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beewolfwrites · 3 years

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The Oar in the Sand - Chapter Two: The First Day of Nostos

And the second chapter is here! I feel evil for writing this, buuutt we need drama. And plot.

For those who are new to the AIB fandom, this is the sequel to my other Chishiya x OC/Reader fic - you can find the first one, and the Chishiya pov side series, either on AO3 or on my Tumblr.

I’ll keep this short and sweet, and leave the AO3 link to this chapter here.

And the link to my AO3 profile where you’ll find the other fics is here.

As always, thanks for reading! Your support means the world :D

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Daylight spilled through the window onto the empty side of the bed. It wasn’t unusual for Chishiya to wake up before me, although usually in my dreaming I would feel the dip of the mattress as he left. I must’ve been in such a deep sleep that I hadn’t noticed. But that’s okay. I needed all the rest I could get.

Rubbing my eyes, I stretched out a hand to feel the sheets. They were still warm, as was the light that enveloped my fingers in its glow. It would have been peaceful morning, here in the sun and the cosy sheets, if not for the budding anticipation within me.

Noon.

That’s when it all starts.

Kicking back the covers, I forced myself to get up and dressed. No matter how much I wanted to laze around, there was no telling what would happen, and so I chose more comfortable, practical clothes – cropped cargo pants, with a t-shirt and hoodie. It was only when I headed down the creaky stairs into the overwhelming silence of the living room, that Chishiya’s absence became even more apparent.

If he wasn’t down here, that left only one place he could be.

Is he aware of how predictable he is?

Emptying a bottle of water into a pan, I lit up the camping stove, watching as the water slowly frothed into simmer before bubbling away. Then spooning some instant coffee into two small mugs, I poured some of the water into each. It wasn’t great, but it was the closest thing to a real cup of coffee we could get in this world. Carefully carrying the two mugs, I stepped outside, and immediately squinted under the sun’s glare.

If it’s this high in the sky, there can’t be much longer now.

Just around the side of the store was a fire escape ladder. I had practiced this a few times, holding both mug handles in one hand, as I shakily clambered up to the roof. I only spilled a couple of drops, but it was nothing compared to the first time I tried to do this. Moving slowly, I slid onto the rooftop.

And there he was.

Lounging near the edge, one knee bent up, Chishiya was staring out at the cityscape. The first thing I noticed when I sat beside him was the mug in his hand. And once again, I felt like an idiot.

‘You already made coffee?’ I set the unwanted extra between us, eyeing his steaming mug. ‘And you didn’t leave any for me.’

‘You were fast asleep,’ he replied, taking a sip. ‘It would have gone cold.’

‘You could’ve woken me up.’

‘And if I had, you would have complained all morning.’

I hate to admit it, he’s kind of right.

I clutched my own mug, letting the warmth seep into my fingers as I counted each blimp suspended over the city. So far, nothing had changed from yesterday. But then again, it also wasn’t noon yet. Slowly drinking my coffee, I sighed. ‘I guess I’ll just have to drink twice as much now.’

Chishiya didn’t even bother entertaining me with a reply. He seemed content with the peace and quiet. Only, when he finally set down his empty mug, he reached for the extra one.

I raised a brow. ‘I thought you didn’t want it.’

He began to drink it anyway. ‘These cups are too small.’

I dipped my head into my mug to hide my smile, although knowing him, he probably saw it anyway. The sun was now gleaming above the empty city, nearly at its highest point in the sky. Apprehension swelled uncomfortably within me, and I wrapped my arms around my knees while I finished my coffee. ‘Are you going to go to the Jack of Diamonds today?’

‘The Queen and King too,’ he said. ‘I’ll work my way up.’

It was fine. It was fine. Chishiya was clever enough to survive, and I had every confidence that he would complete the games easily. More importantly, he was the most intelligent person I’d ever met. If anyone stood a chance at clearing the Diamond face cards so we could all go home, it was him. But that didn’t mean I wasn’t scared.

He could still get hurt. He could still...

It didn’t bear thinking about.

‘At least let me come with you.’ Before he could protest or decline, I added, ‘Just to wait outside. I can’t sit here, not knowing anything.’

His expression was guarded as he downed the last of his coffee. ‘Do what you want. Although you might be waiting a while. I don’t know how long the games will last.’

A loud gunshot blasted in the distance. I jumped, inching closer to Chishiya. He was stone still. Another shot ricocheted, the clap echoing off the concrete skyscrapers. Were guns usually that loud? Loud enough to be heard all the way from here? This sounded almost like an explosion, only sharper.

Something’s not right.

And I knew exactly what.

Chishiya set his second empty mug on the rooftop. ‘It’s started.’

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The city streets were deserted, yet I couldn’t help but stay on my guard. While the games were contained to their venues, that gunfire before hadn’t been normal – I’d witnessed enough of Niragi’s sniper to know the difference. It had gone on for several minutes, before eventually ebbing away, and only then did we set out for the Jack of Diamonds venue.

Despite the threat of the games ahead, Chishiya appeared relaxed on the surface, but there was a slight crease between his brows, and his eyes scanned every alleyway we passed, occasionally drifting to our reflections in store windows. His hands were pushed into his pockets, and I didn’t dare try to hold one.

‘Are you worried about the game?’ I kept my voice low, just in case.

‘You shouldn’t have come with me.’

I thought we’d already talked about this.

There was no way I could sit around in our little hideout, never knowing whether or not he was going to come back. I needed to be there. I needed to see the outcome with my own eyes.

‘You told me to do what I want,’ I said. ‘And this is what I want. I’m pretty sure I’ll be fine. Those guns were probably from a game.’

‘Maybe... maybe not,’ he mused.

I resisted the urge to roll my eyes. Chishiya may not be the easiest person to read, but we both knew what he was really trying to say. We rounded a corner, heading further into the city centre. From what we could see of the blimps, the Jack, Queen and King of Diamonds were all pretty close to one another, and all within a reachable distance from the furniture store.

‘You should be more worried about your game,’ I remarked.

‘Why?’

‘What do you mean, ‘why’? You could... you know.’

‘If I die, it’ll be of no consequence for you,’ he said. ‘And besides, I’ll die at some point anyway. There’s no use in trying to avoid it.’

His words no longer scared me, but rather, they were upsetting. How could he be so cavalier about it?

He really doesn’t care about his own life...

‘It does have consequence. I told you in the dealer’s den, didn’t I? If you’re not going to try and survive for yourself, then at least do it for me.’

The corner of his mouth lifted into that familiar sly smile. ‘Such big demands. You shouldn’t waste your own life being concerned about mine.’

We crossed the road, entering a new street, and the metal edge of a blimp appeared in the far distance.

‘I think I told you about that too. I can’t help being scared for you.’ I glanced away, looking instead at the side of a van. The words still felt strange to say out loud, even if I’d said them so brazenly during the Witch Hunt. ‘I lo—’

The van door erupted in a hot blast of glass and metal. The force blew me back, stumbling, as something struck my face. Hands gripped my forearms, dragging me away from the ground – I was on the ground? – and pulling me in a direction. I didn’t know where we were. The streets were shaking, or maybe I was. Maybe the whole world was shaking. And was that Chishiya in front of me?

Chishiya?

There was red in his blond hair and on his neck, wet and glistening. And his fingers were tight – far too tight – around my wrist. Where was he going? My feet were moving after him. No, he was the one dragging me like this, swaying us back and forth erratically. My eyes began to focus, the fog in my head clearing a little.

The gunshots... and that van. But how could a gun do that to a van?

‘Chishiya?’

If he heard me, his only response was to pull me harder until his fingernails dug into my skin. My numb legs jittered and tingled, but I tried my best to keep up with him. There was a strange humming above our heads, and I looked up, catching sight of a blimp overshadowing the office buildings above, darkening their windows and...

A gleam.

‘Chishiya!’

Glass exploded everywhere as the store window behind us shattered. Someone screamed – they sounded like me, only I couldn’t breathe. I couldn’t... Someone tugged at my clothes, but I tore away, sprinting as fast as I could down the street. There was a shooter. There was someone shooting at us.

Side to side... I need to run from side to side.

As I ran, I veered in different directions, trying to keep things as unpredictable as possible. I ducked around corners and alleys, only to realise something. Chishiya was nowhere to be seen.

Don’t panic.

I slowed, breathless, as I swung onto another street, dipping behind a store.

Don’t panic.

The store crashed apart; the windows destroyed. Arms shielding my face, I toppled to the ground, coughing uncontrollably at the smell of hot plastic as mannequin limbs scattered the pavement.

I needed to run... I needed to run. My head was throbbing and burning now. Picking myself up, I pushed to keep going, running no matter how much my limbs ached. There was a strange buzzing noise that clashed painfully with the ringing in my ears.

And then I saw a glimmer of hope.

Across a traffic intersection was a large, off-white building with endless windows, marked 図書館. The entrance door shut softly as someone took shelter inside.

There!

The buzzing noise grew louder and louder, and my vision swam as I tore across the empty roads and into the building, slamming the door behind me. My legs finally gave way, and I collapsed against the wall, my eyes closing as I caught my breath.

Chishiya. I lost sight of him after that window was destroyed. Maybe he ran in the other direction. Or maybe... No.

He can’t be. He wouldn’t, not that easily.

‘It’s you.’

My eyes shot open at the familiar voice. Of all people to bump into, An was staring down at me with mild concern. It was An. Surging with relief, I tried to get to my feet to greet her, only my head flashed with dizzying pain.

‘No,’ she said. ‘Don’t get up. You’ll need your strength.’ I didn’t understand. She came in here to shelter too, right? Before I could question her, she crouched down in front of me and gently touched my forehead. Her fingers came back red. ‘What happened?’

My lungs ached with each syllable. Just getting the words out was a struggle. ‘苣屋一緒...にいた. ダイヤモンドのジャックに... 行っていた. 銃の音... が聞きた. すべて...’ I was together with Chishiya... We were going to the Jack of Diamonds... I heard gun sounds... and then everything...

I didn’t know the words for ‘gunshots’ or ‘explosion’, but An still nodded in understanding. Her eyes narrowed a little at Chishiya’s name, only she didn’t appear to be surprised by what I told her.

‘That’ll be the King of Spades. His sniper isn’t a regular gun. It’s designed to penetrate airships and armoured cars apparently.’

I didn’t understand the latter half of what she said, but one name stuck out unmistakably.

The King of Spades?

‘どう知ってるか?’ I asked. How do you know?

An gestured behind her, and I finally noticed the two women anxiously watching us. One had long, flowing blond hair and was wearing a thin headband. The other had brown hair tied up in pigtails. ‘He attacked our camp right after the second stage started.’

So those were the gunshots we heard on the roof. And their camp...

‘Kuina?’

An lowered her head to the tiled floor. ‘I wish I could tell you, but I don’t know where she is. She left in a car with Arisu and Tatta. We were in a separate car and we drove all the way here.’

Kuina... she has to be alive. I refuse to believe otherwise.

She was strong and smart, and if she drove away with those two, she was probably okay.

Probably.

It made sense that the King of Spades started with their group, then travelled further into the city centre before running into Chishiya and I. But if he was moving to attack players then that could only mean... A sickening feeling grew in the pit of my stomach.

‘彼のゲーム会場,’ I said, ‘全部の東京だね?’ His game venue. It’s all of Tokyo, isn’t it?

‘It seems that way,’ An said, adjusting her sunglasses. ‘From what I can assume, the only place that isn’t his game venue is within other games.’ She glanced reassuringly at the other girls behind her. ‘While we’re in here, we should be safe from him, at least.’

At least?

A horrible thought slipped into my mind. A really, really horrible thought. But I almost didn’t want to believe it. It would be too unlucky – a downright cruel trick of fate.

My apprehensiveness must’ve been obvious, as An tilted her head, curiously. ‘You didn’t know,’ she murmured. ‘この建物はダイヤモンドの女王会場だ.’

No, it couldn’t be true. Maybe I misheard. I had to have misheard. My mind ran in circles, desperate to find Chishiya, to go home and finish my sentence, tell him what I tried to say before the van windows burst. But Chishiya wasn’t here. I didn’t know where he was. I was alone.

Assuming I hadn’t quite understood, An said it again, slower this time. There was no need. My fate was already sealed the moment I took shelter here.

‘This is the Queen of Diamonds venue.’

#alice in borderland #aib #Imawa no Kuni no Arisu #chishiya #chishiya shuntaro #Chishiya x reader #chishiya x oc #chishiya alice in borderland

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tundrainafrica · 3 years

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Title: Lovebug (7/12)

Summary:

“It might be a bug.”

“A bug?”

“Sometimes the developers of this application make mistakes. This is our first time meeting I’m sure so…Isn’t it a bit weird that we just met for the first time and it rings like this? And for two strangers to coincidentally ring each other’s alarms?“

Levi is the developer of the Love Alarm App and Hange is married to Zeke.

Link to cross-postings: AO3

Other Chapters: 1 2 3 4 5 6

Notes: Feedback is very much appreciated :D

They all called her Hange. But they said her name like it was a title, like it was something that had to be said with as little chance of a slip of a tongue as possible. It was a practiced phrase, a relished sensation.

That was the first thing that came to mind when Levi started to give a little more thought to his surroundings. There was a bigger picture that could have explained such reactions. Hange was walking next to him. More importantly, next to her was Zeke, the owner of the two hectare complex housing both a sixteen floor hospital, a medical arts building and two parking lots.

And that was just one of his hospitals. Levi liked to remind himself of that, as he followed behind, a little more perceptive than usual of the stares, the whispers and the returned smiles.

Zeke was charismatic. Hange was charismatic. When they walked straight ahead, their strides confident, Levi could only gape, slowly becoming more self conscious of his own inability to keep his back straight. Suddenly, he was aware of his own inability to greet every single one of the workers by name, greet every single stranger like he had known them his whole life.

Maybe Hange did know some of them. “Hey, Hange that one patient you just talked to, is he regular or something?” Levi asked.

Hange shrugged. “No, I just met him.”

Levi hadn’t been close enough to hear the conversation but the grins exchanged, the confident tone with which Hange navigated the conversation. They had all seemed just a little too natural at first glance. She didn’t seem at all exhausted by multiple interactions in a row.

Hange had stopped just a few inches in front of Levi before turning back at him. “You seem stressed,” she commented.

Zeke went ahead, still chatting with a balding man in a business suit. He gestured in the same manner, chattered with the same confident tone.

Yes, after staring for a little longer than what could have been comfortable. Levi had to admit to himself, he was a little more stressed than usual. “I’m fine,” he said, turning to Hange, forcing his gaze on her. Averting eyes would only make the process of being stressed, more stressful.

“It sucks Erwin couldn’t come,” Hange continued.

“Erwin doesn’t know much about how the application actually works so I’ll just document what’s needed in our proposal and we’ll just need his take on prices and on budget allocation and that’s enough,” Levi explained.

“Maybe, they’ll do it over another game of golf,” Hange mused. “If we do play golf again, would you join?”

Levi raised one eyebrow at her. “Why waste your time playing golf again?”

“To close important business deals.”

“You can do it in the office.”

Hange chuckled. “You’d be surprised how many businessmen have closed deals on the golf course. Investors don’t work eight to five jobs in the office you know. A lot of them like to play a good game of golf then go into the office and sign the actual paperwork there. It builds camaraderie.”

“Is that why you know how to play? For business purposes?”

Hange nodded. “I’ve learned golf, a few gambling games to mingle. Besides, people like to know how their business partners and their fellow investors think and what better way than watching them over a few games right?”

“I’m not a rich businessman, I wouldn’t know,” Levi muttered. He walked ahead of Hange and surveyed his surroundings. There were patients, nurses, doctors and visitors. They all had their own conversations Levi would most likely never figure out the meat of. His own disconnect from them, his much closer connection to Hange and by extension to Zeke, had made him aware of the fact that he was painfully poor.

There was a wry smile plastered on Hange's face, as if she was starting to sense the discomfort herself. “Yeah, to be honest, it is a rich man’s game. Most businessmen who play golf, have shares in private golf courses or memberships and it’s customary to invite fellow business partners for a game in your home country club.”

“How much are these shares?” Levi enunciated those words just a little slower. It was an unpleasant thing to ask that only served to aggravate his own self consciousness. Somehow, he was feeling a little masochistic at that moment.

Hange shrugged. “Depends on the club. Maybe a few tens of thousands of dollars a year, sometimes a hundred.” It turned out she hadn’t noticed his discomfort or maybe he was just too good at hiding it.

Levi still attempted a light response. “Figures why I never learned how to play then.”

“Yeah, well to be honest, although I have played as a kid, I only got to play a lot more when I got together with Zeke. His family owns shares in country clubs in a lot of countries.”

It was a question of transitivity, one Levi quickly answered. And the large numbers he was starting to lose control of in his mind, had manifested as a cough, an almost painful, raspy one.

“Are you okay?” Hange asked. It had only been a week since the drowning incident at the beach. It subsided quickly after and Levi surmised that it wasn't the fault of his own poor health. It had been his own inability to fathom numbers, to comprehend wealth and his own blatant poorness that had frozen time for him.

Hospitals. Real Estate. Resorts. Country Club Shares. Although it was only a small aspect of it, his mind was also back to tasting the free flowing tea in Zeke’s private airplane.

“I’m fine,” Levi said. I just tried to mentally calculate the amount of money your husband earns and spends on a yearly basis. A mental note he added just for himself.

Zeke would obviously have a lot of money. He would obviously be faced with the problem on how to spend the money. Those were facts Levi grappled with as he took a deep breath just to clear the remnants of burns in his throat.

And those facts only made it more difficult to move as Levi stumbled closer and closer upon a burning conclusion.

Zeke was filthy rich. Zeke was powerful.

Levi was a meagre employee who made a meagre annual salary which was probably less than their pocket money for one trip to Europe.

