#v; But Did You See the Flares in the Sky? Were You Blinded by the Light? /// Ares III Crew | Explore Tumblr posts and blogs

razieltwelve · 4 years ago

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Ember (Final Rose)

Yang staggered to her feet and wiped the blood from her mouth. It was hard to focus. She could barely see the Grimm in front of her. All she could see were the graves. How long had it been? Too long. She wasn’t supposed to be the last one left. She’d always thought she’d be the first to go.

The ground trembled. Claws sliced through the air. Her Semblance flared. The embers in her soul began to blaze. Dying embers became a bonfire. A bonfire became a blaze. A blaze became an inferno. An inferno became a star.

And she knew what happened next.

She welcomed it.

X X X

Yang reached over to wake up Neo and froze. The other woman’s Aura signature was gone. Her mouth opened and closed, but the words wouldn’t come. There were only tears. Instead, she woke up Blake and Winter. She didn’t have to say anything. Their senses were keen enough. They knew.

Seventy-five. Neo had only been seventy-five.

The diagnosis was simple. Neo was the product of two distant offshoots of Saviour and Ragnarok joining together. The fact that she’d survived awakening her Semblance at all was a minor miracle, but her body had always been living on borrow time. Once her Aura capacity dropped low enough, the two conflicting sets of genes had begun to tear away at each other.

Yang had simply thought it was arthritis or something like that. Neo had never told any of them what it really was. The stupid idiot had probably been trying to avoid worrying them because there hadn’t been a cure. At least her children would be safe. Their genes were stable enough to avoid the problems she’d been plagued with.

Watching them put Neo into the ground, Yang had half-expected the little troll to leap out of her coffin and claim it was all a prank. But she didn’t, and they buried her on a rainy day late in spring.

X X X

Yang shone more brightly than a star. A corona of pure Aura surrounded her, a violent, raging maelstrom of raw power that simply incinerated anything it touched. There could have been a thousand Grimm or even a million and not one of them would have laid one claw on her.

She laughed, and there was something wild and desperate about it. The lesser Grimm were either dead or fleeing, and she finally got a glimpse of her real opponent, a colossal Grimm, the kind that could crush entire civilisations. Dimly, she was aware of it raining, but none of the rain reached her. The conflagration around her evaporated it long before it could touch her.

The power inside her continued to build. How much time did she have? Five minutes if she was lucky, maybe less. She was old now, so old, and her Semblance wasn’t as easy to control as it had. Already, she could see her skin blistering as her body began to fail under the strain.

Not yet. Just a little longer.

The Grimm roared, and she roared back.

X X X

Winter passed away early one autumn morning. She was out on the porch in her favourite rocking chair when she went to sleep and never woke up. In a way, Yang was glad. For the longest time, Winter had been afraid that she would die on some mission far from home with no one by her side. Instead she’d passed after a brief illness with her family right there with her.

Yang had been brewing some tea for her when Chomp V padded into the kitchen and nudged her. The Saint Bernard was getting on in years too, and she had a feeling he was hanging on just for Winter. No one could ever replace the original Chomp in their hearts, but this particular descendant of his had been one of Winter’s favourites.

When he nudged her leg and gave a low whine, she knew. Without saying a word, she went out onto the porch and tucked the blanket a little tighter around Winter. It didn’t matter anymore, but it felt right to do. Even if she couldn’t feel the cold anymore, it seemed wrong to let the blanket slip loose when there was a chill about.

Ninety years old. Not a bad run, Winter would have said, certainly much longer than she’d expected given her career choice and all the close calls she’d had over the years.

They buried her next to Neo, and a week later, they buried Chomp V nearby too. That old dog really had been holding on just for her.

X X X

Yang hit the Grimm like a meteor out of the sky. The force of the impact shattered trees for more than a mile around and tore the leaves off others even further out. The Grimm barely flinched, and its counterstrike would have reshaped a mountain. Yang took the blow with a mocking laugh, and the blaze of Aura around her burned ever brighter.

The night was gone. In its place was a day born of the radiance that was Yang’s Aura, a raging, furious star that eclipsed even the sun itself. Her next blow hit harder still, and the one after that was even stronger. The ground shook, the clouds parted, and still the Grimm refused to fall.

Brighter.

Hotter.

Stronger.

The inferno in Yang’s soul was reaching its zenith. Her skin sizzled, and her hair began to char. But she was smiling. She’d been away from home for so many years, but she’d be back home soon. She could feel it. It was right there, but there was still one last thing to do.

X X X

Trust Blake to be the one to go down fighting. A ninety-eight year had no business on the battlefield, but Blake had spent so many of her teenage years running away that she’d refused to run away later in life even when it would have been smarter.

From what Yang had heard from the survivors, Blake had been an army unto herself. Her clones has washed over the battlefield and turned the tide. Oh, she wasn’t as strong as she had been in her prime - not even close - but she was cunning and skilful, and quantity had a quality all of its own.

In the end, it hadn’t been the Grimm that had killed her. At the end of the battle, standing victorious one last time, her heart had simply given out, that brave, kind, wonderful heart. She’d complained about some pain in her chest, and by the time they’d begun treating her, it was too late.

They’d buried her next to Neo and Winter, and Yang had stood there, utterly numb, realising that she was the only one from Team RWBY left. Even Ruby and Weiss were gone. They’d passed one after the other only a year ago. Looking around the crowd at the funeral, she realised that almost all of the people from her generation were gone. There were so few of them left.

In the crowd, Diana met her eyes. She understood.

X X X

Yang felt something inside her give way, and the rush of power from within her became an unstoppable torrent, a flood, a tidal wave, an onslaught that washed away everything in its path. The world flared, so bright it blinded her, and the blast that followed annihilated the Grimm and carved a vast crater into the ground so large she knew it would be visible from space.

She wasn’t sure how long she’d been lying there. It might have been ten seconds. It could have been ten hours. But then she heard footsteps. Was it the Grimm? No. She had just enough of her senses left to realise who it was.

Spiky hair, turned white by age, appeared at the edges of he hazyr vision.

“You know,” Diana drawled. “I’m kind of amazed you’re alive.”

Yang smiled weakly. Her Aura, which had blazed at millions of times its usual strength only moments ago was now little more than embers, dying and faint. “Not for much longer.”

“I figured that.” Diana sat down beside her and sighed. She wasn’t as sprightly as she had been in her youth. “You know, there is a song the Yun sing.”

“Oh?” Yang blinked. Diana was gone. No. That wasn’t right. She couldn’t see. Her eyes must have begun to fail. It wouldn’t be long then. She hoped her hearing would hold out a little longer. She had a feeling that this was important.

“Can you hear the bells?” Diana sang softly. “The bells calling the warriors home? The proud and mighty bells of Oerba long lost. The warriors hear the bells, the bells of the city long lost, the bells of the city fallen and not yet rebuilt.” She chuckled. “Trust me, it sounds better when you sing it in Yun, but the point of the song is that the warriors in the song are dead. The bells they’re hearing aren’t really the bells of Oerba because they died defending Oerba. Instead, they’re the bells that toll in the halls of our ancestors to welcome the Honoured Dead.” She reached out and took one of Yang’s scorched hands in hers. “Can you hear the bells, Yang? You’ve more than earned them.”

“Bells, huh?” Something swam into view out of the darkness of her lost vision. There was a house in front of her with a familiar dog waiting on the porch. She climbed the steps and opened the door to a time when everything was perfect and everyone she loved was still alive. They were waiting for her there, with smiles on their faces and words of greeting on their lips. She wasn’t an old woman anymore. She was young and so were they, and she felt more at home right now than she’d felt in years and years. “I think I can.”

“Then don’t worry about anything else,” Diana said. “You’ve done enough, more than enough. You’ve fought for so long, but you don’t have to fight anymore.”

Yang smiled and squeezed Diana’s hand. “I’ll say hi to everyone for you.”

The embers within her sputtered and went dark. Her hand went limp.

X X X

Diana reached out and closed Yang’s sightless eyes before glancing down at the syringe of emergency nano-machines in her hand. As she stood, Alison and Li arrived. The twins looked at their mother for a long moment and then back at her.

“You didn’t use the syringe, did you?” Alison asked quietly.

Diana smiled. “No. No, I didn’t.”

Li’s lips quivered. “Thank you.”

“For not using them?” Diana chuckled. “Most people would be mad.”

“She’s smiling,” Li said. “It’s been a long time since she smiled like that.”

Diana dragged in a deep breath. “I know - and that’s why I didn’t use it.”

“We’ll bury her next to the others,” Alison murmured. “They’ll be together again. I think... I think that’s all she’s wanted these last few years.”

“She’s certainly more than earned her rest,” Diana replied. “And I don’t think she could have asked for a better death than this.” She gestured at the crater around them. “She always did say she’d go out with a bang.”

X X X

Author’s Notes

So this is what becomes of the Neo/Winter/Blake/Yang group. Neo goes first followed by Winter and then Blake, with Yang going last. Frankly, Yang always thought she’d be the first to go, but life has a way of surprising people, and not always in a good way.

I wouldn’t say their story is a tragic one. They lived and they loved and they were very happy. But time passes, and time doesn’t lose. As sad as some of those last years were when she was alone, she’d happily endure them because of all the joy that preceded them. It’s fitting then that they’re waiting for her when she passed (and Chomp too, of course). Death can be sad and awful and tragic, but it can also be peaceful and welcome when it comes after a long life lived well.

Out of everyone in their generation, Diana is the last to pass. She outlives all of her siblings and all of her cousins and friends. Yet perhaps it’s for the best because she’d quite possibly the only one who could endure that sort of thing and not end up bitter about it.

If you’re interested in my thoughts on writing and other topics, you can find those here.

I also write original fiction, which you can find on Amazon here. I’ve recently released two stories, Attempted Adventuring and Surviving Quarantine, as well as two audiobooks, Two Necromancers, a Bureaucrat, and an Army of Golems, Two Necromancers, a Dragon, and a Vampire, and The Hungry Dragon Cookie Company. If you like humour, action, and adventure, be sure to check them out.

#final rose #fanfiction #yang xiao long #diana yun farron

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yeojaa · 5 years ago

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SUGAR HIGH, chapter v. (w. JJK)

You're not entirely sure when it happened, though you'd come to terms with it. You'd counted the days, waiting for the inevitable. You'd truly thought you'd be okay, but by the broken, half-beating thing in your chest - you knew you'd never really been prepared.

alt summary. You thought you’d known real love and maybe you had - it just wasn’t with who you thought.

pairing. jeon jungkook. mentions/involvement of ot7.

tags. angst, break up, post-break up, comfort, OT7, slow burn, friendship, moving on, hurt/comfort, emotional hurt/comfort, emotional baggage, fluff, canon compliant, jeon jungkook is bad at feelings, jeon jungkook is a good friend, jeon jungkook is a sweetheart.

rating. general (for now?)

word count. ~1400

chapter 5. It’s Like Twilight

He's loved you since you were kids. You're sure you've loved him for even longer. Too bad you're too blinded by each other's light to realize you're standing on the precipice together.

Their return home doesn't go unnoticed - especially when they're holding coffees.

"Yah - where's mine!" Dressed in his blue and white striped apron, spatula in one hand and hair sticking out in all directions, Seokjin looks like something straight out of a comic strip. The eldest has all but launched himself across the kitchen counter, nearly sending his previously cradled mixing bowl to the ground.

"Didn't know who would be up." Taunting spreads like wildfire, licking across his lips as Jungkook takes a long, appreciative pull of the iced Americano that's causing such a fuss. "Sorry, hyung."

Except, he doesn't look sorry at all, that little shit-eating grin making a home in the curl of his mouth and the way he languidly drops into the nearest seat, backpack deposited at his feet. He's relaxing into the cushions, clearly very pleased with himself as he exhales a long yawn. He'll make it up to Seokjin later, when they're exhausted from meetings and buzzing for some liquid gold in the form of espresso.

Bemused laughter gives way - dragged off by something that sounds like 'ungrateful little maknae' - and Jungkook allows himself to sink further into the chair, arm thrown across his eyes. He shifts this way and that, kicking his feet up on the coffee table, as he chases comfort like a dog on the hunt.

A nap sounded really, really good right now.

"Everything okay?" The voice comes from just above him and to the left. Namjoon, of course.

'Or not,' he thinks, not unkindly.

"Yeah." His response is muffled by the crook of his elbow, rumbling out of his chest and disappearing against sinew and bone. It fills the silence for only a moment before he's realizing it's inadequate. Straightening up and facing his leader head-on, he offers a smile that brims with unspoken gratitude. "Everything's good."

Namjoon doesn't push further. He never does. He always trusts his members. "Okay."

By the time everyone has woken up - or been drawn to the kitchen by the smell of cocoa and cinnamon - Jungkook's already showered and found his seat at the imposing dining table. A leg is hiked up, foot flat against the inside of his ankle, as he tears into a still-warm waffle, careful not to coat his fingers in syrup.

He's humming to himself and scrolling through his phone with his free hand, seemingly lost in thought.

Really, he's making note of which photos to edit and which will never see the light of day.

There's the shot of the '95ers, Taehyung's frame cradled by the smaller dancer's. It's hard to tell whose limbs are whose, where one's hair ends and the other begins. They're two halves of a whole, the same easy laughter radiating off them in waves.

There's Namjoon, framed against the skyline, his profile a stark contrast to the way orange flares across the horizon, devouring the bell-flower blue and leaving violet in its wake.

There's one of Hoseok, palms facing the camera as he'd leapt into a sudden reenactment of some of their latest choreography. His face is barely visible, just a brilliant, all-encompassing smile.

And then there's you, sputtering around a mouthful of toothpaste. You're together under the fluorescent light of your bathroom, his elbow resting on your shoulder as you make funny faces at each other in the mirror.

"How's Soomi?" The question draws him from his careful consideration, dragging his attention instead to the zombie come to life that's just dropped into the seat beside him.

He wonders, briefly, who had to drag Yoongi out of bed this time. He's glad it wasn't him.

"She's fine." Jungkook's response is noncommittal like the shrug he offers up. It isn't his place to say.

"I'm surprised she got over it that quickly."

This stirs something in the younger's gut, his hand stilling mid-grab of a waffle. Long enough for Yoongi to notice on his right and for Taehyung to steal said waffle on his left. "You knew?" He hates the way the question sounds, shocked and surprised and maybe just a little bit sullen.

"You're not the only one she talks to." It's a reprimand framed around a mouthful of toast, edge of reproach softened by the way their eyes meet. "I've known for a while. She tries too hard to hide things when she's upset."

Jungkook knew that. You'd always trip over your own two feet in your haste to come up with another excuse as to why you were upset, or why your Discord's Listening To was suddenly filled with heartbreaking songs. You'd never admit something was eating you up inside; you'd rather deflect with some terrible joke or another meme you'd found on Naver.

"I didn't know it was that bad." When Jungkook finally manages a response, he's keenly aware of how bad it sounds.

But he'd been so busy - so wrapped up in preparing for their new release. Their comeback had meant everything to him. Not that you'd blame him, of course. You wanted this, just as much as he did. Anything for him.

"It's not a big deal," Yoongi mirrors the younger's earlier movement, narrow shoulders shifting beneath the cotton of his long sleeve. He's spreading butter over another piece of toast as he speaks, quiet beneath the din of other voices. "She was going to tell you eventually. It just happened faster than she thought it would." A bite and thoughtful chewing. "Probably for the best, anyway."

It was no secret how little any of the seven men around the table liked your ex-boyfriend.

To them, it was strikingly evident you were as different as night and day. Where you shone like the sun, he eclipsed the stars. You'd always insisted the night sky was beautiful in its own way but you'd never realized those things kept secret and shameful at night would never compare to the glory of another morning.

"Yeah, for the best," Jungkook echoes.

"Your hair looks good, unnie," Yejin chirps as you approach the table, tray loaded with goodies from the pastry case.

You beam from ear to ear as you sit down, pushing the offerings to your friend. You'd managed to get in to see your stylist shortly after Jungkook had left, nearly begging him on the phone. You had to admit - he'd done a phenomenal job.

Sure, you knew you were never supposed to make any drastic style changes after a breakup but this felt right.

"Thank you."

Picking apart a croissant - almond, your favourite - you allow silence to settle between the two of you. It feels good to be out of the house for the first time in days. Normal, almost.

You remind yourself it's only been 72 hours.

"So, Jungkook’s back?"

You'd been waiting for the question, partially relieved when Yejin gets it out of the way so quickly. You'd always appreciated that about her. She was no-nonsense.

"Yeah. I'm not sure for how long, though." Because no matter what it was never long enough. One of the downfalls of being famous, you supposed. Though, really - you didn't mind. It kept your friendship strong, forcing you through bouts of silence and the sound of his voice only through the airwaves.

"You're finally going to tell him, right?" She's expectant, tearing you apart with her eyes like you're doing to your croissant.

You snort, the sound unflattering and decidedly childish. "There's nothing to tell."

"You're kidding me." Yejin is the queen of making you feel like a freshman about to get hazed, brows darting high in what can only be described as disapproval. Perhaps exasperation, too, and a sprinkle of love.

"I'm serious. We're friends."

It's her turn to snort, the sound derisive and cutting. You know it's all in good fun, so you let it go.

"If I had a friend that looked like that, we'd be more than friends."

"I'm telling Kihoon you said that." Kihoon being her boyfriend of seven years and the reason you still believed in true love. They were just so disgustingly perfect together.

"Go ahead - he'll agree with me."

You know she's right so you stuff the rest of your croissant in your mouth, nearly choking when she rolls her eyes and mimes shooting herself straight through the head.

Drama queen.

notes. i accidentally refreshed my page while halfway through this chapter and that folks, is why you don't write in anything but Word (or the equivalent). big ol' fml.

i apologize if this chapter was a little lackluster (and short!). rewriting was awful. the next chapter will be better, though. i think. i hope.

also, listen to the classic BUDDY mix of ATEEZ's "twilight" if you want some real feels.

#bts fluff #bts #bts fanfic #bts fic #jeon jungkook #jungkook #jungkook fanfic #jungkook fic #jungkook fluff #jungkook x you #jungkook x reader #jungkook x oc #work.zip #bestfriends.zip #sugarhigh.doc #jungkook.doc

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witch-chester · 5 years ago

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Cold to the Core Pt. 2

Dean had decided to drop Sam and Kit at the morgue while he had a chat with the head detective. There were four victims so far. All found in secluded areas with their organs gone and the remains frozen solid. He had to admit this was a new one. None of the victims seemed to be connected either. A waitress walking home from her late shift at the local greasy spoon. A college kid home for break and just set out on a jog. Some health nut guy training for a marathon. And a soccer mom just trying to stay in shape.

The attacks had taken place at different parts of the town as well. A park. Hiking trails. Local running path. No way to pin point where this thing could be. The detective said the sherif had locked down all those areas but Dean knew that wouldn’t matter. A monster will always find a way to kill.

Sam had texted him that him and Kit would be a while. Dean thought over what to do next for a moment then decided to visit the family’s himself. He knew Mariah had to be out and about by now but there was no harm in asking his own questions.

He got into his car and drove to the address closest to him. At the sight of the red corvette her should have turned right around. Looking back that would have been the best choice, but of course his mind didn’t think that far and he found himself knocking on the front door. A man that seemed close to Dean’s age, despite the smudges of black under his and and the lines of stress, answered. His hair was dark and unkept. The white button up looked like it had been slept in and the jeans looked ready for the good will pile.

Dean held up his FBI badge and said, “Good afternoon. I’m Agent Rose from the FBI. I just wanted to ask a few questions.”

