The bruising at her temple, however, worried him.

Slowly and carefully, he shifted his arms under her. One went to her back and the other her knee.

He could feel the bones of her rib cage and spine protruding from her flesh. Starvation had made Em light as a feather. Her head lolled against his chest, finally resting in the crook of his neck. A hand dangled at her side, the other draped across her stomach.

The halls were vacant as he carried her through them. Wardens had no doubt forced everyone into their rooms to prevent further disturbances, Purple and Grey alike.

Em’s door was wide open as he approached. He slipped inside and laid her gently upon the bed, propping her head up with pillows — that’s what they said to do in these moments, right? Em probably knew. Langdon could philosophize, but anything outside of that or magic was Greek to him.

He picked the covers from the floor and draped them over her, minding her bruised arm. With a wave of his hand, the candles in the corner of her room caught fire once more. Waking to a black room would no doubt make the woman panic, something she had enough of for one day.

Langdon allowed himself to take his time, using the opportunity to look about her room. Her sketchbook was placed to the side as well as a notebook that bounced between research and diary entries. Books from the library were stacked here and there. When he opened them, he found torn pieces of paper shoved into them with shorthand notes, some even written in the margins. Finally, he saw what she had been doing all this time.

His brow furrowed as the books shifted from agriculture to medicine. They were obviously the subject of her most recent obsession. A crinkled note with creases covering every inch had symptoms written upon it: blackouts, lost time, buzzing.

“Langdon?”

The blond turned on his heel, coming to her side in two strides and keeping her from sitting up. “Stay down. How are you feeling?”

Em scrunched her eyes closed, everything was spinning. Langdon’s voice sounded like it was coming from a bubble. Voices whispered in a language she couldn’t understand, as if every sound she had ever heard was being spoken at once. Then there was the screaming, also distant — the kind she’d only hear in her dreams.

“Emily…” She said, unable to remember what he had just asked her. Her head felt heavy, her lips numb. Her voice felt like it was reverberating back to her, making it hard to focus on a single thought. “…and Timothy…”

“Are perfectly alive and well,” he replied quickly, “I’m more concerned about you.”

“Is that… for the… time being... or...?"

Langdon couldn’t help but shake his head, a smile forming at her obstinance. “Ye of little faith.”

A brief smile curled onto her lips as well and she sat up. Langdon hovered over her, moving pillow to support her back. The fog around her mind began to clear, the bubble starting to burst. She didn’t dare open her eyes in fear that she’d throw up all over the man.

“I’m not glass,” she said, resting her head on the wall behind her. Em tried to focus on the feeling of it as well as that of the pillows behind her back and sheets under her fingers. Maybe then the world would finally stand still.

“I know.”

“What about Venable’s rules?”

Langdon’s voice was terse, tired of her avoiding his questions. “Your friends are cleared of any and all crimes.”

Em’s relief was brief. Her heart began to pound in her ears, her lungs suddenly feeling constricted.

“Emily?”

Her breathing came out in short gasps. Every inhale was cut short and every exhale was but sputtering fumes.

“I need…” she gaped, hands going to her throat, “…air…”

The bed dipped under the weight of Langdon sitting beside her, hands grasping at her arms painfully as she began to convulse.

“Emily!”

Finally, Em opened her eyes. She needed to see him. She needed to find someone who could clear her throat… do something to help her. All she was met with was darkness, her heart skipping a beat in terror.

“I can’t see,” she gasped, choking on her own words, “I can’t—”

Em flinched at the feeling of hands on her face, forcing her head back. Langdon cradled her head in his hands, pressing down on the center of her forehead with his thumbs. Her hands grasped at his arms like he was choking her, nails digging into his skin.

“It’s alright,” he whispered, trying to get her to calm down, “you’re alright. Let me do this. Let me help you.”

“I can’t see,” she cried, voice growing more and more distant. Limbs turned to led, her grip on Langdon’s arms loosening before her hands fell limp at her sides, “I can’t—”

A hissing sound filled her ears, too quiet to discern any detail from it. She felt like she was floating, a light exploding behind her eyes. Then, once more, darkness.

***

After being put under anesthesia, most patients had a feeling of the world just being… off. Their mouths felt like cotton and their limbs were made of hundred-pound weights.

Em felt… clarity. Her body was a separate entity of which she could hardly control, but her mind was clear. She awoke with such alertness she could have sworn someone had doused her with ice water.

Langdon. She had to find him.

Sitting up took longer than she wanted, body not quite ready to listen to her orders. It didn’t matter. She’d make it listen.

Hitting the ground with a thud, Em felt the wind knocked out of her lungs. The force, however, was enough to wake her limbs. First were her hands which reached out for purchase. Em used the leg of the bed to pull herself towards the door. Second to wake were her legs, which cooperated with the rest of her like a newborn fawn.

The world spun and blurred, flashing in and out of her vision. Atop it lapsed flashes of visions — blond hair, blue eyes, bodies convulsing in the salon, waves crashing on a sandy shore as light bounced off them bright enough to blind. They never stayed long enough for her to catch more than brief, vivid details. It took all her focus to get dressed and even that took her an hour.

Staggering to the door, Em hit at the handle for good measure with the coordination of a toddler. Fingers that could paint portraits refused to cooperate. She found herself ramming her shoulder into the door until it opened, nearly toppling over and sprawling to the floor in the process.

The hall brought its own set of difficulties. For one, she couldn’t tell up from down. The wall served as her center of gravity. Corners proved another challenge. At best Em just followed the wall. At worst, she flung herself across the intersection and prayed she didn’t bash her head in.

By the time she had made it across half the compound, she had regained most of her motor functions. She’d take teetering like a drink over the world flipping around like a rolling car. Greys would clear the way and spare her a sideways glance, but she didn’t have time to deal with them.

“Em!”

She didn’t have time to find the source of the voice before a body slammed into hers. Arms twisted around her and squeezed before releasing her.

A woman — Emily— stood before her, a grin a mile wide as she cupped Em’s face. Em grimaced at the sensation. She had never been the hugging sort.

“You’re alright!” Emily beamed, “There were whispers about the fight. I was so worried!”

Finally noticing the dark purple stain blooming from brown hair at her temple, Emily’s face twisted in concern. She quickly removed her hands and instead held the woman by the shoulders. It was taking all Em’s focus to stay grounded in the conversation.

“You should be in bed!” her friend scolded, “Everything is fine! We’re fine!”

“Langdon—” Em said. The only thing she could say before the world spun around her again. She scrunched her eyes and visions flashed, overlapping with reality.

Langdon… Langdon…

Emily laughed, “Landon pardoned us! The rules were fake and — Emily!”

Em had forced her way past the woman, pushing her to the side and making a beeline down the hall. Emily was left to gape in the middle of the hall, unsure of what had happened or why or what was causing her friend to act so… different.

The door to Langdon’s personal room was closed, as usual. This time her hands cooperated with her to turn the handle, pushing it open and closed with two loud bangs. The world spinning once more as she fell back on the door.

Langdon had jumped at her sudden entrance, shoulders relaxing as he realized it was just her. She rose to his feet, watching her as she just stared at him. All she could do was stare at him, relief finally settling into place.

“Michael,” she sighed, crossing the floor in three, wobbling strides to kiss him. Langdon’s eyes widened in surprise, hands hovering over her not quite sure where to go. Her hands felt warm, one on his neck and the other cupping his cheek, guiding him to her. He relaxed, one hand settling on her waist and the other twisting under her arm to rest on her shoulder and pull her closer to him.

It was bliss, her lips. He could have kissed her for an eternity and not have grown tired of them.

Michael was quickly sobered by a hard, stinging slap. It was strong enough to make him turn and double over. The sound of it rang throughout the room. He wouldn’t be surprised if the entirety of Outpost Three could hear it.

“You bastard!” she growled.

Langdon let out a quiet groan and an annoyed sigh, “So you remember.”

He took a moment to recover, opening and closing his mouth to see if it still worked. A hand had gone to cover his cheek. By the warmth of it, he reckoned there’d no doubt be a mark. He pulled back his hand. No blood. It was pure luck that she wasn’t wearing a ring.

“Oh, don’t act surprised,” She said with a scoff, a finger in his face as he finally righted himself, “you put the grimoire in my path!”

“What grimoire?”

Em was not focused on his words at all. She was raging at a level she had never felt before.

“A fucking memory spell, Michael?” she yelled, “You had no right.”

“I gave you—”

Her lips pressed into a line and her glare was enough to get him to close his mouth and hold up his hands in defeat. “If you finish that line the way I think you are I will slap you again. How dare—”

Michael barely had a moment to catch the woman as her legs gave out from under her. She clung to his jacket but refused to let him help. The man could only grit his teeth as he struggled to help her up and lug her over to his bed.

“You’re pushing yourself,” He sang like a gloating mother whose kid was sick after eating too many sweets.

Em tried to stand but failed again, flopping to the ground. Michael moved to check her eyes, but she was moving too much for him to get a proper look.

“Will you stay still?” He snapped, reaching out to her face but only getting his hand slapped away as Em continued to get herself to her feet.

“I have a suburban mom’s vacation slide-show playing in my head,” she snapped back. Em leaned on the man as she got up and finally flopped down on the bed. That was one battle over with. Michael knew there would be a hundred more. “So, no! I will not!”

“I’m so glad your stubbornness hasn’t changed,” Langdon sassed, turning his chair around with a loud scraping sound and flopping in it. He grabbed Em’s head, a few words in Latin making the spinning stop and the visions more manageable.

“Now will you calm down?” he huffed, “What do you remember?”

Em groaned and let out a sigh, rubbing her temples as she closed her eyes and focused. “The Cooperative… the witches… Mead. God, it’s like reading a book series out of order!”

Langdon smirked, “I thought you liked doing that.”

The brunette opened her eyes simply to glare at him, eyes sharp enough to cut flesh.

“Shut up. I’ll stab you — I swear to god I will. Especially now that I know you’ll survive it.”

Michael smiled and shook his head, leaning forward and biting his lips. How could he speed things up?

“Start from the beginning,” he said, placing a thumb at the center of her forehead between her brow.

“The beginning of the apocalypse or of the life you stole from me?” she asked, slapping his hand away when she heard the familiar sound of Latin, “If you think I’ll let you do another fucking spell—”

Patience wearing thin, Michael gave her a look that rivaled her own. Relenting, she rose her hands in defeat.

“Fine!”

Sighing, Michael cupped her cheek and pulled her towards him. Resting his forehead against hers and stroking her cheek to remind himself she was still there.

“I lost you once,” he whispered, voice wavering as tears threatened to spill over, “I won’t let it happen again.”

“I know,” Anger left her with a single sigh. Leaning against him, she held the hand that rested on her face. With a flickering smile, she turned and placed a kiss on his palm. Closing her eyes, she tried to form the words that would express what she really wanted to say. “But it doesn’t mean I don’t have a right to be angry.”

A relieved smile graced his face and green eyes looked into blue. For one more moment they simply relished in the other's presence.

“I’ll let you stab me later.”

“Promise?”

“Emily,” he warned, wanting to go back to business. As much as he wished to stay in this room all day with her, they had roles to fulfill.

With a resigned sigh, Em pulled away and allowed him to lean her back on the bed. Her hands tightened into fists a few times before laying at her sides.

“I’m putting you in a trance so your head won’t feel like it’s exploding,” He explained, voice smooth and calming, “try to focus on the beginning.”

Em closed her eyes once more and forced her way backward. What was the beginning? There were a few moments that could be described as such. Michael waited patiently for her to find it.

“You’ll stay here, right?” She asked.

“We’re stuck in an underground bunker,” he reminded, “there aren’t many places for me to go.”

She chuckled before nodding her head. “I’m ready.”

The sound of Latin filled her ears, her mind catching up enough to translate a few words. Em felt herself slipping into a dream-like state. The actors settled on the scene, the setting fell into place, and the curtains rose.

Emily remembered everything.

[highqueenofelfhame]

when we were kids, four.

this is a short baby, i’m sorry. 

 It was a cheap shot. He didn’t have a date at all, but he wanted to see if it would bother her at all that he might have one. It seemed to do the trick, because Aelin had seemed so mad he was sure that she was seeing red. So he’d called a girl he had spent some time with over the last few years and asked her to meet him downtown. 

Rowan left out that it was to make his bitch queen of a wife jealous, but Lyria wasn’t overly fond of Aelin anyway. It didn’t matter, because Aelin was fond enough of herself for everyone in the room as it was. It had always been like that. It used to be something he loved about her, the way she toppled on the edge of confidence and arrogance. 