Zeke had proven to be abrasive, just a little bit of a bastard. He proved to be somewhat unpredictable.

Levi was under his mercy, under Zeke’s very flamboyant whims. He clambered for solace elsewhere, back to Hange who had caught up to him. Hands behind her back, she continued to walk through the hospital like she was strolling through a park.

She was a good reminder that he wasn’t alone. Hange would help him through whatever whims or threats that came with taking up the business venture of a billionaire as a typical employee. As he studied Hange’s distracted expression, Levi had to admit, he wasn’t so sure where Hange stood in that whole relationship.

Zeke loves Hange. Hange loves Zeke. But how much help would Hange be to him? Even if Hange was helpful, even if she was supportive. Until when? For how long?

He soon concluded, the only thing he could be certain of was uncertainty. What would determine the success of the application, could be Hange or it could be him. The only thing he could predict or he could control would be his own actions.

It wasn’t motivation that had him moving faster. It was discipline. “Where are we going?” Levi asked, his voice more mechanical than a second ago for sure.

“Zeke’s office is on the top floor,” Hange answered.

Levi feigned understanding. Hange had said it like she had answered the question moments back. Maybe she did and he was just a little too unhinged at that moment. Besides, they were taking too many pit stops towards the office, only prolonging the grueling journey.

Hange and Zeke were talking to everyone on the way up. After a while, Levi tuned them out, willing himself to focus on something a little less stressful like how much the finishings on the hospital could have been, how much the tiled floors below him could have cost to not gather dust from his shoes so easily.

And he thought again to every single person being paid by Zeke to even be there. Time went incredibly slowly but as soon as they arrived at the front of the room, Levi could have sworn time passed way too quickly.

“Managing a hospital costs a lot of money, Levi,” Zeke explained as he stood outside the door of what could have been his office.

“I’m perfectly aware of that,” Levi responded, mustering as much ‘professional’ as he could with that sentence.

“Well, you look a little astonished, surprised? Or maybe that’s just your natural face.” Zeke said it like it was a truth that could be easily brushed off.

Somehow, that pushed a few buttons for Levi. He clamped his mouth shut, scolding himself for not even noticing that for a good few minutes that it was wide open.

That was more bait for Zeke. “Difficult to fathom eh? Just imagine some of these machines cost more money than most people would ever see in your life.”

And Zeke had multiple hospitals, more hospitals than Levi could even count with both hands and both feet maybe, and that monkey was completely aware of how much he actually had. It was in his demeanor, his approach towards others.

The door opened with a loud click and a grating creak. “It’s been a while Mr. Jaeger, Hange,” the woman on the other side greeted.

Everyone called Hange, Hange. Levi noted once again. It only seemed natural that Hange would have preferred that anyway.

Zeke went ahead inside the office confidently like he owned the place---since he owned the place. Hange gestured for Levi to follow behind and Levi used that last few seconds to spare a glance at the small girl with black curly hair, sleepy eyes and a very mature looking face.

“You’re Levi right? Zeke and Hange told me a lot about your application and we’re very much looking forward to seeing it in action.”

Levi subtly patted the phone in his front pocket, not for anyone to see. It just served as some reassurance that he hadn’t completely forgotten it at home or it hadn’t fallen off. When he spent too much time calculating numbers, calculating assets he would never own, and maybe never even fathom, he was aware that he may have been distracted enough to forget why he was there in the first place.

“This here is Pieck,” Zeke waved his hand with great flourish. Really though, when Levi was completely aware that that man most likely owned half the country, any gesture he did could be described as something overly flamboyant.

Pieck nodded at Zeke then at Levi. “I handle the psych wards here. Hange’s been requesting permission to test here and Zeke, he’s been raving non stop about your application,” she said with wonder in her eyes.

Zeke? Talking wonders about my app? Levi attempted to sneak a glance at Zeke, withdrawing it at the last minute after noticing, Zeke was looking right at him.

“There’s a lot of potential for that application,” Zeke answered. He had shifted to a more professional demeanor.

Hange nodded. “I mentioned this over email but Levi and I have been doing a lot of testing on it. This type of technology can be used to improve the accuracy of diagnosis, the effectiveness of treatments in psych wards…”

“Yes, I read your email and Zeke and I have been discussing this already.”

Hange’s eyes widened. She turned to Zeke. “You have?”

“I’ve been working with the other doctors here on getting volunteers among the kids. We currently have an emotional management program for kids and this would be a great opportunity to see the application. We could set a date for testing the application…” Pieck looked down at her tablet, sliding her finger over it.

From Levi’s own position, he couldn’t clearly see what she was fiddling with, his own tech savvy instincts though were hinting to a calendar. He continued to watch her finger slide over it, sliding across weeks or months he supposed.

More than enough time to get an application ready for testing.

“What about sometime this week? Would Wednesday do?”

“Wednesday? To test the love alarm app?” I thought we’ll be doing it now. He turned to Hange who seemed visibly confused as well.

Hange furrowed her brows. “We could test the love alarm now,” she suggested.

“Oh yes, definitely. But what about the test build of the application we requested?” Pieck asked.

“You have a test build already right?” Zeke turned to Levi. “If I remember correctly, you mentioned working on something… Hange, you’ve been neck deep on that proposal right?”

Levi opened his mouth to speak. It’s not ready. That was a lie. There was no build but Levi couldn’t even allow himself a sliver of confusion in his expression. It was a professional meeting. He was supposed to have everything under control.

“I have been working on something…” Hange started.

But it’s far from ready. We barely have anything out.

Pieck seemed too expectant. She turned her ipad over to him, clear enough for him to see. “We’ve informed the doctors of some free time around this week. It would be best to have it before most of the younger kids go on summer vacation. The cycle of our emotion management program ends this week and the doctors are already very familiar with the kids---”

“When does the next cycle end? We could get something available by then,” Levi said.

“We won’t be holding them during the summer unfortunately. We’ll be using that time to process data and results… So would December do?” Pieck turned to Zeke.

“What do you think Hange? This is one project you want to do right?”

Try another hospital. Another group of kids. Another program. Levi’s mind was racing with too many alternatives.

“Yes, but I don’t think the test application will be ready by then,” Hange argued.

“Where are you two now in the process?” Zeke asked.

The planning stages. Levi couldn’t even bring himself to say it.

“We don’t have anything worth presenting yet,” Hange said.

“Well, we’re not asking for a perfect product.” Zeke wasn’t addressing it at Hange. HIs blue eyes were fixed on Levi. When Levi found himself unable to even force a hint of indignance out of his mouth, he started to realize, those weren't just eyes. They were millions of dollars worth of investments, billions of dollars worth of assets in one long stare.

Levi tensed up on his seat. They weren’t asking for a perfect product but with that much money on the line, he didn’t have much room for his own decisions.

“You could do something right? Take some code from the love alarm just to get something ready?” Zeke suggested. They were reasonable suggestions Levi could easily expound on himself.

“What do you have in mind?” Levi forced himself to meet the man’s eyes.

“You’re the developer. I’m merely an investor.” Merely. The word, the way Zeke had emphasized it with an almost mocking tone, implied the complete opposite. “Tell me Levi, If he put his mind into it, what do you think a developer can do?”

They didn’t test the love alarm that day. Levi left the hospital two hours earlier than planned and went directly to his office.

***

He couldn’t have gone there any slower. The train couldn’t have run any slower and of course, he probably wouldn’t have wasted so much time fiddling with the key over his door knob if his hand hadn’t been shaking.

It was as if the whole world was trying to slow him down. He had two days---less than 48 hours--- to get something for testing. With the amount of work needed, the mountains of code needed to be written, copied and pasted, tested, Levi wasn’t seeing it in days, he was seeing the countdown in his head. When he stared at a clock, he was seeing numbers moving backward, sweet sweet time, pulling away from him.

Time was a precious asset, a precious resource and somehow, such a prospect had Levi clumsier than usual. He fell into the chair on his desk with a thump. He had leaned far back enough for a split second, that he had almost expected his chair to topple backwards.

He didn’t have the time to recover from such a terrifying prospect. While his hands were still shaking, his breaths coming out ragged, Levi forced himself forward. He turned on the computer, allowing himself a brief respite while it booted up.

His work computer was still one of the fastest of his kind and had only allowed him less than a minute to catch a breath. He typed out his username, password. He opened up the server manager.

Anger. Sadness. Happiness. Levi said aloud. That was what Zeke had promised them. As quickly as he repeated those requests to himself, Zeke’s other words echoed in his head, an unwelcome visitor.

You can break down the love alarm into that right? We’re not asking for a perfect application.

He took a deep breath, letting it out as a hard firm huff more than an exhale. As if the force in his chest would be enough to wake him up. The work was overwhelming. He should be calling someone else in to help out.

There were other factors pulling him back though.

For one, it was a Saturday. He saw himself working all the way until Monday. Just recalling Zeke's face, his question had Levi’s head spinning, his hands hovering much more quickly over the keyboard.

It was a challenge from Zeke to him. And he concluded for himself, he didn’t even wanna get Hange involved.

It would be nice to have her here---. Something inside him attempted to argue.

To cheer you on? It was a selfish proposition so Levi scolded himself and concluded that a good punishment would be to just focus.

He did first what he knew best. He copied the necessary code from both the frontend and backend. He worked efficiently. While importing data, he was copying and pasting code. While booting a phone up, he was opening necessary tabs on Github and Stack Overflow.

By the time the sun was completely down, by the time his eyes started to get just a little too crusty and a little heavy, he had a sorry excuse for an interface, a sorry excuse for an API on the server.

He looked at the clock at the lower right of his computer. Eleven in the evening. How long had he been staring at a screen? It was a waste of time to calculate that, so he quickly calculated something a little more pressing.

He had far less than forty eight hours until he needed to submit something.

He had finished a framework in only a few hours but he had more than enough experience developing the love alarm to know, the hard part wasn’t in the actual building. It was in the data loading, it was in the actual testing.

He didn’t allow himself to relax. Around three in the morning, after spending hours cleaning the interface, he fell back dead on the backrest of his seat and he allowed himself a few minutes to close his eyes.

Few minutes turned into hours in a split second. He had forgotten to set an alarm. “Fuck,” Levi hissed. That word hadn’t been enough though to carry the frustration that had bubbled inside him since hearing those words from yesterday afternoon.

What can a developer do if they put their mind into it?

Hange’s words were a savior in their own way. Levi, I’m in no hurry. Take as much time as you need. They were comforting but they didn't do much to stop Levi from sitting up and going back to work.

Had it been for Zeke? Or had it been for Hange? Or had it been his own pride that had him pushing himself to restart the boot up the idle computer.

Zeke was the important stakeholder. He held the funds. Hange was just a benefactor of the funds. Ultimately, Zeke made the final choice.

He took one deep breath, letting out a shout at the exhale. He pulled himself to a kneeling position and pressed the power button on the computer. Pulling himself up by the base of the chair, he walked sluggishly towards his white board and wrote out three words, right next to each other.

Happy. Sad. Angry.

He had no time to make an algorithm. But he could make estimates. He wrote out the basic model under each word.

“When numbers are above this line, the alarm rings,” Levi muttered to himself. When he was speaking out loud, he seemed to make some sense.

It wasn’t as easy as that though. A machine learning model after all relies on probability, it relies on prediction and the only way to get the machine to figure out probabilities was to give it data to mine from.

He turned back to the computer and typed a query. Exporting the data would take a while. Another opportunity to rest.

He used that moment to take a glance at his phone. A notification from Hange was at the top of his lock screen. He immediately unlocked his phone.

5:34 AM

Ping me if you need any help.

It was just 6:30. Hange sent the message an hour ago.

5:35 AM

Sorry for checking in late. Zeke took me out for dinner

Maybe Hange had sensed the slight irritation Levi would feel at seeing the first text sent more than twelve hours since they separated at the hospital.

5:35 AM

He wanted to spend the night with me.

5:35 AM

Just the two of us.

5:37 AM

No Phones

Out of spite or out of exhaustion, Levi kept his reply stone cold and professional.

6:36 AM

Complete the table below:

Happiness: Endorphins, Serotonin, Dopamine, Oxytocin

Anger: Adrenaline, Cortisol

Sadness: ??????

Hange’s reply came before the data export even finished

6:50 AM

Sadness: Lack of neurotransmitters.

It was a shitty reply. So Levi gave a shitty reply in return.

6:50AM

?????

Lack of neurotransmitters? Somehow, Levi didn't trust Hange to reply on time. A quick google search later and a few hours of stress later, Levi had derived the sadness model form happiness model. The models were done, they just needed to be coded.

That did nothing to placate the turmoil inside him. For some odd reason, he thought looking at his phone could pacify him somehow.

8:28 AM

Sorry Levi, Zeke took us out golfing. I’ll try to be there before lunch.

8:37 AM

Zeke’s calling the shots today :’) I’ll still try to be there before lunch.

Levi kept his reply minimalistic.

10:36 AM

Technically, it was already ‘before lunch’ so Levi wasn’t expecting anything. They haven’t seen each other in a while. He whispered to himself, just to placate whatever irritation had settled within him, manifesting as an almost permanent grimace as he started to code again.

Lunch came and went quickly with a half finished burger and fries and just a passing thought that Zeke and Hange were probably having a feast at whatever country club they were in.

“Be here before lunch my ass.” Levi said those last two words with bitter burning venom, loud enough to echo in his small office space. It would be nice if somehow she could hear it wherever she was. “My. fucking. Ass. ” He repeated, channelling all the irritation, the exhaustion, the impatience into three words. In another space, maybe she could have heard it. “Fuck me in the ass.” He let out another taut swear, enjoying how that at least sent a splits econd long wave of euphoria through him.

Maybe it could count as therapy if he typed out the words ‘my fucking ass’ or ‘fuck me in the ass’ to Hange’s message box. He didn��t have to send it though.

2:37 PM

Zeke wanted to go shopping. I swear I tried to leave.

Fuck me in the ass. Levi typed. Under it, he typed something else.

Lunch time. My. Fucking. Ass.

It would have been nice to send out. For at least a few second, it sounded like a good idea to send it. Levi had enough self control though and he had enough forward thinking skills not to send it. The profanities on the message box were enough to at least calm him down.

No, you haven’t seen your hubby in a while. Take your time :-)

Was the sarcasm apparent? He focused for a little longer on the smiley face at the end.

4:35 PM

No, you haven’t seen your hubby in a while. Take your time :-) :-) ;-)

Then he added two more just for authenticity's sake. And he went back to coding, assuring himself that the burger and the regular fries would be enough to last him until he finished the damn application.

7:30 PM

Levi! You want anything for dinner?

Levi saw that message in between reviewing a hundred compiler warnings all on the same line of code. He ignored it. Instead, he decided sending himself a pull request and reviewing the code himself as a mental exercise was a better use of his time.

8:47 PM

Hey, I might be a little late. We went out to dinner but I bought you take out. :D How are things going?

Despite the compiler warnings, the code managed to compile, so Levi allowed himself the luxury of a quick break.

10:10 PM

Fine.

After replying, Levi sat up from his seat, shifted his weight to his legs one by one. The window was a good few feet away but he saw that as a good chance for exercise. He opened the window, allowing the fresh air in, first as a weak wave only thin enough to fit through the peek. He opened it a little wider, popping his head through the gap, noting how the streets were completely empty. He stared back at the clock on his computer screen.

Ten on a Sunday evening. Typical.

He sat back on the chair, with a loud and firm plop, freezing for as long as it took for the chair to stop shaking. He leaned back and pulled the test device from his drawer. A part of him was tempted to close all the Stack Overflow and GitHub tabs.

He wasn't ready to call it a day though. He didn’t trust his ability to code anything accurately with that short of a time frame.

A few minutes later, the APK file was loaded. He booted up the application, stifling a cringe at the shitty interface.

The shitty title screen with the shitty plain white background flashed on the screen.

ALAR

He wasn’t particularly good at front end and UI engineering so he closed his eyes and begrudgingly whispered to himself Zeke's words. “It doesn’t have to be perfect.”

Really though, it would have been nice to submit a perfect test application. Just to show up Zeke. Just to impress Hange. It would have been great and Levi allowed himself a grin as he leaned back on the chair and stared at the ceiling.

A good few hours later, he started to test. Soon after, he started to theorize something else. Maybe he jinxed it. Maybe he shouldn’t have been so hopeful.

Suddenly, he was scolding himself for just being a little too ungrateful at the shitty user interface. His mind continued to wander, his threads of imagination continued to wind, interweaving against one another, tightening to uncomfortable knots in his brain. And suddenly he was scolding himself over the hundreds of compiler warnings he ignored.

The application should alarm when someone angry, sad or happy holds it. That was how he programmed it.

Or at least, that was how it was supposed to work. When his brain was muddled with confusion and eventual frustration, heavy with tension, he took a quick break to stare at his phone.

11:58 PM

Zeke got a little drunk. I just have to bring him home.

Levi decided then, (and he was certain of it), he’d rather not have Hange there.

11:59 PM

No need to come here. Go take care of him.

His phone volume had been set to the lowest level. Just in case, Levi put his phone on silent as well.

He turned his attention back to the test device. “Come on, fucking hell. Work.” Levi hissed as if the code, the computer understood anger, as if it understood frustration.

“It’s the exact same fucking code. I just changed the algorithm,” Levi said louder, as if the code understood verbal arguments.

All to no effect. So he went back to the compiler warnings.

1:38 AM

Just tucked Zeke in bed. I’m taking a cab now. I swear, I’m really on the way now.

Levi had conveniently checked his phone around the time Hange texted. He had been checking the phone anyway in ten minute intervals.

1:39 AM

No need.

He started to use his own phone for testing, just in case a diffeent device suddenly made everything work. Besides, he liked to see the notifications there. He liked her messages. Yet at the same time, he didn’t want her there. Frustrated and confused, he slid his phone towards the end of the desk and it hit the wall with a resounding clatter, loud enough to make Levi wince.