The man seemed to falter. “This really isn’t a good time. I’m kinda tired of questions at this point.”

Before Dean could say a word, a voice he knew very well called out, “Is everything alright Conner?” Both men turned to the woman as she stepped into the foyer. The dress she was wearing was a deep emerald that seemed to sit gently on her curves and had a modest but eye catching V cut neck line. The hem stopped a few inches above her knee and was decorated with red roses that was also trimming the hem of the long bell sleeves. Knee high suede boots cling to her shapely legs. Mariah had pulled half of her hair back and clipped into place with a matching rose while the rest hung past her shoulders in soft waves. Her makeup was the softest he’d ever seen it. Hints of green barley brushed over her lids and her lips a light pink instead of blood red. Thick black framed glasses sat on her nose.

Dean swallowed. He knew he was in trouble. In more way than one. Once those brown eyes spotted him they flashed with irritation. She was not happy he was here. But she was able to control her face in time for the man she had called Conner to turn around a answer her. “It’s alright Miss Tutor. Someone from the FBI came to ask more questions.”

She gave a breath taking smile. “Well then I should be going. My article isn’t as important as the FBI.” Dean could hear the sticky sweetness of her sarcasm dripping off every word.

The man tried to argue but Mariah just shook her head and said, “It’s ok, Conner. I have all I need.” She touched his arm. “Call me if you think of anything else. I left my card on the coffee table.” Dean noticed her eyes seemed to dilate as she spoke, but she turned and grabbed her things before he could be sure.

Her eyes were normal and narrowed when she spoke to him. “Have a nice day, Agent.” She walked passed him and out of the house.

Dean went through his interview as he normally would. Conner Murphy was truly broken. His fiancée had been the first victim. The waitress walking home. The two of them had had a fight early that day and that was why she had been walking. Normally Conner would have picked up his fiancée, but not that night.

Dean got everything he could and said his goodbyes. Outside, the corvette was gone. He sighed and walked over to Baby.

“Satisfied, Winchester?”

Dean spun around and stared at Mariah. Dark cat eyed sunglasses replaced her previous ones. “What do you mean?”

She stepped closer and leaned on the door of the impala. “Are. You. Satisfied.” Pushing up her glasses, her eyes shot dagger through him. “Did I pass your test? Are you done checking up on me?”

Dean blinked. “I don’t have a clue”

Mariah cut him off. “I have been hunting for years. I have been handling things own my own, for years. I don’t need a babysitter.”

Deans temper started to bubble. “What makes you think I’m babysitting you?”

She snorted. “You showed up here for no reason, knowing I was here.”

“I like handling the interviews.”

“Bull. You still feel bad for what happened at the diner. I don’t need a protector, Dean.”

“Not everything I do has to involve you.” His anger had peaked. Dean knew he should shut up but the words kept coming. “If you feel like you are being checked on and have some inferiority complex, that is on you sweetheart. Maybe that should be telling you something.”

The lights left her eyes. All emotions gone. Mariah took a step back. “My mistake then,” she said in a hollowed voice. She spun on the needle heel of her boots and head down the drive and around the corner.

Dean felt like the biggest ass on the planet. He opened the door to the impala and just stood there. What was wrong with him? He did feel protective of Mariah. Dammit, he even would go as far as to say he was attracted to the woman like Bobby had said. But it was wrong. She wasn’t even human. She was a witch! Yes, she was different in the moral aspect but she was in fact a witch. And he had taken the frustration of that fact out on her.

He slammed his fist into the roof of his car then rested his head on the jam. He was loosing his mind over a bad tempered witch he barely knew.

His cell phone rang and he barked a greeting without looking at the ID. “Woah, um you ok?” asked Sam.

“Yeah. I’m awesome. What do you want?”

“Well, me and Kit are done here.”

“I’ll be there in ten.” He hung up without a reply and got in the car.

Kit and Sam were standing outside when her pulled up. Once the dark skinned witch was settled in the back seat, she slapped the back of Dean’s head and growled, “Stop being an ass to Mariah!”

“What? She tattled on me?” His still heated temper burned.

Kit’s umber eyes flared. “Damn right she did. If you can’t trust her to do her job then I will pack up our stuff and be out of here in the morning.”

Before he could respond, Sam said, “She’s right Dean. We all agreed to have Mariah handle the families and you going there like that really seemed like you are doubting her capabilities.”

He wanted to shout and rage but the deadness of Mariah’s face flashed in his mind. He knew he had stepped over a line. “Understood.” He put the car in drive. “Back to the motel?”

“Mariah said to meet her at a local bar,” said Sam.

-x-x-x-x-

Once they entered the dive, Mariah waved them over to the high table she was occupying. There was no evidence of her face that she was still upset from earlier. In fact, she smiled brightly and gave them all a warm greeting. Sam chuckled as he sat down. “The glasses are a nice touch. Kinda makes me really believed he whole journalist thing.”

Mariah gave him a confused look. Kit laughed. “Oh Samith. Mariah is hella blind. Those are real.”

Sam glared at Kit a moment for her idiotic nickname then said, “I’ve never seen you wear them before.”

Mariah sipped her drink. “There is a new invention called contacts, Sam.”

Sam held up his hands, “Aright. Enough.” He smiled and continued. “What did you find?”

Mariah explained what she had dug up, which wasn’t much. The only real connection was the fact all the victims were out jogging. Dean listen to the few details she had learned about each one he calmed down. Mariah seemed to have gotten over her anger as well. All was well.

Then he noticed something. She was back to ignoring him again. No she wasn’t being openly hostile or stingingly cold, but her blatant indifference to his presence seemed worse.

With out a word he got up. Sam question him and he just growled out her was getting a drink. Kit glared at him. Mariah didn’t even look up.

He gave his order to the blond behind the counter and sat down. No need for him to go back to the others. They all seemed to be getting along famously.

“Here ya go.” The bartender set the rock glass full of whiskey in front of him.

“Thanks.” He swallowed the double in one motion and ordered another.

“Rough day?”

Dean finally focused on the woman. Her honey hair was pulled back and her sky blue eyes were friendly and bold. The white Harley Davidson shirt looked like some one had ripped the sleeves and hem and from his seat he could barely see the band of her low riding hip huggers. She was just his type. Tall. Leggy. The complete opposite of...

Dean wouldn’t let the thought finish. This wasn’t about her. And just to prove it, dean put on his best smile and gave the girl a wink. “Looking at you make it a little better.”

Mariah dug her nails into her palms. There was no way she would look over at Dean. No, she would keep her eyes firmly on his brother and her sister. It didn’t matter that the sound of his laughter burned her ears. Or that the bartender’s thoughts had turned X rated. She could see his face in the woman’s mind. Those deep green eyes had turned dark and his smile sinful. Much like how he had looked at her the first night they had met.

She played with the ice I her empty glass, refusing to get up to get another. It didn’t bother her. She kept repeating that over and over in her head. Dean could flirt with who ever he wanted. She was pissed at the man for goddess sake.

Sam’s exclamation had he looking up. “Oh yeah! Mariah, you should have seen the medical examiner flirting with Kit. I was golden.”

“He was not!” Kit shouted.

“Was too.”

Mariah smiled. “Kit, honestly you are worse than me when it comes to that sort of thing.”

Sam almost choked on his whiskey. “Mariah, I’ve seen your f,it with guys.”

“No. You have seen me acting on a case.”

He raised an eyebrow. “What’s the difference?”

“One is a job so she has no attraction or intent on follow through,” Kit explained. “The other she has real feelings and becomes a complete idiot.”

Sam nodded. “Makes sense.”

“Doesn’t it though,” agreed Kit. Mariah glared at them both.

“Good evening, Agent Boleyn.” The all turned to the tall man. His glasses were similar to hers and his black curls hung over his eyes. Hints of a five o’clock shadow covers his firm jaw.

“Oh um hey Dr. Malloy.”

He smiled. “Call me Peter.” Mariah caught Sam’s eye and both had to keep from laughing. Kit cleared her throat. “Is something wrong?”

“No I just found something and wanted to show you.”

“Oh! Well um go ahead.”

His eyes cut to Mariah. Technically speaking, in his mind, she was a civilian and wasn’t allowed to hear this information. “We can talk over here.”

“S-sure. Sam?”

Sam shook his head. “Go ahead partner. Fill me in later.”

Kit shot daggers at the Winchester then looked at her sister, pleading. Mariah kept her eyes downward, focused on the ice in her glass. With a huff, Kit hopped down and followed the man to a booth. Sam and Mariah shared another look and finally released their mirth.

After a few minutes, the two calmed and Sam asked, “Any clue what this could be?”

Mariah shook her head. “No one.” Dean’s booming laughter filled the bar and she finally turned. The blond was leaned over the bar with her arms pushing up her chest as far as it could. Mariah stomach turned sour. “Hey, I’m gonna head back to the room. I need snacks if I’m gonna think.”

She didn’t give him time to answer, just tossed a ten for her drink and hurried out.

Dean laughed once more at the story the bartender was telling, only half listening. His skin felt tight and chest heavy. For the hundredth time, he chanced a glance back to the table. Sam sat alone looking over his notebook. A quick scan of the room showed Kit at a close by booth with some guy. Mariah was no where to be seen. Thinking she may have just gone to the bathroom, he continued with the bartender, checking everything ten seconds to see if the brunette had returned. After ten minutes and no Mariah, dean had had enough.

“Well sweetheart, I think I should call it a night.”

The woman’s smile faltered. “Really? It’s still kind early.”

“Early morning.”

“Well if you change you mind I get off a midnight.”

Dean didn’t answer, just handed her a few bills and walked back to the table the same time as Kit. Before he had a chance, Kit asked, “Where’s Mariah?”

“She went back to the motel. Said something about snacks?”

Kit nodded. “She think eats. It’s kinda weird but effective. I guess it’s the sugar rush. It’s her form of crack science.” She seemed calm but still gave Dean a dark, cutting glare.

“What did Peter have to say?” Sam chuckled.

“Shut up. Just that while he was logging in his notes he noticed something. Each attack was fourteen days apart exactly.”

“So whatever this is feeds every two weeks,” Dean stated.

Kit ignored him. “The last one was ten days ago.”

“So we have four days to figure out what this is and how to kill it,” offered Sam.

“Pretty much,” agreed Kit.

“Alright, let’s head back and help Mariah then.”

When they walked into the motel room, they found Mariah laying on the bed to the far side with various junk food packaging around her, fast asleep. All the makeup had been removed from her face and her curls were free and spread over the pillows. She had changed out of her dress into very short shorts and an oversized T-shirt that read ‘Witch’s Favorite Brew’ with a coffee mug decorated with a pentagram under the words.

“Welp. Sugar crash. She won’t be up till morning,” Kit announced as she examined the empty wrappers.

Sam yawned. “Crashing sounds like a good idea. We were up really early. Why don’t we start fresh in the morning?”

Kit shrugged. “Sounds good to me. I call shower!” She stared to gather her toiletries when the room phone rang. Sam answered. After a few words he hung up. “Kit, you have a package waiting for you at the front desk.”

Her eye brows eye furrowed. “From who.”

Sam shrugged.

“Why don’t you go with her Sammy in case it’s a trap from that weirdo from before.”

Sam nodded at his brother and followed Kit out of the room. Dean quickly changed into more comfortable clothing and started cleats the trash from around the sleeping witch. Then, he gently shifted her so she was now covered by the comforter. The only indication of life from her was a deep sigh and burrowing deeper into the bedding. Not giving himself time to think, Dean slipped in next to her and wrapped an arm around her waist.

By the time Sam and Kit returned, Dean was asleep with his face nestled in the crook of Mariah’s neck and Mariah using one of his arms as a pillow.

Kit shook her head and mumbled, “Dumb asses.” Before going into the bathroom.

@vicmc624 @vivilakitty

#spnfandom #spn fanfic #spn crack #spn fanfiction #spn gifs #supernatural fanfiction #supernatural blog #supernatural #dean winchester #sam winchester

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goolagola · 6 years ago

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E37: A MAN’S MEASURE (Yagiz & Hazan: A Love Story, Part 2) | #review

Originally posted on Fb, March 5, 2018.

Yagiz Egemen,

Family man and entrepreneur extraordinaire, has been propelled on a PATH of DISCOVERY ever since his younger brother spun a vile lie off his wicked tongue. A path that I’ve said in previous reviews he had not chosen for himself. A path that had cost too much of him and he had tried to bail so many times. But in finally discovering the truth in E12, he could no longer try to abandon that path. For he was a man of integrity and strict principles. So he took ownership for his part in devastating a young woman’s soul, and ever since then, tried to care for that woman’s wellbeing. And since it is his inclined nature to put others before himself, just as he'd always done for his family, he did the same for her.

And now, in E37, Yagiz Egemen was propelled on another path.

Just as reeling and unforeseen that path of discovery had been from the fateful beginning, this as well. Yet more COSTLY—

Hazan was in danger.

And Yagiz was in danger of LOSING her.

SEASON 1 saw Yagiz’ attempts to forsake that path of discovery for the TRUTH—but only to be placed back again and again by designs not of his own.

But THIS TIME, like a drowning man desperate for air, Yagiz searched for Hazan.

Despite what others had insisted of him—a cold, unfeeling “robot”—the second of the high-society Egemen sons of Istanbul, is a HIGHLY perceptive and DEEPLY intuitive man. So at the sign of anything out of place concerning Hazan Camikran, Yagiz was the FIRST to notice—Hazan, who had now come to be more than just Hazan...

Who now makes up the half of a singular world of their own;

As Yagiz had uttered—

She and I.

JUST—

She. And I.

Brick by brick that world was built. Slowly. Subtly. And mysteriously. But as if history was repeating itself, a lie was loosed, then another, and another, and yet another more—and so like a wielded, vengeful hammer, those lies threatened to destroy what their world was building to be. Until the unthinkable occurred—

The brush with death.

PART V — I Will Find You...

Patience has always been one of Yagiz Egemen’s better virtues—as well as self-control.

But not this day.

This day, found the usually level-headed rock, a ball of twisted knot. Yagiz, who in so many ways, a rock for his family, found himself SHAKEN—for somebody, in so many ways who’d become HIS rock, was taken.

When Yagiz found his world spiraling out of control at discovering his dad’s manipulated dementia, Hazan had become that voice of hope that kept him tethered to faith. And so, later, when he finally discovered that she’d been stolen, all he pleaded for in shouts of rage was to hear HER voice.

But before that first phone call from the abductor that took him closer to Hazan’s whereabouts, Yagiz was unraveling.

But what we saw in E37 wasn’t just a display of breathless desperation…

But the rising STRENGTH of a man in LOVE.

Yet—also the WEAKNESS of that man’s FEAR of losing his love.

Yagiz Egemen was tested and so the various shades of his soul were displayed.

For during the time of testing will a man’s strength—and weakness—be revealed. Where his true character will show;

And as for Yagiz’, he knew where he stood—he could not claim Hazan as HIS. She was his brother’s still. And so later, as if consuming toxic poison for how unnatural it was, Yagiz swallowed his screaming protective instincts and called Sinan by that cliff side… Only to have rage pierced through him once again when his younger brother—surprise, surprise—was M.I.A.

Ignored a crucial call, his brother had done. JUST as he had, too many times before.

And here is where a pivotal and deciding key is laid;

When it'd really counted, Sinan Egemen, was Missing In Action—once again.

Just as when you failed to seek Hazan in E14 when she discovered your lies, being too many steps BEHIND when you finally did. Just as when you failed to seek the truth when her sister was falsely accused, BOTH times, and became her enemy instead. Because you had so selfishly cared only for what YOU believed to be true.

And this is what selfishness is—being only available for yourself, instead of for others.

And so there, when the LACK of Sinan’s character was revealed, the strength of Yagiz' was PROVEN;

He gave Sinan the chance to be the one to search and rescue Hazan himself for that chance was rightly Sinan's yet—just as Yagiz had done in E14, when he told him to go after her, and later in Agva, when he locked the two together—but again, Sinan was UNAVAILABLE.

For if he was otherwise to begin with for Hazan, to listen, instead of being quick to accuse, there would not have been any need for Yagiz to even try to get them back together again.

So it was decided; it was up to Yagiz to get Hazan back.

“—I WANT HAZAN,” Yagiz had boldly demanded, frantic yet unapologetic. Against the odds and at his own expense. And so to him was given the chance that another man had missed. The chance to acquire Hazan, by way of rescue.

And so, like a restless wild beast stalking the ground was Yagiz Egemen by that roadside. No building could confine him now. Therefore we saw him pacing to and fro out in the open. Only the sky could contain the building madness inside and the growling shouts roaring from his throat.

But earlier, it had been far from the display of raging strength that we saw. But a weakened man instead, crippled by FEAR, when Yagiz found Hazan’s forsaken phone by the roadside instead of Hazan herself.

There, Yagiz was reduced to a hunted, vulnerable, mewling cub, instead of the regal, territorial lion that he was—The Lion of Egemen, who bravely fights for his family and defends the people of his company; Just as his name signifies, “The brave and handsome one”—If there’s one thing that Hazim Egemen did RIGHT, was bestow his son a name that did him justice.

But for a brief moment, no longer was he brave. One would even argue, he looked more uncool than he was handsome, with his distorted face in pain. Hands flailing in front of him, like a blind man lost.

There, Yagiz looked undignified. Desperate. Naked.

Foolish—shouting with all his might a woman’s name who clearly wasn’t there.

A child, he had seemed, for children knew not the composures of a grown man—Nor his strategic solutions when trouble strikes.

When Yagiz finally gathered that composure, it was to address the chief of police... only to have it fracture once more, when confronted with procedures, instead of real solution—and so, VERY UNLIKELY of Yagiz Egemen, disrespected the man of the law by exiting his office with nary a goodbye. Fracture that composure did, because of a force that could no longer be contained any longer. A force that the regimented men of military could relate, for despite the conflict of interests, there was not much difference between Yagiz and the police chief. For men of the law are men with a MISSION—to protect the citizens of the country.

But to them, Hazan was one citizen out of many. But to Yagiz,

She was the love of his life.

Therefore what burned in his soul and flared from his lips was, “I will find you—

“I WILL FIND YOU.”

And so Yagiz continued the pursuit of his mission. And with each step, the fire was growing stronger and another was about to glimpse its strength—Nil.

When Yagiz found her, his character was further tested for he was confronting the woman who had harmed Hazan in the past, and so became the likeliest suspect for Hazan’s disappearance this time.

We had seen his vulnerability by that roadside, but now we see the strength of a rage that he could barely contain.

In his dangerous eyes, demanding and piercing to cut. In his thundering voice, devoid of tolerance to games and cheap stunts. Quick as a deadly serpent, his hand had caught Nil’s arm. His instincts aflamed, like an unquenched fire—the love of his life was in DANGER. And so his body had moved in swift and automatic fashion, trapping the hand that had once poured Hazan with fuel to light her on fire.

It was his integrity that had stopped Yagiz from committing damage and let Nil go—And another’s lack of it, in Nil’s disorienting, certainly unexpected, answer…

The infidelity of his brother.

So to have said that it was akin to swallowing poison when Yagiz next had to call Sinan to rescue Hazan, was no exaggerated imagery. To entrust Hazan to an immature man was one thing. But to an immature, AND unfaithful man, was another. But Yagiz did what he had to do, his integrity would not have allowed him to be exempt of it—call Sinan and gave his brother the benefit of the doubt.

But we know how that one turned out.

Because Sinan, was still an immature man. But perhaps, in more ways than one, still more a boy, than he was a man.