It was something he couldn’t help but admire now, confidence oozing from her pores as she stood with her feet shoulder width apart, the dart held with perfect form between her fingers. Even tipsy, she’d managed to make a bullseye every time. It had pissed Lorcan off so bad he flat out left the bar entirely but he had never been able to stand her as it was. 

Her cheeks were pink roses from the alcohol, warmth that blossomed down her neck and over her chest. His eyes were fixed on the way her tongue slipped between barely parted lips to wet them. He was struck for the thousandth time since he saw her on his porch how much he loved her.

Rowan’s love had always been unconditional. Anything Aelin needed, he would walk through hell to attain. Everyone used to talk about how pure their love had been, but perfect it was. Up until she’d miscarried and left Rowan with nothing more than a half-assed note. 

The baby. Rowan had always felt like it would be a huge adventure for them, and he’d been certain she’d felt the same way until she lost it. When she did, she’d turned into a shell of herself. Aelin had become a turtle, hidden away in her shell of grief. So he’d ended up suggesting they try again, and Aelin would say not right now. And he’d wait a few weeks and ask again. Because it was the only thing he thought she needed besides being held against his chest. He hadn’t known what to do. 

And then he came home to work one night to that note that shattered his world. 

I’ve gone to Adarlan. I’m not coming back. Don’t come looking for me.”

They had been more or less together since they were nine. That was eleven years down the drain, ended by a note scribbled on a paper towel in the kitchen because she couldn’t be bothered to find a piece of paper. 

Still, he loved her. Loved her despite her flaws, despite the way her heart was maybe a little misshapen back then. He couldn’t even blame her. And even now he still loved her wholeheartedly. It was what made all of this so godsdamn difficult. 

Another bullseye that he felt in his soul, and all of their drunk friends cheered. Even worse than their friends loving she was back was the way that his mother had been so thrilled to see her she’d even referred to her as her favorite daughter in law. His mom had never been subtle in her love and affection for Aelin, despite that she left. Alana was able to relate to her in the sense, his parents had miscarried once before Rowan and once after. Rowan had begged her to explain why it would have made her leave him but she merely patted his hand and told him that some things just take time. 

Eight years of time, apparently. 

Lyria, at this point, was so fed up at the lack of attention Rowan had been paying her that she left the bar an hour ago, so he had nothing to do but watch Aelin kick everyone’s ass with that damned diamond glittering on her finger. Aelin didn’t even like diamonds. Their ring had been a small emerald. It was all he’d been able to afford, and gods was it tiny, but she loved it like it took up the entire space between her knuckles. 

A body slammed against his and he started, having zoned out so hard he hadn’t even noticed her coming. She wrapped her arms around his waist and rested her chin on his chest. Pink roses were red now in a deeper flush, her eyes were wide and clear, if a little bloodshot. Fire was writhing behind the golden core and Rowan couldn’t wait to see what erupted out of her.

“Ro.”

“Yes, love?” His voice was so low nobody else could hear him, and he couldn’t help it when he brushed her hair behind her ears. 

“Hi,” she giggled, beyond tipsy now. 

“Hey, Ace.” 

“Can we go somewhere?” She asked him, fingers dipping under his shirt to scratch a nail down his spine. It was a bad idea. He knew it was a bad idea, but his stupid head was nodding as soon as she had the words out. It wasn’t going to end well for either of them,  but he was so incredibly stupid when it came to Aelin that he followed her outside and to the giant oak tree out back that they’d spent many drunken nights pressed against. 

Their fingers were loosely linked together, casually like they still did this every day. Rowan’s heart was a fourth of July firework finale, beating and pounding and popping behind his ribcage. His blood was rushing in his ears, his skin was covered in goosebumps. Aelin destroyed him. 

She came to a stop at the tree, turning and leaning against it without letting go of his hand. Instead, both of her hands toyed with his fingers. He pocketed his free hand, afraid of what it would do if he left it free. 

“I miss you,” she said, those blue eyes looking up at him like he hung the damn moon. He couldn’t stand it, he wanted to push her up against the tree and kiss her, to taste her again. Nobody had ever come close. 

“You’re drunk, Aelin.”

“That doesn’t mean I don’t miss you.”

“If that were the truth you would have come home well before you wanted me to sign your divorce papers.” He saw the fire in her eyes expand and snap, and knew he should have definitely not said that. 

“If you wouldn’t have kept pushing that we have another baby I wouldn’t have had to leave in the first place.”

“I kept asking because I thought it was what you needed.” Aelin ripped her hand from his and wrapped her arms around her body like she was holding herself together. His eyes fell shut and he ran a hand down his face before he reached for her but she stumbled back.

“All I needed was you but you kept pushing and pushing and pushing -”

“You weren’t talking to me, Aelin! How was I supposed to know?! Communication goes both ways. I can’t read your fucking mind no matter how badly you want me to.” Gods this woman, he loved her and hated her all at once. Reading her mind would have made everything so much easier but he was only human. But so was she. It was written all over her face, the grief that she still felt, but the anger was front and center and she was an asp, coiled and ready to strike. 

“Chaol listens to me,” his heart shattered. “Chaol listens and gets me in ways you never did, Rowan. Chaol doesn’t fucking suffocate me like you do. Gods you couldn’t just sign my papers and let me be happy? You had to draw it out for six years? And even now you still won’t do it. You’re still standing here stifling me.” Her words were vicious and cruel, and when he turned around to walk away, she ran after him and shoved him. “You ruined me. You ripped my heart out and slapped me in the face every time you asked me to try again. I didn’t want to try again. I wanted to grieve and be left to it. I wanted you to leave me alone. That’s why I left.” 

There were no words in his throat, nothing but silence between his ears when he turned to look at her and softly said, “Let me take you home.” 

Whatever it was that she saw on his face, her own crumpled and she nodded a single time and followed him to his truck. He helped her in and closed the door behind her, went inside to grab her purse and say goodnight to everyone. Their friends were utterly still and quiet, the only sound the old rock song playing on the jukebox. When he got back out to the truck, Aelin was sitting with her knees to her chest. Her seatbelt had been buckled, and she was staring at her feet with her chin on her knees. 

It was a quiet ride to the Galathynius home, neither of them talking. Both of them listening to the low hum of his truck while they drove down the road. Aelin fell asleep at some point, and he carried her inside with a simple nod in greeting to her parents. As he lay her down, her fingers caught his. He hated to admit to himself how much he wanted to cry. 

“I’m sorry, Rowan.” A tear slipped from the corner of her eye, soaked into the pillow under her head. He gave her a sad smile. 

“I know.” He sat on the edge of the bed, knowing that if he left now she would only ask him to stay. He let her hold his hand, let her tug him until she could wrap her arms around his neck. It wasn’t lost on him that she inhaled deeply, like she was savoring his scent that way he was savoring hers. The way she looked at him when he finally pulled back was too intimate and he decided he’d lost his damn mind. 

Because he kissed her, a slow and sweet thing. The way they had used to kiss every night before going to bed, a kiss that usually ended up leading to much more. But before it could go any further, Rowan pulled away. 

“Go to sleep, Aelin,” he murmured, then stood and left her alone in the room. 

When he returned a few minutes later, those papers in his hand, she was already asleep.

@starseternalnighttriumphant @musicmaam @city-of-fae @kandasboi @the-regal-warrior @empire-of-wildfire @tangledraysofsunshine  @lorcansalvaterree @valarian-trash @hey-its-grey @sleeping-and-books @thephilosophyofblank @breezyfreezey @westofmoon @tonystarksbish @mariamuses @thereaderandfangirl @silvermindedwarrior @rosesandglass @xxhopelesspeachesxx @maraadyyer @flowerspringsea @the-bookloving-girl @vartineh @mis-lil-red @but-she-was-aelin-galathynius @dreamcatchersimss @chemicha​ @vi0let-femmes @ttakeitbacknoww @dressedindustandshadows @lowhangingtreebranches

@damnthisjam

[heathsbitch]

Treat You Better ➳ PEAKY BLINDERS

vii. THE HORSE AUCTION

          Ivy left the office, her eyes darted around the pub, trying to find where Michael went. "Ivy," He walked over to her from the bar. "I was just looking around." She flashed him a small smile. "Okay. We should get going, Polly would be getting worried by now." They began their slow walk back to Polly's house. "So, you're a Solomons, then?" She didn't want to look at Michael. Ivy wasn't ashamed of her family, for the most part. She just didn't want people thinking that she was like her father, a complete and utter lunatic. The girl sighed before speaking, "Yep, the one and only Alfie Solomons is my father," The look on Michael's face was confusing for her. Usually, Ivy could read people. Similar to how Polly could. But, for some reason, she couldn't read Michael. Ivy thought it was a look of shock but she couldn't be sure. "How do you know who my father is?" She asked him, digging her hands further into her pockets to stop them from getting cold. "Well, I love horses and my uncle would take me to horse auctions all the time and your father would be at some of them. He would always be with a woman with brown hair and brown eyes. But, he's a strange man. I wouldn't expect a lovely, little girl like you to be related to a man like him." Ivy smirked when he called her lovely, "I'm not as lovely as you might think."

"And I'm not as innocent as you think." He could read Ivy, and she couldn't read him. And it worried her. They reached the front door of Polly's house and Ivy walked in first. "Pol, we're home." She shouted for her. She came walking down the stairs, as elegant as ever. She held a kind smile but one that you would give a child.

They were certainly not children.

Michael returned the smile, however it was more of a grin. Polly walked over to them and engulfed him in another hug. She was happy to finally have her son back again, and rightly so. Ivy thought that was the reason she was off with her last night, Tommo didn't let her see him. What happened to her shouldn't have to happen to anyone, no matter what they had done wrong in the past. "Ivy, I want you to grab some of your things. We're going to stay in the new house for a while." She nodded, going up the stairs to pack the things that she would need for the next couple of days. Essentials like clothes, underwear, her hairbrush... Ivy was back downstairs within twenty minutes, ready to go to the new house.

The journey there went by fairly quickly. Ivy's hangover came crashing down on her like a pile of bricks so she took a small nap that lasted longer than it probably should've. "Ivy," She felt someone nudging her shoulder. Her eyes flickered open to meet blue ones, Michael. "We're here." They all climbed out of the car and stood on the pavement to admire the house for a minute, "Out we get then," Polly commentated as they did so. The woman had lit a cigarette and it loosely hung from her lips. "This house is mine," She pointed at it "And Ivy's of course," She wrapped her arm around Ivy's shoulder and squeezed it. "I've taken on a maid. She's made up the big room for you, Michael and Ivy, you'll know your room when you see it," Michael crossed his arms over his chest, Ivy shoved her hands in her pockets and Polly threw her cigarette to the ground. "Come on, let's have a look," She strided down the path, Ivy and Michael close behind. They followed her into the main room. It was as beautiful as the first time the girl had seen it. She threw her bag on the floor next to the sofa and took a seat on it, it was technically her house. "We can spend the week here, if you want." Polly offered. Ivy put her feet up on the coffee table and lent back "I don't mind." The girl closed her eyes and relaxed. Polly lightly laughed at the girl's actions but quickly scolded her afterwards "Feet off the table, petal." The nickname flowed out of her mouth so naturally Ivy almost didn't even notice it.

It was what her mother and Ezekiel used to call her.

She took her feet off of the table like Polly had asked her to but she cast her mother to the back of her mind. Ivy needed to move on, she was in the past and this was the present. She was one memory against hundreds. Michael sat down next to the teen and placed his hat on the coffee table. "You know, we could get to know each other again. And you two could get to know each other," They both looked at one another, a smile played upon both of their lips. Ivy could tell he was going to be an annoying little thorn in her side. "I've got ham. Do you like ham?" Polly asked Michael almost urgently. She was acting like she did when Ivy and her first met. It must be a strange situation, losing your kids and then to have one come back to you. "I like ham, yes." His lips curved up at the end of his sentence. She put all of her things down and almost went to do it herself. She stopped and reminded them, "I've got a maid." Michael and Ivy chuckled, "Yes, you said." The pair said in unison. The girl looked at him and cocked her eyebrow. Ivy could see Polly smiling upon them with great admiration. "She's upstairs," Pol took a pause between her words. "She could get us some tea. Look, I ring this bell. Watch." She rang the bell and took a step back so she could wait for the maid. The maid walked into the room and politely waited at the door, "Yes, madam?" She said. Polly stayed silent, still not used to the idea of having a maid. "I think we'd like some tea," The maid rushed off at Michael's request. "You get used to it." He told his mum. The maid came back shortly, a tray of tea and biscuits held in her hands. "Where do you want the tea, madam?"