He slipped out of the chair and onto the floor with a crash, loud enough to rival the impact of the phone on the wall just a second ago. His back was sore, but still he couldn’t help but entertain the thought that he would have been willing to experience that again, just to get the application to work.

You’re angry now right? He asked himself, as he held the test device in front of him.

The alarm didn’t ring.

You’re sad? Right? He was sad. He was sure his eyes were red rimmed from lack of sleep. His eyelids were a little crusty for sure. And as the application stayed silent, stayed inactive even when it was right in front of him, even when he had dropped almost painfully on his face, the phone remained silent, still.

Maybe his application was an idiot. Maybe it fell for fake smiles. So he forced a smile then, as he pressed his back on the ground, stretched his legs forward and stared at the ceiling above him.

Silence.

He broke the silence himself, with one grunt as he slammed the phone on the floor next to him. “Fucking hell.”

The one curse had him reflecting. How angry was he? Who was he angry at? And why wasn’t the alarm going off?

Anger was a negative feedback loop. The more he let his anger take over, the more frustrated he became. Then the more the device should have rang but it didn’t. Then the more frustrated he became.

The frustration should have been enough to make it ring. If it had been working correctly.

Eventually, the anger became strong enough to take control elsewhere. It pushed him to turn towards the desk, push himself up, just high enough to be able to stretch his hand up and pull his own personal phone back down with him on the floor. He lay back down on the floor, raised his phone on front of him and booted it up. He turned on the application and looked through it again.

No response.

Happy. Sad. Angry.

No response for any of them.

A banner appeared, falling over the application.

1:59 AM

Levi, I’m here, where do I go?

No need. He willed himself to type it again. He didn’t want her there, but he did. Conflicted feelings had him frozen on the floor, the phone just above him, his eyes fixed on the screen.

If Hange came, then she came. Who was he to stop her?

2:00 AM

Do I go to your office??

2:05 AM

If you don’t answer, I’ll just assume you’re in the office.

2:07 AM

Even if I waste my time, It’s my fault anyway.

2:07 AM.

I’m sorry.

Hange wasn’t in any obligation to be there anyway. She was an investor, not an employee, he reminded himself. He was watching the banners shift like he was watching paint dry. The former though was far more interesting. More than interesting. It was a relief. It was a consolation.

It was home. In the dim room, all alone, he wanted her there. By god, he wanted her there.

There were footsteps and they quickly got louder, the sound of a bag hitting the door, then the sound of the rustle of belongings.

He had left the office door unlocked at least and she was impolite enough to barge in. He liked her impoliteness, it had just made everything flow much better.

He followed her with his eyes, as she slipped through the crack of the door. He watched closely as her face shifted from that of pure surprise, worry… Then pity.

Was that pity? Did he look that pathetic?

“Hey, are you okay?” Hange asked.

“Tired,” Levi answered. He gave her a once over, allowing himself a sliver of a smile at her cocktail dress, the jacket over her, the light make up on her face, the golden studs on her ears. God she was beautiful. “Fun night?”

She nodded. “Zeke wanted to have fun tonight. I humored him by tagging along,” she said lightly.

He’s a lucky man. “Must have been fun.”

She put a hand to his face, and gave him a light slap. “I brought takeout, some sandwiches. Did you have dinner already? We can have it for breakfast.”

She had slapped him hard, not hard enough to leave him burning definitely, but still, he felt some heat resonate from his cheeks. “I tried,” he muttered.

“Tried what?” Hange asked.

“Building the app.”

“Levi, don’t kill yourself over it. You could have asked Petra, Gunther, Eld or Oluo for help right?” It was just like Hange to mention their names like she knew them her whole life.

“They’re on leave.” It was a natural excuse and that had been one reason why he refused to ask for help. He surmised that maybe some of it had been more than that.

“I tried to ask for an extension from Zeke,” she said.

“How did that work out?” It was a half assed response at best. He didn’t want the extension.

“He said no. He expected a lot from you. Besides, he promised the hospital already… Without consulting us.”

"Without consulting us?" Levi repeated. He slammed his fist down on the floor. "Fucking hell."

"Yeah, it's our fault. Zeke did that. I should have helped you and I know I made you wait…" Hange's voice was warm, it was a melody to his hears. ".. .so when I was stuck with Zeke, I made a few calls, picked this up from a good friend of mine." She pressed something cold into his palms.

He didn't even have the energy to crane his neck.

"It's a USB, with data from previously made research, on neurotransmitters, responses from people who've taken tests. I thought it would help build the app so I made a few calls and --"

"I'm done."

"What do you mean?"

"I'm tired."

"Hey, we could cancel tomorrow. I'll just tell Pieck. We can rebuild the app, focus on getting something out."

"Hange, I'm done."

"You're giving up?" There was a crack in her voice, something that sent a twinge to him

He let out a soft chuckle. "No. I managed to make something.”

Hange's eyes widened, a smile curled up her lips. “You’re kidding.”

“But it barely even works."

"What makes you say that?"

"It doesn't ring."

No matter how angry, no matter how sad, no matter how happy, it didn't ring. The algorithm was broken. That had been Levi's conclusion. The same conclusion he had come across when they had tested the love alarm again a few days back.There were just too many compiler warnings maybe?

Hange wasn't a developer and maybe that's why she had been a little hopeful. "I'll test it out, send me the file?"

One APK file later, a few clicks on the phone, and the alarm rang in the dim narrow room.

It made his head pound, but still, it was music to his ears. He had been too tired to even let out a strong exhale, a sigh of relief. "Are you happy? Sad? Angry?" He whispered.

"It says here, I’m happy," Hange answered.

"At least we know it works," Levi said.

"Why don't we try yours again?" Hänge pulled his hand up, guiding the phone back in between his finger tips.

"It didn't work the first time," Levi argued.

"Again." Hange was insistent and at that moment, she was much stronger than he was.

He unlocked his phone, and opened the application.

"Turn on the alarm," Hänge said.

He didn't need guidance, he made the application after all. Her voice had been coaxing, she had made everything go smoother in her own way.

He dropped the phone on his chest, stared up at the ceiling, frozen as the phone vibrated in his chest. "What does it say?"

Hange let out a short laugh. "This application can read multiple feelings at the same time? Is this expected behavior?"

"Why?"

“It says you're angry."

"I'm tired. Of course I'm angry."

"And sad," Hange added.

" Oh really?" Something started to sting at his eyes.

"And guess what, it also says you're happy."

"Am I?" Levi asked. All he could feel then was relief, relief that in the end it had alarmed. "I guess that means we're at least kinda ready for tomorrow…" He could have said more, if his voice didn't crack.

"Hey, rest. It doesn't look like you slept well."

"I slept a bit last night."

"People need at least six hours of sleep at night… and really, Levi you don't look so good."

He didn't need to see it to understand. His eyes were heavy, his rims were prickling at one another and one cheek was wet, and it brought the 'wet' all the way down to his chin, in one straight trail. A few more soon followed.

Sad. Angry. Happy. But he liked to think he was just exhausted. That feeling loomed far above the others anyway.

It rang for no reason then. He concluded. Maybe it was a bug. After all, how did something just start magically working after not working for hours before that?

Hange spoke up again in the slience. "Hey, are you crying?"

He only noticed it when she asked. His mind was quick to explain it. "Sometimes, people tear up when they're sleepy right?"

***

Hange was there when he woke up and he was glad to see her. Her eager presence was a reminder enough that she didn’t have to be there.

“Happy Monday!” Hange chirped joyfully, as if that had been the best thing to say while Levi was still getting used to his surroundings.

He never completely got used to it. The back of his head was throbbing from having fallen asleep on the hard wooden floor. The front of his head pounded. He couldn’t even lift his head without feeling some protest from his back. A light prickling sensation had settled on his fingers, all extending from an ache in his wrist. “Happy Monday,” Levi muttered. Was she mocking him?

“Sorry, I didn’t think it would be a good idea to move you,” Hange said wryly.

Not moving him might have been the better option. He barely got any sleep at night. In the small office, if it were between falling asleep sitting down on a comfortable chair, falling asleep on a floor, the floor won by a little more.

The phone sat on his hand, cold and hard. Levi pulled it up to his face to check the time.

6:30 AM. Work starts at eight. Fuck. He forgot to deploy application changes the night before.

“You should take a leave.” Hange could have been reading his mind or the stress could have just been apparent in his heavy eyelids and his voice, a hoarse whisper.

“What makes you say that?” Levi asked. He had hoped to use that moment to prove how okay he was. Sitting up was enough to leave him wincing, dealing with his exhausted body that had protested such a simple movement.

“You don’t wanna take one?”

“I forgot to deploy the changes. We’re supposed to do a sanity check today,” Levi said.

“Do it over breakfast?” Hange suggested, pressing a brown paper bag on his hand. "I brought sandwiches from last night."

“You know you can go home now. We can meet later at the hospital.”

“I wanna have breakfast,” Hange said, her voice firmer than a second ago.

“Go have breakfast with Zeke.”

Hange’s face was like that of a wounded puppy. It came quickly as a flash before shifting to something a little more sly. “I’ll take you out to tea? You never had your tea time at the country club.”

It could have been tea or maybe it was the efforts Hange had taken to insist. Sometimes, insisting was more than enough. Particularly then, when he was overwhelmingly and unbearably tired.

“What do you have in mind?” Levi asked.

“We can see what’s open,” Hange answered.

He let out a sigh, as if deciding to take a break was the hardest thing he could have done. All for the sake of one Hange Zoe. On the contrary, it was a surprisingly easy decision to make.

Levi opened up the messaging application on the phone, running his mind through quick calculations. Three hours. Just enough time for quick tea, enough time to get home and shower and get back to the office by ten.

Running late. Deploy fixes to production. We sanity check when I get to the office at around ten.

He sent over that message to the group chat of his own team, making sure to tag Eld and Petra.

He felt a little guilty but something else won over. A weak suggestion, heavily supported by his sore back, his swollen eyes and his trembling hands. Maybe he deserved a break.

***

They moved the goalposts. Levi was in no shape to brave the public transportation crowds on a Monday morning with a total of less than six hours of sleep the past few hours while his mind was complete mush at having coded an entire application himself.

Hange had alternatives. “I could have called a car to pick us up.”

Alternatives Levi wasn’t completely in good terms with. “No thank you, I’d rather not impose on your dear husband.” On top of that, he wanted his tea now.

The only shop which sold tea the least painful walking distance away was the convenience store just outside the building grounds. The convenience store had enough variety that he could be at least a little creative with his breakfast.

Paper tea cup in hand, Levi popped open the cup, He had asked for an extra large cup for one reason.

The green tea bubbled inside the container and Levi was a little adventurous that morning and maybe a little crazy. The past two days were crazy. He reminded himself, obliterating the guilt and the fear of risking his own health and sanity.

He poured ten shots of espresso onto the cup of green tea. He couldn’t be too sure how it would taste. Then he remembered, no one actually drank caffeine for the taste anyway. He drank half of it in a gulp. It could have been the bitterness that burned, or the actual heat of boiling water. When he was still making a conscious effort just to be aware of the streets in front of him, just to stay sitting up on the pavement, he couldn’t be too sure.

He took a big bite of his sandwich to drown it out. Then another. Then two more before crumpling the brown paper bag and pocketing it.

Hange humored him, sitting down next to him on the pavement just in front of the convenience store. She was still in her cocktail dress, a jacket over it. The corners of her eyes were still a little darker from the make up from last night. She looked ridiculous, like an overgrown teenager out on a wild night and had failed to get home on time.

His mind was running on too many scenarios, a total waste of brain power. The espresso would kick in eventually. And maybe it had been the espresso that had him suddenly laughing like an idiot.

Or maybe he was going crazy.

“Are you okay?”

He probably was going crazy. At that point, Levi was already skimming the stages of acceptance. “Where the fuck did you even go last night?”

Hange sighed. “Drinking, a little gambling. Zeke wanted to celebrate the new deal. ”

“And that’s why you played golf that morning. ”

Hange hummed in response. “Zeke and Erwin played. I probably would have invited you but yeah, with the application… Would you have had time?”

Somehow, Levi was slightly offended that they hadn’t even invited him. He blamed the caffeine. “Really? Well, fuck it. I don’t even play golf.” The caffeine continued to bubble, the irritation followed suit. “I’m sure they had a good sleep the past few nights,” he added.

“Well, they can’t do what you did.”

“Who cares? I’m at the mercy of money--- Zeke’s money. Rich people like to throw around orders then money, as if money’s just magic. As if developers --- employees are just bunnies or trick monkeys.”

Hange put up her hands in surrender. "You have every right to shit on rich people."

Levi dropped his shoulders and leaned back on the wall. “What can I do when millions of dollars are on the line?”

“You could have said---”

“Said no? And what? Risk losing this deal?” Risk losing you?

“I told you before, this is my pet project. This is my timeline. I can decide how long it takes. Zeke just wants---”

"Wants what?" Levi challenged.

It was a challenge for Hange but it looked like the world was on a mission to accept it. "Hange, what are you doing here?"

It took Levi a few seconds longer to put two and two together. After all, imagining that big ham of a voice within proximity of a place that sold teabags by the dollar was preposterous even for him.

"Zeke, what are you doing here?" Hange asked.

"Just need to drop a few legal documents at Erwin’s office. I saw you two on the way here, in a convenience store parking lot of all things?" His voice was judgemental, as expected. Still it was softer than that of two days ago.

It was easy for Levi to surmise that the blonde was most likely nursing a hangover. He relished the view of Zeke struggling to approach them. Misery loved company after all. Zeke’s gait was a little slower and if Levi squinted, he was sure the ungraceful wobble would have been more laughably noticeable.

“Right, you had the lawyer look over it already?”

Zeke nodded. “I’ve set up a post dated check.” He turned to Levi. “You’ve finished developing a build for testing?”

Levi managed a nod, closing his eyes as he did, to alleviate the pounding. And of course the irritation.

Zeke had been professional about the question. Levi couldn’t help but sense entitlement in it. When he was in a bad mood, any request reeked of entitlement. He spent a good few seconds after, reminding himself, Zeke was paying millions for it, and deserved every right to ask questions and expect.

“Zeke…” Hange sounded, almost breathless. “This is more money than I expected.”

How much money? Levi didn’t wanna know but from the tremble in her hands, her wide eyes, Levi didn’t think he even wanted to know.

“Think of it… as compensation for forcing you to delay your PhD,” Zeke said. “That was your plan before we got married right?”

PhD? Now that he did think about it, Hange mentioned something about delaying a PhD, all to marry Zeke.

“Yeah, if this study… this testing goes well, I could publish it for my doctorate degree,” Hange said, a ghost of a smile on her lips. A ghost of a smile for just a second. It soon got wider.

Levi only noticed a second later, his mouth had gone the opposite direction as realization dawned on him.

Right, Hange wanted to do research.

Right, Hange wanted a PhD.

And Zeke was the one who had put everything together for him at that moment. “This is your dream right?” He pressed the cheque deeper into her palms.

Hange nodded. Was that the first time he had ever seen her struggle to find the right words?

The hints were all there. The pet project. The doctorate. Hange Zoe who was just a little too interested in neuropsychology.

Why didn’t you tell me this was your dream? This was your PhD? It seemed most criminal that he couldn't even put two and two together. Levi would have wanted to scream back then. He wasn’t in any position to break anyone’s good mood though. Hange’s smile was too wide, her eyes too bright.

“I have a meeting at nine. Breakfast?” Zeke asked.

“I had something to eat already,” Hange said. “But we could get a quick brunch.”

Zeke turned back to Levi. “You’re free to join us.”

“No, I have work at ten,” Levi said. “I’ll see you two later, in the hospital.”

“I’ll see you later.” Hange gave Levi a softer smile, one just for him. He couldn’t read too much into it then. Still, he continued to stare, as she turned back and got into the car.

Zeke stayed outside for a second, leaning on the door. His eyes fixed on Levi’s.

Tired eyes on tired eyes. Levi though wasn’t sleepy enough to hear those last few words.

“Levi, thank you,” Zeke said.

Levi was taken aback for just a second at such a seemingly uncharacteristic expression. Fortunately, pleasantries were basic and automatic if he just put on the right facade. “You’re welcome.”

He watched Zeke get into the car and he stood still for a second longer, watching the car get smaller before it turned the corner of the parking of their building. He started to reflect while recalling the interactions until then. He should have been somewhat grateful for the pleasantries exchanged. After all, the man was worth billions and there weren’t many who did receive the honor of being personally thanked by billionaires.

Somehow, that exchange had only made him sadder. Hange being there next to him suddenly going absent had only made him lonelier. He gulped the rest of the concoction of a while ago, coughing out the bitterness, shaking his head to feel that last buzz.

He checked his phone. 8am. He needed a shower before work but his legs were deadweight.

So he called a taxi, not bothering to calculate the cost. After all, he did deserve a break.

#levihan #levihan fanfiction

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hatterstan-shameblog · 3 years

Text

The One With The Room Reassignment

Aguni needs a new room. For, well, reasons. Embarrassing reasons. Reasons that he’s trying not to disclose to anyone, least of all Takeru, who...well, you know how he is.

But it’ll all be okay.

Right?

(Because I simply could not have read this post by @missdrake without writing the Aguni prompt. I mean, come on, the opportunity for banter was just too good!)

💕💕💕💕💕💕💕💕💕💕💕💕💕💕💕💕

Rating: ‼️18+‼️ Do Not Interact If You Are Underage

Warnings: descriptions of sexual situations, referenced drug use, alcohol, threats of violence

💕💕💕💕💕💕💕💕💕💕💕💕💕💕💕💕

Of all the places Aguni could be right now, this has to be one of the worst.

It’s not that he dislikes Takeru’s room, per se. On the contrary, he actually enjoys the subtle opulence of the space, spelled out in caramel-colored woods and blue-green drapes.