And for once, Fazilet did not sound ridiculous when she had directed him with the question—

What kind of man are you?

PART VI — The Deadly Calm

There is something in a man that compels him to fight at the call of danger.

For men were made for battle.

Storms may blindside a man. And storms may ruin his soul. But like the silver lining in a storm’s dark clouds, a hopeful truth remains:

Though storms CHALLENGE—

Challenge, AWAKENS a man’s strength.

That’s why in the wake of the blindsiding storm of Hazan’s disappearance, we only saw Yagiz’ strength arise.

But when that strength finds no venue to be released, a man could self-destruct. This is why soldiers choose to return to the battlefield, again and again, despite the ruin and danger;

In a time of war, to remain STILL was the HARDER battle yet. To run away, was unthinkable.

For how could he then call himself a man, let alone a warrior?

Like the tide of the sea, the pull of a warrior’s instinct is to charge and fight when battle beckons.

And so, when Yagiz could only WAIT in the cloak of night by that blackened sea…

It was WORSE than facing an unknown foe head on—a more torturous fate, ESPECIALLY for a man who was always driven to finish whatever he’d started.

That’s why, when later he was finally confronted by a strange man and his deadly gun, Yagiz remained cool. Much as he had been, when Yasin had threatened him with the steel weapon, many moons ago.

In fact, in the midst of the danger of losing his life, his logic returned. He calculated and deducted—even INSULTED the gunman by calling him a dog thrown a bone. Fully knowing, that the stranger could—WAS, going to kill him.

The thought of his own life endangered had not render him helplessly mad, imploding from the inside out. But knowing Hazan’s life was at stake—and NOT being able to do a darn thing about it was the culprit that had driven him CRAZY.

And so, when Kerime’s lackey contacted him again, Yagiz sprung to motion and found a semblance of calm, assuring himself that "Hazan was fine and only waiting for him."

But it was only the calm at the eye of the storm—deceiving. For from there on, the storm was only going to enrage higher and bigger.

And boy, what a breathtaking display it was.

PART VII — The Fury in The Raging Storm

True to his word, Yagiz found Hazan.

Yet in the most terrifying place he’d ever imagined; underground—

BURIED ALIVE.

Just imagine the TERROR of finding the love of your life in such a fashion—why, it’s UNIMAGINABLE. Nearly impossible to DESCRIBE.

Yet, one incomparably stronger than that terror was truly THE unimaginably INDESCRIBABLE.

The fury of LOVE that had driven Yagiz to dig Hazan out of the dirt.

It stole your breath away and rendered your speech paralyzed. All we could do was behold it...

LOVE, that had enabled Yagiz to see where others could not. To search, when others hide. And to fight, when others run.

Some wise but anonymous man had once said,

“What makes a man is not when he fights a battle. But it is how he fights it when the battle is RAGING.”

Headlong into the danger, Yagiz had charged. Overpowering the old man who was just that—old and weak, without his deadly gun. Believing against all odds, that beyond that grave of dirt, Hazan still held her breath. And so in his lips were the hopeful and loving words of, “You are with me.”

Because that’s what love is—

PRESENT.

Not distant.

And what had I ask last review, of the BEST present, a lover could ever hope to receive?

Their lover’s PRESENCE.

Through thick and thin, and everything in between.

A man's most dangerous enemy is not the storm. It's not the battle. And certainly not a gun.

It is himself—when he QUITS fighting. Because the moment he does, he’ll no longer be PRESENT in that battle.

And this is the conflict of the story—

Will Yagiz Egemen continue to fight?

And with this, I bid you adieu.

Stay tuned for YAGIZ & HAZAN: A Love Story—PART 3.

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poutiyoongi · 6 years ago

Photo

once a princess

The first time they met was an accident. She stood in the shade of a poplar tree with a blinding smile on her face as though she couldn’t feel the searing heat of the early-September day. He was walking past with his best friends, attempting–and failing–to make it from one side of Disneyland to the other without being recognized. It never failed to amaze him how many people in the United States knew his group.

The red of her dress caught his eye first. He’d never been one for autographs, but something was pulling at him to go to her. The line of children waiting–some little girls were even dressed in the same costume she wore–tugged at his heart. Smiling, he walked away from the group to stand in her line. Later, when his group members would ask him why he did that, he wouldn’t have an answer. He just knew he needed to meet her.

And if that meant standing in a line with twenty little girls and their families, then so be it.

“What are you doing?”

Taehyung jumped as Jin’s voice rang out next to him. Jungkook laughed and placed an arm around Taehyung’s shoulders. He scrunched his face up and tried to shrug his arm off.

“Nothing,” Taehyung muttered. They were getting closer to the princess. Behind them, the line was cut off by a burly man around Jin’s age dressed in a plain Disney uniform. Jin and Jungkook shared a skeptical glance.

“I didn’t know you watched, uh,” Jungkook narrowed his eyes, struggling to read the sign a few feet away. “Elena of Avalor.”

Taehyung’s cheeks flushed as he refused to look at his friends. They knew good and well he didn’t watch the animated children’s cartoon, but he couldn’t bring himself to explain why he was so drawn to this woman. Not that he could even explain it in words.

“Do you have a notebook?” Jin said, suddenly serious. Taehyung shook his head.

“How will you get her autograph if you don’t have a notebook?” Jungkook said. His words broke around his laughter. Taehyung’s nostrils flared which made Jungkook only laugh harder.

The little girl ahead of them turned to glare at the trio as if to tell them they were being too loud.

“Uh, sorry,” Taehyung said in English with a smile. The girl rolled her eyes and turned forward, bouncing on her toes when she realized her turn was next. The reality of the moment hit him then. What was he doing? “Okay, let’s go.”

Jin laughed. “What?��

“We lost the others for this,” Jungkook said, eyebrows high on his forehead.

“I changed my mind.”

“No,” Jin said through his laughter.

Taehyung tried to turn around, to get under the stanchion separating the line from the rest of the park, but between Jin and Jungkook they stopped him from running away. They were invested, now.

“Next!” A Disney worker said, as if they materialized out of nowhere, but had really been standing next to the princess the entire time. Taehyung swallowed hard and walked forward slowly. Jin had walked forward and grinned at the princess while Jungkook walked behind Taehyung to make sure that he didn’t bolt.

Up close, her cheeks were flushed rosy and she smelled like coconuts. Her eyes were large, and brown, and the ponytail cascading from the wig she wore lay perfectly against her right shoulder.

“Hello, princess!” Jin boomed.

She grinned. “Hello! How are you?”

If she wondered why three grown men were in her line, it didn’t show on her face. Her smile didn’t falter. In fact, if Taehyung didn’t know any better, he would say it grew larger. Whether it was because she recognized them or because they were the end of her line, he wasn’t sure.

“Very good!” Jin said. “And you?”

Her eyes glittered–glittered!–as she clasped her hands to her chest and rose up on her toes. The actions made Taehyung smile. She was a great actress.

“I’m having a beautiful day!” She grinned and looked around. “I’ve had a wonderful afternoon meeting so many new friends! Have you had many adventures today?”

“So many!” Jin said. Taehyung looked down at his feet and shook his head. Not everything had to be yelled, but the older man had been excited about the visit to Disneyland for months. As if they’d never been before. “We go everywhere.”

“That sounds like such fun! Would you like a picture?”

Jungkook smirked and looked between Taehyung and the princess. He pulled Jin towards him while simultaneously pushing Taehyung lightly towards the princess. Caught off guard, Taehyung bumped into the princess instead of stopping himself before colliding into her.

“Oh,” he heard a sharp inhale of breath close to his ear in addition to the raspy voice that was deeper than the one she had been using when she spoke as the princess. Her smile dropped for a second as Taehyung took a step back but, in the time it took for him to blink, her persona was back in place. She posed with him as Jin and Jungkook each snapped pictures of them together before they walked away, giggling.

“Goodbye, princess,” Taehyung said, nodding at her before walking away.

///

Shit.

Shiiiiiit.

Irati Gonzalez made sure her signature smile–sorry, not hers, Elena’s–didn’t slip from her face as she looked to her side where her best friend and handler Chris stood. He had a smirk on his face as they watched the three men walk away.

“Shut up,” she murmured out of the corner of her mouth, not daring to drop her smile even for a moment, should there be any Elena of Avalor fans still around hoping to see their favorite princess. Chris chuckled as he began to lead her away from their spot under the tree, away from the only guests that had ever been able to rattle Irati. She was known for her professionalism, her steady hand when it came to eye and lip liner, and her bright smile.

Not for falling half in love with a random guy in her meet and greet line.

As soon as they walked through a cast member only door, Irati leaned back against the wall, closed her eyes, and took a deep breath.

“What the fuck was that?” Chris said.

Irati opened her eyes slowly. All she could do was shake her head. She was overwhelmed by the depths of a stranger’s brown eyes and the way his blonde hair curled around the back of his strong neck.

Strong neck. Please. It had been too long since she’d had sex.

Yeah. That had to be it.

///

She’d had three meet and greets the and no time to continue to dwell on the gorgeous stranger that had been in her line the day before. By the time the sun began to set, Irati was exhausted. Her black curly hair was frizzy from being hidden in a sweaty wig all day and her face was freshly scrubbed clean of the heavy stage makeup she wore as Elena. Dressed in a simple pair of baggy jean shorts and a white v neck shirt, Irati walked through her usual shortcut from her dressing area to the employee parking lot.

However, as she made to cross into the quad near one of the food courts, a song began to blare from speakers on a makeshift stage. In the middle stood seven men in coordinating outfits. She furrowed her brow, unaware that there had been a concert that day. Rolling her eyes, she crossed her arms and decided to wait it out. There was no way she could make it to her car faster than crossing the quad and she wouldn’t cross in front of the performance.

She wasn’t trying to get fired.

Pursing her lips, she watched as the men danced in perfect sync. She bopped her head along to the beat as the performance went along. A few of the members looked in her general direction and the fans around her yelled at the tops of their lungs each time. Eyes widened, she rubbed at her ears, wondering how much longer the performance would run.

The pile of homework on her desk would wait for no woman.

///

In the middle of the song, Jin tapped Taehyung on the shoulder and nodded his head towards the right side of the crowd. It took him a moment before he found her but, when he did, his eyes widened, and he almost missed the next step. Luckily, he’d been in the back where it wasn’t as noticeable.

Was it her? He was sure it must be. There, standing with her arms across her chest, nodding along to the song. He wondered if she remembered him. She didn’t look very different than she had in her princess costume. Her face looked younger, however, and you could tell she had purple bags under her eyes. He wondered if she’d been sleeping.

By the time he ended up in the front line again, she was gone.

///

Three days into their five-day hopper passes, the group of friends decide to finally catch the nightly parade. They sit on main street, accompanied by more security than usual now that the word was out that they were in Los Angeles, waiting for the parade to begin. The sun was barely setting, the rays mixing with the sky turning it all shades of cotton candy.

It was fitting, considering where they were.

Taehyung took a sip from his water as the first float passed by. His friends were rowdy that day, as usual, yelling and waving at the characters on the floats. He stood there, somehow in the middle of the action, but feeling like he’d been left on the periphery.

His mind was elsewhere, and it had been for days. He hadn’t been able to get eyes the color of the darkest quartz out of his mind. Running a hand over his face, he shook his head and tried to get into his friends’ excitement, but he just couldn’t make himself. He took a step to the side and sat down on the sidewalk.

“You good?” Yoongi sat down next to him, looking away as he asked the question, as if he didn’t want people to think he cared. Taehyung smirked. Everyone knew Yoongi cared.

Shrugging, Taehyung looked out into the street as more and more floats passed by.

“I’m okay,” he said. “Like always.”

“The hyung’s told me about the princess,” Yoongi smirked. It made Taehyung want to strangle his friends. “You like her.”

“I don’t know her,” he said. And it was true. He’d met her once, when she was in character, and yet he didn’t know why he was so attracted to her. It couldn’t just be due to her beauty. He’d met many beautiful women and yet none had made him feel this way. He groaned.

“So?”

The rest of the groups’ yelling got louder as a new float began to drift closer to them. It was red and Taehyung immediately knew it was her. It had to be.

He stood, leaving Yoongi on the ground with that smug smirk on his face as if he knew something Taehyung didn’t, and took a step closer to the floats. A security guard stopped him from going any further, but he was close enough.

She could see him.

He was there. The man from her meet and greet and the concert were the same person, as she’d suspected. He was wearing casual clothes–some tight jeans and a tee shirt with some writing on it that she couldn’t make out–and he looked like he was in a trance as he gazed up at…her. Eyes widening, she looked around for a moment before looking straight down at him and blowing him a kiss.

Her cheeks blazed red as his friends hooted and hollered and hit him on the back as her float continued to drive past at a snail’s pace. He was watching from between his fingers as he covered his face with his hands. She giggled and waved.

It was something she’d done many times as Elena, but this time it was different.

This time it was Irati. And it was only for him.

///

Taehyung jogged through fantasyland, searching for the poplar tree under which Elena of Avalor would have her last meet and greet of the day. It was his last day at the park before their tour began in earnest. He didn’t want to leave without at least saying goodbye. It couldn’t have just been him. The feelings must have been shared. He knew she felt something, too.

It was a funny feeling but something in his stomach told him that he wasn’t alone in this.

He was breathing hard by the time he made it to the tree. The sign was still there, the stanchions still there, a few young children still gushing about how they’d met their favorite princess and she was so pretty and so nice, but no princess. Taehyung leaned his palms on his thighs and bent over, breathing hard for a moment before standing up and noticing one of the princess’ handlers cleaning up underneath the tree.

“Uh, sir?” Taehyung cleared his throat, hoping his english would be enough to converse with the handler, seeing as he’d lost Namjoon a few minutes into his jog from Adventureland to Fantasyland. “Where is princess?”

Taehyung bit his lip as the handler shook his head.

“Just missed her, man. She finished up like five minutes ago,” the handler said. He looked like he felt bad for Taehyung.

He nodded and tugged a piece of his hair before his eyes widened as an idea came to mind.

“You give her note?”

The handler furrowed his brow for a moment, looking at Taehyung up and down before shrugging.

“Yeah, why not,” the handler took his cell phone out of his pocket and unlocked it before handing it to Taehyung. The notes app was open, and he quickly nodded and wrote down a simple note.

“Thank you,” Taehyung said with a smile as he gave the handler back his phone before walking away. He was upset that he hadn’t been able to see her again, but hopeful that he’d been able to get her a message before he had to leave. He just had to trust that the handler would pass it on.

///

That night, in a cramped apartment in a cheaper part of Los Angeles, Irati lay on the old, hand-me-down couch that her best friend Chris’ grandmother gave them when they moved in together at the beginning of their second year of college. She was half-watching a rerun of a baking competition as she wrote an essay for her history class when Chris burst through the door breathing hard.

She gave him a dirty look after jumping in her seat, knocking her phone, notecards, and highlighters onto the floor.

“What is wrong with you,” she murmured as she leaned over to grab her items.

“You have an admirer!” He yelled as he walked over to the corner that housed their makeshift kitchen. Sitting up, Irati furrowed her brows as her heart beat faster. She didn’t want to jump to conclusions, but a certain blonde stranger did appear in her mind.

He tossed his phone, unlocked, in her lap as he sat on the couch with a bag of chips in his hand.

“Go into the notes,” he said, mouth full of chips. Irati grimaced as crumbs went everywhere but ignored that in favor of following his directions. She opened the first note and her eyes bulged out. She feared they would never go back to normal.

For my princess,

I wanted to say bye. I missed you. Email?

Her heart beat three times in one second. The note was signed Taehyung and, just under it, was an email. Irati immediately sent herself the information and deleted it from Chris’ phone. God only knew what he would do with an actual famous persons’ information. Better safe than sorry.

She saved the note on her phone and read it over and over until Chris poked her in the side.

“Smile a little harder, will ya?” He rolled his eyes. Irati mimicked him.

“Leave me alone, thanks!” She tried to hide her smile in her chest but there was no hiding the bright grin. “I’m allowed to be happy, too. You’re not the only one that can be in a relationship.”

“Woah! Relationship!” Chris laughed. “You guys haven’t even really met.”

Irati grumbled. “Whatever.”

“I’m just kidding,” Chris threw an arm around Irati’s shoulders and squeezed. “I just want to see you happy, best friend.”

“Thanks,” Irati said, smiling as she leaned her head against Chris’ shoulder.

“Even if that means becoming a strange famous dude’s pen pal.”

Irati slapped Chris on the shoulder lightly. His laughter drowned out her groan.

///

Taehyung’s phone buzzed when he turned it back on as soon as the airplane landed safely in New York. It had been a week since they’d left Los Angeles and he’d given up on the princess. Maybe her handler hadn’t given her the note, or she thought it was weird, whatever. She hadn’t emailed him, and he didn’t expect her to.

That is, until he looked at his phone’s screen and saw that he had an email notification. Opening the app nonchalantly–you know, in case it was a spam email–he tried to keep his face from betraying his feelings. Jimin’s head lay on his shoulder and Taehyung wasn’t sure if he was awake or not. It was a chance he would have to take because, there, in his inbox was a new email from an unfamiliar name.

From: irati g. To: kim taehyung disneyland princess girl sorry for the delayed email. I’ve been working doubles practicing for the halloween parade. and, to be honest, i wasn’t sure what to write. chris (my friend, the one you gave the note) says i should just ask you random questions but. i don’t know, i feel like you get asked a lot of random questions already. so, um. my name is irati. it’s nice to meet you. - princess elena

“Princess?” Jimin murmured.

Taehyung’s phone bobbled in his hand as he attempted to keep it from falling on the floor. He’d become so entranced as he slowly read the email that he’d forgotten all about Jimin lying on his shoulder. In his moment of surprise, he allowed Jimin to swipe the phone from his hand and turn in his seat to face the group members across the aisle.

“Joonie,” Jimin said, holding Taehyung’s phone out to the older man. “Can you translate?”

“No!” Taehyung reached across Jimin to try to intercept the phone, but it was passed off just before he could reach. His cheeks flamed as Namjoon read the email on the screen with Toongi pretending to read over his shoulder. “Give it back.”

“Princess?” Namjoon asked with an eyebrow raised. Jin, Hoseok, and Jungkook poked their heads above the chairs in front of them to better listen in on the conversation. And to better poke fun at Taehyung.

“Ah, the princess!” Jin boomed. “Of course!”

“Taehyungie fell in love at Disney,” Jungkook said with a laugh. If his cheeks were pink before, they were flaming red now. He placed a hand over his face as Namjoon began to read the email aloud, translating from English to Korean. He got a few sentences in before stopping to look at Taehyung and hand the phone back.

“It feels too personal to read out loud,” Namjoon said with an apologetic smile. Taehyung smiled awkwardly and hid his phone in the almost-too-tight front pocket of his jeans before leaning away towards the window as Jungkook and Jin retold the story of how Taehyung met a “real life princess” (in Jungkook’s words).

///

Irati was in the middle of her organic chemistry class when her phone buzzed in the back pocket of her jeans. Her fingers itched to slip it from her pocket to check whether it was the email she was waiting for or if it was yet another text from Chris reminding her to buy trash bags because they’d run out.

As soon as the clock hit three pm, Irati was standing up with her backpack over one shoulder and her iPhone in hand as she walked out of the lecture hall. She was sure she had been supposed to learn something in the hour that she’d been in class, but all she could focus on was the email she’d sent the night before.