"Just on the table." The maid placed the tea onto the small table and scurried off back upstairs. Ivy stood up from the couch. "I'll leave you two to it. You should have some time alone to catch up." She went to leave the room but Michael stopped her. "I think you should stay, so we could get to know each other too." Ivy glanced at Polly and she nodded with a motherly smile. She sat back down on the sofa and reached for a cup of tea.

They talked for what felt like hours. Polly and Michael had some quality time to catch up whilst she generally got to know the pair of them better. They were more alike than they were aware.

"I'm off for a little sleep," Ivy stood up and was not intending to be interrupted this time. "Hangover." Polly nodded again. She made her way up to her new room. A wooden door with a plaque on it caught her eye. 'Ivy' was engraved on the golden metal. 'Tommy really does work fast.' Ivy turned the knob and slowly pushed on the slab of wood. The inside was beautiful. A four-poster bed lay directly in the middle of the room, a crimson rug rested underneath it, golden embroidery neatly stitched onto it. The pattern on the quilt matched the rug: red, gold and black. The room screamed elegance and class. Dark wood furniture decorated the room. A wardrobe, dresser and dressing table were in there. There was even a chaise, a sofa with a slope, in there. She chucked her bag in a corner, along with her coat and boots and jumped onto the plush bed. It engulfed the small girl, she felt like she was floating on a cloud. Her eyes closed and suddenly she was whisked away into a peaceful sleep.

Well, it started as peaceful.

The white cloud she was floating on turned grey and stormy. Ivy was dragged into a void of paranoia and night terrors. The girl had frequently suffered from night terrors in her life but since staying with the Shelbys they had ceased, until that night.

"I saw two children, the girl looked around thirteen or fourteen years old and the boy around eleven or twelve. They had their backs to me. I could tell it was my brother and me, though. He was cowering under my arm. We were both sitting on the floor, in a dark and dank room. There was shouting in the distance, indistinguishable but audible. The noise got louder and closer. My brother's hand slapped over his ears trying to block out the noise of the screaming. As the noise got closer, I could tell who was responsible for the shouting. It was our parents. "I'm tired of your fucking games, Alfie! This is why I took him away, I was a fool to bring him back!"

I could see my mother's face now. Her gorgeous chocolate eyes were now puffy and red from where she had been crying. "Mummy!" My brother cried. He tried to reach out to her but she couldn't see or hear him. He repeated his words over and over again but the only sound that could be heard was a harsh,

Slap!

He had hit her. He had fucking hit her. "Petal. Ivy, my darling. Ivy." It was my mother's voice but it gradually got lower and lower until I felt something shaking my shoulders."

Ivy sat bolt upright, a shrill scream erupted out of her mouth. Someone was sitting behind the girl, their arms wrapped around her chest, rocking her back and forth. "Ivy, it's okay, princess. I'm here," Michael. Ivy rested her head on his shoulder, slightly calmer after hearing his voice. "It's alright. I'm 'ere." Her breathing stilled, and her heart rate sank back to normal. The dream wasn't just a dream; it was a memory. Ivy placed her hands onto Michael's arms and they lied there for a minute or two. He waited for the girl to fully calm down before asking her anything, "What was that all about?" Ivy sat up from her position against his chest. "I-I-I don't wanna t-talk about it." She stumbled over her words. Michael's hands ran up and down her shoulders, she was facing him now. "You can trust me, Ivy," The girl nodded but no words left her mouth. "Come 'ere, princess." He opened his arms up for Ivy and she crawled into them. She lied on his chest trying to make sense of what had just happened in her head. "Where's Pol gone?" Ivy asked eventually. "She went to the shops to get some food for us. She told me to come and check on you and when I found you, you were muttering something. A name," The girl shifted from Michael's chest. She was okay with him knowing who her father was but not her entire backstory, some secrets need to stay a secret. "Who's Joe?" Ivy didn't answer. "Ivy," He said in a warning manner. He then placed his hands on her shoulders again. "Who's Joe?"

"Fuck off!" She screamed. Ivy swiped his hands off of her shoulders and got off of the bed. Tears began to pour from her eyes. They didn't stop and Michael didn't leave. He had stopped asking questions but was still sitting on her bed. She dropped to her knees, her hands covering her eyes, trying to stop the tidal waves of tears that kept flowing from them. "Ivy." Michael came to the girl on the floor. He pulled her into another hug. It was warm, soft, comforting. Ivy was too tired to fight back at this point. "I'm sorry." She croaked out. He didn't ask questions. He knew what she had apologised for. "S'alright." A couple of minutes went by, then half an hour, then an hour. It was only when a knock came from the door when they moved. "Ivy, get ready. We've got business with Tommy." Polly didn't know Michael was in there with Ivy which was a good thing and it stopped questions being asked and awkward conversations. "I better get ready myself," Michael informed the girl. "Will you be okay?" She nodded even though she knew she wasn't fully alright. Michael smiled and left to go to his own room.

When they got to Tommy's house, Polly stopped them before they could walk into the gaming den. "I think it would be best if you two stay in here." She said to the pair. Ivy looked towards Michael and scoffed, she tried to walk into the betting shop but she only ran into John.

"You alright, Vee?" He asked her. She ignored his question because Michael interrupted her before she could speak. "We just want to say hello."

"No, you're not getting involved with this business." Ivy walked towards Polly and softened her words. "I'm already involved, Pol." She still protested the girl's wishes and her and John left the room. John looked back at Ivy and gave her a sympathetic smile before closing and locking the door. Ivy slumped into one of the dining chairs and put her hands over her eyes. Michael walked over to the door and pushed his ear against it, trying to listen in to the conversation. "Ivy," He called "Come 'ere," She went over to him and he gestured to the door. "Help me listen." The girl sighed but pressed her ear against the door. There were indistinct mumbles from the other side, but it was possible to pick out when Polly was speaking because her voice was a much higher pitch to the others. They were talking about horses and Ivy raised her eyebrow at Polly's son. "They're going to a horse auction." Michael's hand moved to the key on a hook and pushed it into the keyhole. He went to open it but Ivy stopped him before he could do anything. "Wait! What're you doing?"

"I'm gonna ask if I can go." His expression didn't change. "Do you know what you're gonna say?" Ivy quizzed him. He thought about it before relaying it to the girl. "I'll just say I want to go and that I'm good with horses and that my uncle used to take me all the time. Do you want to come as well?" Ivy nodded and hummed as a response."Ready?" Michael bobbed his head and he pushed the door open. It was only by an inch or two but it was just enough to hear what they were saying in more detail. "So, you're going to close up the shop, go out on a piss up and blow 1000 guineas on a horse that's not even a whole Arab?" Polly complained to the boys about their plan. Michael looked at Ivy for confirmation, "Go." She told him. "Quarter Arab is better." One of the men chuckled in a child-like manner after he spoke. Polly's head snapped towards them as soon as they walked in.

"Curly, shut up." Polly told the childish man. Finn's eyes immediately met Ivy's when she walked in. "I thought I told you to lock that door." Polly claimed. "He did, we used the key on the nail." Ivy told her. "Look, we've been listening. We want to go with them." Michael stepped in. "You see?" Polly complained again. Tommo stared at his aunt who was freaking out that they could be put in danger. "I love horses. We could even help. Ivy-" Polly cut her son off, "Over my dead body!" She said, concern in her usually calm voice. "It will be alright, mum. I've been to loads of horse auctions with my uncle." Ivy cut Michael off so she could lay down her own pitch, "My parents used to go to auctions all the time, Pol. They owned horses together before they split up. My mother used to train them. Plus, I can protect myself and Michael and all the boys if I need to!" Michael stepped in next to speak again, "The auctions are very respectable. People bring their butlers."

"And their posh wives." Arthur added as he took back a shot of whiskey. "And their mistresses." John slapped Michael's arm when he spoke. "Let them come, Polly," Arthur defended us. "We'll go there, buy a horse and come back."

"I'll drop them at the house in Sutton before it gets dark." John finished off. Surely she couldn't say no to that. "No," Polly protested. Ivy rolled her eyes, this is what the brothers had been warning her about. Michael looked at the floor, upset he couldn't go. "Fucking no."

The room was silent, except from the occasional shuffle of someone's feet. Ivy's eyes turned to Finn, he was staring at her and Michael. When he saw the girl looking, his glare stopped and he shot her a comforting smile. "Sorry." He mouthed. "It's okay." She mouthed back. Michael spun on his heels and made his way out of the room. "Please, Pol." Ivy begged one last time before following Michael. His anger flared up inside of him and he reached his hand out to swipe some papers off a desk. He slammed the door behind them when they were both fully out of the room. He threw himself in a chair and Ivy sat in the one next to him. She moved her hand out to rub his arm, "It's alright. The boys will say something that'll convince her." She comforted. Finn came through the doors shortly after Michael and Ivy. "John just spoke to Pol..." His voice trailed off at the end of his sentence when he saw Ivy's hand on Michael's arm. "And?" She stood up and encouraged Finn to continue. His eyes darted around the room, meeting everything else but her icy eyes. "She said you can go." A large smile blew up on her face, she looked back at Michael to see a similar one playing on his lips.

The first night in the new house was wonderful. Ivy didn't know if it was the expensive furniture or her hangover, but she slept like a baby. Luckily, the nightmares didn't return that night. In the morning, she got dressed into some of the clothes that Ada and Polly had brought her over a week ago and applied light make-up to her face but left her hair down. Ivy walked over to her bag that lay strewn on the floor. She rustled around inside of it for a bit before her hands finally found what they were looking for, her gun and knives. Pulling the holster out of the bag, she attached it to her thigh and slipped the gun inside of it. The knives went into the girl's boots. Better safe than sorry.

Ivy made her way downstairs to see Michael already down there with Polly. He had borrowed some of John's old clothes and they fitted him perfectly. Excitement started to bubble up inside of Ivy, they were actually going to a horse auction! Polly was lent over a table, making some sandwiches for everyone. "Morning!" Ivy said in a happy tone as she walked into the room. "Good morning, petal." She flinched at the name, the girl hadn't really got used to Polly saying it yet. Michael didn't turn in his chair but also said 'Good morning' to her. "Your father could sing, play the piano. His smile would break your heart," Ivy sat at the table, slightly uncomfortable because they were talking about Michael's father. "You've got the same beautiful eyes." The girl remembered when she saw him for the first time and the very first thing she saw were his eyes.

Polly wrapped the sandwiches up and put them in a bag for them. "When he was sober, he was kind and gentle." Ivy reminisced of her father and their complicated relationship. She longed for a simple time where her and her family could be reunited together; happy, content. Her despair was clear on her face but when she felt a hand on her thigh, the girl immediately came back to reality. Polly continued to talk about Michael's dad but Ivy wasn't listening. Michael's hand caressed her thigh, her heart rate rose to a worrying height. She could feel it thumping against her chest. A car horn blew from outside, signifying it was time to leave. The hand finally left her thigh and Michael and Ivy both stood up to leave. "I have told them not to blow that horn," They laughed at Polly's minor anger, Michael still firmly in Ivy's thoughts. "This is a respectable fucking neighborhood!" She rushed to the door to yell at her nephews. Michael picked up the bag of food and they followed Polly to the door.

About halfway to the auction house, the car broke down. They had to pull over to the side of the road and wait for one of the boys to fix it. Tommo climbed out of the front of the car and walked round to the back so he could tell everyone what was happening. "She's heating up Curly. Take a look." Tommy pulled the door open and Curly followed his orders. He was such a lovely man, bless him. "Let me out for a piss." Charlie Strong climbed out of the car, leaving Arthur, Michael and Ivy there. She put her feet over Arthur's lap and lent back. Arthur put his cold hands onto her shins. They rested just above her boots, sending shivers up her legs. "Shit, it's cold." Ivy complained. Arthur rubbed his hands up and down her shins, trying to warm the girl up. "That helping, Vee?" Arthur quizzed. She laughed, it just hurt. "Not really." He slowed his actions down a little bit. Michael lifted the bag of food onto his lap and pulled out the food. 'Oh no. He's gonna get bullied.'