It’s fancy, yes, but approachable. Comfortable, even.

But, in this moment, Aguni feels anything but comfortable. He feels antsy, he feels jumpy—he feels the angry little teeth of embarrassment nibbling at the ends of his nerves, and its making his palms sweat.

Are the lights in here extra hot, or is that just him?

...It’s probably just him.

It doesn’t help that Takeru is staring at him, those deep-dark eyes filled with their usual mix of subtle scrutiny mixed with glittering amusement and finished off with a dash of smug confidence—like a flourish of whipped cream atop a hot fudge sundae, if the whipped cream had the uncanny ability to see into a person’s soul and the hot fudge sundae was a lovable bastard whose modus operandi involved creating as much drama as possible.

“This is a pleasant surprise,” Takeru says—and he is so very feline, stretched into a graceful sprawl along the black leather sofa, his lips curled into a serene, sleepy smile around the lip of a champagne flute.

Aguni doesn’t even like champagne, but he’s been taking small, nervous sips from his own glass all the same because that is infinitely more manageable than talking. Except, well...because he’s not talking, the situation is getting more and more awkward by the minute.

“Didn’t expect you to be alone.”

“I’ve decided to take the night off,” Takeru says, rolling his shoulders back in a slow stretch of spine, “The games, the meetings, the endless parade of unfortunates looking for guidance and reassurance? It wears on you, Mori-chan.”

As if to illustrate the point, Takeru heaves a dramatic sigh.

“There’s something wearing on you, too, isn’t there? You look...pained?”

“I, uh,” Aguni swallows nervously. This is the part he’s been dreading for the last hour, and now that it’s here...well. All he has to do is stick to the plan and everything will be okay.

Maybe.

Hopefully.

“I...” Aguni gulps, “need a new room.”

Although his delivery leaves something to be desired in the “calm and collected” department, Aguni is quite pleased with himself for having managing to get the words out without blushing.

...Okay, he’s probably blushing a little bit, but Takeru hasn’t teased him about it yet, so it can’t be that bad.

“Oh? Why?”

Aguni’s jaw tightens. The problem with Takeru (one of the many, if he’s being honest) is that the man can be particularly difficult to read. Even after thirty-plus years of friendship, Aguni can’t tell what he’s thinking half of the time, which has left him in quite a few...situations. Difficult situations. Confusing situations. Awkward situations.

Situations like these, where Aguni’s brain is spinning like a high-powered carousel on a pottery wheel inside of a giant blender and someone keeps pressing the ‘pulse’ button with a giant hammer and it’s all very loud and very unpleasant.

“The bed,” he answers slowly, “uh, the bed is...broken.”

“Broken?”

Aguni takes another gulp of alcohol—too much for one swallow, and his throat spasms around the popping fizz of carbonation. He coughs slightly.

“Yes,” Aguni clarifies, “Broken.”

Takeru rolls his eyes.

“Always the brilliant conversationalist,” Takeru says, dripping with sarcasm and waving his champagne with a dismissive gesture, “We’ve established that the bed is broken, but you’ve failed to mention how it is broken, and since I do not know the extend of the breakage, I am unable to determine if you do, in fact, need to be moved to a different room. Space is limited, Mori-chan. I can’t afford to be frivolous about such things.”

Had he not been so focused on maintaining some semblance of composure, Aguni might have teased his friend for lecturing him about frivolity—but now is not the time for chit-chat. He is a man on a mission, and the success of said mission is dependent on his ability to, as they say, ‘get in and get out.’

“The frame. It, uh...snapped off of the headboard,”Aguni answers carefully, “It’s...I can’t sleep on it.”

Takeru’s eyes narrow.

“Ah. I see.”

Silence settles between them once more—only for a moment, but it’s enough to make Aguni shift uncomfortably in his seat.

“I can fix it,” Aguni adds, “I just...need a place to stay tonight.”

There is a flash of silver—Takeru is one of the only people Aguni knows under the age of sixty who uses a cigarette case, which is both charming and frequently inconvenient— and it’s only a second before the scent of smoke and nicotine fills the air.

“I suppose that’s reasonable,” he concludes—and it’s a weight off of Aguni’s mind and heart that Takeru hasn’t decided to ask him a million questions regarding the “why’s” and “how’s” of his current predicament.

Perhaps there’s a chance he can make it out of here (relatively) unscathed.

So, when Takeru offers Aguni a drag on his cigarette, Aguni doesn’t much read into the gesture and gladly accepts.

“Hm,” Takeru says.

“What?”

“That is...so interesting.”

Aguni hands the cigarette back to his friend.

“Not sure what you mean.”

“I’m just reminiscing, I suppose,” Takeru says airily, “about the last time we shared a cigarette. It’s been a while, hasn’t it?”

Something blooms in Aguni—something bad and uncertain.

“I don’t—“

“Oh, it’s been years. Three, actually. And a half. Tell me, Mori-chan,” Takeru furrows his brow, “can you remember where we were three-and-a-half years ago?”

Remember the ‘something’ that bloomed inside Aguni just a moment ago? Well, it has a name, and that name is ‘intense discomfort.’ He knows where this is going. He knows he’s powerless to stop it.

“Don’t worry, my dear friend—I remember,” he says, closing his eyes and smiling to himself, “Halloween. Osaka. 2018. I was Freddie Mercury. You were Elton John. It took me ages to get all those sequins sewn on...”

Takeru takes one final hit from the cigarette before stubbing it out into a (decidedly lovely) teacup that happened to be conveniently placed on the coffee table in front of him.

“Isn’t that the year you threw the statue of Colonel Sanders into the river?”

Takeru sneers.

“You mean the year I threw Colonel Sanders into the river alone because...somebody ran off with the mascot from that mediocre takoyaki stand,” he snips, “and then had the audacity to show up two hours later asking for a cigarette. Do you know why you asked for a cigarette, Mori-chan?”

“Oh no.”

“It’s because you didn’t have any on you. Because you don’t usually smoke. Unless,” and Takeru positively relishes his dramatic pause, “it’s after sex.”

Aguni doesn’t say anything.

“You thought you could come into my house,” Takeru shouts, “after having mind-blowing, soul-shattering sex—the kind of sex that snaps bed frames clean in half—and I wouldn’t know about it?”

“But how did you—?”

“I heard you,” Takeru spits, “howling like...like some kind of demonic wolf in the light of a full moon!”

“I couldn’t have been that loud...”

“Loud enough to hear from down the hall,” Takeru adds, “frankly, I’m impressed. And a little jealous.”

“Jealous?”

“Of your lover. Nobody’s broken a bed fucking me lately, which is a goddamn shame,” Takeru sips from his glass, “Don’t suppose you’ll tell me who it was, hm?”

“No,” Aguni snaps, perhaps a bit too quickly, “making fun of me is one thing, but I won’t you have you making fun of my...uh, my...”

“Paramour?”

“...Sure,” Aguni says, “Look, the point is, it’s important that I—“

“Yes, yes, you’re about to lecture me about ‘privacy’ and ‘boundaries’ and all the things decent people like you are oh-so-interested in preserving,” Takeru says, rolling his eyes, “Believe it or not, I am capable of discretion.”

“You are?”

“When the situation calls for it,” Takeru muses, “or if it’s simply more fun to keep my mouth shut and watch the drama unfold. You having a secret lover ticks both boxes.”

Takeru jumps up from his seat and claps his hands together.

“So! I have decided,” he announces with great panache, “that I shall, in fact, give you a new room. A nice one, too. Maybe even nicer than the one you’re in currently.”

Aguni huffs a relieved breath.

“Thank you.”

“But!” Takeru flops down on the couch next to Aguni with all the grace of a fleshly-flipped pancake, “You have to do something for me.”

“I don’t—“

“You have to answer three,” and Takeru holds up three fingers in front of Aguni’s face, “of my questions. Truthfully. No skips, no take-backs.”

This is...well. This is not ideal.

Aguni considers his options. On one hand, he’s entirely justified in slapping Takeru across the face and shouting ‘absolutely not!’—and, honestly, Takeru would probably understand because, while he is an asshole, he is a self-aware asshole.

On the other hand, it’s only three questions. Maybe, if he’s able to keep Takeru on topic (a Herculean effort to be sure), Aguni can make quick work of getting a new room and, more importantly, getting the hell out of here.

“Fine,” he mumbles, “but make it quick. I’m tired.”

“Yeah, I bet you are,” Takeru says, “nothing wears you out quite like an evening of dirty, nasty, animalistic—“

“Takeru!”

“—Depraved, disgusting fucking,” and he makes a very disgusted ugh-ing sound when he notices Aguni shooting him a pointed glare, “Fine. Lovemaking. Whatever. The point is that you got it in real good and that’s enough to make anyone tired.”

“Dealing with you is making me tired. Please, just...ask your questions so I can get a room and go to bed.”

“Fine, fine,” Takeru says, and he makes a great show of thinking the matter over, mouth puckering into a pouty little frown before snapping into a mischievous smirk, “Question one: did you shower before coming here?”

Aguni sighs and looks down at his shoes.

“No.”

“Oh, that is gross,” Takeru shouts, clapping him on the back, “I’m so proud of you!”

Aguni rolls his eyes, trying his hardest to look unaffected by his friend’s prying. But he can’t hide the blush from blooming on his face, because this is all very mortifying and he doesn’t particularly enjoy the way Takeru is looking at him with a devious little smile.

“It’s like looking in a mirror,” Takeru says, running a hand through his hair, “a less-handsome—but taller—mirror!”

“Got a good two inches on you,” Aguni says, and he relishes the way his companion winces. Although he is not a short man by any means, Takeru has always been just a bit shorter than him—which has led to quite a few jabs over the years.

“Maybe in height,” Takeru quips, “but certainly not everywhere else, hm?”

It’s odd, but somehow, Aguni has not yet gotten used to feeling his soul leave his body. He doesn’t hide the fact that he’s dying inside, letting the pain shine out directly from his face and hopes it slaps Takeru across the mouth so he doesn’t have to.

“I couldn’t resist,” Takeru says between chuckles, “You know how I am!”

“Unfortunately.”

But Takeru is too busy staring at him now to give one of his classically witty retorts. To the untrained eye, it would appear that he is carefully considering something. Because Aguni knows that the words ‘careful’ and ‘consideration’ are not part of Takeru’s vocabulary, he steels himself for whatever batshit-insane bullshit is going to come flying at him next.

“Now, I know the identity of your new squeeze is off-limits. Which I am sympathetic towards, because I am a sensitive and caring man—which, by the way, is something you should mention to any and all available singles you should happen upon throughout your travels...”

There’s just something about the way Takeru talks—and talks, and talks—that sets Aguni’s blood to boil.

“You know why it took me three years to get laid? Because you,” Aguni snaps, “wouldn’t stop fucking talking long enough for me to get away and meet someone.”

“Ooh, so bitchy! Seems like you could use a little more of whatever you just had,” Takeru runs a finger along the rim of his glass, smiling to himself when the friction creates a high-pitched hum, “if that’s a possibility, of course.”

Aguni feels a headache coming on. He runs at his temples in a (futile) attempt to stave it off.

“I don’t have time for your games, Takeru. If you want to ask me if this was a one-night stand, then ask me if it was a one-night stand.”

“Fine, then. Mori-chan,” Takeru places his glass on the table and turns to face Aguni. He pulls his legs up and hugs his shins close to himself, chin resting on his knobby knees—like a high school girl at a sleepover, “Did you give that mystery individual the fuck of a lifetime because you knew it was going to be a one-time thing...or because this is the start of something more?”

“I...” Aguni pauses, “I don’t know.”

Takeru’s brow furrows.

“Don’t look at me like that! I was, uh,” Aguni rubs the back of his neck uncertainly, “I thought we’d maybe have that conversation when I got back.”

Takeru tilts his head slightly to the left.

“Got back from where?”

“Here.”

“Mori-chan. Darling. Dearest,” Takeru places a hand on his shoulder, fingers gripping into the skin a little more with each passing moment, “do you mean to tell me that you...left your lover alone on a broken bed...to come talk to me?”

“No,” Aguni answers, “Left ‘em in the bath.”

“Oh my God...”

“What? I thought it was a nice gesture.”

“You are so cute and hopeless.”

Takeru scoots close enough to Aguni that their hips are touching, the arm that had been gripping his shoulder now slung around his mid-back.

“Picture it,” he says, reaching his other arm out in front of them as if grasping at a ghost of a dream, “your paramour—whoever they may be—sitting alone in a bathtub. Naked. Glistening.”

“...Glistening?”

“Sparkling, even.”

That is...oh dear. Aguni hadn’t thought of it like that. And now he can’t stop thinking about it. His mind’s eye is conjuring up a most hypnotic display, involving skin and steam and a crystalline droplets rolling down the length of a neck and—

“I put bubbles in,” he admits, voice soft and unfocused as he drifts in his daydream, “Lavender-scented.”

“That’s. Wow,” Takeru sighs, patting Aguni’s knee, “You’re a stronger man than I am, that’s for sure. I simply wouldn’t be able to resist the temptation. I mean, you could be in there right now, but...you’re here with me instead.”

Something breaks in Aguni. Something he hadn’t been aware of before now, but was apparently a very important piece of whatever was keeping him from grabbing Takeru by the lapels and shaking him with all the strength and rage that has been building up for the past twenty minutes.

Because that’s what he’s doing right now. He’s grabbing Takeru by the lapels of his weird robe thing and shaking him within an inch of his life. He’s also yelling, something like ‘give me the goddamn room’ but it’s hard to hear over the deafening rush of blood in his ears.

“Not...the...silk,” Takeru begs—well, as much as a man being maliciously jostled can beg—while his hands attempt to loosen Aguni’s own from his outfit, “She didn’t...do anything...wrong!”

Aguni stops shaking him, but not because he wants to—no, he very much wants to continue shaking this annoying man until his head snaps off and flies out the window—but because Takeru has started to take on a bit of a sickly greenish tinge and Aguni is not in the mood to deal with that on top of everything else.

“I will tear that tacky thing to shreds if you don’t give me a new room,” he seethes, releasing his grip on Takeru altogether and enjoying the way the other man falls back slightly as he’s let go, “I snapped a fucking bed frame an hour ago; I could tear that and you in half without even trying.”

“Okay, but,” and Takeru winces, “I just...there’s a bit of a problem. Not...a ‘problem’ problem, but...I’m very worried about how you’ll react after that little outburst you just had.”

Great. Of course there’s a catch. There’s always a catch with Takeru—but Aguni had been naive enough to think that his frustrating questionnaire had been it.

“There’s only one room available,” Takeru continues, as if he’s trying to calm a very angry horse or convince a toddler to do literally anything, “and it’s...well, it’s...the one next door.”

“You mean,” Aguni says very flatly, “the room next to this one?”

“Yes.”

“With the adjoining door?”

“Hit me if you want,” Takeru says, pressing himself against the arm of the couch and, therefore, as far away from Aguni’s anger as possible, “just...please don’t shake me again. My delicate constitution couldn’t possible take it.”

Aguni is reminded of a poem—the Robert Frost one about two roads in a wood or something like that. The way he figures, he’s got two roads in front of him right now: the ‘scream at Takeru and maybe shake him a little more and also refuse the room’ road versus the ‘it’s only one night and things couldn’t possibly get worse than they already are so take the room and maybe try to salvage the evening’ road.

Both are tempting.

“I wasn’t kidding when I said it was nicer than your current room. Good view, spacious, well-decorated,” he says, “Except for the credenza under the TV, that’s hideous. Wouldn’t be mad if you, y’know, decided to break that in the heat of the moment...”

Aguni must look positively murderous, because Takeru immediately switches into grovel mode, which includes various assorted platitudes and exclamations of ‘it was just a joke!’ and ‘please don’t kill me!’

It’s kind of funny, actually.

“Listen,” Takeru half-pleads, “I’ll be good. I’ll be quiet. You won’t even know I’m over here. Hell, if I smoke enough weed, I won’t know I’m here, which will work out just great! I slip into a light coma, you slip into a comfortable bed with your sweetheart, and everybody’s happy.”

“You just want an excuse to get high.”

“No,” he answers confidently, “I want you to be happy and I want to get high. Use my mind-altering substances for good, not evil. You know, like a superhero. Or maybe even Jesus.”

Aguni decides not to bring Takeru’s half-joking-but-not-really God-complex into question, because that would launch him into an hour-long tirade about the importance of self-love and how he would be an excellent choice for the next mayor of Tokyo. And maybe he wouldn’t be the worst mayor Tokyo has ever had, but...well. He might not be very good at it, either.

And maybe it’s because he’s incapable of staying too horribly angry at his best friend for very long, but Aguni concludes that it’s best just to take the room and let the situation go. He’s had enough drama for one night.

“Fine,” Aguni finally says, “I’ll take it.”

And he moves to stand before Takeru can suck him in to another conversation.

“You know,” Takeru calls casually as Aguni begins to walk towards the door, “I still haven’t asked my third question...”

“You have got to be kidding—“

“But,” Takeru quickly interjects, “I don’t have to ask, because I already know that the answer is ‘yes.’”

“Hm?”

“Yes,” Takeru concludes with a wry smile, “you are happy. Even when you were about to about to slap me, I could see it written all over your face.”

Aguni feels...embarrassed. Again. He’s truly been on an emotional rollercoaster since stepping foot into Takeru’s room, and it’s almost poetic that he has managed to start and end his journey with a begrudging blush.

“Now, go,” Takeru says, shooing him off with a roll of his wrist, “get out of my sight and into bed with that sexy little secret you insist upon hiding from the rest of us!”

Aguni doesn’t need to be told twice. He swiftly makes his way towards the exit, his legs taking slightly-larger-than-normal strides as he attempts not to appear too giddy at the thought of returning to his lover. Maybe they can test out the bathtub in the new room. Or the shower. Or maybe just hang out in bathrobes and talk?