Opening her mail app, she grinned seeing that there was a reply. The email was written half in English, half in Korean. Irati grinned as she stopped at a red light, waiting to cross, before running the email through a translation app. She hoped it would be more accurate than the one that Chris had used in his attempts to speak Spanish.

From: kim taehyung To: irati g. disneyland princess girl ah, i finally learn the princess’ true name. irati. i like it! very pretty.

She had to put her phone in her back pocket as she crossed the street after reading only a few lines. Her face burned, and she just knew that the blush would be visible from outer space. God. All he’d said was that her name was pretty.

i hope you don’t mind if i still call you princess, however.

Okay, now she was truly dead. She moved through the crowd of students leaving the afternoon lecture to sit on an empty bench tucked away from the buildings.

i love halloween. dressing up is so fun. you must like it, too, right? or is it boring since you’re in costume every day? you’re very thoughtful. we do get asked a lot of questions, but if there’s anything you want to know you can always ask. i hope you don’t mind me asking questions, either. i want to get to know you. i hope it’s not weird that i said that. i’m taehyung. nice to meet you, as well, princess. tae

She couldn’t say how long she sat on that bench, staring off into space with a goofy smile on her face, but when her phone buzzed in her hand she jumped so violently that she nearly fell off the edge of the bench. Swiping across the screen, she placed the phone to her ear and said hello.

“Where are you?” Chris yelled in her ear.

“What is wrong with you?” She groaned. “Who yells like that? Ouch…”

Massaging her ear, she transferred her phone to the other side, catching the end of what Chris was saying.

“…and they’re asking where you are. I told them you weren’t feeling well but were on the way.”

Irati made a face before looking at her phone. Eyes wide, she hopped off the bench and ran to the parking lot three blocks away where her car was parked. She was late for work. Other face actors she’d been friends with had been fired for less.

“Shit,” she said, out of breath as she made it to her car. “I’m on the way.”

“Parade is in thirty minutes,” Chris said as he ended the call.

Irati could only hope she would make it in time.

///

From: irati g. To: kim taehyung disneyland princess girl oh, you flirt! i don’t mind if you call me princess. just know i was late for work because of that email. halloween is one of my favorite holidays! i love wearing costumes and doing different makeup and candy haha. dressing up as elena is different for me. it’s like becoming another person. when i am elena, i’m not irati. it never gets boring, though. i don’t know if that makes sense, but i think you’d understand. what’s your favorite song right now? - princess irati

///

From: kim taehyung To: irati g. disneyland princess girl i hope i didn’t get you into trouble at work. i won’t deny it, though. i am flirting. i hope that’s okay. and it doesn’t get weird in the translate me too! my friends and i always celebrate halloween with a big party and costumes. it’s fun. maybe you can come next time. i know what you mean. you don’t have to explain more. i feel the same. uhhhhhhhh the elena of avalor theme song hahaha tae

///

From: irati g. To: kim taehyung disneyland princess girl it’s okay, they only made me dress up as minnie mouse for a week and a half. i’ve been through worse (although the suit does smell horrible in 100+ weather). haha send me an invite and i’ll see what i can do. stoppppp i don’t even like the elena theme song haha - princess irati

///

After the initial emails, their frequency came faster and faster. The pair could go back and forth for hours jumping for their phones when the tell-tale ding sounded. They’d sent as many as one hundred emails on a rare day when they both had a day off.

It was nice, for both of them, to have something that felt sacred. Hidden, almost, away from the world. Not that her world was as big as his, but it was nice to keep something to herself. Something that she could build and keep away from her parents and friends. It was strange how she and Tae–as she’d taken to calling him after a few months of exchanging emails–met but it worked. There were no expectations, which is what made their friendship so fun.

Chris plopped down on the couch next to Irati and pouted as she ignored him. She was reading the newest email from Tae with a grin on her face. They’d just finished their world tour and he was telling her about trying to wake up one of his group members. They’d gone so far as to throw pickles at him, but he still wouldn’t wake up. Irati giggled quietly.

“Ugh,” Chris groaned. “Just date him already.”

She jumped in her seat as though she didn’t even realize Chris had been there the entire time.

“We’re friends,” Irati rolled her eyes.

“Yeah, sure,” Chris said, reaching over to grab the remote before turning the tv on. “Just saying, I don’t think you’ve ever smiled or laughed like that at anything I say, and we’re friends too.”

Irati shook her head and ignored him in favor of tapping a response at the keyboard on her screen. The issue of distance had come up before–it was nearly impossible for it not to after spending almost a year talking and flirting with someone–but they’d agreed it was nearly impossible for them to do anything about it.

Friends was more than enough for Irati.

///

On the other side of the ocean, Taehyung paced the living room waiting for his phone to buzz. It was a very important day for him and he awaited an email from one of his closest friends outside of his group members. He tapped the mail app as soon as the vibration registered in his brain. There, the first message, was from Irati.

It was a simple, one-line message but the contents made his heart race.

i got in.

He tapped away at the screen, more than overusing the exclamation point, when someone walked into the room and plopped on the couch.

“How’s Irati?” Jungkook said around a mouthful of grapes.

Taehyung looked over and smiled. “She got into the study abroad program.”

Jungkook swallowed his snack but, before he could respond, Namjoon and Yoongi walked in.

“Did little sister find out about the program yet?” Namjoon said. He sat next to Jungkook and stretched out.

Before Taehyung could say anything, Jungkook threw his hands in the air and yelled out the news.

“She got in!”

Yoongi laughed as he walked into the kitchen, leaving the other three members to celebrate the good news. He’d been secretly hoping that Irati would get into the program. She had taken up a big part of Taehyung’s life for someone that none of them had truly met before. She was good for him. It was nice to see him happy.

///

One month later, the morning of her long-haul plane trip from Los Angeles to Seoul, Irati dragged her hand over her face as she lay on the floor of the apartment she shared with Chris. It was nearly empty since he couldn’t afford to live there without her. They’d been packing for an entire week.

And it had just hit her that she was leaving for a year. There would be no more late nights on the hand-me-down couch or early morning practice sessions at Disneyland or bailing Chris out of bad situations with his girlfriend. She sighed deeply before turning her head to look at Chris. He sat on the couch playing video games and purposely ignoring the looks she was shooting him.

Pity me. Ask me what’s wrong.

She got tired of waiting and rolled her eyes before looking up at the ceiling.

“What if he doesn’t like me?” She bit her lip and scrunched her nose. “What if I did all of this, moving to a foreign country, and it’s all for nothing?”

“Relax, bro,” Chris rolled his eyes, not taking his gaze off the video game on the tv. “He wouldn’t have willingly read all fifty gajillion of your sappy emails if he didn’t already like you. Just go. Live a little.”

Irati sat up with a nod. She fixed the messy bun on top of her head before standing up and brushing any dust from her casual baggy v neck and jeggings. Moments later, after finishing his video game, Chris stood and walked over to her as she was about to put her backpack on. Ruffling Irati’s hair, he brought her into a tight hug.

“I’m gonna miss you, best friend,” Chris said. She nodded against his shoulder, trying not to cry. She couldn’t remember the last time they’d been separated for more than a few days at a time. They’d been childhood best friends, grew up next door to each other, and now…now they were grown up. “Email me.”

The smirk on Chris’ face as Irati pulled away made her roll her eyes and playfully slap him on the shoulder.

“Whatever you say, bro,” she said before turning away to grab her things so he wouldn’t see the tears forming at the corners of her eyes.

She was really doing this.

///

The flight was long. Like, longer than any flight Irati had ever taken. By the time the airplane landed, she was ready to get down on her knees and kiss the ground. Between the turbulence and the dry, stuffy air onboard…she was ready to have her two feet on the ground again.

She rubbed her face and yawned as she walked out of customs towards the baggage claim. Taehyung said he would find her, but there was really no way of getting into contact with him. Her phone didn’t work–she tried–and the Korean she’d been teaching herself (with the help of an app on her phone) wasn’t that advanced.

She’d take one thing at a time.

So, she stood at the baggage claim waiting for her bag. It was five minutes before it started going and another few minutes before her overstuffed suitcase made its way towards her. She tried her best to lift it from the carousel, but it was too heavy. She let it go around before trying again.

Except, the second time, a hand reached out and grabbed it before she could make a move.

An older man wearing a suit and a friendly smile nodded at her. She smiled and thanked him quietly.

“Irati Gonzalez?” He said. She lifted an eyebrow and nodded. He motioned for her to follow him towards the back of the airport. She looked around, bit her lip, but followed him. There was only one person who knew her name in Korea and he’d said that he would figure something out, so he could pick her up from the airport.

She trusted Taehyung.

At the end of a corridor, the man opened a door that led into an alley. He walked ahead to place her bag in the trunk and sit in the driver’s seat.

Or, at least, that’s what Irati thought he did. She was too entranced by the figure leaning against the black suv in the alley.

“Princess,” he said. His voice was deeper than she remembered. He wore a simple pair of ripped jeans, a tee shirt, and colorful sneakers. She smiled, and he returned it with the softest smile she’d ever seen. “It’s so good to see you again.”

He spoke in English, the words slightly accented, and waited her reaction with a cute smile on his face. She grinned.

“It’s good to see you too, Tae,” she responded in Korean, wanting to surprise him.

“Seems like we’ve both been keeping secrets,” he said, jaw slightly dropped, as he walked closer. Irati giggled. He wanted to remember that sound for the rest of his life.

“Seems like it,” she whispered. She looked down at their feet, just inches away from each other, and back up to him. “Is it weird to say I missed you? Even though we technically just met.”

He shook his head. “If it’s weird, we can be weird together.”

They looked at each other for a long moment, as if committing their appearances to memory before Taehyung opened his arms for a hug. Irati took half a step forward and his arms closed around her as her head lay against his chest. He placed his chin on top of her head. They stayed like that, quietly enjoying the others’ company, for a long time.

He was warm. Smelling of detergent and cologne, Irati wanted nothing more than to just burrow in his arms and take a nap. He felt comforting and she was so, so tired after such a long flight. Her eyes drooped closed when he started rubbing his hand up and down her back.

“You’re sleepy, yeah?”

She nodded and felt, more so than heard, his laugh rumble in his chest. Placing a kiss to the top of her head, Taehyung slowly released Irati and led her up into the car that awaited.

She fell asleep in his lap before they made it to her dorm.

#bts fic #bts fluff #taehyung scenarios #v scenarios #bts scenario #taehyung fluff #taehyung fanfic #v fanfic #v fluff #fic: oap #me: this is a one shot #also me: this needs a part two #alfkdjhfajdkf i'm a mess

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classicallyclarington · 6 years ago

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THE CLARINGTONS || Head Full of Doubt / Road Full of Promise

WHO: Hunter Clarington, Cressida Clarington, introducing Sadie Henry WHAT: Hunter makes a very important discovery. WHEN: Afternoon of 7/20 WHERE: Apartment complex in downtown Chicago WARNINGS: tw: death mention WARBLE: “Head Full of Doubt / Road Full of Promise” by the Avett Brothers. (ooc here is a link of me plinking it out on my keyboard very poorly heh: https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=wLx9lIgq7EY )

Hunter underestimated how difficult it would be, following a person all the way to Chicago. It was becoming more and more apparent, as he lay utterly squished beneath rows of seats in the back section of a commercial jet, that recklessness, while often effective, was not a plan.

Cressida’s destination was staggeringly unspectacular. She disappeared into a building laid with red brick, square all the way up and down; Hunter couldn’t even tell what it was from where he was standing a little ways down the block. It troubled him. Perhaps this wasn’t where she got her treatments at all - or worse, perhaps it was and no one told Hunter that they were going bankrupt.

He secured the drooping hood of his coat and pulled his scarf tighter around his neck and mouth. It was damp from the sweat that streamed down his face as he walked under the searing summer sun toward the red brick building. As he drew closer to its entrance, it became evident that this was not a salon, or any other beauty related establishment at all. It was an apartment building.

Hunter’s eyebrows knit together. The Claringtons had never held residence in Chicago, and he was certain they wouldn’t have been caught dead in a place like this - so drab, so amenable to the gathering heaps of cobweb.

He didn’t have time to consider as he spotted Cressida making for an elevator. Without a moment’s pause, Hunter, concealed almost entirely in a mass of baggy clothing, took hold of a cart full of packages from behind the turned back of an unsuspecting mail person, and hurried to get in the elevator with her.

As long as she didn’t see his eyes, he thought, as he pushed the cart into the elevator and stood behind it, staring into one of the back corners. It wasn’t a problem anyway; she had her eyes trained on her issue of Lineage, which was worn from use and stained with red wine. There were two other men, one between them and one on her other side. Not one of them made a sound, but Cressida sniffled very softly, as though she had been weeping for a long while, not unlike the last wandering wind at the end of a long storm. It had been a long time since Hunter had last heard her crying. Lawrence had thrown her favorite chair across the den, he remembered, and she cut her feet on the emeralds.

She got off on the twelfth floor, and Hunter followed with his mail cart in tow, stealing short glances toward her as he walked in the other direction. Apartment number 12-14, that was the one she’d stolen away in. Hunter sucked in a breath and wrung his hands together. Now all he had to do was wait.

Waiting was the worst part, probably. For all Hunter knew, Cressida wouldn’t emerge until the following morning. It wasn’t impossible for her to want to escape here, to a corner of the city where her husband’s lover once - oh.

Hunter’s staring eyes flared momentarily, as his right hand came up to meet his face. His thumb and index finger took a light grasp at his lower lip as he began to chew on the nail of his thumb. The Claringtons never took residence in Chicago because of Freya Henry. And yet here they were, in a residency in Chicago, and - he thought she was dead. He’d heard her screaming, for God’s sake, he’d seen her floating dead in the river, but that was all illusionary work, maybe - just maybe -

Hunter’s heart clenched in his chest over and over, until the door of apartment 12-14 sprung open again. It was only just twenty four minutes later, and Cressida Clarington was entering the elevator back down to the lobby.

Hunter rushed to the door, his heart in his throat, and knocked incessantly. Maybe it wasn’t too late. All he needed was someone true, and he could put things back together again. All she needed to be was alive. He shivered when he heard a small voice from inside: “Come in, it’s open”.

It was. Hunter opened the door.

He coughed.

The apartment looked awful; it was hardly furnished and it was absolutely caked in dust. There was a couch in the middle of the floor, where a woman sat up, back straight and face staring at nothing at all. Hunter could feel his insides squirming at the eerie sight of it all, but his hopes weren’t dashed yet.

“Mom,” He whispered, more breath than voice, so quietly he wasn’t sure that she could hear him, “It’s me.” He moved toward her, then, toward the couch in a few sweeping steps, “It’s Hunter.” His eyes searched hers as they locked together for a passing moment. She looked awfully fragile; like her skin was paper and her little bones were all glass. She squinted back at his forehead and her faded eyes flashed with something like realization.

“Hunter?” She whispered back.

Tears sprung to Hunter’s eyes with immediacy, and he choked out a laugh as he reached forward to take her hands in his, his tongue on the edge of Yes, when she withdrew from him, her fragile frame tensing. His eyebrows knit in the middle, his heart sinking, “What is it? What’s wrong?”

“I’m not your momma,” She said, delicately, “I’m not old enough to be anyone’s momma, I don’t think.” And even if she was, she didn’t know the first thing about how to make babies. “But my momma told me about you. I thought my momma was your - I thought you - I -”

“Who are you?” Hunter asked, staring at her though her gaze traveled past him.

He was surprised that she didn’t shrink at the demand, meek as she appeared, her heart was mightier than Hunter could know.

She said: “My name is Sadie Henry.”

Hunter was so shaken he could have dissolved right then and there. His body resigned to the shock and froze in place, his face still. But he whispered back, “And your ‘momma’ is - ?”

“Cressida Henry.”

Aether God.

His jaw remained slack, his gaze buried in vacant air. But without another moment’s hesitation, Hunter pulled Sadie in close and hugged her tight. He had... a sister. He had a sister. He had a sister. Holy shit. He had a sister.

“Are you my brother?”

“Yeah.” He choked on a breath, grasp tightening, “It’s a long story, okay?”

“Okay.”

His hand came up to the back of her head and he pressed a kiss against her forehead. His eyes slid shut for just a second. He had a sister.

She had no reason to believe him, when he explained it all, but there was something about the way she listened to Hunter that told him she wanted to believe in him, and that meant so much. Still, they couldn’t evade the sadness of the truth. Cressida was not her momma. Her momma was long gone, his too.

“You look like our mom,” Hunter said. She was much smaller, much more worn, but her hair was the same mulled cider, and her eyes were as kind. “I’ve only seen pictures,” He lied, “I look much more like our dad.” He pulled a picture of their father up on his phone and handed it to her, but she fumbled in taking it.

“What is this?” Sadie asked, eyebrows knitting together as she wiped away a couple stray tears.

“It’s a picture. Of our dad.” He said, with an offbeat chuckle, matching her confusion.

She gestured the phone back to him with amusement healing some of the sadness in her features. “I can’t see it.”

“Oh,” Hunter said, taking the phone back to see if the screen had gone black after he’d handed it to her. It hadn’t. So wh -

“I can’t see anything. I’m blind.” Sadie whispered.

“You’re - oh.” Hunter said, dumbly.

“Yeah,” Sadie smiled, as though it were an inside joke between herself and her empty apartment. “That’s why I’ve never seen anyone aside from mo- aside from Cressida,” She corrected, and wiped away another tear that fell on that note, “I can’t leave. I don’t know my way around anywhere. I don’t know what would happen to me if I did.”

Hunter watched her, with an immense sadness stirring inside of him. Some of it boiled off into anger for a moment, as his jaw clenched and he tore his gaze away, and then it dissolved into miserable empathy all over again. He shook his head and looked at her, “I am so sorry, Sadie. I swear to God, I will -”

She just smiled.

“It’s okay.”

It reminded Hunter of Jesus. And Quinn.

She searched for his hand with her own and took it.

And she started to sing.

“<<There’s a darkness upon me that’s flooded with light. >>” She waved the hand that wasn’t clasped in Hunter’s and suddenly the room around them transformed into the balcony just outside, where the sun was setting reverently on the Chicago skyline. “<<In the fine print they tell me what’s wrong and what’s right. >>” Hunter looked around the space, amazed by how precise her work was. She couldn’t have had training extensive enough to teach her all of this. He heard the warble of strings and piano keys beneath her gentle voice. “<<And it comes in black, and it comes in white, and I’m frightened by those who don’t see it. >>”

Hunter started to cry all over again, if not from amazement, if not because he knew she couldn’t see the beauty of what she had created, because he remembered Blaine Anderson waving his hand in much the same way and unleashing a choir of a dozen himselves. God. How had things gone so wrong?

“<<When nothing is owed, or deserved, or expected,>>” She pulled the setting sun right out of the sky and hugged it fondly to her chest - the same size as it had been sitting on the far away horizon - before passing it to Hunter, “<<and your life doesn’t change by the man that’s elected. If you’re loved by someone, you’re never rejected.>>” She squeezed his hand and smiled as she felt the warmth of the sun radiating from him, “<<Decide what to be, and go be it.>>”

Hunter hugged it tight, before allowing her to spin it back into the sky. He didn’t take her eyes off of her as it happened, so amazed and proud of what she could do, with her magic, sure, but with her soul even more. It was unlike anything he’d ever seen.

She pulled the biggest, fluffiest cloud, right out of the sky above them and climbed on, leading Hunter with her. “<<There was a dream, and one day I could see it.>>” They floated above Chicago, the noises of the city slowly blending into the music around them, “<<Like a bird in a cage, I broke in and demanded that somebody free it. And there was a kid, with her head full of doubt. So I’ll scream ‘til I die and the last of those bad thoughts are ->>”

The scene dissolved, and Hunter and Sadie were suddenly back in the dusty apartment.