She closed her eyes and waited for Arthur and John to start to toy with him. "She made loads. Do you want one?" A light drizzle had begun to fall from the sky, Ivy opened her eyes to watch it fall to the ground. "What the bloody hell's that?" Arthur's eyebrows furrowed together and the girl saw John glare at them from the bushes. "Sandwiches, ya' never seen one before, Artie?" Sarcasm dripped from Ivy's voice and Arthur tapped her leg in a joking manner. "They're ham, I think she said. Shrimp paste too." Ivy added with the same sarcastic tone as before. Michael's eyebrows were raised at her tone of voice. John got closer to the truck, eyeing up the food with a cigar hanging from his mouth. "There's tea. We'll have to take turns 'cause there's only one cup." Arthur and John both stared at the sandwiches and Ivy just laughed. John swiped the tea from the bench. "What?" Michael was confused at their reactions. "Sandwiches?" Arthur looked at his brother. "Yeah." Michael was still innocent to what was happening. "Polly made bloody sandwiches?"

"She's going soft." Ivy notified Arthur. "What's this? Teddy bear's fucking picnic." Charlie was next to pick up on the pack lunch that Polly had made. Tommy coughed and decided to finally speak up, "All right. We will drink the tea, eat the sandwiches, then we'll drive on. All right? No crumbs, Charlie." Tommo tapped him on the shoulder and walked back to the front of the car.

The Solomons changed seats to sit next to Michael so she could have full access to the food. "Come on." Arthur said and waved his hand at Michael. He started shoving food in his mouth, "You fat bastard." John shouted at him. "Fuck off." He quipped back, food threatening to spill out of his mouth.

The rest of the journey was filled with everyone stuffing themselves with tea and food. Short grumbles came from the men as they ate. When they got to the auction, Tommo made sure to give them all a lecture before going in there. He wanted them to be on their 'best behaviour'.

"This is a respectable event." He told everyone as they walked into the auction house. "And you'll behave accordingly. No weapons," Ivy's mind instantly thought of the gun and knives that she had possession of. "No drinking. John, we'll stay together. Arthur, keep an eye on Ivy and Michael. When our horse comes up, I'll bid. I've already registered with the auctioneer, he knows to expect my bids." They walked up the last staircase and into the hall where the horses were being exhibited. "Do I get to run a hand over her, Tommy?" Curly asked with great excitement. "We have a vet's report, Curly. Keep and eye open when she walks."

"I've got a feeling, Tommy. Something isn't right." He warned the Shelby man. "It's alright. You're just in an unfamiliar place. We all are." Curly continued, "I get feelings sometimes." Ivy followed behind everyone, keeping her head down. "It's alright, Curly. It's alright. Shut up, Curly." His last sentence was a bit harsh towards the man but Ivy cast it aside. The auctioneer shouted various bids to the people that stood around the ring. "Come on, Ivy. You wanted to be here." Tommo dragged the girl to the front of the huddle. She looked at the people that stood around the ring to see if anybody recognised her. Her eyes caught onto one woman. She was fairly short, brown hair. She was with an older man that was probably her father. Ivy couldn't properly see her face until she turned around...

"Mum?"

viii. CORRUPTION 

MASTERLIST

[ladyalice101]

week 7. 

Jonsa week S L A Y E D me. seriously, thank you so much to all the amazing fic writers out there, I had such a shitty week last week, but it was amazing to come home in the afternoon and know that I had a variety of fics waiting to be read! 

considering there was so much content this week, this list is ~long~ (well, for a weekly fic rec it is anyway) 

this week I loved . . . 

something a bit different this week. I'm not reccing one fic, but an author. 

@missfaber wrote my favourite fics this week. her ao3 is here, where you can read all of her glorious fics. but here is the list of my faves from this week (which is like all of them).

anchor up to me, love

an amazing au, set in the 50s, in which sansa is a marine biologist, jon is her colleague, and they go on a deep sea expedition to find a giant squid. sounds niche, but like ... if you love “and there was only one bed” and “and they were roommates” tropes, then this fic is for you (and don’t fucking lie to me, everyone loves those tropes, so I'm expecting ya’ll to read this) 

it was a stained glass variation of the truth

this is a fake dating au, but like . . . filled with pain. jon and sansa are broken up (currently for unexplained reasons), but it’s thanksgiving and sansa doesn’t want to tell her family yet that they’re not together. so jon agrees to come and pretend. it is . . . oof. like. wow the emotional beating my heart has taken. but ALSO it’s amazing and I already know that once it’s done I'll be rereading. 

oh moon be still, she is aching

jon and sansa run an inn together. this is a wip, and I think going to be quite a few chapters, so it’s only in the setup stages atm but it’s already featuring protective jon 👀

Wolf's Teeth

a super repressed sansa undergoes a sexual awakening at a sex dungeon. need I say more? 

honourable mentions . . . 

I’ll Be Coming for Your Love, Okay? by @carbonitekisses (I'm so glad you found this list and that I could tag you!)

Willas walks ahead and Sansa hesitates before following suit. Normally Sansa would stop by and chat for a bit with Jeyne at the reception desk but she doesn't want to interrupt. She's ready to walk by and head straight to her office when Jeyne calls out her name in obvious relief.

Frowning for the first time today, Sansa redirects her route. The man Jeyne had been speaking to turns around to face her so quickly it's almost comical.

She would laugh to herself but then she see his face. Dark hair. Grey eyes. Full lips. For a second (or two or three...) Sansa's reality shatters before piecing itself back together into a kaleidoscope of bright colors and pure light.

a reincarnation/time travel au, in which Melisandre and the lord of light do some devious things and bring sansa back to life after she dies in canon-era. except it isn’t canon-sansa that’s brought back, it’s modern sansa. 

this features SO MUCH ANGST from jon. seriously that boy is just one big pile of melancholy in this fic, because he longs for sansa. but never fear, there is a happy ending, and while it certainly soothes your heart after this fic stomped on it, honestly the angst is the best part. Jon’s love for sansa really jumps out of the screen, and there were so many times that my heart ached for him. 

Swarovski Crystals by jeynestheon 

Jon has a type.

The other girls.

Short, lean, and brash, with mouths bigger than his father’s ego. Tomboys. He dates girls that make their own shorts by tearing apart their winter jeans and always wear the same battered pair chuck taylor’s. They like when he takes them hiking for the first date, and they don’t act shy when he fucks them in the car afterwards. They prefer cheap 24 hour diners to the best italian restaurants in town. Their nail polish is always chipped when they grasp his hair as he moves down between their legs. They have random stick and poke tattoos. They snort when they laugh. They have families that they will inevitably hide him from. Rich boyfriends don’t gel well with their real world. He is a fantasy. He’s a way to pass time. And that’s fine. He likes it uncomplicated. That’s his type, all in all—un fucking complicated.

And the girl sitting at the end of the bar—she isn’t Jon’s type in the slightest.

jon meets sansa in Paris, has a dirty one night stand with her, and then can’t stop thinking about her.

THIS FIC CAME AND TOOK NO PRISONERS. hOnEsTlY, I can’t rec this enough. it just fucking . . . took me by the throat and didn’t let go. jon is a rich playboy (kinda) who is utterly in over his head when it comes to sansa, and like . . . who doesn’t love jon being confused and shook by sansa, no matter how rich he is? 

A Dress of a Different Kind by @jade-masquerade

Jon isn’t so sure about a gift Sansa receives courtesy of one of their visitors from Qarth until she convinces him otherwise.

this fic is exactly what you think it is AND IT’S GLORIOUS. CUE AMAZING SMUT. 

With Joy by @alltheprettylittlewolves

By mutual, unspoken agreement, Jon spends years avoiding Sansa. Yes, she’s his soulmate, but to say it’s complicated is putting it mildly. They are finally brought together by a gift from Sam.

Written for Jonsa Week 2019, Day 2: Tropes

modern au, in which jon and sansa are soulmates but think they’re half-siblings. except they aren’t. 

speaking of fics that S L A Y E D me. now, I love a good canon-set sibling kink (holy shit that’s weird to write) as much as the next jonsa, but I don’t like reading fics in modern settings where they’re related in any way, even just cousins. idk, call me old fashioned. 

but THIS. YOU GET ALL THE ANGST BUT NONE OF THE ICK. WHO DOESN’T WANT THAT?! (no seriously, tell me, I just want a few words ...) 

Roses by @jonsastan

“Stark could be right.” One said, biting into something that had been cooking in the fire. “We never see him south of the Wall, and he never fights those fuckin’ crows like his father used to.”

Jon stood, burying his knife into the elk flesh before moving to the fireside.

“What does that southern kneeler say about me?” He asked, meeting the eye of every man and woman there. The freefolk had no monarch, no royal family, and yet Jon had become King-beyond-the-Wall after his father.

King of Stone and Ice and Snow.

- - - - - - - Jonsa Week - Day Four: Songs - {Myths} - Lies

jon sneaks into winterfell under the guise of being a bard. sansa knows he’s lying. 

honestly, I hadn’t intended to read this. Idk why I'm not a fan of wilding!jon fics, but I just don’t read them. I clicked on this bc I saw a snippet of it on Tumblr, and I don't regret it! not only that, but I obvi liked it enough to rec it! 

A Revelation by Janina 

Based on a prompt on Tumblr: cruyffsbeckenbauer asked: Could you write something angsty where Jon realizes he loves Sansa differently once Arya returns?

an oldie, but I rediscovered it this week and immediately fell in love again. most of ya’ll have probs read this, but if you haven’t, get on it. it features jon awkwardly trying to do with Arya the things he does with sansa, and realising that it is . . . NOT the same 

ok, that brings the list to a close! congrats if you got all the way through it, and I'd love to know which of them you read. 

thanks again to all the amazing jonsa fic writers out there, ya’ll kept us alive after the series ended. 

[kyberphilosopher]

Chapter Nineteen

.✫*ﾟ･ﾟ｡.★.*｡･ﾟ✫*.

Adamus was a really scrawny kid. He wasn’t the fastest, or strongest, or even the smartest. He wasn’t really an introvert, but he was the quietest. Adamus knew what he was. He knew his limits. But instead of accepting himself as he was, it only motivated him. The boy became ambitious, almost to a fault, and knew he had to prove himself. But Adamus didn’t want to prove that he was just as good as his peers. Adamus wanted to prove that he was better than them. He wanted to prove that he was better than all of them.

Adamus grew into himself over the years. He was a little bit of a late bloomer, but that was made up for and forgotten about very quickly.

The scrawniness melted away, revealing a stocky body. He was naturally muscular under all that skin and bone. He got taller and taller, until he was finally slightly above the average man. His hair reached his neck, curling at the ends with natural waves. Except for his padawan braid, which he hated because it was so long and constantly hitting his shoulder. His eyelashes got longer, jawline sharper, and brain more aware.

Adamus had few friends in his Jedi years. One was a boy, Argos, who was clumsy and far more extroverted than Adamus would ever be. There was also Knox, a boy who was killed during the Clone Wars, and Ethin Edin, who was actually a distant relation of mine that I’d never learn about.

Adamus was close to his master, which was somewhat of a problem within the order. Attachments are frowned upon. Something I disapprove of. Adamus will deny that he looked up Fir Aro if you ever ask him, but I know the truth.  

Adamus tried saving him. Then he watched him die in a pool of blood, and not all of it was his own. Adamus blames himself.

Today, I wake up free of nightmares. For the past few nights, they haven’t bothered me at all. I guess my thoughts before bed have been so focused on Adamus and analyzing him that my brain hasn’t had time to cook up any new terrors for me. But I’m not so sure if that’s a good thing or a bad thing.  

No matter where the last thing I can remember takes place, I always wake up in my little nook. I usually assume that I either fell asleep at the table with my chin in my hand, or eventually drifted off while leaning against my door frame. Waking up in my nook would mean that Adamus puts me to bed, which honestly makes me feel quite guilty. I’ve already fallen asleep listening to him tell me about his deep rooted anguish, now he’s taking me to bed without even taking credit. I would thank him, but then something would change between us. Something already changed when he began to cry that night in my room, but actually admitting that one of us did the other a service is… different. I’m already pushing my luck by making eye contact with him during the day, why acknowledge the possibility that we’ve seen each other at our most vulnerable?

I rebraid my hair a little sloppily and shrug on a thin black  jacket over my outfit. I have to use the bathroom, so I do. I even flush. But I still refuse to shower.

The door slides open as I exit, and I stalk out in my usual demeanor. No smiles, head down, eyes apathetic as my weapon hits against my hip. People still stop and stare at me as I walk by, but their conversations still flurry through the air. The people don’t trust me. I don’t trust them either.  