Honestly, he’s just excited to see them again. A nice, soothing presence. Something to help him decompress after...whatever the hell that just was with Takeru. There’s a seventy-five-percent chance that he’ll stay true to his word and be stoned out of his mind by the time they switch rooms, and a twenty-percent chance that he’ll spend the night pressed up against the door trying to listen in. The other five percent? That’s what Aguni likes to call the ‘wild card allotment’ because Takeru is...well, he’s just the kind of guy to do something completely unpredictable, and he likes to plan for that.

“Remember,” Takeru calls out just as Aguni is stepping out, “Break the credenza!”

And Aguni has never been happier to shut a door in his life.

💕💕💕💕💕💕💕💕💕💕💕💕💕💕💕💕

PS: the thing with throwing the statue of Colonel Sanders in the river is a thing that actually happened and I think it’s really funny so that’s why I put it in here. Plus, like. Takeru totally would.

#alice in borderland #danma takeru #hatter #spicy boy #alice in borderland netflix #aguni morizono #writings and such #this took so long omg but it’s DONE wow what a time what an adventure #listen. I just. we need more of them being actual buddies.#like. just guys being dudes.

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theslowesthnery · 3 years

Text

a very long post of random musings about the prince AU

(random note, not really related to anything: androgeus is said to be the oldest son of pasiphaë and minos, so unless he goes and gets his stupid ass killed in this AU as well, asterius won’t ever become the king of crete, something he’s actually perfectly fine with - he would hate for crete to be sullied by having a monster such as him for a king, and has no confidence in his ability to be a good ruler. as much as his family loves and supports him, he is still painfully aware of how everyone else sees him, and is more than fine with the idea of fading to obscurity in time. in fact he finds the idea comforting. no, asterius is not fine :)

also, i have no idea how many and which children pasiphaë would actually have, what with minos’s ~*mysterious*~ untimely death. there doesn’t seem to be any official order in which their children were born, only that anrogeus was maybe their oldest son and phaedra was maybe younger than ariadne. they could have children younger than asterius, since in my head he was maybe five to seven years old or so when minos died, and in those years minos and pasiphaë could’ve had more children.

also unhappy headcanon, because i need some conflict: androgeus doesn’t like asterius and doesn’t consider him his brother, or worthy of the title of prince. androgeus was old enough at the time to know how asterius came to be and seeing how much his father - who he practically worshipped - despised the baby, learned to despise him as well. and while he doesn’t know the exact circumstances of minos’s death, he has a pretty good idea, and blames asterius’s existence for that as well. ariadne and androgeus used to get along very well, but his dislike of asterius - and insistence that minos was a good man who didn’t deserve his fate - has driven a wedge between them. needless to probably say androgeus and pasiphaë are also not on the best of terms, to make a massive understatement)

the moment theseus sees the younger prince of crete for the first time, his jaw drops. he has heard, of course, that one of the children of queen pasiphaë, the queen of crete, is a “grotesque”, “abhorrent” “monster”, so it’s not seeing asterius that surprises him. what surprises him - and he tells asterius as much the first chance he has, when they are introduced - is that he is anything but grotesque, abhorrent or any of the other disdainful words used to describe him. instead of some sort of revolting, malformed beast, theseus sees a strong and beautiful creature whose entire being exudes nobility and kindness, with an exquisite body like it had been sculpted by gods themselves, yet overflowing with gentleness and vulnerability. asterius is stunned speechless, not only by how fearlessly and without hesitation theseus comes to stand close to him - so close, asterius can almost feel the warmth of his body - but by how openly and confidently he states things that no one has ever said about asterius, right there in front of everybody as if they were well-known and accepted facts.

theseus is everything asterius is not: brash, loud and confident, commanding attention and basking in it. people are immediately drawn to him instead of repelled, and theseus thrives on it. and yet the two get immediately along, theseus never exploiting asterius’s more meek personality for his own gain, always making sure asterius isn’t feeling pressured into something he’s not comfortable with, always being kind and caring and encouraging to him in a way that asterius isn’t used to from people outside his immediate family. unlike so many others, theseus does not avoid getting close to or shy away from physical contact with asterius - in fact, he can be quite touchy-feely, often punctuating his words by touching asterius’s arm, shoulder, back or even chest, something asterius finds Actually Quite Nice in a way that surprises even himself. theseus even often loudly makes positive remarks on asterius’s physical attributes regardless of who is around to hear, something asterius is definitely not used to.

”the athenian prince...theseus. is he funny in the head?” he asks his mother once. pasiphaë lets out an undignified chortle.

the two spend a lot of time together in the palace - wrestling and sparring (no one ever does that with asterius because of his size, strength and horns, not even his brothers!), playing games, even just sitting or strolling about and talking for great lengths at a time - but no one thinks much of it. theseus has no siblings, so it’s understandable that he would greatly enjoy the company of a male of similar age, and honestly everyone is thrilled that asterius has found a friend who seems to genuinely and truly enjoy his company and isn’t deterred by his beastly appearance.

asterius, of course, falls for theseus fast and hard, but has no intention of doing anything about it. not only would he just ruin their friendship (the idea that theseus could feel the same way about him is not just not on the table, it’s not even in the house, it’s so beyond a possibility), but more importantly theseus is the betrothed of asterius’s sister ariadne. even if there was some possibility of theseus loving him back (and there isn’t, he keeps reminding himself, so stop thinking about it) asterius would never risk ruining his sister’s happiness. no, theseus will take ariadne with him to athens and they will marry, and asterius will most likely not see them again.

ariadne keeps asking asterius to tell her about theseus, since the two are spending so much time together and all, and everything he truthfully tells her makes her infatuation stronger. the fact that theseus is so nice to her brother and gets along so well with him is very important to her and convinces her that they’re truly meant to be, as she would not be okay marrying someone who treats her brother badly. he feels so fucking bad about his feelings for theseus.

and then one evening, when they are looking at the stars in the garden, theseus leans in and kisses asterius - not brazenly as one might expect, but gently, almost shyly. pull away, asterius’s mind is screaming but he can’t hear it over how hard and fast his heart is beating. it’s his first kiss (and gods know he was not expecting to be kissed ever) and it’s with a man he’s fallen in love with, and so he closes his eyes and allows himself to return the kiss, cautiously at first and surely clumsily, and even though theseus is the one who initiated the kiss in the first place, asterius can scarcely believe it when he doesn’t pull back in disgust and horror.

it’s not until they pull apart and he sees theseus’s flushed face, smiling almost shyly with adoration and joy in his eyes that asterius remembers. "this is wrong”, he breathes, and theseus’s smile - always so confident, except for now - wavers. “is it?” he asks, voice more quiet and vulnerable than asterius had imagined possible, and it breaks asterius’s heart even further that he must be the one to remind him of the Situation.

“ariadne”, asterius whispers, unable to look theseus in the eyes. “she’s... you’re...” he attempts to continue, but the words are stuck in his throat. regardless, theseus understands, as his smile falls the rest of the way. “ah. right.”

asterius does not ask if theseus doesn’t care for ariadne. it doesn’t matter. it’s not as if their marriage was arranged because they love each other - they hadn’t even met at the time the arrangement was made. theseus isn’t betraying ariadne’s love by kissing her brother, but the incontroversible fact still is that they are betrothed to marry, and asterius would not risk his sister’s chance to marry a future king - and a good man at that! - that she’s hopelessly infatuated with.

“i’m sorry”, asterius says and leaves, unable to bear any more. if theseus calls after him, he can’t hear it, stumbling back into his quarters as if in a fog, oblivious to everything around him. how cruel of the gods to bring someone like theseus - someone who doesn’t think him a monster, who sees him what he is and still thinks he’s beautiful and worth caring about - into his life, so close and yet so far, to allow him to not only fall in love but have his feelings returned when he fully knows they can’t be together. had he grown too happy? too confident? did the gods need to remind him of his place that badly?

asterius begins avoiding theseus after that. “i was taking up too much of his time, he should be spending time with his fiancée, not me”, he tells those who ask, laughing. they laugh too.

one day, theseus finds him sitting in the garden and sits down opposite him a respectful distance away. “are you angry with me?” theseus asks. asterius shakes his head. “upset, then?” asterius inclines his head. “not at you, no.” regardless, theseus wants to apologize. not for kissing asterius - that he doesn’t regret for one second and makes sure asterius knows that - but for making things difficult. and for possibly misreading asterius’s affections for him.

this would be asterius’s chance to tell theseus that yes, he misunderstood, that asterius doesn’t care about him like that. it would make things so much easier, wouldn’t it? perhaps they could go back to being friends, back to how they were. but looking at theseus’s face, the affection and the twinge of hopefulness in his clear blue eyes, remembering how soft his lips were on his, asterius can’t bring himself to lie.

“you did not misread anything”, he says, his quiet voice trembling, and the smile of relief and joy on theseus’s adoring face is almost enough to make him feel like he didn’t just make a huge mistake. asterius explains that that’s exactly why he’s been staying away - because being with theseus is painful, because every moment they spend together is a moment asterius falls more in love with him. knowing that they can’t be together, asterius therefore thinks it best for them to keep their distace in order to not make their inevitable separation even more painful.

theseus, for his part, is...how should i say it. he’s a himbo in love. he’s following his heart, living 100% in the moment. he knows he’s supposed to marry ariadne, but because he’s in love with asterius, that’s who he’s pursuing - for good or for bad, he’s not really even thinking about ariadne, how he might end up hurting her or how he’s complicating everything. that being said, he respects asterius’s wishes, and promises to keep his distance if that’s what asterius truly wants (and of course it’s not what asterius truly wants, but he's trying to protect both ariadne and himself).

pasiphaë, of course, is quick to notice that her son and theseus - whose close friendship made her extremely happy - have been spending less time together and seem unusually distant and short with each other, and that perhaps it’s connected to how asterius is clearly down and troubled. she asks him about it. “has he been cruel to you?” she asks when he seems hesitant to say anything. “no!” he responds. “no, gods no, mother. he’s...he’s a good man, he truly is. he’s kind and caring and sweet and...” “...funny in the head?” pasiphaë suggests, and asterius laughs a little. “perhaps a little. but in a good way, if such a thing is possible. he is...he is beyond wonderful, and...ariadne is lucky to have him.” pasiphaë reaches up to gently stroke the side of her son’s face. it doesn’t feel that long ago that he fit to sit in her lap, or to hide under her bed from the outbursts of the late minos, and though he might have to duck through doorways now, he is still - and forever will be - her little baby. “and you are in love with him.”

asterius hates that he can’t even deny it. all he can say, tearing up, bowing his head so low he doesn’t have to meet his mother’s eyes and see what he assumes will be disappointment in them, is “i’m sorry. i’m so sorry.”

pasiphaë just embraces him. “oh, my sweet child, do not apologize”, she says, her voice soft and full of love and compassion for her son and his predicament. “it is not your fault. we cannot decide who we fall in love with.”

she would know, he thinks. perhaps theseus, like her, has been cursed to fall in love with a beast, to see beauty where there is none. perhaps theseus’s father, too, offended the gods somehow, and it is now his son that bears the punishment. he can’t decide if that would be make the situation better or worse.

at this point pasiphaë is assuming that asterius’s feelings are one-sided (which, to be fair, is a fair assumption), and is very surprised when asterius tells her that it’s not quite that simple, that theseus kissed him. pasiphaë encourages asterius to tell ariadne, to talk about it with her, but he absolutely refuses to, terrified that she’s going to be upset and angry with him.

(i...don’t really know where to go with this. i do want asterius and theseus to end up happily together, with ariadne being supportive and not being at all bummed out that she doesn’t get to marry theseus - she doesn’t say it out loud, but she knows that she’ll find a husband for herself easily enough, while someone loving asterius the way theseus does is much more rare, and she’d rather wait for a while longer for the one meant for her than rob asterius of what might his is one and only chance.

i also want angst. i want androgeus to cause Problems. he finds out before ariadne does, and is very nasty to asterius about it. probably not like homophobic nasty, but “look at you, slavering after your own sister’s fiancé like the beast everyone knows you are. as if anyone would ever look at you with anything other than disgust. you’ve already ruined this family’s life enough, try not to mess this up as well” nasty. “stay away from the athenian or i will tell ariadne everything, and then she’ll hate you just like she ought to have all these years.” basically voicing and amplifying all of asterius’s existing fears and insecurities.)

#hnery's hades tag

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blueboxesandtrafficcones · 3 years

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A Muppet Family Christmas

Day 13 of 2018′s 31 Days of Christmas. Note: new for 2020. Credited as 2018 for organizational purposes, & back-filling the prompt.

Thanks to @doctorroseprompts for the prompt list!

Prompt: Holiday movies

Rating: T (sexual themes, alcohol)

Pairing: TenxRose (AU)

Summary: Despite being mid-January James and Rose have a Christmas-movie watching date, and open up about old grief amidst being childish with the Muppets and Mario Kart. Part of the Cosier With You ‘verse.

2018 31 Days of Ficmas Masterlist | Cosier With You ‘Verse

AO3

---

With a final swipe of gloss across her lips, Rose returned the lipstick to her purse, fluffed her hair, and knocked on the door.

“It’s open!”

Pushing the door open, she grinned at the sight that greeted her. Hair still obviously wet from the shower, her boyfriend of three weeks (and counting!) stood on the far side of his kitchen island, preoccupied with a popcorn popper that was spitting out perfectly popped corn. “Hey!” he greeted her warmly, as she dumped her stuff and came around to his side. “Missed you.”

“I saw you this morning,” she laughed, kissing him hello. “Mm, you taste like butter.”

“I had to make sure it was good,” James shrugged, gesturing to the half-full bowl catching the freshly popped corn. “Only the best for you. And yes, but we were at your place of work, surrounded by people. I much prefer when we’re alone.”

“So do I.” Wrapping her arms around his waist, she rested her head on his bicep. “Remind me why we’re watching Christmas movies in mid-January?”

James eased out of her arms as the popper wound down, dumping the last of the kernels into the bowl before switching the machine off. “Because I don’t want to wait a year to curl up with you and popcorn and watch cheesy Christmas-themed movies with you.” He nodded towards a bottle of white wine and two glasses on the counter, still chilled from the fridge, waiting for Rose to grab them before guiding her to the couch, which was already prepared for the evening.

Two soft, fleece-lined blankets stood at the ready, along with the pillows from his bed. A stack of DVDs sat on the coffee table, two drink coasters optimally positioned, and to complete the Christmas-y vibe, all the decorations, including the tree, were still up.

“So, for future reference, do you typically leave the tree up this long?” she asked, plopping down roughly in the middle of the couch and pulling out the pre-popped cork. “‘Cause I’ve gotta be honest, mine’s been down since the third, and this might be a sticking point in the future.”

He laughed, settling next to her and reaching for his glass. “No, but… I’m not ready to take it down yet, this year. I’m afraid…”

“What?” She took her own glass, leaning back into the cushions and giving him her full attention.

“I’m afraid that this- what we have- is a function of Christmas magic, and if I remove the decorations…” he trailed off, ears flushing. “Point is, I’m not taking any chances on this.”

Rose grinned, blushing herself, and wiggled closer. “I’m not going to disappear if you take your tree down,” she promised. “And I’m mostly teasing you – it’s sort of nice, it still being up. Not sure I’d say the same if I was living- with one still up,” she faltered, and they shared a smile at what was unsaid- “but… yeah. I wouldn’t want to jinx us either. I’ve been wanting this for so long.”

“Me too.” He leaned forward, and they met in the middle in a kiss that tasted of salt from the popcorn, tart from the wine, and sweet from what she was learning was just him. “Mhmm, you’re too tempting,” he accused without heat when he pulled back for breath. “This isn’t why I asked you over.”

“All right, all right,” she resettled herself with a laugh. “Fine, we can Netflix then Chill, if that’s what you really want.”

His ears and neck turned a delightful shade of scarlet, and he all but lunged for the stack of DVDs, voice squeaking as he said, “So! What shall we start with?”

Leaning in again she rested her cheek against his shoulder as they shuffled through the selection, and it took everything she had not to scoff at the final option, managing a neutral tone to say, “A Muppet Family Christmas?”

James stilled beside her, and she was glad she hadn’t laughed when a distant expression flashed across his face. “It was my dad’s favorite Christmas movie,” he said, hesitantly. “Mum hated it, but tolerated it when we were old enough to watch it. It became our thing, me Donna and Dad’s. She and I still watch it together every year.”

“Oh.” Rose tried to marshal her thoughts, recognizing that he was letting her in on something special, wondering distantly if it was some sort of test. “I’ve never actually seen it.”

“Really?”

She nodded. “Slightly before my time. I know who the Muppets are, of course, saw the Christmas Carol one, but… not this.”

He was silent for a moment, picking at the corner of the box. “D’you wanna?”

“Yes.” She surprised them both with the strength of her response, based on how James’ head flew up to blink at her. “Sounds like this might be the closest I get to meeting your Dad, so- let’s do it.”

His blinding smile told her it was absolutely the right answer.

By the end of the movie they were snuggled together, singing along at the top of their lungs to the final song, even as it trailed off to the credits.

“-And a happy new year!” they finished, before breaking into peals of laughter.

“Oh, I loved it,” Rose proclaimed, wiping tears of merriment from her eyes. “I can’t believe I’ve never seen that – it’s adorable!”

Beside her, James made a happy noise, pressing his face into her bicep. “Really?”

Wriggling around, Rose waited until she could meet his eye to respond. “Really,” she said firmly. “There’s something special about it. And more importantly, it’s special to you. So it’s special to me. Thank you for sharing this bit of yourself with me.” No words could express how honored she felt, that he was comfortable sharing something so personal with her. It made her a little wistful for her own father; while both men were gone, James had at least grown up with his father, known him in person- Rose had been a baby when Pete died.

“Hey, what’s wrong?” James’ concerned tone dragged her out of the spiral of her thoughts, and she looked up at him when he brushed at her cheek. “You’re crying.”