“<< - finally out. >>”

Hunter just leaned forward and hugged her again.

“You’re loved by someone,” He whispered.

Sadie smiled and nodded quickly, tearfully.

“You are too.”

#self para #the claringtons

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darling-cas · 7 years ago

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All Is Well: Feysand

TOG/ACOTAR Christmas Fic Co-written with @aelin-and-feyre

Summary: It’s a special time in the Night Court, being the Winter Solstice and the High lady’s birthday. Too bad Rhys is nowhere to be found. CANON.

Note: How about something fluffy and little hearted after all the heartbreak from yesterdays chapter XD This girl is a total gem, such a little sweetheart! It was such a pleasure to get to work with her and I had soooo much fun! Also, the fact that we got to write Feysand together made it that much more amazing, LOL! Thank you again, darling, for agreeing to do this with me. I’d work with you again in a heartbeat!

All Is Well Masterlist

——————–

Waking up without Rhys’ arms wrapped tightly around her was definitely not Feyre’s ideal way of starting her day.

The moment her eyes fluttered opened and she didn’t feel his warmth, panic took hold. She sent a message down the bond, and though she did relax when she felt his reply, letting her know he was okay, confusion lingered. She expected an exclamation, anything telling her what he was up to, but she got nothing. Even when she bombarded him with questions as she got ready for the day, Rhys would simply stroke the bond but offered nothing else.

She didn’t expect this. Sure, maybe he had some Winter Solstice plans to take care of before this evening. But she still didn’t expect Rhys to be gone so early on today of all days.

Not that Feyre put much thought into her birthday anymore. What was the point when you were an immortal fae? But given the fact it was her first official birthday with Rhys, she would have liked him to be here.

After one last failed attempt to get Rhys to talk—she sent him an image of her as she changed into her simple yet ravishing deep purple gown and all she got in return was deep chuckle and loving stroke on the bond—Feyre made her way out of her bedroom and down the stairs of the townhouse.

“Happy birthday!” Elain all but jumped out of her chair the moment Feyre entered the kitchen area. She almost fell backward as Elain engulfed her in a hug, unable to stop a smile from forming.

“Thank you, Elain.” She said, returning the hug before they pulled apart.

Feyre took a moment to glance around the kitchen. But aside from Elain, Nesta was the only other person in the room. She was sat at the table, breakfast before her, legs and arms crossed. When her eye caught Feyre’s, she offered her the smallest smile and a nod.

“Happy birthday, Feyre.”

“Thank you.” Feyre returned the smile, joining Nesta at the table covered in food. “Where is everyone?”

Nesta and Elain shared a quick look before the former shrugged.

“The boys left early this morning, I believe,” was all she said on the matter, which simply confused Feyre even more.

But before she could ask any further questions, Elain clapped her hands together.

“We’ll talk later.” She smiled brightly. “For now let’s eat, it is your birthday breakfast after all.”

Feyre’s gaze turned towards Elain. “You made all this for me?”

“Of course,” she gestured to the food in front of Feyre. “Now eat.”

The most gracious smile appeared on Feyre’s face, one that Elain returned. And there was no further room for discussion as the two oldest Archeron sisters dug in, Feyre not far behind them.

It was delicious breakfast. The cooking skills Elain had been working on had clearly improved since the last time she cooked. And between the talks and laughter, Ferye almost forgot about her disappointment from this morning, about Rhys being gone.

Almost.

“Feyre!” Mor came barging through the front door just as the sisters finished eating, her smile blinding. Feyre stood up from her chair just in time for the blonde beauty to crush her in a hug. “Happy birthday!”

“Thank you.” Feyre couldn’t help but laugh before Mor pulled back, deep brown eyes sparkling.

“Are you ready?”

Feyre tilted her head to the side in confusion. “For the Solstice? Mor, I don’t need to start getting ready–”

Mor’s musical laugh cut her off, ringing throughout the room. “No silly. I’m taking you out for the afternoon. For your birthday.”

“You are?”

“Yes! Now come on!” Mor grabbed her hand, all but dragging her out the door. Feyre had just enough time to thank her sisters for breakfast before she was out in the blinding mid-morning sun.

Mor led her through the town streets, their arms linked as they went. They ventured passed townsfolk getting ready for the Solstice: stringing up decorations and lights, setting up tables and music, chatting and laughter, so relaxed, so carefree, amongst one another. And Feyre smiled a genuine smile at each and every one she passed. Some of them even stopped the wish their High Lady a happy birthday, which warmed Feyre’s heart as she thanked them.

It was a beautiful day, the perfect day for the Winter Solstice and to be out shopping. Mor dragged her from store to store, took her out to lunch, laughing and talking without a care in the world. It was refreshing to see, especially after the everything they had been through with the war.

The only thing that would have made it better was if she got to see Rhys.

Throughout her day with Mor, she kept sending him messages and images—she thought she had him when she sent a picture of her in some lingerie she tried on, but no luck. He still wouldn’t talk to her, wouldn’t tell her what exactly he was up to. And as she and Mor walked back to the townhouse to get ready for the celebrations, Feyre couldn’t help but let the realization set in.

Rhys forgot her birthday.

She tried not to let the hurt and frustration settle in too deep as she hugged Mor goodbye, thanking her for such a lovely day.

“It was no trouble, Feyre.” Mor smiled. “You deserved a day out. Besides, it is your birthday.”

The smile on her own face became just the slightest bit forced as Mor gave her a kiss on the cheek before turning on her heel and walking out the door.

With a sigh, Feyre glanced around the empty townhouse before she made her way up the stairs to her bedroom, where she knew Nuala and Cerridwen were waiting to help her get ready for the celebrations today.

She didn’t even bother to call down the bond as she pushed open the door, giving Nuala and Cerridwen a strained smile.

They dressed her in a gown of shimmering dark blue fabric, the neckline a plummeting deep v-neck while the sleeves flared out at her wrists. It was a breathtaking gown, one fit for a queen. But Feyre couldn’t truly admire its beauty, not when her heart felt so heavy.

Nevertheless, she held her head high, making light conversation as Nuala and Cerridwen put the finishing touches on her hair and makeup. She was High Lady after all, she didn’t want to show how deeply Rhys forgetting her birthday truly affected her.

‘And it is affecting me… much more than I would care to admit’, she couldn’t help but think once Nuala and Cerridwen were gone and she was fully dressed, standing in front of the full-length mirror.

“You look ravishing, Feyre, darling.”

Whirling around, Feyre almost couldn’t believe her eyes. She had been so caught up in her thoughts she hadn’t even felt Rhys show up. But there he was, a smug smile on his lips, hands in his pockets, dressed to match her gown.

He looked as handsome as ever.

“Where have you been?” Feyre demanded, eyes narrowed as she took a step towards him. She wanted nothing more than to run in his arms, but her irritation halted her.

“That’s not important right now.” Rhys waved her off, his eyes running up and down her body before his gaze met hers. “What is important is how striking my queen looks tonight.”

The intensity in his eyes, the way his tongue licked his bottom lip slightly, caused her to shiver. The bond between them grew more intense, Rhys sending waves of pleasure her way. But Feyre held her ground, stopping in front of Rhys and raising an eyebrow.

“Rhys–”

“All in good time, darling.” It was the mischief in his eyes, the twitch of a smile, that caused all frustration to melt away as Rhys leaned forward, placing the most cherished kiss on her lips. “For right now, it’s time to celebrate your first Winter Solstice as High Lady.”

Rhys offered his arm to her and Feyre couldn’t help but roll her eyes, even as she looped her arm through his.

“You shut me out. For the whole day.” She remarked as they made their way down the stairs. She may not be as frustrated anymore, but she wasn’t letting him off the hook that easily.

Still, she didn’t dare bring up her birthday.

“I’m sorry, love.”

“Don’t apologize.” A sensual smile pulled on Feyre lips as she met Rhys’ gaze, caressing the bond between them. “You’ll just have to make it up to me later.”

They came to a stop in front of the door. Rhys turning towards Feyre, violent eyes darkening.

“And how exactly would you like me to make it up to you, Feyre?” He purred, closing the distance between them so their chests were touching.

Feyre could feel her heart start to race, blood turning to fire as Rhys brought his lips to her jaw. He kissed his way down her neck, leaving a trail of flames in his wake. As he nipped at the sensitive skin right under her ear, Feyre couldn’t help but moan, already wanting more -

Rhys chuckled at her thoughts as she arched her throat to him.

“Later, love,” he teased, breath hot on her neck. Feyre couldn’t help but groan in disapproval as Rhys pulled away, eyes sparkling like a starry night. “For now, we celebrate.”

Feyre took in a deep breath before taking the smallest step backwards. She straightened out her dress, trying to calm her thoughts, as Rhys reached for the door. But he didn’t open it. Instead, he turned his gaze to her, the mischief in them greater than ever.

Feyre tilted her head to the side, hair falling over her shoulder as she raised an eyebrow.

“Whats going on?”

But Rhys didn’t answer. His smile simply grew, eyes shining brighter than the night sky as Feyre stood by his side. And with one last longing look, Rhys pulled opened the doors.

Feyre took one step out the door before she froze, eyes wide.

Screams and shouts of HAPPY BIRTHDAY drifted towards them as all of Velars gathered on the street outside the townhouse. There were cheers and whistles—mostly from Cassian who was standing off to the side to stand along with the rest of the Inner Circle. Balloons were released into the air, confetti rained down on them from high above. The sight was unlike anything Feyre had beheld in her life.

She was completely and utterly speechless.

“Our High Lady’s birthday is on the longest night of the year.” Rhy’s breath tickled her neck as he came up behind her. “If that doesn’t call for a grand celebration, I don’t know what does.”

With her heart in her throat and tears in her eyes, Feyre turned towards Rhys to see an expression that held only love and adoration.

Rhys placed a lingering kiss on her lips, returning the love as he mumbled into her lips,

“Happy birthday, Feyre darling.”

Everything was going exactly as he had planned, a perfect party for his most perfect wife on her first birthday while they are together. It had been painful to walk away from her this morning—sleeping so peacefully with her hair splayed out along the pillows, a small snore coming from her lips. Rhys had wanted to crawl back under the covers and hold her all day, to celebrate her birthday with just the two of them and worship her as she deserves to be worshipped. He had been planning this party for months now though, and knew that his family and probably the rest of Velaris would riot if they didn’t get a chance to celebrate with their High Lady on the most special day of the year.

So, Rhysand had left his sleeping mate with no more than a soft kiss on her forehead and silent promises for worshipping that night. He spent all day coordinating, making sure Elain was set with her breakfast and that Mor knew exactly where to take her to avoid the places where the party was being set up. He enlisted the help of his brothers to each take a section of the party grounds to prepare, and the citizens of Velaris were more than willing to help out in any way they could. Feyre had already been helping to plan the Solstice party, Rhys just made a few tweaks in the decorations.

When he had come to collect her, seeing her in the shining gown with its sinfully low neckline, and after a whole day worth of dirty—and appreciated—images that told him exactly what awaited him under the dress, Rhys’ resolve had nearly crumbled. He almost took her right then and there, the party be damned, if it weren’t for Mor’s incessant pounding along his shields, reminding him that the whole city was waiting and wouldn’t accept whatever excuse that was beginning to form in his mind.

Now, with his arms around her waist and seeing that shining smile on her face, Rhys knew he made the right choice. She looked so happy. He could see relief and wonder blazing in her eyes and he felt minorly guilty that he had ever made her think he would forget this most important day.

“Never in a million years would I forget the day the Cauldron blessed the world with your presence.” Rhysand assured lowly in her ear as the music began and their family started to make their way through the crowd towards them. “Tonight is the longest night of the year, and we have until the sun rises to dance, drink, eat, and revel. This celebration is as much about you as it is about the Solstice, so let’s go have some fun.”

Feyre’s smile widened impossibly at his words. She placed a chaste kiss on his lips—one that promised less chaste kisses to come—and pulled him towards the throng of High and lesser Fae alike, all joining the festivities.

They met the rest of the Circle a little farther in, both Cassian and Azriel enveloping Feyre in bear hugs as they wished her a happy birthday.

“What do you think High Lady?” Cassian puffed out his chest proudly. “The Rainbow was the section I got to coordinate. Did you see the strings of Iridescent Nightshade?”

Feyre glanced up to admire the rows upon rows of purple flowers that seemed to glitter and shine against the darkening sky.

“They will provide a soft violet glow later on in the night,” Rhys explained when confusion crossed her face. “Their pollen also has the tendency to drift down and coat the people dancing under them, allowing them a dusting of shine as well—not that you need any help in that department.” The High Lord honestly didn’t think he would ever get tired of Feyre’s blush, at least not in this millennia.

“Thank you, Cassian, they’re beautiful,” Feyre turned around slowly, taking in the banners, streamers, artwork, and costumes. “It all is.”

Cassian beamed. Amren shoved past him and gave Feyre her friendliest smile. “Another year of life, congratulations, I suppose.”

Mor nudged her with an elbow and Amren shot her a dirty look.

“What? I’ve had more than five thousand birthdays, she’s not all that special,” she muttered, but she did hand Feyre a gift nonetheless—a pearl and diamond bracelet that had spots for charms to clip onto. Rhys grimaced, hoping Feyre didn’t question how there were no charms that came with it, at least not until he could give her his present.

Feyre thanked Amren profusely and the tiny Fae waved her off with another rare smile and disappeared from view, but not before pressing a small, square box into Rhys’ hand behind his back. He slipped it into his pocket while Feyre talked to Mor and her sisters, praising them for hiding the secret so well.

Rhys kept a hand on the small of Feyre’s back as they walked through the rejoicing crowd toward the main square. Friends from around the city wished Feyre many happy returns as she passed them and his mate took them in stride, smiling and hugging and shaking hands where appropriate. Rhys couldn’t help but stroke the bond with pride at how far she had come since she became his High Lady only half a year ago.

The main square was the new home of an enormous Yulemas tree which towered over the surrounding buildings. Feyre gazed at the huge pine in disbelief, eyes widening as she saw that the light coming from it was not a reflection for the thousands of ornaments hanging from it’s branches, but from the thick shining trunk deep within, giving the entire display a feeling of surrealness.

“The square was Azriel’s job to prepare,” Rhys explained. “He loves Yulemas and got a little too excited about the decorations. He hauled this Lumetto Pine all the way from the Illyrian Steppes. He’s very proud of it.”

“He should be,” Feyre agreed, “It’s absolutely astounding.”

For a moment, Rhys wished that his brother had been there to see the amazed expression on her face.

“Are the stars different on the Solstice?” Feyre wondered idly, her face tilted up to the sky. Her hair was already starting to collect dust from the NightShade, casting her face in a violet glow—Rhys honestly didn’t know she could get more beautiful, especially after he had seen her on Starfall.

He turned to gaze at the sky with her, their hands still intertwined. “They change throughout the year. With each passing season, a new set of constellations appear.” He pointed to a cluster of stars. “See the circle and then below it the rough shape of wings?” Feyre nodded. “That constellation is called Amren.”

“You’re kidding,” Feyre accused.

Rhysand laughed. “I am not, the ancients thought that Amren was some kind of angel at first, a creator of the Cauldron come down to smite them—they weren’t far off.” Feyre jabbed him with her elbow and he pointed to another grouping. “That’s the Bogge.”

“It doesn’t even look like anything.”

“Exactly.” He felt Feyre shudder against him and remembered her story from the Spring Court. He cringed and tried to find another constellation to distract her.

Feyre pointed to two closely linked stars, both much brighter than the others. “What are those?”

Rhys racked his brain. “I’m—not sure what those are.” He squeezed her hand. “Do you want to name them?”

Feyre shifted her gaze to him, her eyes full of love and warmth and gratitude. “They are the High Lord and High Lady of the sky,” she proclaimed finally but did not remove her gaze from his.

He smiled softly. “Sounds perfect.”

With a content sigh, Feyre looked around the gathering, smiling at different faeries. “It really is breathtaking. I think I want to paint this later.” Her eyes caught on the huge Yulemas tree in the distance. “Do you think we could get a better look? I need to see it closer if I’m going to get the texture just right.”

Rhys gestured for her to lead the way. “You’re twenty-one now,” he commented as they walked through the crowd. Their joined hands swung between them, Rhys’ thumb stroking the ring on her finger absently. “How do you feel?”

Feyre thought about it for a couple moments, then picked up a wine glass from a passing caterer. She took a sip.

“Wine doesn’t taste any different,” she observed, then grabbed a hors d'oeuvres from another tray, eating it thoughtfully. “Neither does food.”

Rhys watched her, amused, when she turned to look up and him and gestures him to lean forward. He obliged and she kissed him chastely.

“Hmmm, yeah that’s pretty similar to yesterday as well.”

“Sure you don’t want to try again?” Rhys asked, already leaning towards her again, just the little taste of her on his lips leaving him wanting.

Feyre shook her head and leaned away, resulting in a pouting mate. She laughed.

“Overall, I feel pretty much the same, although there’s one other thing I need to test—but it’ll have to wait until we’re alone,” she trailed off and slipped her hand from Rhys, leaving him speechless and immobile as she twists through the crowd to the tree, her mate staring after her and trying to put together a coherent sentence.

She’s only twenty-one. They have hundreds, thousands more years together. More birthdays and Yulemases and Solstices. More nights beneath the stars with their family—a family that will hopefully grow. The High Lord’s grin was blinding as he makes his way to where his wife stands, examining the ornaments and lights on the tree.

Feyre smirked up at him when he got to her and he had half a mind to winnow them back to their room and show her something to smirk about. But he doesn’t because there is still a heavy weight in his pocket.

“I haven’t given you my present yet.”

The High Lady looked around at the magnificent dance party. “Isn’t this my present?”

“This is Velaris’ present,” Rhys corrected, “This is from me.”

He pulled the square box from his coat pocket, the one Amren had retrieved from the jeweler this morning, and placed it gently in his wife’s hand.

She opened it carefully, the sounds of the party fading into the background as the two of them stood there under the endless night.

“Oh, it’s beautiful,” she murmured at last.

With great care, she lifted the small crystal heart from the box. Its delicate fractured shape glittered in the glow of the Iridescent Nightshade, casting small, dim rainbows along the surrounding surfaces.

“It’s a charm for your new bracelet,” Rhys explained, taking the box and slipping it back into his pocket. He proceeded to help her fasten the bauble to a vacant link on the circlet. “I vow to get you a new one for every year we are together.”

Feyre glanced from the bracelet to Rhys with a playfully concerned look. “I don’t know if this bracelet is big enough for all those charms.”

The High Lord shrugged, wrapping his arms around her waist and pulling her closer. “I guess we’ll just have to make it work. Together.”

“Together,” Feyre agreed, linking her arms around his neck with a happy sigh.

Rhysand leaned in, his eyes flicking between his mate’s eyes and her mouth. “Happy Birthday, darling.” He whispered.

“Happy Solstice, Rhys.”

“And Merry Yulemas to all.” And as his lips finally met hers, Rhysand knew that this would undoubtedly be his favorite time of the year, for the rest of their many, many more years together.

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happyorogeny · 6 years ago

Text

The Gossip Chapter 7

(~5000 words)(Illidan, Rommath, Kael’thas)(tw heights, falling, injury, fire)

Illidan burst away from the mountainside, throwing his right wing wider so as to readjust for his weakened leg. The hippogryffs diving upon him screamed as he slammed into them. Steel-spurred talons bounced off his horns.