I pass the control room, and take one of the hallways. Stretching my arms, rolling my shoulders back as I keep my eyes to the floor. It’s dark silver, and clangs under the weight of my boots. Even as I walk by, civilians of the Harbinger eye me with distaste. I let them. I don’t bother to let myself eye them right back because I know nothing can change the person I am. I’ve accepted that I’ll always be a threat wherever I go. That’s how I know I have to get away from these people.

The cafeteria is the same size as the medbay, I’m told. It’s lined with rows of tables with built in benches and counters. Volunteers serve slops of what’s usually nearly stale portion bread and ration bars. Sometimes there’s caf, but not usually. I wouldn’t take it anyway. Too bitter.

Adamus and Aheka are almost always sitting together in the mornings. At first I wondered about the exact nature of their relationship, though now I see it for what it is. They’re companions, close comrades, friends. Almost sibling like. Nothing close to romantic.

I pull my hood over my head as I walk by them, just missing Adamus’s kaleidoscope eyes of judgment by a single step. To the left side of the room is a long counter that serves as a buffet. Volunteers hand out the food, and today a yellow Twi’Lek gives me a slop of mush gray stuff on a silver tray with a distrustful scowl. I don’t bother saying a word about how I asked for the portion bread instead of whatever he just gave me. I know how to pick my battles, and this is one I won’t win. I don’t have the social skills for it.

When I turn to face the rest of the cafeteria, I gage out the seats I can take. There’s one at the opposite end of where Aheka and Adamus are, so definitely not there.

There’s another table at the very end of the hall, that’s almost completely empty except for one person who has his back to me. That will do.

Having my hood up makes me feel better. It’s not perfect, but it gives me the feeling of having walls around me, so I can feel more alone. I think that’s something I need. The world feels safer, more closed off. Like a room with three walls and then whatever’s in front of me. Like I’m a glitch in the simulation. Yeah… a glitch.

I set my tray down and slide onto the bench. The other person at the table- a man- is at the other end, on the other side. There’s no way we could be affiliated with each other.

With a cheap fork, I poke at the mush. It’s warmer than I expected- not hot, but not cold. I’ve eaten worse. I’ve purified my own piss and swallowed it down. This is not the time to get picky.

But I’m not hungry.

I look back up, glancing around to observe the surroundings of the room. There’s the counters where I got my tray to the right, the rows of tables ahead. Aheka and Adamus are about five tables up. There are some foot soldiers, one man I saw in Adamus’s meeting reading over some papers, a green woman carrying a crate. One of the lights over head is flickering so quickly, you wouldn’t even notice the sputter if you weren’t hardwired to notice everything.

And as for the man sitting at the table with me… well, it takes me a second to notice him.

I eye him for a few seconds, not for any particular reason, simply because I can. And then he tilts his head up and to the side, catching my orbs, which began to dilate with the beat of my heart.

Sharp jawline, heavily angular features. The slim eyes like a hawk, golden brown. Nose turned down at the bridge, arched brows, thin and chapped lips. And that hairstyle… I know it.

My lips part in realization. I can feel my heart stop.

“So-”

A tray slams down in front of me with a clang, startling me with a jump.

“Were you really going to try eating alone?”

I stare up at Aheka from under my hood. Her pale green eyes are staring into my own with that twinkle of compassion, but the corners of her lips are upturned with charisma.

Before I can respond or think of a response, Aheka slides her tray forward until it bumps against mine and seats herself in the slot ahead of me.

“I hope you slept okay,” she frowns. “You look sick.”

I catch her glance at my missing finger, causing me to jerk my hand back in embarrassment and anger. “Why are you eating alone?”

Under the table, my right hand twitches. “Didn’t want to disturb you and shit for brains,” I lie, watching Adamus’s back tense from behind him.

“You wouldn’t disturb us,” Aheka assures. “Here. This tastes better than that.” She nudges her tray against mine again.

“I can’t take your food,” I swallow. It feels like the inside of my chest is sweating.

“Come on. I’m not going to eat it, and I know how that slush tastes. This is the better option.”

Her plate has steaming golden chunks on it. It does smell better than the warm gray thing in front of me. “Thanks,” I mutter, staring down.

“So,” the Togruta begins. “I’ve got an offer for you.”          

I raise my eyes from under my hood to watch her face, which has a small, excited smile on it. It fits her pretty features.

“Okay.”

“You’re sleeping in the side medbay, right? I know that thing is small and well… I was thinking you could start to bunk with me. We’d have to talk to Adamus probably, but I have the space. I just figured it’s better than that tiny little thing. Warmer too.”

She adds the last part with a smile as if it were a cute little joke. I, on the other hand, can’t stop myself from inwardly cringing. My eyes flicker between her own, searching for the answer to my confusion.

“Why?” I question.  

Aheka crinkles her eyebrows. “Why? Well it’s… it’s the right thing to do isn’t it?”

…The right thing to do?

“Besides,” she continues. “It’s either me or bunking with Blitz, right?” She nudges her thumb at the man at the end of the table, and my heart attack starts all over again.

"Have you met?”

I stand up suddenly, my fists balled so tight my knuckles pale over.

“Keres?”

How could they… how could they let it in here? Don’t they know what it is?

The man at the end of the table turns to look at me slowly. His golden eyes meet mine.

A hand clasps on my right shoulder.

“Keres,” speaks Adamus. His tone is low, though not threatening or dangerous. In my core, it feels understanding. It feels… I don’t know. It feels like something I should listen to. Like the little voice of reason in the very back of my brain I so often try to mute.

It’s enough to snap me out of my daze somewhat. I turn my head over my shoulder to meet his eyes, which are steeled compared to usual. Usually, they’re a flowing billow of blue and green and grey, but now they are like steel, nothing but turquoise. Not even a circle of light appears inside of them to give a sense of security.

"I know,” he says. But no matter what he would’ve told me, I wouldn’t have felt like he knew.          

“Are you okay?” Aheka asks, slowly standing, eyebrows creased with concern.

No.

“Yes,” I decide. “I’m okay.” And then I push myself back into my seat, struggling to tear my eyes away from my newest problem.

“His name is Blitz,” Adamus tells me as he removes his hand. “He’s a soldier.”

“Where did you find him?” I mutter hoarsely.

“A cantina in the outer rim. He’s trustworthy.”        

I want to snap ‘no, he’s not’, but I decide to stay quiet.

“I know what happened to you,” Adamus says lowly. “I know what you’re thinking.”

I turn my head back to face him. “How could you do this?”

“Keres,” Aheka breaks. “What’s going on?”

I don’t get a chance to explain or lie. Adamus answers for me. “I’m ‘gonna take her to the meeting with me today. She can help in the vote.”

“Adamus…”

"It’ll be fine. She’ll see Blitz and we can use her.”

Now I’m the one out of the loop. How did it change from Aheka to me so quickly?

“I don’t think this is a good idea,” she says with knitted brows.

Adamus looks between her light green eyes with a still face. After a moment, he pushes himself up out of his seat. “Come on, Keres.”

I watch him, not moving for a second. Then Aheka looks at me and nudges her head after the boy. “You should go with him.”

I breathe out through my nose before standing up myself. Aheka shrinks away behind me, sitting alone at the table with only the monster and a gray tray.

I push my hood off my head, keeping Adamus’s back in front of me. I think about killing him- sinking my blade through his flesh and muscles until he’s crumpled on the ground. I could. There’s no one down our current hallway but us. The lights are down low, if Circe is on the security camera’s, he’s not going to tell anyone what I did.

Murder. The very thought makes the blood rush through my veins faster and tighter, coursing and getting hotter and hotter. I wonder, if I kill him, will I get some of his power? He can do things that I can’t do. I don’t know what those things are exactly yet, but I know he can.

But if I kill him, then I’ll always remember the way that he cried in my room.

Do it.

Don’t.

My hand creeps down to my waist, trailing down my belt and to cool metal of the saber. Around us, the world closes in. The lights grow even dimmer. Adamus is directly ahead of me, walking straight with his fists at his sides. I can see the muscles in his back tensing under his shirt.

Kill him. Kill him, and then kill the Clone.

“Before we go in,” Adamus turns around to face me. For a second, I’m completely blown away. I lean back to avoid the flash of gold that overtakes his hair, and the shadows over his face that make him look just like Garreth. My eyes widen, but the boy in front of me doesn’t say a word about it.

“I need something from you.”

I blink, folding my arms over each other. “The General needs something from me? I’m honored.”

Adamus inhales. “I proposed something and I need you to vote it down.”

“What did you propose?” I question.

“I just didn’t… I didn’t think the whole thing through.”

I furrow my eyebrows in seriousness. “What was the original plan?”

“I-”

“General Adamus, Vagor,” a drawl voice takes me from my thoughts. One of the Admirals- a Chiss named Sirsal- walks toward us from the other side of the hallway. He’s been distrustful of me from the beginning- not that I blame him- and he’s been more than open about it. I’ve never talked to him one on one, but he doesn’t actually seem so bad. He’s just doing his job. It’s nothing personal, and if it was, I’m in no position to tell him off. “How lovely to see you. Are you ready to vote on the proposal?”

“Of course,” Adamus replies coolly. Always a talent of his, I’ve noticed. “I was just going over the plan with our lieutenant.”

Sirsal’s eyes look at me up and down in distaste. His top lip curls in disgust when he seems the mud on top of my black boots, the rip of my leggings on my right thigh, the beaten gauze acting as gloves around my arms. “Yes, of course,” he says slowly. He changes his gaze back to Adamus, his expression softening as he sees the boy is far more cleaned up than myself. “I wasn’t aware you had appointed her as Lieutenant.”

“It’s a work in progress.”

I can feel the annoyance radiating off the Chiss man. His mind burns with a single question: Why not me?

“I see,” he says instead. “Well, let us hope this newcomer is capable of leading us to victory.” His eyes linger on me once more to get his distaste across.

Sirsal disappears through the metal door with a hiss.

"I like him,” I say.

“That was your take away from that interaction?” Adamus questions, amusement shadowing his tone.

“He’s funny.”

Adamus’s face returns to stone. “Voting down my plan is the right thing to do. Do I have your word on this?”

I stare into his eyes for a moment. For just a split second, I think they’re blue. Then they return to a swirl of pale greens and greys and teals and I know I’m far off. Adamus hasn’t really… asked me for anything before. But this, this is a favor. A personal favor at that.

“Alright,” I shrug.

The door opens up. “I’ll owe you one,” he whispers in my ear as the uniformed men turn to greet us. His words send shivers down my spine, but not in a bad way. In a way that I only feel when something excites me- like a prank or some cruel joke I’ve thought of. It makes my stomach explode with butterflies and my… no. Never mind.

“General Adamus,” one of the men greets. “Hello.”

“The topic of today’s meeting is to vote on the proposed offensive plan,” Adamus says, ignoring him in his leader voice. He crosses to the center of the room, pushes a button on the holotable and watches as the men gather to look at the blue hologram. Three Imperial Star Destroyers, and a planet that seems strangely familiar but unrecognizable. I cross my arms and lean against the wall to stay out of their way. I can still see alright, and they don’t have to worry I’m close enough to stab them in the backs.

“There are three Imperial Ships around the planet Mustafar. I believe this one, Maker’s Thrall, is in control of the Imperial shield generator on Endor, and possibly another on Ryloth. I proposed that we engage the other two Destroyers in battle as a distraction, while a smaller force infiltrates and takes out the Thrall.”

A hum of approval and nods fall over the men. Honestly, it’s not such a bad plan. It might need some refining, more detailing, but it’s a good start. Decent.  

“However, I have obtained some new information.”

“Information from her?” one of the men jabs his thumb in my direction while the one next to him tries not to roll his eyes.

“No, Admiral Raincork, and I advise you keep your thumb to yourself. I came to this realization through my own conscious.” Adamus takes a pause. I can feel his heart beat in nervousness from across the room. “If the Thrall is to be destroyed, someone will have to stay behind and…”

A roar explodes through the men now. Adamus’s voice is drowned out in the gasps. “I know, I know. This would mean suicide for whomever does this, and we can’t ask that of our people. Nor should we.”

“Why don’t we just destroy it from the outside? Or plant bombs? O-or take out the shields?” a pink skinned man asks.

Adamus shakes his head slowly. “Destroying it from the outside is impossible. A mother ship like that has more shield power than you would imagine. Taking it out would give little to no time for the group to escape and bombs would be the same.”

A few of the men nod in understanding. I try to analyze each of them. The Chiss is unswayed by Adamus’s admittance and feels that loss of life is necessary. The Twi-lek thinks it would be wrong to ask anyone onboard to do such a thing. Aheka would more than likely agree, Circe would take the side of the Chiss.

And… honestly… I would too.