She bit her lip. “I was just thinking about my own dad,” she said truthfully. “I’d give anything to share something like this with him. Or, anything, really. I was six months when he- when we lost him. I mean, on bank holidays Mum and I watch old Cliff Richards movies, but… it’s not quite the same as this.”

“I’m sorry. I didn’t mean to bring up a… a sad memory for you.” His soulful chocolate eyes felt like they could see into her very heart, and she pushed down the ever-present but background grief.

“It’s okay. Sometimes it hits me in the weirdest moments. And I’m sorry I didn’t get a chance to meet your Dad – he sounds wonderful, based on your stories.” Then she bolted upright, as a memory surfaced. “Holy shit – I think I did meet your dad! Three Christmases ago, the first couple months you were coming in – we didn’t have much of a relationship then, but I still clocked you every time, ‘cause you’re so bloody cute, and I remember you came in a few days before Christmas with an older man! You’d been out shopping, and blimey, he looked just like you!”

James was silent for a long moment, before exhaling. “Blimey, I think you’re right. I’d forgotten – I was sweet on your even then, and I think he noticed, ‘cause he kept teasing me. I never took him back, for fear of him embarrassing me. But… yeah, there you go. You did meet him. And he liked you, much as he could in thirty seconds. Kept egging me to ask you out, and I brushed him off. If only I’d listened to him…”

They sat with that, imaging what could have been, before Rose clapped her hands. “No, we are not going down that rabbit hole. Let’s be grateful that we got there, and we’re here now. Trust me, I spent my entire life pretending not to notice how my mum had one foot stuck in the could-have-beens. Better not to start down that path.” She reached for the bottle of wine, but it was empty. “What d’you say we go do some stargazing?”

“Or…” he drawled, raising an eyebrow, “we could continue on our childish theme and play Mario Kart.”

“That’s what I’m talking about!”

By the third race their maudlin musings had been all but forgotten, as they battled it out for first place with taunts and good-natured ribbing, giving no quarter and playing as though their lives depended on it – complete with over-dramatic victory dances and cheering.

“Oh, come on!” James protested, as Rose eked out a second win by a breath. “You’re cheating!”

“Am not,” she denied, settling back on the couch after a final celebratory kick. “Novice, remember? Beginner’s luck?”

He grumbled, turning to look at her. “Care to make it more interesting?”

“How so?”

“Winner takes a shot, loser loses an item of clothing?”

Rose laughed, shaking her head. “You want to turn strip-racing into a drinking game?” Leaning back, she considered her outfit and his, then the empty bottle of wine. “What d’you got for shots?”

A rifle through the fridge produced a cold bottle of peppermint schnapps, “In keeping with the Christmas theme,” he declared, setting it on the coffee table along with two shot glasses. “Hope you’re thirsty.”

Shaking her head, Rose folded her legs beneath her. “You do know I’m a sure thing, right?” she teased, choosing the next track in the game. “You don’t need to get me drunk, or strip to get me interested.”

“Someone’s confident in themself, aren’t they?” he leered. “Better watch out – who knows what the promise of getting you in your knickers will do to my ability in the game?”

“Not a thing,” she shot back, catching her tongue between her teeth. “Because there’s no where you’re getting me in my knickers.” She started the race, laughing at his outraged yelp.

“We’ll see.”

The light turned green and they took off, and Rose waited until they were near the end and he was slightly ahead to say, “I’d have to be wearing knickers for you to see me in them.” As predicted he startled, going so far as to drop his controller, and with a laugh, she sped across the finish line for her third win in a row. As her character (Princess Peach, natch) was crowned, she turned to watch him splutter, eyes wide.

Finally, he just pointed, making a wheezing sound. “You…”

She took her shot first, nearly coughing at the overwhelming peppermint flavor, before turning her whole body to him. “Strip, loser,” she ordered with a smirk. “And, in case you don’t believe me…” Brave off the half-bottle of wine and the shot, she lifted her leg to splay it along the back of the sofa, confirming for him that she wasn’t wearing anything beneath her skirt. Laughing at the awestruck look on his face she returned to facing the telly, tucking her knees primly together. “I held up my end of the bargain…”

Coming back to life, he shook his head in disgust. “You’re not playing fair.” He whipped his shirt off, revealing his lovely muscular chest, and her knees squeezed together just a bit tighter.

“Well, lose quicker then, so we can go to bed.”

He didn’t win a single race after that, but an hour later, flat on his back on his living room floor wearing only a single sock, with a sticky and sweaty Rose collapsed on his chest, he couldn’t be bothered to care.

“I love Christmas.”

#bbatcfic #doctorroseprompts #31 Days of Ficmas #31 Days of Ficmas 2018 #ficandchips #Doctor Who #TenxRose #Tenth Doctor #Human!Ten #Rose Tyler #A Muppet Family Christmas #holiday movies #Cosier With You Universe

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chasseurdeloup-retired · 4 years

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One Scream or Two? || Leah and Kaden

TIMING: Current LOCATION: Coffee Plus PARTIES: @phoenixleah and @chasseurdeloup SUMMARY: Sometimes reading can be loud :/

Kaden stood by the door of Coffee Plus, scanning the room, looking for a place to settle in and wait. They had agreed to meet in a spot in the back and there looked like there was one table open to the left. The book was cradled in the crook of his armpit, hidden underneath his jacket like it was some sort of contraband. He wasn’t sure why he was treating it like precious cargo, it’s not like Regan was there to see him with it while she was hiding herself away in the shed and she couldn’t know it was missing either considering he doubted if she spent much time in her apartment at all recently. Even then, it had only been away from her place for at most a whole half an hour. Still, it felt like a dangerous object, something to keep out of sight until the last second. He passed the table where he and Regan had sat on one of their first dates months ago. Date-coffee. It was strange to think back to that, how awkward they were, how sure he was that she was human after the iron had no effect. He huffed out a sad, small laugh at the thought. Who knew he’d end up here, smuggling a banshee book into a cafe trying to find out what curse it might have placed on his fae girlfriend the night after they almost got killed by their possessed friend. All while said girlfriend was hiding herself away because of her banshee powers. He sat and waited, contemplating how absurd it all was in his mind when he saw Leah walk in, giving her a quiet wave to join him. “Thanks for coming,” he said as he pulled the book from out of his jacket. “This is it. There’s something wrong with it. I’m sure of it.”

There were a number of reasons why it was important for Leah to help Kaden figure out this book situation, but two stood clear and strong in her mind. One, acquiring new knowledge on a potentially cursed, enchanted, or otherwise supernaturally affected book was like candy to her as a Scribe. She’d brought a small notepad to take notes on the off chance she forgot anything important. And Two, and more importantly, if discovering the secrets to this book could help Regan be more comfortable and sure about who and what she was, then it would almost be wrong not to try and figure it out. Plus, it was just all so interesting. She walked the familiar route to Coffee Plus like she had many times before, a bit apprehensive about meeting Kaden alone in person for the first time. They’d briefly met at Bea’s party, but there were far too many people there for it to have been a proper introduction. Would he ask for a handshake? Would he discover her for what she was? The last two times she’d met someone at a restaurant for the first time, they left discovering secrets about her that she never planned on sharing. She spotted him quickly and easily, sitting down with a small wave and a smile. “Of course”, she said, her eyes immediately roaming the book the second he took it out. “May I?” she asked, barely waiting for an answer as she pulled the book toward her. She studied the front and back covers intently, her eyes roaming to try and find anything that might clue her into its secrets. “Was this the only book in that secret room?” she asked, not bothering to look up.

“Sure,” Kaden said as he handed the book off to her, his fingers lingering on it as she took it from him. He trusted Leah, despite knowing little about her and not really properly meeting until now. Even despite her views on hunters. She’d helped discover the drug in question that shrank Regan and knew to keep her species a secret. She was close friends with Bea and knew about her resurrection. He had to believe that if she could be trusted with those secrets, she could be more than trusted with this, whatever it was. It didn’t make letting go of the book any easier. It was a betrayal enough to take it out of Regan’s apartment without permission. Sharing secrets that weren’t even his to have… No, that wasn’t what he was trying to do. He was sure this book was cursed or wrong or dangerous. He was trying to help. And if Regan would understand, he would have told her or asked. But that wasn’t the case, so this was where things stood. Not to mention, she had enough on her mind. He needed to find a way to help. This was what he could manage. “There were a lot of other books in the room. Shelves lined with them. None of them were in English or latin or anything else I recognized, though.” His mind wandered towards the moment, the day after when they trashed the room. It was supposed to be cathartic. It was meant to help. The anger released and let go. Instead it was hollow and empty, like the bies skull before it was shattered on the ground. “We, uh, well I threw one of the bookcases and Regan didn’t care, she’d started it, in fact. I mean, not that but the throwing things.” They probably sounded insane. Maybe they were. “Anyway, she didn’t mind that. But when she went to tear the pages, she screamed. Which, in case you haven’t heard it, not fun. And when I picked it up, she looked like--” He pulled his mouth closed, unwilling to voice the thoughts in his head. A monster, she looked like a monster. “She tried to tear it away from me. But that was the last of it. Other than taking it back with her from the cabin. I, uh, I’ve been too afraid to open it on the way here.”

So far, Leah was proud of herself for neglecting to bring up their rather tearse conversation on the internet. Normally, she’d never meet alone with a self-proclaimed hunter, but Regan clearly needed help and answers, and if there were a chance that Leah could provide them, she was going to try. Imagining fireballing Kaden would just have to wait for another day. “If she was telling me about the same book, Regan mentioned it was in gaelic, but I’m not so sure”, she mused, her eyes skimming rapidly through the pages. She furrowed her eyebrows, closing the book once more to look over the cover. “It looks entirely nonsensical to me.” There was a chance she was wrong, of course. She didn’t know enough about Gaelic that she could be sure. If Kaden weren’t a goddamn hunter, they could have done this at the library and she could have taken a few copies. It would have been much easier to use the journals to do further research after he left. Would he notice if she snapped a few photos? She glanced up at him, slightly amused at his explanation. “Sounds like you two were participating in some good old fashioned destruction therapy, then? Not sure how productive it was to turn her family history into a rage room, but I can sympathize with needing to get some frustration out.” She turned the book over to look at the binding as she spoke, her eyes roaming carefully to catch any hint of an abnormality. “But this was the only book she went… wild over? ... for lack of a better word.” She pressed her lips together, letting out a slow breath through her nose. “When she reacted like that… did it look anything like it does when she, um… screams?”

“If it was in Gaelic it would make sense I guess. Given you know, ban--” Kaden started but coughed to cover up his last word. He almost forgot they were in public. “Well, you know.” It shouldn't have surprised Kaden that Regan had also reached out to Leah about the book. She’d come up with the answers for the Drink Me substance when no one else could. Hell, it was part of why Kaden reached out to her. A book about supernatural things that he couldn’t figure out? She seemed like the obvious choice. At the same time, he was almost surprised that she’d agreed to meet him after discovering what he was. There was a lot of contempt in her words about him, about what he was. He didn’t even fully know why. It sounded like she’d never talked to a single other hunter in her life the way she’d spoken. Still, apparently Regan was important enough to both of them to push things aside. “Nonsensical?” he asked, brows furrowed. “Do you not know Gaelic or…” He trailed off, leaning over to get a better look at the book as if his eyes on the page would help either of them figure out what was on it. His curiosity faded at her contempt. He wasn’t going to leave here without being judged. “Right. She started it,” he snapped back. “The only thing I destroyed was a fucking bies skull but by all means, judge away.” He practically wanted to rip the book away and walk out. He didn’t need this, didn’t need to feel this way on top of everything else going on. It was always like this with bleeding hearts. They spent so much time advocating that monsters were people too that they forgot that hunters were human. He sighed and leaned back in his chair and crossed his arms across his chest. This was for Regan. He could fucking deal with contempt for her. “Just that, yeah. Nothing else in the room set her off. And she tore a lot of it up.” He shifted a little uncomfortably in his seat at her next question. “Her eyes went black like when she’s having a vision or seeing a ghost. No black veins so not quite like a death scream, no. Wasn’t that intense.”

Leah pressed her lips together, nodding in understanding. She wasn’t ignorant about the subject of secrets, and thank god Kaden, despite his suspicious past, wasn’t either. She sighed, shaking her head as she continued to skim the book. “I don’t know Gaelic, at least not fluently. But I’d like to think I’ve studied the alphabet enough to at least make out a few words here and there.” She knew she sounded over confident in her knowledge about fae and supernatural altogether, but she wasn’t worried it would out her to Kaden as a scribe. Most thought they were dead, anyway. Her eyebrows raised as Kaden seemed to get frustrated, but she leaned back and let him defend himself. “I was just making an observation, is all. But I sense you’re picking up on my discomfort. I just think… the more things we can keep about Regan’s past, the better off she’ll be when she’s finally ready to learn about it all. But if you’re feeling guilty about something and projecting judgement, Kaden, that’s on you.” She sighed as she listened to his tale of what had happened with Regan, but the more he spoke, the more it reminded her about something she’d read about in the Scribe archives years ago. “Wait- black eyes, but no black veins? And less intense?” She sat up straighter, her eyes darting to the side as she tried to remember. Seemingly randomly, she pulled out her phone, scrolling through years and years of pictures to find what she was looking for. “A few years ago I...found a record of something similar” she said, gasping in success when she finally found the photo she was looking for. “I remember it annoying me even then, because, well, the writing in the book just didn’t make sense.” She showed Kaden the picture in her phone that she’d taken. It was a book that’d been kept in her archives for years, although it wasn’t part of their journals. The photo she’d taken was of a page, and though the letters looked similar to the ones in Regan’s book in front of them, it was nonsensical in it’s own way. There was reference to it in one of her journals, but she couldn’t quite remember all that it said. She did remember one thing, though. “I found out later that this book could only be read by fae…” There was no doubt, now, with all this evidence, that this book was connected to Regan’s status as a banshee.

“Sure sounded a lot like judgement to me,” Kaden grumbled. “And I’m not feeling guilty. You’re the one sitting there suggesting I desecrated her family history or some shit, like it was all my decision. But great, good to know that’s not judgement.” It was stupid. He didn’t need her to understand him or even like him let alone approve of his actions. Or Regan’s. That didn’t stop him from being annoyed by the whole thing. He was shocked he managed to keep from rolling his eyes. “Whatever, if it’s not Gaelic what the fuck is it?” he asked. Was she ignoring him by scrolling on her phone? Did she find him that fucking worthless that she coulnd’t even bother to-- Oh. She was talking about books. “You keep photos of records? How many have you kept?” His brow furrowed as she flipped through. Who kept track of books like that? Other than Rio. And maybe a-- She wasn’t, was she? His eyes narrowed a moment, as if squinting could provide him an answer or two. It didn’t. But she did, showing him the picture of a similar text. “Well, then. Guess that means we’re shit out of luck.” He sighed and sat back in his chair, arms crossed in front of his chest. He wasn’t sure if he was disappointed or what. Or why. No, he knew why. It was another disconnect, another distance from Regan. One more thing he couldn’t touch or understand or know. Another divide and difference between them. Right. “How’d you find out, anyway? About that other book?” He sighed and brushed his hands over the book. “That still doesn’t explain. Why she would-- She never went to hurt me before. Ever. Hell, she’d never go to hurt anyone. Not if she could help it.” The words felt like a pit in his stomach. She couldn’t help it then. Or in the morgue. What if she never-- His fingers gripped the edge of the cover a moment. He decided to flip it open, just to see, just to maybe catch a glimpse of something, anything that could-- AHHHHHHHHHH. Kaden jumped back out of his seat as a wail tore through the cafe. What was it? Where was it coming from? Shit shit shit. He cursed and mumbled to himself as he fumbled to get the book closed. Quickly. “Sorry, sorry,” he muttered, hoping the patrons weren’t staring too closely. Shit.

“Well again, if you’re perceiving a harmless observation as judgement, then maybe you need to look at yourself and figure out why.” Leah shot, sitting up straighter. “And, again, no judgment, but is that not exactly what the two of you were doing? Desecrating a bit of her family history? Therapeutic or not, the two of you will never get back any answers you may have lost that night.” It was not in Leah’s nature to destroy books or paintings or artifacts. Frankly, she didn’t understand why someone would want to do that sort of thing, rage releasing included. Information is power, and destroying the past meant that you could not learn from it. It was irresponsible. “I don’t always”, she said, watching him carefully. “Only if they interest me”, she elaborated vaguely, hoping that would suffice. “I’ve tried printing this picture more than once, but it always turns up blank. This wasn’t the book itself, but a reimagining of what it looked like. Whoever came across the book, for some reason, either couldn’t keep it or chose not too. And they didn’t copy it directly, either”. She sighed in defeat, sitting back in her chair. Something was playing in the back of her mind that she’d read about the book in her records, something important that she couldn’t remember. “I don’t remember”, she said, her eyebrows uncharacteristically high. “I think it was dumb luck, probably.” Leah thought about it, honestly and truly she did. Because she knew just as it wasn’t her nature to destroy books, it probably wasn’t in Regan’s nature to hurt people. So what had happened between she and Kaden and the book must have been out of her control.