He felt at least two sets of claws try to tangle on him, wings beating around his head, the metal whips of their riders cracking at his wings in an attempt to drive him down.

He broke through with a burst of fel. A hippogryff was innately magical enough for him to see them as coloured outlines, like images sketched in chalk. These one gleamed purple and green, their wings pointed like those of a falcon. Too small and fast to be true battle-birds. But that meant little- many breeds had appeared during his incarceration, and the bulk of the Kaldorei airforce was now made up of these medium weight fliers. All of them seemed sun-proof, able to fly without elaborate mantles that had been standard for gryffs in his day.

A third dived upon him from above, the rider shrieking at him to surrender. Rolling mid-wingbeat he struck out and kicked the gryff in the chest. The bones of its sternum shattered and it dropped away from him, shrilling, as his momentum flicked him upright to swipe at a warden who ventured too close. Her gryff retreated, hissing.

Three of them and he heard the wind splitting around a fourth. Claws cut into his shoulder. He twisted into the blow so that they lodged against his clavicle rather than carving into his neck, and headbutted the gryff so that it back winged in a daze. Fel crackled after them with a snap of his wings. The warden shouted at him as his wounds wove themselves together.

“What manner of creature are you?!”

He could smell leather polish. They traveled without heavy armour, relying only on hide to protect themselves. Maiev had likely sent them on ahead the moment they picked up his tracks, sent them up the mountain so that he would fly into them when he escaped their initial scuffle. They had done this dance before. He wearied of it.

Wingbeats overhead. Multiple gryffs flying as one, trying to hide their numbers. Six of them all told.

An arrow nicked his ear as he pulled his wings in tight and dived, barrelling through those that tried to barricade him and accelerating so swiftly that it slicked all his hair flat against his head. Flight looked easy to those on the ground. They didn’t realize the importance of weight and momentum up here, nor the skill required to orientate oneself into the vertical physical space of the sky. And beyond that, mapping the flow and drift of the winds was an art.

Illidan had oft fancied himself something of an artist.

He dropped two miles in seconds, enduring forces that would have knock most flyers insensate. The gryffs closed their wings to dive after him but he outstripped them with ease. The air sacs in his stomach folded flat and a dozen valves in his chest snapped shut so that the blood didn’t rush into one side of his body. Fresh blood roared into his wings in readiness for sharp movement and even his magical gaze sharpened so that the world didn’t become an incoherent blur around him.

All that effort wasted on wardens. Honestly.

His sudden dive had given him a headstart. He closed one wing and swept close to the curve of the mountain, putting its bulk between himself and his pursuers. His wingtips skimmed rock as he tilted to fit between the two jagged pillars he knew demarcated an icy mountain river. At this level the flanks of the mountain bore the erosive scars of water, deep grooves with steep sides and sudden waterfalls. He felt cold mist on his chest, felt stone walls clipping at his wingtips.

Remarkably, one of them was skilled enough to survive the plummet and even follow him into the confines of the valley. Al’iah, part of him thought. He’d reckoned she survived his escape. She’d grown up with the mountainous regions of the Kaldorei forests. Thin air and sudden drops were no difficulty for her. The gryff itself landed on the edge of the canyon so as to sprint after him. The air ripped around it as it leaped for him.

Wings flaring, he drew up and spun to grab the creature. He knew this terrain better than they knew themselves. The warden was blinded by mist, but he could see everything. Their attack didn’t drive him into the riverbed but off a waterfall and into open air. And now he, bigger, heavier, had a hold on his tormentors.

He dragged them both into a spin. The gryff didn’t try to break free of him but fought with the ferocity of both saber and falcon, kicking at his stomach with its hind legs and snapping at his face with a wickedly curved beak. He knocked the bite away with a sweep of his horns. The warden stabbed his hand with a tiny dagger as he sliced through her reins and reached for the saddle itself, determined to cut it right off her mount. She drove the blade through his forearm and twisted, trying madly to lever him away. He barely felt it.

“Will you kill us both upon the mountainside!?” Al’iah shrieked. He could only smile.

A shame. She’d always been nice to him. Brought him his meals on time, and still warm at that.

With a scream and the loss of several feathers the gryff broke free of him. He flicked his wings open and rolled smoothly out of their headlong fall, clipping the gryff with a roundhouse kick as he went. Al’iah dived past him. He considered giving chase briefly and dismissed it in almost the same heartbeat. He could hunt them one by one but he had places to be. The wardens had scattered themselves over the mountainside in a vain attempt to keep up, left themselves laboring in the dead wind on the flank of the mountain. He, on the other hand, had dived right into the warm thermals rising out of the valley.

He spread his fingers and hooves to catch as much air as possible, filled the airsacs in his stomach and dismissed his glaives. The secret to aerial supremacy was height. These fliers were built for speed and maneuverability, not stamina, not strength. The slowest of the gryff riders could only watch as he soared past with a taunting flick of his wings. She wasn’t brave enough to try and attack him alone, and wouldn’t risk him using her corpse as a weapon against her sisters.

Now it became a contest of endurance. By the time they reassembled to come after him he had climbed one hundred feet and left the sky littered with explosive runic circles. These were double ringed, designed to lie inert until triggered by movement.

He’d thought these advanced, once. Even one would have left him bedridden for days.

The wardens’ seething anger was almost palatable. They had to clear their path as they went with arrows and darts. And with every moment he climbed higher, cutting through wispy clouds and shaking himself so that ice didn’t form on his wings. They couldn’t fall him above the snow-line. Their mounts couldn’t fly in a blizzard. Already the gryffs labored in the chill air behind him, wheezing. Soon they would need to decide- fall back and allow him to escape, or struggle on and have their mounts freeze to death in mid-air or on the mountainside where they fell.

He could almost feel snow on his face. He was nearly of level with the temple. He just needed a little bit of time.

One of the riders finally shrieked in protest and urged her gryff into a vertical climb, the others falling into a V shape behind her. A reckless maneuver. Did she want her mount too weary to fight him when they drew level? He flicked his wings at them as the six of them swept past beneath him, testing his reflexes, tempting him to dive upon them. Hah! As if he were a fledgling to lose his place to them out of aggression. Al'iah moved as if to throw something. She was foolish indeed if she thought he wouldn't avoid an arrow from this range-

Sulphur.

The smell was so out of place that his wings stuttered. Was Kil’jaden here to harass him as well?! No- but the scent only grew more potent and now it was coming towards him, something small and fast and humming most menacingly.

A shrapnel bomb, arcing up towards him.

He tossed up the first shielding ward he’d ever learned, shimmering purple in front of him. It was solid enough to protect him from the razor sharp blades that erupted outwards, but not from the force of the explosion itself. It felt as if he had flown at full speed into a wall. Darkness clawed at him. He didn’t feel himself fall. Instead, Kael’s voice sounded in his mind, gentle and clear as chimes in the breeze.

“Illidan?”

Quite without thinking on the strangeness of it, he called back.

“Come to me.”

Foolish. He was old enough to know a hallucination when he experienced one. But it was enough to bring his awareness crackling back, enough for him to gasp and open his wings and level out of his tumble.

Unfortunately he was now at the wardens level. The gryff riders pulled into a loose diamond formation and surged as one towards him. One he knocked out of the sky with a fel blast, another he warned off with a lightning fast strike of a wing-talon. But the other four were on him, spread out so that he couldn’t hit more than one.

He drew fel out of his marrow and used it to throw himself backwards out of their clutches, stinging them with it as he went and slashing at a gryff with his talons, half gutting the creature. Better yet, it sliced right through the main saddle strap. She shrieked as her saddle slipped, grabbing onto her mounts ruff in search of stability. One of her sisters flew to aid her as the other three realigned themselves and charged him once more, sweeping past and cutting at whatever they could reach. He let them pass, hovered and started to climb only to take an arrow in the ribs from the wardens below him.

He wished suddenly and sharply for fighters of his own. Not just allies, but creatures like him, creatures who could peer through rock and demon flesh, who could keep up with him on a hunt, who had overmastered the instinctive terror demons evoked in mortals.

A thought for another time.

The gryff formation charged him one more divided around a blast of fel, one sweeping to either side while the third flew overhead. He turned to drag her down only to immediately have the other two fall upon him, snapping at his ears and tearing at his wings. One of them tackled his left wing and dug her thumb into the deep wound Maiev had inflicted. He clamped them in to escape her, dropping even further, and scalded the lot of them with a burst of felflame.

The gryffs shrieked and recoiled, hovered, and then came at him again.

“Duck.”

“Brightprince?” Sure enough Kael’s thoughts brimmed just behind his words, golden and warm and yet somehow hard, like a newly minted coin.

“Never fear, I’m here to rescue you.”

Rescue was a strong word, but let him think what he would. Illidan cork-screw dived away from two gryffs and looped beneath them, putting his back to the sky rather than the mountain.

“How are you speaking to me?” He had powerful barriers around his mind, and long distance communication like this took centuries to master. Many mages found it beyond their grasp entirely.

“Oh, I just reversed and then enhanced the after-haze of your spell with mine. Usually I wouldn’t on account of privacy, but it’s rather important at the moment that you move about ten paces to your left.”

All at once the air grew warm around him. He thought his scalp might blister. The wardens hissed in protest. Beyond them the sky diffused yellow and pink and orange, swirling through each other as if liquid. For a moment he thought his vision restored, thought that he gazed upon a sunset.

Kael’thas seemed to fly out of the sun itself on phoenix back, shrieking a Thalassian warcry as he came. Felo’melorn burned in one hand and a fireball in the other, but he plainly had no intention of tactical intervention. Instead Al’ar rammed into the lot of them, bowling them all apart and snapping at those that didn’t get out of her way fast enough. Illidan brayed in delight as the two of them dived past and leveled out, swinging back up so as to approach him. Al’ar cawed at him with a voice like the ringing of great bells. He had a soft spot for Kael’s pet. She was the only creature he’d come across who had flinched away from him.

The gryffs recovered well, reforming into a block of four and showing little fear though Al’ar was a third again their size. Illidan almost felt their attention shift away from him, focus on the Prince. Kael’thas would be an affront to them indeed, the arcane-addled spawn of the treacherous Highbourne. Someone who had attacked them to snatch their prey from their clutches, killed their sisters. Near as much a menace as Illidan himself was.

He was almost offended.

Kael’thas had somehow taught himself enough ancient Darnassian to hurl insults at them. Where had he learned language like that? He was using female-to-female challenges and threats.

Ah.

Vashj.

The wardens rallied themselves and Al’iah lobbed more explosives in his direction. Illidan felt as much as heard Kael’thas blow two bombs out of mid-air with well-placed flame spears. They were testing them, to see if they’d defend each other.

The gryffs charged Al’ar in a solid vortex of claws and whips. Fire unfurled like a banner from Kael’thas, crackling into the midst of the block. But they were wise in their formations for the square broke apart with ease. One dived to tackle Illidan as he fought upwards, pushing him back from the main fight but keeping far enough from him that he couldn't grab her. One each went to Al’ar’s wings, clinging and biting so as to weigh her down. He heard Kael’s voice soar over the melee like a hawks shriek, outraged at such an assault.

The fourth gryff flew over Al’ar’s back and in a fit of insanity, Al’iah unbuckled herself to drop onto the firebirds back. She staggered briefly and dropped to all fours to steady herself, then drew a short dagger. Al’ar plainly knew she was there for she twisted as if to throw her off, only to find her movements stymied by the gryff-riders. The warden scrambled towards where Kael’thas sat at the base of her neck. Did he realize she was there?

Mana flowed once more in reaction to his concern. Fel burned through his chest. A strange conformation but no matter- he spat it like a dragon at the warden hovering above him and leaned into her attacks, forcing them both upwards through the sky though both she and her mount rained attacks upon him.

A wound to his shoulder healed so swiftly that the gryff’s talons became entangled in him. He twisted sharply so as to break the steel spurs off her claws, shattering the talons beneath. The warden’s whip stung like flames where it struck him. He reached blindly and felt it lash over his forearm, then twisted so as to coil the whip towards him and drag the gryff closer. The warden was wise enough to drop it, but already her mount swept forwards for another pass at him. He barely avoided the raking of claws across his face.

The other three gryffs assailed Al’ar, dragging on her wings and tail. And here their training told against the firebird, for Al’ar was not a beast bred for combat. Coming under attack by other creatures of the sky was a new trial for her and she staggered in the air, dipping away instinctively in an attempt to protect Kael. His defensive fireball went astray, singeing the nearest gryff. Al’iah was right on top of him-

Even Illidan flinched at the light that blazed forth. The warden faltered, lifting a hand to protect her eyes from the magical beacon. Kael’thas freed himself from his seat and turned to face the warden challenging him, sword whirling. Illidan knew a brief burst of horror for he was a whole head smaller than her and the other riders were reaching for sleep darts and poison arrows-

They weren’t watching him.

He hooked his claws into the gryff before him and accelerated with a burst of magic, putting himself on level with the combat and throwing his captives full-force at the rider mauling Al’ars left wing. They knocked each other askew with a cry. The remaining wardens startled as he appeared with a roar and a cacophonous beating of wings.

Kael’thas laughed and took advantage of the distraction to settle into a stance more suitable for a duel as Al’iah lunged for him once more.

The two wardens he’d driven back righted themselves and dived towards him. Al’ar spat fire at one on them, setting fire to its wingtips. The gryff squawked but their training held and they attacked him nevertheless. Illidan left them land a few glancing blows on his wings, driving him back, luring them away from their formation, away from Al’ar.

Kael’thas and Al’iah were brawling something proper. A warden was essentially a glorified assassin and Al’iah certainly fought like one, wielding what seemed to be a set of nasty daggers. Illidan heard Kael flick one out of her hand and drive the hilt of Felo’melorn into her chin in a backhanded strike. She reeled back as Kael’thas cackled.

“Come, are you fighting me or flirting with me?” He pressed the advantage, forcing her along Al’ar’s back.

Illidan felt his remaining nerves fray. What was he playing at? She was half-blind and knife fighting a man with a sword, why hadn’t he killed her yet- ah. Performance. Duels amidst the Sin’dorei seemed to be as much about display as they were about actually winning. It wasn’t enough to triumph. You had to humiliate them.

Al’iah spat blood at him and hissed something Illidan didn’t quite catch. But he did hear the word Anasterian.

Kael’s ears went flat with rage.

Illidan deflected a swipe of a gryff’s talons and reached up with his magical senses into the sky overhead. Al’ar had approached the situation much as he would prefer to, climbing as high as she could and circling before dropping in to attack. But she was a phoenix, a creature of elemental flame. She heated the air around her just the same as Kael’thas, to a much more dramatic degree. A mile overhead the air burned hot from her touch.

Just as the warm winds rose, cold air fell. Sometimes with incredible power.

For the last few minutes, the remnants of Al’ar’s passage had grown colder and colder. And now they tumbled like an avalanche, entirely invisible, nearly silent. Illidan reached for his fel and flicked himself out of harms way as the current rolled across them. The first gryff squawked in panic, wings folding in an attempt to shield herself from some unknown force. The second almost swerved out of harms way, only for him to catch them by the wingtip and spin them back into the vortex.

And finally he was free to launch himself upwards by main strength alone, barreling into the gryff clinging to Al’ar’s other wing. The rider cried out at his sudden appearance and he shook them both savagely so that they couldn’t bring their weapons to bear on him. This one undid the saddle of her own accord, clinging to her mount with her knees as it broke free of him. He tossed it aside in disgust. Al’iah cursed and retreated, stepping off Al’ar’s back and dropping onto her gryff. Al’ar twisted to snap at them and Kael’thas shot a crackling orb of flame past Illidan, incinerating the wing off one of the gryff’s sneaking up on him. It tumbled past with a cry.

It was too much. With the appearance of Kael’thas and Al’ar the wardens had lost their numerical advantage and attacking all three of them together was madness. They whistled to one another and disengaged. Two dived to catch their falling companion.

Illidan set his wings to chase them. They thought they could chase and harass and cut him to pieces and then simply flee-

Kael’s cry of near-panic brought him back to himself. Al’ar was failing, her head drooping as she turned in a descending arc towards the mountainside. She had suffered in the attack even worse than he, for she had no glaives and no armour with which to defend herself. Feathers fell from her wings and chest like snowflakes, fluttering and burning. Her blood turned to smoke in midair.

Kael knelt at her neck, leaning forwards and patting at her head-ruff anxiously. She wasn’t falling, not yet, but it wouldn’t take long.

He flicked his wings and tilted after them, calling out so that the two of them heard him approach. Aligning himself carefully he rose to meet her, taking the weight of her chest across his shoulders and stabilizing her descent. Al’ar was hot to the touch, enough that it instantly cauterized the wounds across his back.

She was falling too fast for them to land near the temple. No matter. A walk in the snow had never killed anyone.

The cold front smacked into them like a solid thing and he jerked in surprise. His horns clipped the wounds in Al’ars chest. She cried out in protest and thrashed, her beak slicing over the leading edge of his wing and cutting it open to the bone. Kael’thas called out to her in Thalassian, leaning forwards to soothe her and still her struggles.

“Lord Illidan? Did she hurt you?”

He didn’t answer, focused grimly on landing them both in what seemed like a promisingly deep snowbank. Kael’thas startled him by leaping to the ground while they were some ten foot up, tumbling into a snowdrift. Illidan sensed his spell before he saw it. Lights glittered in his vision as arcane fires winked into life, outlining a clear track on the ground before him.

…

Rommath stepped out into the orcs courtyard and immediately knew something was amiss.

Much as their cultures differed, the scene before him was obviously some form of court. His attention was instantly drawn to the hand-knotted banners cascading from the roof. Tricky work that. Maybe he could find some of their weavers after this and discuss how they convinced horse-hair to take dye. The intricate weaving framed an immense upper table, bowed beneath dozens of serving platters and what seemed to be an entire roast talbuck. The table itself was surrounded by orcs, who ate standing rather the sitting down. He hadn’t seen these individuals before but that had to be the chieftain Kargath and the heads of various clans.

Sure enough all of them seemed to be in a state of low-pitched competition, jostling against one another so as to take better slices of meat, shouting over their neighbours and slapping their hands on the table to emphasize their words. All twelve of them appeared to be there. Odd. He would have thought at least some of them would be on duty. Was there some kind of celebration today?

Now that he scanned the room again it seemed as if every orc in the Temple was here. So great was their multitude that no one reacted to his appearance, aside from one strapping orc maid near the door who immediately bellowed a greeting in broken Thalrassian and tried to press a flagon of questionable origin into his hands. He took it out of politeness and wondered at the dusting of white chalk.

There was a hastily scribbled circle on the ground, almost hidden beneath many boots, large enough to encompass half the room.

All his latent suspicion bloomed anew, dark and jagged.

The feeling in the lower sections of the court was akin to that of a rowdy tavern. To reach the upper table he had to walk through a crowd that looked three seconds away from breaking into a brawl.

Oh, honestly. Was this supposed to intimidate him? He’d had noblesons poison his tea for daring to be a commoner amidst them. He’d looked them in the eye while drinking it and proceeded at his normal pace to find his favourite healer.

Perhaps he ought have brought something of a retinue with him. Kael’thas never introduced himself to someone new without being surrounded by at least four beautiful people. He swore by them as displays, as distractions, as decoys. Rommath had sighed at him after such a pronouncement. Kael’thas had immediately grown indignant and started to scribble out a diagram.

There is an art to entering a room where one is expected. You are making a statement whether you want to or not. So best you control that statement.