“What about the people acting as distractions? Won’t they be at risk of death too?”

“No,” Adamus says. “I won’t allow that. The mission will be kept short enough that no lives can be lost. They will not be at risk.”

Adamus… it was a good plan. You knew what had to be done. You always have. That’s what being a good person means.

“So, I call for a vote,” Adamus says lowly. “Those against the original proposed plan?”

Adamus raises his hand, more slowly following. The Twi-lek raises his and so does the one next to him. I count exactly half of the men calling for this to be stopped.

“Those in favor?”

Adamus drops his hand and Sirsal raises his. Admiral Raincork follows his lead, along with the other half of the men. Adamus counts them silently, eyes widening as they drop to mine. He sees what I’m about to do. His heart is pumping, mouth dry. Don’t, he begs me. Please don’t. You said you wouldn’t.

I raise my right hand in the air, earning some of the men whipping around and gasping. Sirsal raises his eyebrow as if he’s impressed I was capable of making such a decision.

Adamus’s eyes narrow. I watch his jaw clench in anger, his hand curling into a tight fist. His eyes are darkening like a cloudy sky. He’s pissed. He’s so pissed.

“That settles it,” he says, eyes not daring to leave mine. His enraged gaze goes straight to my heart and to the pit of my stomach, swirling up emotions I couldn’t name at blaster point.     “The plan will continue on at a later date. If you have any further questions, I will answer them tomorrow at the next meeting. Any more topics? Alright, meeting concluded.”  

The men begin to shuffle out of the room, talking to each other. Half of them gives me looks of respect and the other half is anger mixed with disappointment. I don’t care about any of them. I find that the only face I really care about right now is Adamus’s. He follows the men closely, not even looking at me as he passes.

I watch his back muscles contort through his outfit as he leaves me alone in the room. The door slides shut much louder than usual, even though it’s not possible to slam it. I want so badly to talk to him. I want so badly to reach out to him.

I find that the second thing Acer Adamus gave me is guilt about other people- guilt over the living.

[elopez7228]

Scenic Route 32/47

Read on AO3 : https://archiveofourown.org/works/18268208/chapters/43229774 

Start over : https://elopez7228.tumblr.com/post/620919089893933056/scenic-route-0147

***

Leia was slow to respond to the incoming phone call. She had spent many restless nights as the day of the hearing drew closer, and tonight had been no exception. She had only recently been able to slip into a dark and troubled sleep.

She knew she had to be strong for her people, keep her head held high. She had no right to back out now. It was her job to keep morale high and to assure the others that it would all work out—though that also meant that the number of people she could confide in had dwindled. She had spent many nights consumed by her own thoughts and fears.

Her phone rang five times before going silent.

This was her personal device, no one—well, practically no one—had access to that number. It happened infrequently enough that it was enough to rouse her despite her tiredness.

The clock on the screen read 5 AM. She had barely managed two hours of sleep. But the fact that someone had called her at such an ungodly hour using this number meant that it was important. She took a moment to collect herself and rub the sleep out of her eyes before calling back.

“Skywalker.”

“Leia, it’s Kaydel, I’m sorry for calling you so early but there was an email sent to the organization’s public address and I think you really need to see it, now.”

“An email?” Leia repeated somewhat incredulously.

“Yes, I’ll stay on the line while you read it. I’m ready for any follow-up orders.” Kaydel responded shakily.

Leia frowned. If there was something wrong with the trial documents, they knew to call Amilyn and the legal team. If something had happened to Luke, he had this number himself. What the hell was it about an email of all things that had the girl scared to death?

Putting Kaydel on speaker phone, she opened up her inbox and scrolled through the most recent messages. The public account usually only received spam and donation-related emails. What on earth was going on?

from : ReyJakku@gmail.com

         To : info@earth-soldiers.org

         07/08/2018 : 4:46 AM

         Subject : BB8

         Hi Leia,

         Looks like you left me a wrong number, I’m sure it was an accident! I didn’t know how else to reach you so I hope you see this...

         It’s going well so far, Wyoming is magnificent.

         I ran into your son Ben, he was performing at a local concert. What a small world! He offered to take BB8 to his uncle by himself.

         I’m thinking it would be a great idea for BB8 to stay in the family. Would you have a problem with that? Let me know,

         Cheers!

         Rey

         0044 (0) 7881 235 562

Leia’s gasp turned into a coughing fit so violent that she had to put the phone down. Leaning over her nightstand, she groped for the water bottle that she kept there.

“Leia? Are you okay?” Though muffled, Kaydel’s voice sounded worried.

Leia took a long sip of water, trying to calm her breathing as she wiped away a few tears that had been brought on by her sudden reaction. The phone was back  in hand immediately.

“Thank you for the warning, Kay. No new orders. I’m going to handle this one myself. I’ve deleted the message, and not a word to anyone about this for now, am I clear?”

“Crystal.”

Once the conversation was over, Leia allowed her legs to give in. She slumped onto the bed, hands trembling.

She hadn’t seen it coming.

Posing as her son Ben Solo to get Rey to hand over the dog? It was, ironically, a perfect ruse.

The boy never ceased to amaze her. She underestimated him at every turn. Every time she took him for a fumbling idiot, he thoroughly managed to turn the tables on her. Well, he was her son after all. She supposed she should be proud.

Time was running out. She had to reach Rey before it was too late.

But there was no room for error here, the stakes were too high. She could ruin it all with the wrong words, with the wrong reaction.

Leia jotted down Rey’s number before deleting the email. She also made sure to delete it from her “trash” folder. Next, she went to the bathroom, taking longer than usual to braid and pin her long  grey hair. It gave her time to collect her thoughts again. She took the time to dress carefully, make herself a cup of coffee, and sit down at the kitchen table in front of the telephone.

Rey couldn’t sleep after the events of that morning. She decided instead to get dressed for the day and busy herself with taking down the tent and gathering the rest of her scattered possessions. She felt a pang of longing mixed with desire as she picked up the clothes that had been strewn on the ground. She couldn’t help but remember the way that Ben had made love to her, right on top of the Falcon. It wasn’t that long ago but it felt like a world away.

She replayed the scene of his betrayal over and over in her head as she folded her clothes and packed up the car. She fumed at the thought that he had still sought to manipulate her.

Rey wondered what to do next. Go sightseeing again? Somehow she didn’t feel up to it anymore. Drive straight to California? That would mean saying goodbye to her itinerary.

Curse Leia Skywalker for dragging her into a conflict that was none of her business...Now she had come within an inch of her life multiple times—she would absolutely love to nominate Syed Ren for a Nobel Peace Prize—and now her holiday plans were ruined.

Turning on her phone for the first time since last night (battery conservation 101), she saw the voicemail icon flashing with a new message notification.

Her heart constricted in her chest because she knew exactly who it would be. Her thumb slid over the icon to open the application anyway. Ben Solo. Should she erase it? Should she bother to listen to it at all, did he even deserve that?

The temptation to hit “delete” was undeniable, but her curiosity won out. Her heart hammered as she pressed “play”.

She could feel her features crumbling as she listened to his words. It took her a second to process the new information.

His attempt at an apology was dramatic self-flagellation as usual. Blah-blah-nail-me-to-a-cross-my-love and all that. She really didn’t have time for this nonsense, he shouldn’t be the one whining here.

But the part about running to the police because “two killers were on her trail” was enough to justify not deleting the message.

Ben fucking Solo had some explaining to do, considering that literally all of his Saturday night bar mates were some kind of new wave punk assassins.

She was in the middle of feeding BB8 when an epiphany occurred. Scrambling for her phone, she typed out a very important email. By the time she hit “send” it was 6 AM (or 5 AM in California, she supposed).

She was hardly surprised when she received a response within fifteen minutes. When her phone buzzed the caller ID was unknown, but she knew it was Leia Skywalker. Rey took a deep breath. She knew that by sending that email she had turned the tables on them. Now, it was her turn.

“Yes, hello?”

“Hello, Rey? It’s Leia Skywalker. I’m sorry for calling you so early in the day but I figured since you emailed me you must be awake.”

Rey feigned surprise.

“Oh, hello Leia! I didn’t even recognize your number...lovely weather in Denver I hope?”

“In Den—oh yes, the weather here is fine,” Leia responded, seemingly shaken by the unexpected question. “Rey, how is BB8 doing, is she okay?”

“BB8? Of course! She’s been such a great road trip companion, she’s so cute and we’ve gotten so used to each other.”

“Is she...with you?”

Rey blinked. When was Leia going to stop pretending?

“Yeah, for now. I’m dropping her off with Ben this afternoon, actually. He said he was going to San Francisco to visit his uncle anyway and I guess I couldn’t possibly refuse him,” she replied as innocently as she could.

On the other side, Leia sounded like she breathed a sigh of relief.

“Rey, no, I think this isn’t a good idea...I would rather have her stay with you.”

“Why.”

It came out harsher than anticipated. Rey found herself unable to smile any longer.

Leia was silent for a moment, sensing the change of tone. She must have known she was missing something because she sighed ruefully.

“Rey, tell me the truth, where is BB8?”

“No Leia, you’re the one who has to tell me the truth. Why did you suddenly change your number?”

Straight to the point. Leia hesitated.

“To protect you.”

“Protect me from what, your own deceptions?”

“It’s a long story, Rey. But you have to keep BB8 with you, every step of the way. Don’t let Ben near her.”

“Oh believe me, Madam Skywalker, I have all the time in the world. In fact, I think I could really use a long story, given that my normal life has been upended by the godforsaken, murderous “Knights of Ren”. Thank you for that, by the way. This is not how I wanted to spend my time, so I really think you owe me an explanation.”

The older woman sighed again. Rey was right. In her blind panic to strike FORCE as quickly as possible, she had forgotten the human factors involved. She had put this innocent girl in danger.

She was clearly resourceful and capable, but she was innocent all the same. She deserved the truth.

Ever so carefully, Leia began her story. Starting with her parents’ company, the betrayal of her mother by her father, his fall from corporate grace, and then the massive culture shift under Snoke’s leadership. As the new director, Snoke had sold shares of the family business to their competitors through fraudulent financial schemes, gaining enough political influence to become the president of the board. Then he came for Luke and Leia, who had been attempting to independently audit his financial gains.

Finally, he was able to turn Leia’s own son, Ben, against her. He offered him everything she never could: money, power, and a prestigious title.

Rey paid close attention. The backstory gave her a lot of context for what she had already known from her web searches. But it still didn’t answer her biggest question.

“Leia, where do I fit into all of this?”

Rey, Leia admitted, was a Golden Opportunity (trademark pending)...truly one in a million, too good to pass up, really. In the Leia’s line of work, one had to make decisions rapidly—often in high-stakes strategic situations with difficult choices and volatile conditions. The situation could devolve at any given moment.

How could Earth Soldiers get the micro-SD, that contained all of the evidence of FORCE’s illegal insider trading under Snoke and Hux, to San Francisco without triggering a defensive strike? Leia’s solution was to use a clean hand. Who better than someone who was going on a haphazard road trip across the country with no agenda and no political motives or alliances whatsoever? Rey was the perfect messenger.

What Leia hadn’t counted on was Ben’s intervention. He crashed through the plan like a bull in a china shop. Brash, but incredibly effective. Underestimating her son always had proven to be her fatal flaw.

Rey took the time to absorb it all. On it’s face, Leia’s strategy was questionable, but not impossible.

“You should have told me all this at the very beginning.”

“If I had, would you have taken the job?”

“Probably not. But that’s not the point! You had no right to put my life in danger over a personal conflict. Especially without my knowledge. What am I to you? Just collateral damage?”

On the other side, Leia’s shoulders slumped. She couldn’t respond. She had made some questionable decisions in her lifelong conflict against FORCE, and it wore her down on some days. Sometimes she was too quick, too rash for her own good. She thought back to her days in the army, how she had always been surrounded by comrades-in-arms who strived for the same mission. But real life wasn’t like that.

Rey didn’t need to hear that, probably didn’t want to hear it either.

“You’re my only hope,” Leia said simply. “And if the Knights of Ren are after you I can send someone to escort you.”

This would alert all of FORCE’s allies, they would all target the Millenium Falcon at once. But Rey didn’t deserve to be sacrificed for a cause that wasn’t her own.

“Luckily, I’m not done here. I think I still have a card to play. Can I call you at this number—or are you going to disappear again?”

“You can keep it, as long as you memorize it. Please, I don’t want to be traced.”

“Understood. You’ll hear from me soon.”

Rey hung up. The very next person she called was Ben Solo.