She was just about to say exactly that, but the shrieks distracted her. Leah’s eyes widened and she stood up quickly, looking around at the other patrons before she sat back down quickly, embarrassed. It was all she could do not to hide her face once she realized it was coming from their table. It wasn’t until Kaden closed the book with a resounding slam that she realized where the awful noise had been coming from. “Kaden, what the fuck?” she asked, her eyes still traveling Coffee Plus for anymore wary onlookers. She was practically shrinking under the stares. But then, suddenly, the pieces were coming together, and the thought that was lingering in the back of her mind earlier came to the forefront. “A fae book...Kaden, it’s… we can’t read it, because it’s protected by fae magic. That’s why it looks like nonsense. That’s why it’s… screaming at us…”

Kaden still wasn’t convinced that she was impartial but he was going to let that point lie. Not without another roll of his eyes but all the same. “I broke a skull. And toppled a bookshelf. I don’t think that’s really going to be the deciding factor between getting answers and not. But what do I know,” he said with a small shrug, arms still crossed in front of his chest. “Seems like a lot of books interest you,” he said referring to how many pictures she seemed to flip through. The more he talked to her, the more and more she sounded like Rio. He wondered if they knew each other. They probably got along like peas in a pod. They could chat over books and discuss how much hunters sucked together. Wonder how it would go when she learned he was by all accounts a hunter himself. “Well that sounds suspicious,” he said, referring to the previous book. “That had to be magic of some kind, right? Books don’t just do that. You know, look like nonsense and cause, you know, what it did.” He then gestured to the current book sitting on the table. Still, it struck him that she was well versed in a lot of this, the supernatural. She wasn’t a witch as far as he could tell. Not a werewolf either, of course, or any sort of beast. She could be fae. The way she talked about banshees was with some distance but that didn’t rule out the rest. Guess he’d find out eventually. Maybe.

“I didn’t know it could do that,” he hissed, under his breath, watching the startled patrons all around him from the corners of his eyes. Shit, well that wasn’t exactly helpful in their goals to lay low. His heart was still pounding in his chest and the scream still rang in his ears, but Kaden was sure the noise had stopped. He kept his hand on top of the book, making sure it stayed closed, almost as if anticipating something to jump out of it and force its way through the pages at any moment. “Uh, in case you’re wondering, it sounded a little like a banshee. Nowhere near as bad, though.” It was a loud scream, but it didn’t have the ear piercing pitch and power that came when Regan screamed. Not even close. Not that the patrons at Coffee Plus seemed to appreciate right at that moment. “Wait, you think it’s fae magic?” His brow furrowed and his fingers brushed along the cover of the book a few more times. Guess she wasn’t fae, then. “That seems too easy. And it doesn’t explain the rest. The, well you know, the anger.” Something just didn’t seem right yet, like there was an answer they were missing. “Are you sure it’s not cursed? I mean, it screamed at us.”

“Well, I run the library, so… I wouldn’t be doing my job right if books didn’t interest me,” Leah said as way of explanation. Kaden seemed to be inching into dangerous territory, and if he thought she was going to reveal herself to a hunter of all people, he had another thing coming. “No, you’re right, it was definitely a supernatural book. The question I have is, how similar are this book and the one here in front of us? If I find more answers about the one in my records, I might be able to help more here, in a way.”

If Leah could have shrunk into herself to hide, she would have. She glared at the book, as if it were sentient enough to control the shrieks that had just come out of it. She huffed out a frustrated breath, though the new information from Kaden was nice. So that was what a banshee sounded like, then… it was too bad she hadn’t been using her phone to record it. “I think that it sounded like a banshee scream to you all but confirms it”, she said with a resolute nod, pulling the book toward her again but being extra careful to keep it closed. “Most cursed books aren’t known for their screaming, but rather for the more subtle effects they have on the reader. This one’s not even giving us a chance to read”, she explained. Pushing the book gently back toward Kaden, she studied him carefully. “There is a chance that it’s connected to her, somehow, and maybe interacting with the book sort of activated it for her? The anger could have been an extension of everything activating. Or, I don’t know, really. If it’s an extension of who she is as a fae, there might be an innate, feral part of her that needs to keep it safe. It might help to encourage her to read it and explore it. Right now she might be the only one who can unlock it’s answers.”

“Oh,” Kaden said, voice small. “I didn’t know that.” Didn’t even know what she did. Made him kind of a shit person, didn’t it? At least he felt that way. Wait, it still didn’t explain how she knew about the supernatural. He sighed and supposed she was friends with the Vurals. Might be hard to keep it from her for that long. He reached and rubbed the back of his neck. Maybe he just shouldn't question it if she was willing to help. Her disdain for hunters still concerned him but there was really nothing to do about it now.

At that moment, Kaden had stopped caring what the patrons of the cafe thought. His eyes were on the book as she spoke, telling him that there was no way for either of them to read it or see what was inside, no way to know why it did what it did to Regan. “So it’s not cursed,” he said, running his hands over the book again. “And not dangerous to her. Just us, I guess,” he said with a defeated sigh. This book could be connected to Regan? A part of her. A part of her he couldn’t touch or even see or be a part of. Another for the pile, he supposed. “It was probably stupid to hope I could help,” he muttered mostly to himself. She needed answers. And he couldn’t give her any. He couldn’t help. Not like that, at least. He was so out of his depths he wondered if he was one step away from drowning. He wondered if he should just stop trying and back off. Somehow that felt like giving up, though. “Sorry if I wasted your time,” he said, eyes finally locking back with Leah’s. “Do you want me to grab you something? Coffee or tea? Least I can do.” Considering this was a bust.

“It doesn’t seem to be” Leah confirmed, licking her lips. Something about Kaden’s defeat was tugging at her heart, despite his proud status as a hunter, and she chastised herself for sympathizing with him. This year more than ever, she was learning that there was a lot more nuance when it came to hunters than she was willing to admit, but that didn’t erase that they were awful people for harming others simply because of their species. Still, it was obvious he cared about Regan- obvious that he wanted to help her and do right by her. “I don’t think it’s stupid to hope”, she countered after a while, leveling with him. “And I don’t think this was a waste of time, either. We might have figured out what this was, right? Even if it wasn’t what you thought… it could still help her. Once she’s ready to learn about it, it could help her a lot.” Maybe Deirdre would be able to unlock the secrets of the book, or at least… aid Regan in doing it for herself. “Maybe...if you know of other Banshees in town, maybe they could offer up a translation of the cover, at least. Regardless, what you’re doing here… trying to help her? That’s anything but a waste. The most interesting answers are often the ones hardest to find.” She slid her phone back into her pocket, knowing she’d spend much of that night scouring the scribe journals for any other records of fae books that might help the situation at hand. His offer stunned her, and she looked up at Kaden, pressing her lips together. “I’m not much for tea or coffee,” she explained, shaking her head. It probably sounded incredibly rude and dismissive, especially considering where they had last left off on the internet. “Perhaps a pastry?”, she offered after a beat, smiling gently. “Their chocolate croissants are to die for. Especially when they’re heated up.”

Kaden gave her a small nod. “Yeah, I guess so. I mean, at least know it’s not cursed. So. That’s progress.” He wished he felt as hopeful as she did. His fingers brushed over the spine once more before he pulled his hand away to rest by his side. Maybe he should have just let this whole thing lie all along. Hope was starting to hurt at this point. He wasn’t sure he could help or make anything better. Maybe he wasn’t meant to. Maybe he was nothing more than a distraction, something standing in the way of her training. He wasn’t sure where that left him. Didn’t matter right now. The book at least wasn’t a problem. “Yeah, I’ll let D--” Fuck. He was so used to talking about banshees with people who he knew were in the know of the two solitary banshees in town. “I’ll let the other banshee in town know. Or something.” He wondered how much of what was in that book Deirdre already knew and understood. Most of it, he’d wager. He wondered if this book really was important or not. And if it was, how stupid was he for bringing it to a cafe without her permission. Shit. “Well I hope you’re right anyway. That this is worth it.” The other patrons in the cafe sure didn’t think their endeavor was worth it. They were still getting the odd stare here and there, people trying to figure out what the scream was for. He gave some withering looks, hoping it would make them back off but in this town? It was hard to truly frighten people. “Oh, uh, okay.” Maybe he had misinterpreted and she really was only here to help Regan and nothing else. That was fine, he could take the hint. He was about to get up and walk away when she piped up again. His brow furrowed before he gave her a small nod. “Pastry, huh? Take it you’re not a fan of caffeine in that case. Alright. I can grab a pain au chocolat. They are pretty good. Best in town. But you know, they don’t compare to the ones back home. I’ve wanted to try and see if I can make any better. Worth a shot, right?” He offered her a small smile before standing to get their food and beverages. “Thanks, though. I appreciate the help.”

#wickedswriting #chatzy #writing #leah #phoenixleah #one scream or two

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angryhausfrau-writes · 3 years

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I Travel Troubled Oceans: Chapter 5 - In Which Jack Attempts to Become a Semi-Respectable Member of Polite Society and Charles Succeeds in Becoming a Completely Disreputable Trophy Boyfriend

Max and Mr. Scott – probably mostly Mr. Scott, who still has his finger on the pulse of London real estate in a way that's almost frighteningly omniscient - somehow land Jack and company a lovely house that's been subjected to a series of absolutely atrocious renovations and sat empty since the late nineties. So Charles and Anne spend the first few weeks of laying low pulling out all of the hideous carpeting and knocking down the terrible wood paneling – and in one case, an entire (non load-bearing) wall, which they attack with sledge hammers and far, far too much glee. And Mary, bless her, spends the week sweeping and scrubbing and peeling wall paper. Until the house sits an empty shell, stripped down to the stately bones that lay beneath the shag carpeting and twee plasterwork.

Jack spends his weeks learning to play tennis.

He hadn't had much chance to learn growing up, being an impoverished guttersnipe and all, so he's got a lot of ground to catch up. Because, see, the counselor – the one who'd sided with the Spanish over Lord Hamilton, allowing for his final downfall, the one who controls all of London's planning permission, the one Max needs an in with. He absolutely adores tennis.

He adores it with all the fervor of a middle class man who'd seen it as the gentleman's game growing up. And now that he's a gentleman – by wealth and importance, if not by birth, which still stings him, bitterly, and is the reason for his overcompensation – then by God, he's going to play tennis.

And since Jack's first job from Max is to get the counselor on side, he's got to learn to play tennis too. Well enough that whatever skill level the counselor actually has, Jack can play to it, keep the games close. Just barely beat the counselor or just barely lose, but keep it close enough that he keeps coming back for more. Which takes considerably more skill than simply learning the game and playing to the best of his ability.

So Jack practices and practices and practices, all with the help of a draconian ex-professional instructor Max found for him at a mid-level club nowhere near where the counselor plays for the entire month his house is torn down around his ears.

Meanwhile, in the real world, Eleanor and Woodes Rogers's world is coming down around their ears as well. Anne pays Max enough visits that she's always flush with the latest gossip – the sort of thing that goes beyond the polite, antiseptic description that has been in the papers. And the long and short of it is that Woodes Rogers is ruined. Fired from his job, disowned from his family, and, most importantly, the rich person version of penniless.

So he just doesn't have any resources to come after them, if he even suspected anything. And he'll be lucky if he doesn't end up in jail because apparently Eleanor's creative approach to accounting has been helping him evade taxes for a good long while as well. And now that he's too poor to be protected – and his reputation too tarnished – he's looking at the possibility of a five stretch.

Eleanor will probably avoid seeing the inside of a cell, mores the pity. She's too cunning to be taken down with her husband. But her social capital is destroyed, along with a good portion of her money, used to bail out Woodes Rogers with the various criminal elements he was indebted to. And with this new revelation of her less than legal exploits, it means that she's been let go from her position as well – not because she'd done anything they hadn't asked her to do for them, of course. But because they can't bear to have even a whiff of scandal or people might stop trusting in the sanctity of the British financial system. And we can't be having that.

At any rate, all of this means that Jack is able to move in the open again, which is good because he needs to start establishing himself as a quasi-legitimate member of polite society sooner rather than later. So that second month, in addition to playing tennis, Jack starts an Instagram account detailing the renovations on his house.

There's pictures of Jack choosing furniture and wallpaper and fabric swatches and rugs. There's pictures of the interior of the house, featuring Anne as Jack's PA, scowling and holding a clipboard menacingly. And Charles appears frequently as Jack's muse/boytoy, posed artfully shirtless and oiled up and muscular.

Mary, as his new social media manager, has had a lot of good ideas about how to sell Jack as a flirty and flighty and nearly terminally stupid fashion designer and she and Jack and Max have worked hard to make him appear harmless. Someone with money and influence but who was too wrapped up in pretty clothes and pretty boys to ever use it. Someone who could approach the counselor – and offer him valuable access into the upper echelons of society – without appearing threatening to him like Lord Hamilton had been.

And the bitch of it is is that it works.

Jack applies for and gets a membership to the councilor's exclusive health club – and the approval committee explicitly comments on the settee he'd had reupholstered in yellow silk for the upstairs sitting room in his induction hearing, so at least someone's looking at his Instagram. And he begins playing tennis there, familiarizing himself with the layout and the staff and the other patrons. So he can just ever so coincidentally grab the court opposite Councilor Featherstone during his weekly Saturday morning game.

They don't talk much during the game itself, but afterwards. Afterwards...

There's the usual handshakes and good games and shows of good sportsmanship from both sides. Jack had just narrowly, ever so narrowly, eked out a victory. But the councilor had more than made him work for it.

So Jack gets invited to a rematch next week – a rematch he'll make sure the councilor wins, just as narrowly. Because you've got to leave them wanting. You've got to leave them hungry for it. And they won't be if they win the first time. But they'll give up if they don't win the second and third. So you've got to walk that fine line of wins and losses until the whole thing's a habit and they couldn't walk away even if they wanted to.

That's what made Jack such a success as a pusher – not his product, but his approach. His way of knowing people. And the councilor is so very eager to be known.

Certainly he starts off with polite inquiries into how Jack's settling into London. Questions about the house and the neighborhood and the progress of the renovation.

But Jack is quick to talk about how difficult he's finding London to navigate, compared to the Bahamas, where they've decided he'll be from. How stand-offish people can be. How it feels like they snub him every time they hear him speak, or they find out that he doesn't know so-and-so from such-and-such school.

Oh, he doesn't come out and complain about it or anything. Just hints at it. Plants little seeds for Counselor Featherstone's own complaints to blossom forth.

And he has complaints aplenty. How it's such an Old School Chums crowd. How many incompetent idiots run various departments based on legacy rather than any actual ability. How put upon Featherstone is by all of them. How they all ask him for favors and expect to give nothing in return – because he should be overjoyed they're even deigning to talk to him and why wouldn't he want to do things for them, everyone wants to do things for them.

And Jack makes the appropriate noises of understanding and commiseration without actually volunteering very much about himself. Because that's the other half of the sell. Make the mark think that you're their friend. That they know you as well as they know themselves so they'll spill all the dark – or in Featherstone's case, mildly frustrated – parts of their soul. Make yourself their confidant, the one they can always turn to, because you think just alike on all the important points. So if you ever disagree, well, it must be my dear friend Jack in the right, he would never steer me wrong.

Of course, you can't do it all at once. It has to be done slowly and carefully, so that the mark never cottons on. But, as born out by Jack shaking Councilor Featherstone's sweaty hand and promising same time next week, he's certainly made a start on it. So that ought to make Max happy.

Jack wipes the sweat from his brow with an obscenely high threadcount towel provided by the club and goes off to assess Charles's progress on the other half of Max's request. Because while Jack has been honing his tennis game and scoping out the club, Charles has been there as well, spending mornings in the gym and afternoons sunbathing by the pool in the smallest bathing suit they'll allow him to wear. Which is quite small indeed. And it's therefore no surprise that Charles has accrued rather a crowd of rich bored socialites around his little flotilla of deck chairs, drawn like moths to a sexy, sexy flame.

Charles just dangerous enough to be interesting. But safe, because he's taken and (presumably) gay. Just a sexy backdrop to their boring, catty lives. Able to blend right into the scenery.

Meanwhile, Charles listens to - and dutifully recounts to Max – all the idle gossip he becomes privy to due to his position as living ornament. Because, to Max, information is worth its weight in gold. And you wouldn't believe what kind of things you can overhear simply by being ignorable.

Plus, Jack thinks as he sets his bag down next to Charles's deck chair and he looks up at Jack from behind his knock-off Coach sunglasses, Charles is having far, far too much fun playing Jack's boyfriend.

As evidenced by him sprawling his thighs even more obscenely open and practically purring, “Hello, darling.”

An obscene mockery of Jack's own favored greeting. And a slight that will not stand.

Jack kneels between Charles's spread legs. “Hello yourself, Chaz.” Jack tilts his chin up for a brief peck on the lips. “Have a good day, dear?”

Charles further escalates things by pulling Jack down onto his lap and nuzzling against his ear. “Better now that you're here, darling.”

And Jack's going to have to do something drastic if Charles keeps this shit up.

But before Jack can retaliate, escalate, they're interrupted by tittering laughter.

“Aren't they just the cutest?” one of the rich ladies coos.

There's general agreement amongst the ladies. “And so fashionable,” one of them says, giving Jack's tennis outfit a once-over.

“Perks of the job darling,” Jack says lightly.

And then one of them – the leader, if the obscene amount of designer and diamonds she's wearing – says, “You both simply must come to my bachelorette party.” She studies her nails faux casually. “It's going to be a real rager.”

This is exactly the kind of thing Charles has been waiting for since Max assigned him this stupid job. And getting on Max's good side is infinitely preferable to even her neutral regard. So Charles'll be damned if he lets it slip through his fingers – even if he has to play some boring bitch's gay best friend for a whole night.

He tips his fruity umbrella drink in her direction and looks at her over the salted rim. “Sounds like my kind of party.”

Jack resigns himself to a night of drunken socialites vomiting in the back of a limo. “We'll be there, darling. Never fear.”

It'll be an opportunity to move some blow, if nothing else.

#black sails #i travel troubled oceans #jack rackham #charles vane #charles vane/jack rackham #max/anne #maxanne

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grapefruitsketches · 4 years

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Untamed Spring Fest - Day 10: Rainbow

1,985 Words

POV Wen Qing, Wen Siblings, Canon-Compliant, Bittersweet Ending

Rainbows used to be as common to Wen Qing as birdsong on a spring morning. Whenever the sun shone on the many misty days on Dafan Mountain, she could count on seeing one as long as she looked in just the right place at the right time. Still, she never failed to be excited by them, excitedly showing Wen Ning (who seemed to have learned to walk in part to be able to keep up with her), but also any adult - be they parent, aunt, uncle, or grandparent, who happened to be nearby. Because of this, she soon had even more chances to see rainbows. Her affinity for them drove her older relatives to find her whenever they happened to see one, always pleased to be the cause of a smile on the child’s young but already serious face.