To this end Rommath had worn his usual robes, nearly the same shade of red that Kael’thas wore, and borrowed some of Mei’le’s blusher so as to make his runic tattoos more pronounced. After some consideration he’d chosen one of Kael’s phoenix broaches to pin his robe at the waist. Some might think that overstepping himself, but they were likely the same ones who would poison Kael at the first opportunity. He needed it to be plain that he represented the throne.

Now, where possible you never enter a room alone. Unless of course that’s what you’re going for. But in general you enter a room with at least four of your most faithful courtesans so as to distract the foolish.

A fight broke out in front of him, immediately gathering a gaggle of onlookers. He veered around them, flattening his ears. This was all deliberate. The noise, the rowdiness, the crush of huge people. All designed to put someone on the back foot. Well, Kargath had another thing coming indeed.

You go in front and let yourself be a marvel. Those who will look must be dazzled, so as to give the courtesans time to scan the room. You need at least one firecracker to catch the gaze of anyone foolish enough to be outwardly hostile. You need two to be familiar with the art of protection, and charismatic enough to keep some of the attention off you. And all of them must be able to circulate around a room with ease, and return to you with information while you play the rake.

A group made things easier, supporting one another as flying buttresses supported a cathedral. But Rommath couldn’t bear the thought of bringing Xi’an and Mei’le with him. What if it had turned out to be a trap?

He could almost hear Kael sigh at him.

These things are always a trap. Just not in the way you think.

For all their noise and outwards posturing, the orcish court wasn’t so different from the elvish one. And because it felt familiar, he felt something off in the energy of the room. Folk acting as if all were normal but…tense. Anticipatory.

Something here was out of place.

Of course. There in the corner was Akama, reclining upon stuffed cushions and bearing an expression of immense self satisfaction.

Rommath was glad for his collar. He’d never quite learned to control his facial expressions as Kael had. His desire to attack the broken shaman would have been apparent to all of them.

Look at the hounds. That voice sounded almost like Lor’themar. Rommath could practically feel him leaning forwards, inspecting the room. Animals tend to have their priorities in order.

An immense worg sprawled at Kargath’s feet, bearing the scars of many battles and the immaculate fur of a pet much-loved. She didn’t stare at him, the stranger in their midst, but leveled her grim gaze at Akama. The other hounds seemed to be deliberately avoiding looking at the shaman. Their snouts pointed away but their eyes strained, trying to watch him sidelong.

In contrast Kargath had watched his progress from the moment he entered the room. But now he pretended not to notice him. He was expected to stand here and wait to be spoken to.

Rommath had very little patience for such attempts at a power play. He’d started weaving his magic the moment he’d stepped over the threshold and now let it roll outwards in the form of a firework. It burst against the walls of the courtyard and rebounded back in a shower of gold and rose sparks, enough to get anyone’s attention. Several of the chieftans startled and then cackled upon spotting him, delighted by such a brassy manner of introduction. Some of the orcs behind him grumbled, others laughed. And all fell silent as the Kargath eyed him.

“I summoned your excuse for a prince, not his lapdog.”

Excuse for a prince? He thought he had the rank to summon Kael’thas? Lapdog was the best he could come up with? And worse again, the insult gave Rommath time to actually look at him. To notice the cloak bound with a hounds tooth so that it could be easily shucked away, to notice the presence of a combat knife cleverly disguised amidst cutlery.

It’s always a trap, just not in the way you think.

What had Akama said to them?

#world of warcraft #fanfic #Illidan #kael'thas sunstrider #tw heights #tw falling #tw knives

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nerddface · 7 years ago

Text

Exposition Galore

Characters: Federico Auditore, female!reader, mentions of Ezio, Vieri, papa audi

Warnings: If you don't like the sun, I'd steer clear.

Notes: HELO IT IS ME AGAIN YES

Firstly, I have not gotten any better with titles. Hence this ^ crap.

Secondly, I feel there is a disturbing lack of my favorite italian fuckboy, so I decided to take matters into my own hands, as the president of the Federico Auditore Defense Committee.

Thirdly, what is this?? More time travel crap?? Yes. It's overused. I love it. I will never stop. Have some more.

This is part of a shortly continuing series (don't worry, it ain't gonna be 30 chapters of crap), so if it feels a little cut off, that's why :)

As always, enjoy and kiss kiss!

Your name: submit What is this? // <![CDATA[ document.getElementById("submit").addEventListener('click', myHandler); function myHandler() { var v = document.body.innerHTML; var input = document.getElementById("inputTxt").value; v = v.replace(/\by\/n\b|\(y\/n\)/ig, input); document.body.innerHTML = v; } // ]]>

“Your opening line has to be something that will catch the audience’s attention, something to make them want to keep going.”

Brown eyes shine golden in the bright mid-morning sun, and close to slits against the glaring light when he turns to her. A hand comes up to shade his face, and his smile is almost as blinding as the ball of fire in the sky, and it warms her heart unwittingly just like the warm rays the sun is throwing on her shoulders.

“Sounds like flirting to me, piccolo uccello.”

“It is!” Y/N pressed, bouncing and shifting a tile on the roof they occupied. “How else do you convince someone to keep reading something if not hook them into it?”

Federico cards a hand through his short, dark hair. “I don't like the idea of you flirting with every man who reads your writing.”

Y/N snorts, rolling her eyes and throwing her head back. “It isn’t explicitly, you idiot, it’s figurative. And you didn’t care for the idea of me writing as a career, why should I worry what you think now?”

Federico leaned back to lie on the terra cotta tiles, hands linked across his stomach and his eyes closed against the sun. “Perhaps you shouldn't, but remember it was you who asked for my advice.”

She worked out a cramp developing in her left leg and shifted her weight, resting her chin on the knee she pulled to her chest and gazing at the lounging Italian’s sun-kissed face. “I asked for inspiration, amico, not criticism. Save that for when I come to you with a transcript.”

Silence settled between them for a time when the conversation fell into a natural lull. Y/N studied Federico’s olive skin and felt her cell phone vibrate in the bag at her hip. An insect buzzed past them and a horse whinnied in the distance.

“Why did you choose writing, besides, Y/N?”

“Hm?”

His eyes opened just as her gaze turned to the city below them.

“Of all things, why writing? Why this art?”

She turned her lips in a frown. “What do you mean by that?”

“Well, I simply happen to think you would be a much better modella, perhaps?”

A flush flared across her face, and she hoped the bright sunlight would keep him from noticing it. “I assure you, I’d be no good at it. There’s no way I could sit around for hours like that.”

“Fine, then, bella, perhaps a dancer?”

Her heart skipped a beat. “Much too loud, plus I don’t wish to dance with anyone.”

She could feel his gaze on her as he spoke next. “You would not dance with me?”

“I--I don’t-- I mean--you-- you are--” she sputtered, only interrupted by his laughter.

“Finally, I have gotten the wordsmith to slip!” he goaded, watching in delight as she squirmed and tripped over her tongue. Red-faced, she drew her other leg to her chest and wrapped her arms around them both, pouting.

“Maybe being a wife would suit you.”

This was probably a shameless flirt, but Y/N was either too stubborn or too proud to take it seriously. “Pfft, as soon as you can find a man who is willing to wed an author who would rather wear leggings over a dress her father sent to Roma for and can cut up her own clothing with swordplay better than she can patch it with thread, tell me, and I should gladly marry him.”

“Even if that man were, say, Vieri?”

Y/N barked laughter. “The last we met, I punched him.”

Federico pursed his lips in mock thought. “What if it were... my brother?”

Y/N gawked at him, a smile fighting its way to her lips. “Federico, have you met your brother?”

“Si, but perhaps I do not know him as well as I should think?”

She sighed. “Remember when he ran off with those traveling performers because he believed one of the ladies was in love with him?”

He did remember that. One gymnast had winked at Ezio and incorporated him in her little routine-- it was likely all part of the act, but naive as he was at the time, his brother had by some stretch of the truth believed that she was interested in him. In a streak of adolescent rebellion, he decided to join their little brigade. It lasted less than a week, and the memory of his father dragging him back practically by the ear still brought a smile to Federico’s face.

“I do not give any hints like that, Ríco, false or otherwise. And especially not in pointed boots.”

They both chuckled at this, and Federico found himself gathering courage to say his next thought.

“What if that man was me?”

Fate did not permit him and answer, as just then a guard barked at them to get off the roof. Both flinched, exchanged a glance, and laughed, leaping to their feet and across the tiles as the man shouted after them.

“it’s nearly midday!” she called to him suddenly over the sound of the wind in his ears. “I should get to work!”

“Already?”

“Aye, it is a rigorous life I lead! I will see you later!” She waited only for his wave of acknowledgement before leaping off the rooftop, no doubt cannonballing into a haystack below. He grinned when she disappeared and leapt himself into a hay cart.

He was brushing thick strands of straw from his jacket when he happened upon his father.

“Federico.”

“Father! You have returned!”

Giovanni Auditore bowed his head in the direction of his son as they fell into step.

“Do not think I did not see your shenanigans with a certain young lady on my way into the city.”

Federico’s chest jumped a little in guilt. “Ahh.. si, papà, mi dispiace. We mean no harm.”

“I may know you don't,” his father assured, exchanging a look with him, “But the guards do not. It would be in poor image if my son and a respectable businesswoman were disciplined by the law.”

“I will keep it in mind, padre.”

There was a moment of silence, then Giovanni spoke again. “Your mother suggested having signora Y/N over for supper sometime this week. I should hope my eldest child would at least introduce his romantic interest to his parents.”

“I do not think--” Federico began, but he stopped himself. “Non importa. I will let her know you invited her.”

Giovanni granted his son a satisfied smile as they approached their palazzo. “Excellent.”

#federico auditore #federico x reader #federico auditore x reader

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theyoungergrimm · 7 years ago

Text

Macsen v. Hans Throwdown

featuring @guardian-macsen, @arainwisp, @sunyri, and @theyoungergrimm

Macsen waited, biding his time while by the sounds of things Hans became increasingly more flustered. He listened for the boots of the guards around him, pinpointing where they were going and standing. The hound’s large blue eyes watched the hunter begin to tie him down. The shackles were unnaturally colder than any winter in Arain.

Taking this moment, Macsen thrashed in his shackles, swiftly slipping one paw from the restraints, turning on his side and snapping his jaws down onto the ankle of the hunter. Doing what he could to avoid a second gun shot, his maw dug into the sinew further to move himself round and out of fire. You will not win easy, Hans Grimm.

The unnatural echoing sound of a huge roar hit Sun in the ear as she was training in the dark of the moon. Fortunate for Macsen, she had been having a hard time sleeping lately. Instantly her head went to the direction of the sound. At first she was just going to let it slide..to continue her training..but then another, more unnatural sound, came out of the darkness. She knew what it was. A gun. Someone was being hunted. Sun didn't wait any longer. She wasted no time in using her enhanced speed to tear through the forest, her sense of direction and the loud sounds of a fight leading her to the target. The scene appeared fast. She could see a couple of hunters with a wolf. The one she had eyes for was the one who had shot the poor animal and within a matter of seconds she was leaping over the wolf, her eyes glaring menacingly and almost animalistic at him as she went to grab for his throat and use her magical strength to throw him into the darkness beyond. Her hair wisped around her face as she stood facing Hans, eyes glaring at him while the wolf lay behind her. "You will not hunt this night." She snarled.

The hunter was a blur as he was flung past Hans' face. There was a loud thud and a cry of pain but Hans never took his eyes off of this interloper. The other hunter still lay on the ground, screaming as the wolf dug its teeth deeper into his leg. The iron cable was still tight in his arms and he wrapped it around the wolf's throat, attempting to pull it tight through the pain that was overwhelming him. Hans looked at the situation around him. Two incapacitated hunters, one wounded Guardian, and one..whatever this was. He raised his hands in the appearance of surrender and placed them behind his head as if to show he was unarmed. Out of sight he gripped the skin of his right wrist tightly between his fingers and twisted it as hard as he could, almost bringing tears to his eyes from the sharp sting of pain. Hopefully Willow could arrive to help hold her off until David brought reinforcements. "I think there's been a misunderstanding." he said, voice as calm as he could make it. "I was out here investigating what's been going on with the forest, and we were attacked. Everything that we have done was in self-defense."

Macsen was still fiercely wrestling with the final hunter. Growling loudly, he tried to push himself free. from his grasp, the iron cable digging further into his fur while his maw was still clamped tightly around his ankle. He was losing this battle though, he could not keep the pain at the back of his mind forever and the loss of the use of his hind leg was taking its toll. The only option he could take was to drive his teeth further into the flesh of the man but it was no longer easy to do so when he was exhausted. Out of the corner of his eye he watched someone fly through the bush, his grip loosened in surprise. He had not expected help and also did not want it - and it was Sunny of all people. The iron cable around his neck was not loosening, air was not properly flowing to his lungs anymore. He had no leverage with his hind leg out of commission and the others tied down. Han's voice and particular choice of words still infuriated him despite his predicament. "Lies. Do not listen to him." he rasped from his throat, desperate times meant communicating in words with his current form.

She was not the Sun that walked the forest and calmly spoke in court. The Sun that stood before Hans was the warrior that had beat all of her brothers and secured her place as protector of the Seelie Queen. And she burned with a rage that seemed blacker than the night sky at that moment. In the back of her mind she did register that voice as belonging to Guardian Macsen. She knew who it was that Hans was capturing and that made her even angrier. Her nostrils flared at Macsen's warning, but she did not turn her back from Hans to look at him. She was in battle. And when in battle you always went for the leader first... She felt like she stood there forever. Taking way too long to do what she really wanted to do (which was destroy this human.) But her mind was trying to tell her something. It tickled the inside of her brain and broke through her rage to reveal that she really really needed to turn her attention to Macsen and save him before it was too late. With a growl she turned her back on Hans and if Hans or Macsen had blinked they would have missed her appearing behind the last hunter. She grabbed the last hunter by the back of the scruff of his shirt and lifted him, tearing his flesh from the wolf's sharp teeth and then turning and tossing him at Hans feet. "Take your dogs and get out." She didn't even bother to give him a second glance. She didn't have to. Sun would know if Hans would try anything else. She turned to Macsen and knelt down , pulling the iron cable off his throat and wincing at the burning pain it left her.

Willow found little joy in those activities she once held dear, but always managed to make time to simply exist, mindfully, alongside the forest. It was times like these that she felt there was still hope in saving her home. Turning to face her secret patch of strawberries, one of her few pleasures. She brought a single strawberry to her lips, but the motion was quickly halted as a sharp and unyielding pain on her arm caused her to drop the treat. Her voice broke the silence of her forest as she cried out, grasping at the sensation. In barely more than a moment, Willow quickly diminished to a small ball of light and moved quickly through the forest, refusing herself the pleasure of feeling the breeze against her form. Arriving amidst the chaos, she allied a temporarily blinding light to fill the scene before she landed on two feet in the middle of the fight. The Wisp looked first to Macsen, her own eyes filled horror before she felt the painful tug of her link turning her regretfully towards Hans. When she spoke, her voice was low and rigid. "What have you done now?"

Torn between survival and pride, Hans glanced left and right for anything he could use. He had his knife, pure iron, sure to hurt this creature, but he doubted he would be able to get to it in time before she was on him. In the midst of the blinding panic, there was a small part of Hans' mind that was taking notes. Heightened speed and strength, but prioritizing the Guardian instead of attacking. It was as he was thinking these thoughts that Willow appeared in front of him. Relief washed over him and his usual smug smile appeared on his face, though slightly frayed by nerves at the edges. "These creatures " he spat, arm lowering to point at where the strange woman knelt by the wolf. "Attacked me and my men. I want them taken to the facility, now!" He was red faced and shouting, different from his usual calm and disconnected demeanor. He dropped to his knees and pulled the gun out of the crumpled hunter's hand, shaking with rage.

The release of the iron from around his neck rushed air back to his lungs, irregular but better than before. Still recovering from the wound on his leg, he lifted his head from the floor to look back at the damage exactly when his ears heard and felt a rush of air and the light around them seemed to expand and overwhelm for a moment. Willow... Shutting his eyes slowly he wondered how he had misjudged all of this so poorly. His cold glare soon moved to Hans while he barked his orders. Making an attempt to break the cables around his legs but ultimately failing, he snarled at his own predicament. “Grimm.” He calmly called for his attention, mouth splattered with red from the Hunter. “You will not win the forest, I have foreseen it.” A lie, yes, but he hoped something that would embed itself into his mind, break the arrogance. “You will lose.” Banking on the hope that Hans knew very little about the abilities of the Guardians, he took his chances. His gaze drifted to Willow, a sorrowful stare for everything that had just happened. Voice dropping to a mutter he addressed his savior, despite the proximity of others, “Do not attack him, Sun. We cannot hurt him...”

Sun felt the breath return to the wolf and breathed a sigh of relief just as Willow came into the area and cast her blinding light on them all. Sun shielded her eyes with her hand and also closed them, the light was so bright. When the darkness finally returned she had to blink a few times to be able to see Macsen in front of her. She saw that Macsen still could not be released and growled. Her hands were already burned from the cable pretty badly, but she would not leave until he was safe. She gave him a hard look before gripping the cables with all her might and pulling them to unravel the wolf as best as possible. "Arrgghh!!" Smoke rose from her hands as she tried desperately to untangle him. Tears stung her eyes from the burning sensation. When she heard Macsen tell her not to hurt Hans she glared at the wolf with shining eyes, but did not speak back. Her hands were ruined for a while with this much burn damage and she may even have scars to tell the tale later.

Staring at Hans, Willow took a step back from him. She may suffer for it later, but she would not do as he said unless she had no choice. Not with Macsen at stake. The smell of the fae's burning flesh only added to the terror of the scene. Willow had only moments to think before she turned and quickly moved to assist Macsen, whispering to him. "I'm so sorry, I'm so so sorry..." The Wisp looked from the fae's face to her hands. "If you can try and hold him off, I can help him..." Willow tugged at the restraints with one hand until they started to come loose and used the other hand to emit a low-level light to help his enhanced healing to move more quickly.

Hans stood again, feeling the weight of the gun in his hand. It was strange hearing the wolf talk out of a mouth clearly not designed for language. The vowels warped strangely, but the point remained. He felt a chill run down his spine and then pushed it away. "Why didn't you foresee us coming then, Guardian." The word was mocking. He stared incredulously as Willow backed away from him. "Willow, you will regret this." He watched her tug at the restraints and then stormed forward with a speed that surprised even himself and grabbed her by the arm. "You will do as you are told!" He pulled her towards him. "Capture them. Protect me. Do you understand?" He raised the gun with his other hand and pointed it at the fae, his teeth clenched tightly together.

Macsen spat the blood from his teeth and grimaced at the restraints being moved from his legs. The smell of burning flesh making him impatient, he could not be in this position while they were in danger. Willow's efforts were making a difference, he could feel the wound beginning to close at a faster than it was before. "I saw... Some things you can not avoid." he growled, baring his teeth at Hans who was making a mockery of his proud race, while he slowly started to shuffle the cables from his legs. His eyes widened while Willow was pulled away from him. Unsteady on his feet, Macsen slowly got back to all fours, hairs bristling while he watched Hans threaten the Fae and Willow. Teeth clenched he made one bound towards Hans to knock the gun from his hand. Leg not yet healed though, he landed awkwardly and only crashed to the floor again. Frustrated he pushed himself up again, gritting his teeth, standing between Sun and the bullet at the very least.