[winters-history]

Deaths Angel || Part One

Biker!Bucky x reader

Inspired by Ride with Me by @writemarvelousthings . Thank you for all the help and support you have given me in writing this story

Plot : when Y/N returns to New York from Los Angles with the troubling news of her fathers passing, she finds out more than she could’ve bargained for. Follow Y/N as she gusts down her best friends killers whilst navigating through gangs, romances and friendships.

Warnings : Mentions of Death, Hospices, loss of loved ones

Walking through the grey and plain corridor of my fathers haospice was harder to imagine. Last time I was here this place was full of his new friends and there family’s, all having as much fun as they could before the end.

I walk into my fathers room and I see it filled with our family photos and all he held dear to him. I place down the card board boxes I have in my hands and I start pulling his many books of off one of six large book cases he ha.. had built in this room.

I just keep moving the books from the bookcase into the boxes and soon I have emptied 3 bookcases and filled about 20 boxes.

“You don’t have to do this alone you know” I hear a voice say from behind me and I know who it is immediately

“Peter, if I don’t who is? I can ask May to do it and I refuse to make any of the nurses or doctors here do it, they have enough to do” I say turning to my little cousin on my mothers side

“At least take a break then, come for a walk down the street with me, I need a coffee” he says which I find extremely weird, considering he doesn’t drink coffee

“You don’t drink coffee” I say as a statement

“Then I’ll get a hot chocolate and you can have coffee” He says pulling me out of my dads old bedroom

“So what was it like in Los Angles?”Peter asks trying to make some sort of conversation

“It was .... different to say the least, but it wasn’t New York. This place has a calming feeling y’know?” I say to him and he nods

“Well I’ve missed you around here, me and Ned haven’t had anyone that can help us with our homework, especially English” He says and I laugh

“Your smart enough, I’m sure you can write and essay without my help” I say and he shakes his head

“My grade average in English had called to a C-“ he says and I look at him

“Great, tou relise this means we’re gonna have a long chat about true right use of grammar and punctuation” I say

“Ohhhh sounds fun” Peter says opening the door to the coffee shop for me

“So, hows May?” I ask peter

“She’s good, she’s actually been on a few dates with this guy, he seems to really like her, and with everything she went through with uncle Ben she really needs it” he says and I smile softly thinking about my aunt, who is more of a sister than anything

We walk up to the counter and order our drinks whilst making small talk about his school work.

Once we get our drink Peter convinces me to sit down and have a chat before we head back. As we are talking I zone out and think about my dad. How can he not be here anymore, I was talking to him two days ago when I told him I was flying home.

“N... Y/N. Hey you okay?” Peter asks gaining me attention

“Yeah sorry I was think bout stuff” I say and he gives me a sad smile

“Anyway, I want to know what’s happened around here, anything and everything” I say to Peter

“Well, not a lots happened that you don’t know about, me and MJ are still together, Ned is still completely in love with Betty and vice versa” he says and I smile remembering how I love he and MJ are, is so sweet.

“Tell me about this guy Aunt Mays dating” I say and he forms a small smile

“He’s really nice, everyone calls him happy cause he used to be the moodiest person ever until he met may, she’s so enamoured with him and he her. He cares Y/N, he really cares. She’s told him about you, he said he’d love to meet you one day” Peter says and I can tell by the way he’s talking about this Happy guy that he approves, which is all I need.

“We should be getting back Peter, I still need to finish packing up my dads room” I say and he nods and we walk out of the café.

As we are walking back he gets a phone call and I tune out to give him some privacy. I start thinking about everything and I can help but smile at everything Peters told me, it seems like May and Peter are doing okay and that’s what matters, no matter what I will always put those I know as family first, always.

As we get back to the hospice I see the truck I rented to move all of dads stuff into storage is still here thankfully but I also notice two black SUV’s outside and I wonder what it is, who it is.

“Y/N” I hear my name shouted and I turn around to see may jogging my way

“Aunt May!” I say hugging her

“You saying Aunt makes me feel old, were barely 8 years apart in age” she says making me laugh

“I want you to meet someone” she says to me and we turn back towards the hospice and I see my dads best friend, Nick, and a guy in a suit, who I presume must be happy.

“ Y/N this is Happy, Happy this is Y/N” May says and I go to shake the mans hand

“It’s so nice to meet you, Peters told me a lot” I say to him

“They never stop mentioning you” He says making me laugh

“Let me tell you, you ever hurt her and I swear to god, you’ll wish all you had to deal with was Peter and Nick, cause I will ruin your life you got it” I say turning serious

“I don’t plan on ever hurting her” he say and I nod

“Y/N!” May shouts making me laugh and then I turn to Nick and hug him

“Hey swan” He says the old nickname and I laugh

“How you doing old man?” I say back to him and he laughs louder

“I’m good, how are you” He says

“I’m coping” he says nodding

“What are you guys doing here anyway?” I say and I see Peter look away

“We where finishing packing up your dads room” May say

“I was gonna do it you didn’t have to” I say to them

“We wanted to, me and happy are going to take all the stuff to storage, nicks going to drive you to your new apartment, no objections. He’s got some stuff that we thought you’d want” May says to me giving me a stern look and I nod, knowing there’s no fighting her

“Let’s go” Nick says to me as we walk back to the car, I get in the passenger seat whilst Peter gets in the back.

———————————————————————

As we arrive at my new apartment building I get out of the car and grab one of the three boxes in the back, leaving one for Nick and one for Peter.

We walk inside and get in the elevator going up to my floor. As we are heading up I think about the last time I talked to my dad. He told me he had to tell me something and that we’d meet up when I got of my plane. Instead of getting a call from him Of where we should meet, I got a call from his nurse, Peggy, who told me he had passed in the night.

Once we arrive on my floor we walk to my apartment and I open the door and walk to the living room, I place the box down and take my jacket off.

“Nice Place Y/N.” Peter day putting his box down

“Thanks Pete, I’m going to get changed and then maybe we can head to the den?” I ask and Peter nods

“I can’t tonight kid, but you have your car here right?” Nick says and I smile and nod

“Yeah old man I have my new age car here, guess what, it can go more than 50 mph as well, what a time we live in!” I saysarcastically making him laugh

“Okay kid, I gotta go, I’ve missed you around here you know” he says giving me a goodbye hug.

“Bye nick” I say as he goes to the door

“Bye Kid” He says

“Let me get changed and we’ll head down to the Den, yeah?” I ask peter

“Sure, I’m going to raid your fridge first though” he says and I laugh

I walk into my bedroom and. Walk to my closet, opening it and grabbing what I think will be good to wear, keeping the outfit as dark as possible

As I walk back into the living room I see Peter sitting there eating a bag of chips.

“Ready to go?” I ask and he looks up at me

“If we weren’t related ...” he says and I smack him in the back of the head

“What was that for?” He shouts

“Never talk about a woman like that, your lucky I don’t tell MJ.... yet” I say leaving the apartment with him in a tow, and locking the door. We get in the elevator and go down to the parking lot level and walk towards my car.

“Y/N is that a 1969 Ford Mustang Boss 302?” Peter asks and I am surprised, never knowing he was into cars

“Uhh yea, a friend gave it to me” I say getting in

“good friend” Peter says as we take to for the Den and within 10 minutes we’re parked in front.

As we walk in I notice some familiar faces and say high to them on the way by before meeting May at the Bar.

“Damn girl, look at you!” She shouts making me do a twirl

“Why thank ya” I saw with a slight southern drawl

“ what you doing here anyway?” May asks

“I thought I’d come in and help, I had nothing to do anyway” I say and she smiles

“Perfect timing cause my bartender just called and she can’t make it and I don’t want to call Wanda in cause it’s her night off, she might be here but I want her to spend time on the other side of the bar” May says and I laugh

I walk behind the bar and take my leather jacket and scarf of before putting my hair up, and for some reason I can’t help but shake the feeling that someone’s watching me.

I start my shift and it’s pretty easy till Peter tries to sneak past me and I look to where he’s looking and I see a group of peopl watching him , so I pretend I don’t notice him going into the storage room, and I grab my phone sending him a text.

I hope you know your not that sneaky, Parker.

I laugh when he comes out trying to act natural with a bottle of whiskey, I notice it’s not a really expensive bottle so I let him take it, knowing t that he wouldn’t dare drink in Mays bar.

I watch him walk to his friends and one of them scruffles his hair and says something to him, and that’s when I see May walking up behind the man holding the bottle but before she does anything I make eye contact with her and mouth the words ‘let em have it’ and she nods

“You give it to them?” She asks when she get back to the bar

“Peter” I say and she looks at me

“Why’d you let em have it?” She asks

“Figured you knew them, there comfortable in here meaning they know you’d put up with them” I say and she laughs

“There regulars, I think you’d like them” she says walking into the kitchen to grab the food that a table was waiting on and when I looked up I made eye contact with one of them.

He had dark hair and the most beautiful blue eyes, and the nicest smile. Blue eyes that I could dream about all night

[bave-de-crapaud]

Forbidden...

Part One

A workplace romance cannot possibly go awry, can it?

Sirius x reader

Post-azkaban

Sirius Lives

Word count: 1400+

Warnings: swearing, mentions of sex

Disclaimer: all characters are assumed 18+

~I assumed based on comments from the last series who would want to be on the tag list. Let me know if you want to be taken off or added on to this one and/or future imagines xxx~

————————————————————————————————————————

Gradually. That’s how your feelings had started for Sirius. It wasn’t a whirlwind Heathcliffy, roses are red, violets are blue, storm in a tea cup kind of feeling, more a gradual hop, skip and the occasional jump type process.

If you thought very hard you could pin point the start of these feelings to a night when a very drunk woman had taken agin to you at your local pub. Accidentally bumping her as you moved towards the bar, she let some particularly foul curse words and assumptions about your personality loose. Not wanting to enrage her further you stood still, quietly pondering how to get out of the situation until a loud “HEY! If you want a fight with Y/N, you’ll have to go through me first!” Was heard from the other side of the bar.

Turning you saw Sirius standing behind you glaring daggers at the lady whose response to you was “you don’t even bother to fight back yourself, call off your dog.” Which, to her great surprise, caused yourself and Sirius to double over with laughter.

“Fucking weirdos.” She muttered angrily before storming off. And that was it. 

Sirius was officially not just your work colleague; he was now your friend. Animagus jokes aside, that had turned out to be a very enjoyable evening. He insisted, much to his date’s dismay, that you join them for a drink which ended up being four, or was it five? before the pub closed and kicked you out both stumbling into separate taxis buzzing from a brilliant night of witty banter and mirth.

Sirius was a contractor for the Auror office at the Ministry of Magic where you also worked. As one of the two a senior policy officers for the Public Relations Office, yourself and colleague, Antheia Perenna, had a fair bit to do with the Auror Office thanks to the Head of Department: Alastor ‘Madeye’ Moody. A large chunk of your day was taken up reactively delivering damage control over Moody’s often ‘over zealous’ work methods. He didn’t necessarily care about not causing a stir with his arrests, which meant you would be called down to the 2nd floor and smooth over any ruffled public feathers, something you both found yourselves doing increasingly often.

It was on such an assignment where you were introduced to Sirius. Fed up with the amount of press the Auror office was creating the Minister for Magic requested a trial with an external dark wizard catcher. Hoping that this would reduce the overtime for the Marketing and Communications Department.

“Fuck!” Was what you whispered when you shook his hand.

“Sorry, Y/N I didn’t catch that?” He said, his grey eyes twinkling. He had.

Closing your gaping mouth and trying very hard to coax your eyebrows down to their normal position, you had, literally had your breath taken away by him.

The words ‘Greek God’ swum to mind when looking at him, followed by ‘Oh wasfgdhb’ and ‘take me now!’

His dark wavy hair fell to his shoulders highlighting his chiselled cheekbones and razor sharp jaw.

He looked aristocratic until you swept your eyes over his equally gorgeous body noting tattoos peaking out of his shirt collar and down his forearms.

He stood with an easy slopping grace, as if he had graced many women, and men, with his presence and just had to wait patiently while they got their breath back.

—

That was October. Two months ago. In those two months you had had many dealings with Sirius.

He was professional, polite, and had a very dry sense of humour.

He was excellent at bringing in arrests and causing a minimum of chaos for you to smooth over.

His relationship with you had moved from acquaintance to work colleagues and since the ‘pub incident,’ to work friends.

He had started to banter with you around the office, calling you nicknames; the current being ‘Sade’ on account of you being – in his own words – “A Smooth Operator!” A complimentary nod to a recent event where Moody had left the pet Crup of his latest arrest at the crime scene; a muggle park. You managing to turn it into a positive story, Exclusive: New breed of Jack Russell terrier: double the tail – double the wag!

It was a pleasant relationship and you enjoyed going to work for the atmosphere and camaraderie you were building with the Aurors now Sirius was here.

Apart from the occasional fantasy you had about him, Sirius had changed from an object of lust to a new fond friend…that is until the night of the work Christmas Party.

—

Each office had seasons greetings drinks but the Ministry threw an annual party for its entire staff every year.

All Ministry employees looked forward to this evening. Catered, live entertainment, and a fully stocked bar it was a frivolous night, catching up with friends across all departments and cheering the year before the Christmas holidays began.

This year was no different. It had been a hard one and you allowed yourself to over indulge.

“Come dance with me, Y/N?” Antheia tugged on your arm.

“Aaaaahh no I need to sit down before I spin myself off the dance floor, why don’t you ask Sirius?” You nudged him as he sat down beside you.

“I’m taking time out as well Antheia, maybe the next one.” He handed you a drink missing Antheia poking her tongue out at you both before turning around and sashaying across the floor.

Sirius was charmed by your chat. He already knew a fair bit about you now but continued to ask about your family, what you were getting up to on weekends, your favourite food, most embarrassing experience, including many stories from your Hogwarts days. It was such an easy conversation you found yourself divulging more and more of your life to him. You also found him to be the most interesting character. Knowing a bit about his nefarious backstory you tried to avoid bringing up Azkaban however he graciously and calmly referred to his past as a shaping force in his motivations and desires now.

You were so engrossed in exchanging anecdotes you lost count of how many songs passed and the rest of your surroundings. Too soon the night was over and Sirius was offering to escort you home. An offer he had no intention to fulfil, and you knew it.

It was a classic case of ‘one too many’ bottles of butter beer and eggnog.

One minute you were saying your goodbyes and talking to Sirius outside the Ministry about his Christmas plans, or lack-there-of; the next you were pinned between the front door of Grimmauld Place and Sirius’ incredibly well formed chest while his mouth explored yours in a frenzy of passion and lust.

—

You tried not to think of that night too often.

It was lucky the Christmas holiday was upon you and you did not have to ensue any awkward post-drunk-sex-with-your-work-colleague conversation. In fact, Sirius’ contract was up with the Auror Office and he wouldn’t be working at the Ministry in the new year.

This was for the best you reasoned to yourself. You wouldn’t have to face him at work knowing he had intimate carnal knowledge of you and you him.

You wouldn’t have to explain how you scraped the whole length of your leg sneaking out his bedroom window in order to find a quiet disapparation spot out of earshot from his sleeping form.

You wouldn’t have to be reminded of how you surely embarrassed yourself with a man you actually admire. Yes, this was for the best that you wouldn’t be running into Sirius because you wouldn’t be forced to admit to yourself that you actually had a wonderful time and rated the evening as one the best nights you had spent away from your own bed.

No! That couldn’t happen. You weren’t supposed to feel this way. You screwed your eyes up and palmed your face every time that thought crossed your mind. Antheia was going to kill you. You see the reason your tryst with Sirius was eating you up so much was that Antheia, your work colleague, your friend, the one who got you the job at the Ministry in the first place had spent many a glass of wine with you waxing lyrical about Sirius’ lips, his smirk, the way he said “Good morning ladies,” and could she read into that meaning more?

She was supposed to be the one to go home with him after the Christmas party, not you.

She was in love with Sirius and had made that very clear to you on numerous occasions.

You had broken the cardinal rule of friendship. What the heck do you do now?

———

— Tag List: @evyiione @belladonnarey @virgilwrites

[oracleofbullshyt-blog]

Chapter 11 - Surprises

@sparklywagonfreakoperator gave me the Irish man!

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The ship came into rest with a familiar jarring thud that meant the magnetic docking clamps locking them into place had activated, a softer thud was heard as a ramp was extended to their cargo bay so they could leave the ship. The atmosphere in the ship was light as the crew finally got their shore leave and after the events of the previous two weeks, everyone was eager to get of the ship.

“If I so much as see you lifting that arm above your head, trying to lift anything heavy at all, or exerting yourself in anyway, I will keep you in the medbay until further notice!” Aengal stared at him dead in the eyes, walking past him down the ramp,

“A concussion, three cracked ribs, and a torn rotator cuff. Yet apparently, it’s a good idea to let you off the ship. But no, what do I know? I’m just the medical officer who can sense pain and is from a race that is known to be healers. No one ever listens to me!”

Vahatu chuckled and winced in pain as he did so, he held the railing gently walking down the ramp,

“Don’t worry so much, I’m just going to the market”

Aengal shook his head and turned to the captain as he got to the bottom of the ramp,

“You better find us a high paying job next time, I want Nano-reconstruction vats and two of them. The way this crew is going I’m going to need to rebuild somebody soon.”

The captain barked a laugh at this and then turned to the crew, “Alright everyone, go and have fun, just remember to meet at the coordinates on your communicators in one revolution of the station”.

 Slugs had gone with Vahatu, settling on an impressively large albeit oddly shaped form to help break the crowd so that he wouldn’t be jostled as they braved the market.

“Your forms are getting a lot bigger than what they used to be when I first joined, are you nearing critical mass yet?”

Slugs looked up from the store they were at with his two eye stalks that currently lay above his head, looking as shocked as an anamorphous mass of limbs could,

“You know about that? Soon, soon I think, I have maybe five or six rotations but I’m not sure.”

Vahatu looked up at the beastly Slugs trying to figure out how to phrase his question when Slugs opened a cavity in his body and reached into himself, pulling out a flashing communicator,

“We forgot about the meeting, we’ll have to finish this later else we’ll be late!”

Without giving permission Vahatu found himself being cradled like a hatchling by several arm-like appendages as Slugs flew them over the crowds in mismatched wings to the rest of the crew.

Mantis looked up at the sign to the establishment they now stood warily in front of,  

“Ben you know this is a human only bar” “No It’s not, don’t worry!” “There’s literally a sign there with a big red cross through a picture of an alien”

Everyone looked up as slugs landed with an embarrassed and harassed looking Vahatu, using his tail to steady himself he stood up adjusting the brace his arm was in. The captain shook his head at the two,

“Alright everyone let’s get this over with”

The captain however did look up at the bar with unease in his eyes.

 They walked through the door into a small room filled with shoes and jackets, the noise of the patrons inside could be heard here.

“Alright if you’re wearing shoes and jackets take them off, this is an old-fashioned place, and put any weapons you have in the lockers over there.” “Wonderful, let’s all go into a den full of predators unarmed, while our resident brawler is still in bandages” Catakah the Avisxian male said in despair as he hung up his gun, gesturing in Vahatu’s direction who was standing uneasily. His arm in a brace, half of his head wrapped in reactive bandages, along with multiple other parts of his body covered in a mixture of bandages and fake skin spray.

The captain looked around in resignation as he opened the door not helping the crew unease,

“Let’s get this over with then.”

 The door opened out wide and the crew walked in. The bars noise was unbelievable, nothing close to the recruitment centres Vahatu had spent time in.

Then in went silent. Every pair of predatory human eyes set upon the crew. Vahatu’s scales lit up in fear.

Sciaal once again attempted to blend into the wall but his trembling form could still be made out,

“This is it we’re all dead”

A large man stood up from behind a table and pointed towards them, shouting to something behind the bar,

“Maaaa, that bloody navy boy is back again!” from behind the bar four spidery long metallic legs appeared, they eased themselves around the bar, and as they cleared the messy countertop on top sat a small fragile looking human. Grey haired and with thick glasses she stared at the newcomers, “Is that my nephew? Why are you standing there come give your aunty a kiss!”

The room exploded with laughter and noise again as the Captain walked over and kissed his aunt’s cheek, he then took turns introducing each of the crew to the amusement of them.

“How can you let your crew get hurt like this, and now you’re making him stand and even walk, do you have no heart? I know you weren’t raised like this.” She rolled her eyes at the captain and started to coo over Vahatu as she walked over to him, firmly leading him to one of the chairs by a group of humans despite his protests. She looked over at each of them, “Now be nice, this poor thing is hurt and can’t stand for long”

She walked back to the captain and hit him with the cloth that was previously lying over her shoulder as the one human looked at Vahatu, pulsing a steady scared state, his eyes growing wide as he saw Vahatu change colour,

“Holy nightmare, with a night light.”

 The captain looked around pleased as he saw his crew being led away in different directions in varying states of apprehension by the patrons of the bar, they would be fine here, so he wasn’t worried, but still he listened in to the various conversations going on,

“Do they flash by themselves?” “Are you biologically related to an earth Mantis in anyway?” “You’re so cute and soft! I used to have budgies!” “Oh, change into me next please, pleeeaassseeee!” “You’re such a beautiful colour though!” “Are you willing to share research notes on medical practices, with varying species?”

 Wolfs sat down with Ben and the Captain at a booth as the Old lady walked around and lowered the legs of her spidery walker so they could fit under the table,

“Why you don’t ever come visit, I’m here all alone you know?”

She reached up absentmindedly and started to scratch the back of Wolfs head, he looked completely shocked at this action but didn’t go to stop her as Ben started snickering,

“I’m busy you know that… I’m only here to collect the other two anyways,”

Wolfs having forgotten the initial shock was loving the attention, almost catatonic sitting with his eyes half closed and a large canine grin on his face as his ears were scratched.

“Yes, yes, I know, I had to let them stay in the attic! They’re still wanted all over the city for that business a while ago, the syndicate wanted to storm this place, how dare they!? But we showed them what would happen.”

Ben let out a low whistle as he looked at the wall the old lady gestured to with the ‘trophies’ from half a dozen species hanging amidst the flags from earth.

“But they’re not here now, they said they’ll meet you at your ship after they dealt with some business.”

The captain looked annoyed at this information but didn’t say anything. He turned to watch the crew interacting with the other humans of the bar whist Ben was assaulted by questions by the old lady, he smiled as he caught her talking about her beautiful daughter who Ben should meet the next time he’s in town. The crew had finally loosened up and were mingling nicely, he just hoped no one agreed to do any favours, while the patrons were all good-hearted people, his aunts bar was also a renowned home for smugglers and mercenaries.

 They left some time later chatting excitedly as they walked down the dark and narrow passages to get back to the ship, all in varying states of agreement that humans were decidedly very strange.

Leonidas’s Shield stood tall over the last few stalls in front of them, when Wolfs looked around and lowered his voice,

“We’re being followed” “Not by a very good pursuer it seems though”

Ben rolled his eyes chuckling in his very inebriated state, as the shadow jumped behind a wall when he turned to look.

“Why you humans obsess with putting Ethanol into your bodies is beyond me” Aengal said as he looked around, “Let’s just get to the ship before we do anything about it” the captain laughed in good spirits.

 They arrived at the ship to find a red-haired man, slight of frame sitting in a bomber jacket on the ramp staring at a holopad, as they approached he stood up and enveloped Ben and the Captain in a bear hug, in an explosion of noise and conversation that the translators couldn’t pick up fast enough. Ben turned to introduce the crew but was halted by a gesture from the man,

“I’m hoping that your time spent in space hasn’t left you lacking your skills David my lad!” He barked out a laugh speaking in a strong Irish accent even through the translators, Captain David Balme rolled his eyes at the statement,

“No Niall, I knew we were being followed. She, however, does need to work on her skills.”

Niall let out another laugh and spoke into a communicator that was grafted into his wrist, “Alright Christine, come on out you were spotted.”

A woman came around the corner dressed in all black she pulled off the hood that covered her face, revealing a mass of shockingly green hair that rolled off her shoulders.

“No fair, I thought I did good that time.”

Ben looked at the girl and started laughing,

“We saw you as soon as we stepped out the door, Christy! That hair isn’t hard to miss when you forget to tuck it away.”

She looked up at Ben with anger in her eyes,

“You know what Ben, how about you shove it up-“

The Captain looked around sharply as she was about to finish,

“Christine! Finish that sentence I dare you.”

Her expression switched instantly, she looked down and pouted, but gave Ben a sideways glance filled with irritation as she spoke,

“Sorry about that Dad.”

Balme picked her up in a bear hug absolutely beaming with a grin splitting his face.

The crew stood their shocked except for Omni and Aengal, Vahatu radiated purple in confusion. The Captain looked at this crew and sighed.

“Alright let’s go in everyone and I’ll explain this mess.”