Sun was thankful for Willow's defiance and accepted her help without question. The cables were untangling and giving way as Willow helped him heal up. She could smell her own hands burning from the touch of iron and tears openly slid down her cheeks from the effort of keeping hold of them. She was in such a mindset to help him get free that she did not know Hans had pointed a gun at her. As the wolf began to become free she was seeing white spots from the pain of the cables and when he freed himself she had to tear the cable from her hands and then both palms hit the ground. Her back heaved for a second and she shut her eyes to focus. She was not finished. The job was not done. The guardian was more important than her and she needed to make sure he was safe. "No! Macsen! Run away!" She shouted as she gulped down the last strength she had to turn around and scream at Macsen. The sudden movement made her so dizzy that she almost fell out onto the ground. She looked over at Willow, "I don't care about me. Please save him!" Her head drooped down to the ground.

❝I may suffer for my actions, but I will never regret them.❞ She spoke through a clenched jaw, doing what she could before being inevitably pulled away. Her muscles tensed as they awaited their command. ❝Capture them. Protect you...❞ She repeated back, her mind working quickly within the vagueness of the command. As she moved, her hands shook. She knew well that her next moves, though necessary, would reveal at least a fraction of what she could really do to Hans. ❝Capture them.❞ Willow's voice was quiet as a shadows spread out from the group where the trees prevented the light from reaching the ground and quickly moved up and over the hunter's capturing them in a dome of darkness. ❝Protect you...❞ More shadows quickly swept up and over, forming a large, curved barrier between Hans and the Magicks. ❝Understood.❞ Her voice was quiet once more, smothered by the knowledge of what was sure to come as a result of her actions. Still, the only motion she would regret was the way her hands shook as she did was she knew to be right.

Rage can cloud the mind but it can also sharpen your thoughts. As the shadows rushed around him and the hunters, Hans had a moment of clarity and his fingers dug tightly into Willow's arm. The wolf put himself in danger to protect this woman, and he would surely do it again. If they took her back to the Facility, it was only a matter of time until he came after her, now on the humans' terms. He pulled Willow closer. "Get that woman," he spoke, words tight and clear. "The dark-haired one. Take her and bring us back to the Facility now." Willow may not think she would regret this, but once the Guardian had died and she was suffering underground in the Facility, she would change her mind. There were all sorts of experiments he hadn't been able to run because she needed to remain useful, but with the anger tight in his chest, he didn't care. She would pay.

Willow's disobedience and twisting of orders had brought him some time, her display of her powers though was worrying, it showed how much Hans had a control of her, the leash around her neck. They had no leverage here. The best he could do here was to deny Hans his wishes. Turning around, Macsen stretched and twisted back into his human form, wound almost healed on his left leg while he reached for Sun. Stooping down to help her up, he attempted to get her up from the floor to get them both out of here before Willow could get a hold of her. "Come on, Sun." he muttered while he tried to lift her from the ground. Worried, he turned to check on how much progression Willow had made. Either way, it didn't matter they had to go. He was not going to just leave Sun here, especially when her predicament now was because of his recklessness. It may have been exhaustion or his wound but he could not get Sun off the ground, he struggled to keep her in his arms and ended up having to put her back down. Exasperated he shook his head, kneeling by her half unconscious form unwilling to leave her here.

She was so out of it. Sun hadn't realized how much she had actually hurt her hands until she had gotten Macsen free and the pain actually started to hit her full force. It was hard to keep conscious as she felt him lift her and then proceed to tumble her back onto the ground. "Mac.." She mumbled. "Just..Just run."

Sun wasn't sure where to place her hands. They hurt so badly. She ended up laying them face-up in her lap. She was upset that she couldn't have done more. "You big dummy...I'll be fine." She chuckled slightly, and it may have held a hint of darkness. "Go so you can come back another day...I promise I'll live, stupid."

Willow cried out as Hans' grip tightened around her arm. Swallowing at the new command, unable to find any loophole to exploit, Willow nodded. Slowly, the Wisps shadowed prison evaporated from the hunters who were huddled together in fear beneath the dome. One of them seemed to have wet themselves during the encounter. Watching in horror as Macsen did not attempt to run, Willow shouted in his direction. ❝Run Macsen, while you can! She'll be okay...❞ The lie did not leave her lips quite as easily as the warning. The barrier between Hans and the two magicks began to slowly disappear until there was nothing left between them. Unable to look at them while she moved, Willow's free hand moved to reach towards Sun. The shadows previously residing on the forest floor finally moved up and over Sun's form, wrapping her in darkness even as she finished her demand to Macsen. Finally, when the fae was secured, Willow turned back to Hans. ❝How far away are your friends?❞ She began pulling the shadowed cage along with her through the trees towards the center of the forest where the facility loomed beneath the cover of the foliage.

Hans kept his gun trained on the Guardian and nodded. "They're on their way." He pulled her along with him, not looking away from Macsen until he vanished among the trees. He kept the gun ready in his hand, just in case. He'd have to mark the location later so the hunters could go pick up whatever might be left of the two they'd left behind. "We'll get her set up in the facility and then you and I are going to have ourselves a talk." They walked forward toward the tall fences and thick walls of the facility.

#macsen v hans #c: willow #c: sun #c: macsen #violence tw

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audriel · 7 years ago

Text

Only when I check my Tumblr drafts, I realize I actually have something for Kurodai Weekend. But well, considering how much of a slow writer I am, it’s pretty par for the course for me to late to join the festivities XD. This is actually part of my KHR AU (part 1 and part 2), but can be read separately.

Kurodai Weekend 2017

Day 2 | Aug 26: Action

(Mafia AU | Undercover Agents AU)

They fall in step with the ease of people who have been fighting with and against each other for years. For they have, Daichi and Kuroo, Karasuno and Nekoma, they were allies before they had allies. Somehow, he has forgotten such a basic, important fact. He has forgotten this one truth, this single certainty in the world of full lies and uncertainty he has come to hold on to in his and his family’s most difficult times.

Nekoma would always stand by Karasuno.

The least he and Karasuno can do is to do the same for Nekoma. But he had let himself be swayed, giving into the doubts just because of some disagreement and misunderstanding that could be easily settled if he was more willing to listen, to understand.

He is the one to put them in this position, separated from their guardians, fighting for their lives against enemies intent on killing them by using excessive number and force. He was prepared for Kuroo to throw him an I told you so remark and he would not dispute him. But instead, the Nekoma boss simply put his back against him and threw a wall of fire around them to give them time, quiet and focused as his Mist flames surrounded him. He couldn’t help the flutter and the warmth in his chest at the sight despite the guilt and loathing threatening to devour him. He owed the other man and his family more than just an apology. He would make things right between them. He would make sure of it. With that resolution, he fell easily into hyper dying will state, pressing his back against Kuroo and taking a fighting stance. When he snapped his eyes open, Sky flames burned brightly in his eyes and on his hands. Together, back-to-back, the two young leaders took on the overwhelming odds.

Daichi isn’t sure how long they have been fighting and evading their relentless pursuers. It might have been minutes or hours, he cannot tell with how persistent their attackers are. It seems one down only for another to take their place. They have agreed to keep moving and looking to regroup with their guardians. Kuroo managed to contact his guardians, thanks to Nekoma’s new, advanced technology, and decided on a meeting point for them to regroup and to get to pickup point. They found out that their guardians has paired off like they did, to their relief, but also had the same problem with they did, unable to shake their attackers off and being kept from getting to the others. Daichi and Kuroo exchanged a grim look at that, realizing how serious and determined their enemies were to take them out of picture.

Daichi follows Kuroo’s lead as he gets them through the path with the least resistance with the assistance of who is likely Kozume in his ears. The men are easier to handle now they are the ones choosing the place to fight. Somehow each of Karasuno’s guardians gets paired up with Nekoma’s, so neither Suga nor Asahi are flying blind in the chaos. He counts his blessing in this clusterfuck. He is taken out of his musing when he feels his intuition flared up. He avoids a punch to his face and takes out another’s knee under him, but the warning is still there. He spreads out his awareness as he is taught, while his body keeps moving and fighting.

Something... Somewhere... But before he can pinpoint the source of the danger

“Sawamura!”

He finds himself being pushed to the ground, barely catching himself on the hard asphalt at the unexpected force and weight on top of him.

“Kuroo, wha-!” His surprised yell is cut off when he hears the familiar zing of a bullet far too close for comfort and the resulting boom and destruction from where the bullet hits. Daichi lets out a loud curse at the realization that they have a sniper who is a flame user targeting them. He lets out another when his intuition warns him another bullet is coming their way. He pushes against Kuroo, but the other man doesn’t budge despite Daichi having more weight on him.

“Move!” Daichi is prepared to use his flame-enhanced strength, only to freeze when he catches an impossible sight at the corner of his eyes. Kuroo’s eyes are not burning indigo. They are burning orange.

That’s not possible. There’s only one flame burns that color.

Wide-eyed and breathless with surprise and confusion, he watches in slow motion how those orange--orange, he keeps repeating in his mind, as though it will change--flames gather in the air... and stop the bullet in its tracks and have it returned to where it comes from from one breath to the next. He won’t realize what is happening if he hasn’t been closely paying attention. For all he know, there’s a sudden stop of barrage of bullets. Before he can gather himself, Kuroo pulls him up by the arm, strong and sure, and pushes him in front of him.

“We need to go.” With Kuroo behind him, Daichi cannot see his face. There are so many things he wants to say, but he knows better that this is not the time and place. They are still not out of danger.

Only now that they are moving again, he realizes that the area they are currently in is surprisingly open with higher ceiling and less obstruction around them. He doubts that Kozume leads them to this place without counting on the possibility of a sniper. This means that their enemies are more coordinated than they realize and they should not give them time to spring another trap like before. They skid to a stop when they are close to the meeting point right behind a pillar with good vantage point, not wanting to give away their position and plan in case of watching eyes.

“The others are still on their way.” Kuroo says after they catch their breath. Despite having better stamina than most and having each other to watch their backs, it hasn’t been easy fending off their attackers, especially when you’re trying not to kill them when they has no such inhibition. Kuroo doesn’t have such constraint, but he has followed his lead. It is his Mist illusions that make it possible for them to prevent high casualty, but it is also why between the two of them he’s the most drained out of flames. However, when Daichi looks at him, Kuroo looks too pale and clammy for mere exhaustion.

Before Daichi can say anything, his senses catch the familiar presence of Suga and Asahi. It appears that Kuroo receives the confirmation as he straightens up next to him. In wordless agreement, they break into a run. For a while, they fend off the attacks on their own until soon they are joined by their guardians who immediately flank them as they move out towards the pickup point.

Daichi exchanges relieved gazes with his friends and guardians as they don’t seem to have been injured badly. Suga looks rather winded with only shallow scratches around his body. Asahi is better off but seems worse with the gash on his head, the only injury he can see. He is surprised to find that both of his guardians manage to pair up with Nekoma’s guardian they work best with. Suga with Yaku and Asahi with Kai. Himself with Kuroo. Inwardly he wonders what the chances are for them to end up in advantageous pairing in such commotion. He doesn’t let himself wonder for long, pushing his senses and his flames to the limit as they are now in the open in order for their family to get them.

They don’t need to wait long, two black SUVs zoom into the area in full speed, skidding into a stop with a screech and in a V-formation to give them cover. Tanaka comes out from the car to get them to safety as Yamamoto does the same in the other car. Daichi’s guardians close in on and around him, pushing him into the car before he realizes that he is separated from Kuroo.

“Chikara, drive!” Daichi should be worried that Chikara’s the one driving, but instead he feels dread gnawing his insides the moment he lost sight of Kuroo.

“Daichi, what are you doing?” Asahi pulls him back, Daichi doesn’t realize that he has been trying to reach the door until Asahi’s panicked voice break through his stupor.

“Wait,” without preamble Suga pulls his jacket off him, hands on his back.

“Suga?!”

“There’s blood on your back.”

“What? How? I’m not injured.” Daichi should have felt it by now if he was. Wordlessly Suga shoves the jacket to him, flipping it over to show a suspicious stain on its back. With trembling fingers he touches the fabric only to find them wet and coated with red.

His mind flashes back to the warmth and weight pressed on his back, keeping him down to the ground. His blood freezes in his veins at the realization.

Kuroo.

Continued here.

#kurodaiweekend #kurodai #kuroo tetsurou #sawamura daichi #kwdd2 #haikyuu #haikyuu!!#khr au #katekyou hitman reborn #crossover #fanfic #fanfiction #audriel

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lizardphobia · 8 years ago

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ok v important fic prompt: crossover between the old jimberly and the new!

Here you go my lovely!

A/N: Mild spoilers to the movie

A whirlwind took her there. A whirlwind that was a kaleidoscope of swirling colors and blurry images that deposited her in an unceremonious heap on the thick branch of a tree where she swayed precariously as she tried to reclaim some of the balance being a gymnast bred into her.

She made out a cliff, a quarry, and the twinkling lights of some foreign small town spread out far below her and nearly shrieked as she realized that she was one wrong foothold away from death and hanging on a tree growing on a ledge on the bona fide cliff.

Thoughts and curses and a barrage of sarcastic comments flooded her brain but died on her lips as she took in the couple in the inky darkness just a few feet below her.

“–small crap town can cause me such misery,” the woman was saying.

“So let’s go. Leave,” the man replied, and his manner and way of speaking was so familiar, it reminded her unnervingly of someone she knew very well indeed.

It was the oddest thing, but an indescribable feeling flooded through her and Kimberly Ann Hart felt an affinity, a bond, a link, with the brunette with the chin-length bob that she had never seen before in her life.

“Dont tempt me, because I would, you know,” the woman said.

And Kimberly felt it, as strong as if they were her very own, the words and the conviction with which they were spoken by the brunette in front of her.

The blonde man with the blue, blue eyes glanced over at her and she could have sworn that the zing that went through her body was the exact same as the one that was going through the other woman’s. For a moment she was the other woman, and that self-same veiled blue-eyed gaze that held so many meanings and concealed so many emotions changed into a dark one; more well-known, dearer, and closer to her heart. She sucked in a breath as the image faded.

An explosion sounded and the scene changed and once again she found herself hanging outside a window of yet again another tree branch.

She recognized the couple on the other side of the window immediately. But what was more disconcerting was that she recognized the very room they were in, and she picked out a disturbing familiarity in the layout: the way the trophies and desk and bed and furniture was arranged. The couple on the bed was different, but yet the same, as memories of her and another man, darker, broader, and dearer to her took his place. She shook her head, listening as the brunette confided in the blonde man in a manner eerily similar to the way she did so many times before, in a world completely different from this one, but only with her very own darker man instead.

An unfamiliar tone played out from a device in the brunette’s hand, and the scene faded and she found herself rudely yanked away and wet.

She was a true ranger, and it didn’t faze her, but she watched as the couple in the water before her share something so profound, so intense it nearly took her breath away. Her hair was floating all around her in the murky water, but her eyes were wide, and she couldn’t look away even if she tried. She understood now, that the emotions running through her were the same as the ones the other woman was experiencing. And that she and that woman were the same, yet how and why, she did not yet know or had an answer for.

They cradled their fallen friend between them, the dusky woman and the blonde man, joined by grief and something more. She lost them as they fell through the water into an underground cave that she could not follow, and she nearly screamed with the frustration of losing that connection that she shared with the woman and felt with the man.

She struggled to follow them, but the shelf of water that broke so easily to admit them through, failed with her and a stream of bubbles escaped her mouth as she felt herself being pulled inexorably backwards. She fought it, fought the unyielding pull, wanting desperately to bask again in the feeling, the emotion, that ephemeral something that existed between the two that she selfishly wanted for herself.

She opened her eyes and blackness existed all around her, and she panicked. She panicked because she needed that tie, that feeling, that overwhelming sense of togetherness and wholeness that came only when the other woman was with the other man for herself. She tossed around fitfully, fighting the darkness, clawing her way through to something; finding her way to the light.

She broke through like a blind woman thirsting for sight, and suddenly she was floating in the air before them, invisible, yet not, surrounded by a heat that she could not feel, but somehow understood that they could.

Her eyes grew wide; she saw the Zords, but not like anything she had ever seen them to be before. Sleeker, streamlined, foreign yet familiar, in shades of colors she knew like the back of her hand. Rangers.

A wall of fire flared up before her, and she recoiled, recovered, and tried to swim through the thickness of the air to go to them, help them, save them.

Screams of the innocent and the dying filled the air around her and she floundered, looking left, right, all around and nearly losing herself in the feeling of impotence that she could do absolutely nothing to save them.

An abyss opened before her and before them. Five Zords, five heroes, five friends but only one love. She saw it clearly then, that thread of love that joined two of the five, so strong, so unbreakable, and she nearly wept with the injustice of it all. They fought it, all five of them did, fought it bravely, vowing to live and die by the other.

The end was near, and a well of regret flooded her. A regret and a longing and a yearning so intense, it brought her to her knees. She watched as her other self raised a hand to the burning glass of the cockpit of her Pterodactyl. She watched as her other man raise his hand to meet hers in return. A look was exchanged, and this time her tears fell free. She raised her own hand in return to meet his, her own man, not this one, but yet the same.

She was suddenly one with the other woman, and the blue eyes belonging to the other man looked into hers and she cursed the glass separating them, the space between them, wanting only his arms, yet not his arms. She loved him, she realized, this man that was not hers, and he loved her, this woman that was not her.

The heat surrounding her was very real then, and as sweat and tears mingled and she tasted them on lips that were not hers, she desperately, desperately wanted, needed to know who he was.

As if the Red Tyrannosaurus had not given it away yet, as if her own buried feelings and undeniable connection with his counterpart was not recognized yet, as if the knowledge that this was right and had always been right was not discovered yet.

The rift opened wide and these Rangers lost their battle, and as one they fell into the fiery pit of darkness.

Her mouth opened, her eyes locked with those as blue as the sky, and she screamed, one name, one person, one love, “Jason!”

She was rudely jerked back into a dimension that she did recognize, into arms she did know, and into eyes as familiar as her own.

“Jason,” she breathed.

“Kimberly,” he said, with barely concealed relief. “You disappeared off grid, I,” he stopped awkwardly, clearing his throat, “I mean, Tommy, has been going insane with worry.”

She shook her head. Clutching on to his arm as he made to get up to get another man for her. “No.”

He frowned trying to understand, wondering at this sudden change in her.

But the feelings and the images and the experiences were still fresh with her. The certainty, the sureness of what was shared was undeniable. It had been there all along, what she had been searching for but had never found.

Never found, because she had been looking for it with the wrong man.

She saw now, the same look in dark eyes that had been so clear to her in blue ones. The same veiled feelings that had always been there, but he had tried so hard to hide.

“You love me,” she said.

His eyes darkened, but he said not a word.

She nodded slowly, marvelling at the bubble of emotions welling up within her. “You love me.”

He never lied, and would never lie to her. Conflict was in his eyes, but he gave a short nod. “I do.”

“I’m sorry,” she whispered, “I’m sorry it took me so long.”

Confusion flickered in his dark gaze, and then faded as hope took over.

“It’s you. It’s always been you,” she said softly, embracing it now, rejoicing at the flood of feelings, of love that was rushing through her veins. She reached up and feathered her fingers across his lips. “You’re him. And he’s you.”

He didn’t understand, but he didn’t need to, all he could see was all he had ever wanted from her shining back for him in her eyes.

“I know this now. It’s always been you and me, Jase. Whether we lived and died a thousand lifetimes over, it’ll still be us two.”

Fin.

#power rangers #jason x kimberly #jimberly #jason scott #kimberly hart #power rangers 2017 #powerrangersmovie #mystories

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