Her happiest memories had always included rainbows. Wen Ning had been born just as a rainstorm ended, leaving a near perfect arc of colour in the sky as she had called him “A-Ning” for the first time.

It had been when she was showing Wen Ning her favourite spot - a waterfall that had a guaranteed misty rainbow so long as there was sun - that Wen Ning had reached for her hand, held it tight, and said “Jiejie” as his first words.

She had been confident that her first attempt at a tonic, designed to sooth an upset stomach, would work well when a rainbow had appeared through the window as she finished bottling it.

She was therefore not surprised when a cloudy day, one not even allowing her favourite spot enough light to form the beautiful spectrum, was the one that had invited Wen Ruohan into their village.

They had all initially assumed that he had come to seek their medical expertise. He had young children, and it was well known that the darkness and heat of Nightless City often left Wen children susceptible to all sorts of ailments. But he had instead asked to see their temple, and from there, everything had gone wrong.

Wen Qing had been told many times since then that she should be grateful that she had lived in a village so close to a Yin Iron fragment, that it had afforded her and her brother the opportunity to live in Nightless City, the home of the top clan in the cultivator world. She had been sharp enough even then to know neither to believe nor challenge this fact - but trusting Wen Ruohan would never have crossed her mind anyway. Her memories of what had happened in the temple were hazy in places, but the image of Wen Ruohan taking something (the Yin Iron, as she learned later) from the heart of the statue, of Wen Ning’s spiritual cognition being forcibly taken by the statue, of her family and loved ones being swept aside fiercely by the enormous figure. Those images were burned in her memory. Her loyalties could never truly lie with their new guardian, as a man who could so brashly cause such pain to her family.

But Wen Qing had maintained hope - not because she thought that life in Nightless City could bring anything but fear and grief, and not because Wen Ruohan had promised that her family would go unharmed if she went with him. She couldn’t believe any of that.

She had believed that it would be ok because, as they took the step that meant they had officially left Dafan Mountain and their happy childhoods behind, Wen Qing had squeezed her brother’s hand and turned to smile reassuringly at him. He was still unconscious, had been since leaving the temple. But while she didn’t have his beaming face to reassure her, there was a perfect, seven coloured arc sweeping the sky over his head.

And so she knew they would survive this.

There were no rainbows in Nightless City. She was kept inside, ready to be called to Wen Ruohan’s side at a moment’s notice. Even when Wen Qing left the city, she would often go by carriage or by night. She would be lucky to even glimpse the sun (ironically, she had thought as she grew older), never mind a rainbow. There were the occasional hints of these colours on some occasions - the day where she had snuck out to hide behind a bush, and saw Wen Ning shoot three consecutive bullseyes stood out in particular - but there were no longer any guarantees, no older relatives thinking to fetch her when the sun peeked through at the end of a storm.

Gusu had been a refreshing change. With its waterfalls and wide-open spaces, she had enjoyed her chances to walk the back hills, even if she had a nefarious purpose for doing so. At the same time, this kind of change could be dangerous, she mused as she watched Wen Ning nod eagerly to Wei Wuxian’s every word as the Jiang disciple boasted some exaggerated version of his most recent antics to a group of disciples.

She had been locked underground for the better part of three months. She had no one left to rely on but she knew there was still one who relied on her. She had taken the comb, fled the Supervisory Office, and tried to track down any evidence of where her brother had been taken.

Wen Chao had been all too pleased to share the details of the raid on Dafan Mountain - under the guise of sympathy, despite his obvious mocking tone. No matter how petty he may be, he could not be seen to be cheering on the efforts of the other clans’ alliance. Wen Qing had known that the raid was where her search should start. Disposing of a Wen was as easy as tossing them in front of any other clan right now. So where had her family been taken? As she looked, she learned terrible things. Things the Wen clan had done. Things the allied clans had done. She paused where she could to offer rudimentary medical assistance, but she had neither supplies nor the ability to treat the dozens, soon hundreds, then thousands of victims she met along the trail of the warring clans. Most of the injuries were on people who didn’t seem like they would know how to sheath a sword, never mind wield one. Some would have been too old or too young to even carry one.

She had been following a group she was told might be headed towards a Wen camp, hoping that she might find her brother there, when she had seen some familiar faces among the herd. Granny.

The old woman was limping, and Wen Qing noticed with horror the flapping of the backs of her robes, which said more than Wen Qing wanted to know about the force of the whips being used against her. She saw Jiang purples, Lan blues, Jin golds, and Nie greens. The only Wen red was found in some of the robes, but mostly the blood, of the ones the soldiers lead.

No longer concerned for her personal safety, she snuck into the group as they rested that night. She had gently woken her grandmother up and applied the tincture she had brought with her to the woman’s wounds. Granny Wen had smiled gratefully, but had stroked Wen Qing’s cheek in concern, “I thought you, at least, might have gotten away.”

Wen Qing did not know how to answer this, but was saved from doing so as the old woman’s hand fell gently off her face. Granny Wen had fallen into a much-needed sleep. Wen Qing couldn’t bring herself to move the woman off of her lap, and also knew it would be far more difficult to sneak out past the guards than to sneak in. So she stayed.

In the morning, the addition of just one more Wen dog went unnoticed by the soldiers, who never looked too hard at them anyway. Wen Qing stayed by Granny Wen’s side, supporting her whenever she stumbled and taking the hits whenever a soldier felt they were moving too slowly for his liking.

She understood that her rash decision might hurt Wen Ning - that as one of the prisoners, she didn’t have nearly the freedom of movement she might need or the access to the supplies she might want in her efforts to rescue him. As a woman of logic, of course she knew all of this. But still. She couldn’t help but feel a childish ray of hope when she noticed a rainbow arching over the path before them, one that told her that despite it all, she was still going in the right direction, that she would see her brother again.

Wen Qing was broken. Her arms, her core, her body felt numb, but she could still feel the memory of her brother’s limp form on her arms. She felt, even as she marched steadily onwards, the faint, slow beat of the blood still rushing through his veins even though the parts of him that made him A-Ning seemed to be gone.

She didn’t think this rain would ever stop. She didn’t want it to. For the world to move on past this would mean that it had all meant nothing, wouldn’t it? It would mean that she had failed. She had tried to protect her brother only for him to have been filled to the brim with resentful energy - the very opposite of who her brother was.

Caught up in her thoughts, and focused on the dark form of her brother, she almost missed it. But as they passed through Yiling towards a worryingly familiar mass of dark energy and dead trees, the rain stopped. Her gaze swept across the skies, more out of habit than anything else. There, unbelievably, as part of the last blue sky she thought she might ever see, was the familiar sight of a rainbow.

She and her brother had made their promise, were sure that this was the next right step, but Wen Qing still had her doubts over whether it meant anything beyond its righteousness. She knew that self-sacrifice was never a guarantee of security for her people. It never had been, it never would be. And this time. She bit her lip, staring at her feet as she focused on putting one foot in front of the other, she was not just bargaining with her and, more importantly, her brother’s life, but instead, forfeiting them. There would be no rescue effort, no warning the right person at the right time of the danger posed to her people, no swooping in at the last moment with a lifesaving melody or treatment. This was it.

“Jiejie?” the soft voice came from her right, from the one she would do anything for, the one she had done everything for. She hummed in acknowledgment, for the first time not being able to pretend, even for him, that she was alright.

“Jiejie, look,” the voice insisted.

She looked up.

She blinked in disbelief at the bright sky. Maybe, she dared to hope, maybe, he would be ok.

Curved over the mountain housing Carp Tower was a rainbow. It was incomplete, to be sure, a right half missing a left, but it was there.

She felt a swell of hope, of grief. She knew that this would be her last rainbow, and by all accounts, should be Wen Ning’s as well. But as she looked at the sign, the one symbol which, beyond all reason and logic, had always been right about when there was hope, she finally felt able to turn to look at her brother. Despite all evidence to the contrary, despite the doomed mission they were on, she felt sure that for Wen Ning, there would be more rainbows to come.

#untamed spring fest #the untamed #cql #wen qing #wen ning #wen siblings #my writing

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johannstutt413 · 4 years

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The Doctor sat patiently in the chair as Warfarin went about the preparations for his weekly Oripathy examination. As a scientist (in a way) himself, knowing that the renowned Dr. Blood was willing to perform these routine examinations was humbling - after all, the advancements in hematology with minimal assistance…Of course, some of that might be thanks to her vampirism, but that had never bothered him.

“Everything is in place,” she announced amidst the Doctor’s contemplations. “You’re ready as well, I assume?”

“Correct...Warfarin, can I ask you a personal question?”

As she walked over to him with a needle, Warfarin nodded. “Of course.”

“I understand that you often drink blood from bags,” he mused, “but without them, you’d have to drink directly from the subject, if I’m not mistaken?”

“You’re not...If you wish to continue this discussion, maybe it should wait until I’ve drawn the necessary sample.”

The Doctor acquiesced. “Sure. Can I ask a different question?”

“Quite inquisitive today, aren’t you?” She sighed as she delicately stuck the needle into his arm. “Usually my patients refuse to converse, doing their best not to look terrified - or, of course, they’re incapacitated, but that’s neither here or there. What else are you wondering?”

“I was looking through the disciplinary documentation, and apparently you’re not allowed to come near me in a non-medical context for some reason...could you tell me anything about that?”

Warfarin took a sharp breath. “Another question that should wait a moment.”

“As you wish.” He watched her as she stared at the needle, a strange look in her eyes. “Hmm.”

“What is it?”

The Doctor smiled. “Nothing that can’t wait.”

“Well then.” She removed the needle and set a clump of absorbent material over the now-leaking hole. “Pressure. A few more minutes, if you don’t mind.”

“Of course.” His hand brushed hers for a moment...It was surprisingly warm, despite the rumors.

When Warfarin returned with a bandage, she seemed nervous to the Doctor. “Compression applied. Normally this would mean you must leave my office immediately, but as this contact is being made of your own volition, it should be okay. Perhaps, to be safe, we should start with the second question, so you understand the risks.”

“Risks?” Light danced behind the Doctor’s eyes. “Warfarin, what do you mean?”

“The restraining order was put in place because...because I want your blood, Doctor.” She took a seat on a rolling stool next to the patient’s chair, her hands pressing into her lap.

He leaned forward. “Is that unusual? You sustain yourself on blood and have devoted yourself to researching its properties as both a Sarkazian scientist and a sort of vampiric sommelier, if I’m not mistaken.”

“Sommeli-” Shock joined the mix of emotions in her glances. “You read those papers?”

“Sarkazians interest me greatly - the variety of body types would suggest you’re not a single race after all, but a coalition of different races classified as such by the fearful and unscientific, and the vampire branch in particular...Besides, your opinion is important to me, both in scientific fields and other things.”

Warfarin averted her eyes. “This must be a result of your amnesia, Doctor, because I don’t believe you could feel this way if you knew all the things I attempted-”

“Let me guess.” The Doctor stepped out of the patient’s chair and perched himself on another stool, closer to the vials of blood, which he moved back to Warfarin as she once again avoided looking at him. “Despite your best efforts to restrain yourself, there’s some chemical combination in my circulatory system that triggers a primal response from you - you have to have a taste, but you know that once that first drop crosses the threshold, there would be nothing to stop you from draining me dry, and yet the sheer force of this urge pushed you to acts that go against Rhodes Island’s ethical policies. The old me, or perhaps those in charge of ensuring his safety, saw this as too great a risk to my health, and so they prohibited all unnecessary contact between us. How much of that is true?”

“...All of it. If only I could isolate the compound that makes you smell so delicious- no, no, I shouldn’t think like that. I know I wouldn’t be able to contain myself.”

He smiled. “You’re doing a good job of it now, aren’t you?”

“I...” She forced herself to look at him. “Doctor, I think you should leave.”

“And I think I should stay. My first question remains - how do you feed from a person directly?”

Warfarin was silent for a moment before she started stamping her feet against the ground. “No, no, no, this isn’t happening, this isn’t happening!”

“Warfarin.” His voice was authoritative but coaxing, as if he were trying to convince a child to relinquish a toy. “Warfarin, it’s okay. Just answer the question for me.”

“I would use my teeth to cut into somewhere on your body, preferably hairless, and lick and suck on the wound as it bleeds. As my name suggests, my saliva is a natural anticoagulant...Doctor, please go. This teasing is too much for me to handle.”

He rolled close enough to grab her hand. “It’s not teasing, Warfarin. I want to know what I’m signing up for.”

“Signing up?” Her eyes widened. “Doctor, have you not been listening?”

“You seem to have forgotten what I can do; if your actions become life-threatening, I am more than capable of removing the danger. I trust you to know both my limits and yours, though.”

Warfarin simply stared. “Why? What gives you such confidence in me?”

“It’s simple, really - I know your work.” He moved closer with each sentence. “I know how much your body will let you drain from me, and it’s not enough to be harmful.” Inches from her face at this point. “And most importantly, I find the idea of you feeding from me so attractive that I can’t force myself away.” Saying that, the Doctor went in for the kill, kissing her square on the lips.

She wasn’t just warm - she was feverishly hot. Rather than reciprocate, Warfarin pushed him away, their stools amplifying the force and leaving them on opposite sides of the office.

“I can’t.” She weakly asserted.

“Can’t or won’t?” He started rolling back towards her. “What’s stopping you? I’m willing, and we’d both enjoy it, so what keeps you wanting to hold back?”

Warfarin shook her head. “If I let the pleasure of feeding become entangled with romance, I’ll end up like the others of my kind - insatiable, relentless predators who commit unspeakable acts to keep their cold hearts feeling some kind of adrenaline rush.”

“You seem pretty warm to me.”

“Stop it! I’m serious!” She crossed her arms. “This is as much for your own good as it is mine.”

The Doctor glanced at the door and back to her. “You can’t simply use me as your sole meal provider?”

“I need to drink three liters of blood in a day to maintain normal functions. That would kill you.”

“What about if you synthesized artificial blood using mine as the model?” He smiled. “I know you could do that with the facilities on base.”

Warfarin sighed. “You are pushing far too much for this to happen for you to be in a healthy state of mind-”

“I’m not.”

“Huh?” She blinked. “You know you’re in an excited state, then?”

The Doctor, his usual uniform hanging from the door, wearing a red T-shirt, couldn’t hide anything from her at this point. “You’ve brought me to this excited state, Warfarin. Now that I’ve had a taste of you, I don’t want to stop.”

“Doctor...Now you understand, then.”

“Just- just one more kiss, please, that’s all I’m asking for.” He grabbed his head in his hands. “Just the one, and I promise, I’ll-”

Warfarin stood from her stool, growing agitated herself. “You feel it now, don’t you? The inexplicable desire, the primal imperative, the cravings. It’s unbearable, isn’t it?”

“Just...just one more...please...”

“I have been fighting the urge for months while you were in that clinic in Chernobog, forcing myself to stay here while your body was just lying there, hooked up to IVs and all sorts of life support.” She wrung her hands. “It would have been so easy, so so easy to just take what I wanted, but I kept my distance for your sake. You’ve kissed me before, you know.”

He shook his head. “Impossible, I’d remember something like this.”

“Through complete loss of identity to the point of having to relearn how to use a computer? I’m not surprised you forgot, considering how much you struggled the first and second times. The third was less coercive, but by then, they had you under lock and key...Now, you come to me, offering yourself on a silver platter, afflicted with the same curse of desire I’ve felt for years, and you expect me to relent so easily?”

“You don’t have to drink my blood, then,” he muttered, “just let me hold you, caress you, feel your heat against my skin...”

Warfarin smiled. “To think this is the reward for my patience. Doctor, I’m offering you one more chance to escape.”

“Escape what?!” The Doctor leapt to his feet, hands balled into fists. “Go back to my daily life a tortured soul? Hmm? Are you so sadistic that you want me to suffer for the harm another, more foolish personality in this body caused you? Could you be so cruel after the oaths you’ve taken? Could you?!”

“I could be...oh, who am I kidding.” She pounced, picking him up and tossing him onto the patient bed and following shortly thereafter.

The delight in his eyes was infectious. “Finally, you’ve come to your senses!”

“Oh, no, Doctor.” There was no mistaking the hungry stare now. “I’ve completely lost them. All thanks to you.”

Considering what happened that afternoon, the fact that the Doctor was able to walk out afterwards with nothing but a dull headache spoke to his resilience; the further reality that he left to carry Warfarin off to his room announced the breakdown that had already begun. This was a star-crossed love if ever there had been one...and somehow, for all the catastrophizing the two of them would do over the next week as they debated coming clean, things turned out alright. Kal’tsit was reluctant to revoke the restraining order, but after the Doctor’s reaction to this news was noticeably more dangerous to his health then the alternative, she assigned him a counselor and relented. Warfarin became his personal assistant, continuing her research from his office, and those who knew her said that she was substantially more satisfied with life. Somehow, they salvaged a happy ending from something so accursed...

This Doctor’s tale is a cautionary one - after all, most Sarkaz vampires are far less noble in their intentions and means.

#arknights #warfarin (arknights)#this is why monster girls are dangerous #you don't need the suck that much trust me #arknights fic

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annaw8799 · 4 years

Text

Newsies: Of All the Things that I Don’t Know Prologue

Part of a bigger story I’ve been working on with my OC Katherine Moore and our boys Spot Conlon and Jack Kelly. Please circulate and tell me what you think :-)

Jack Kelly had been anything but boring in his pursuit of Katherine Moore, the Pearl Street druggist’s comely sixteen year old daughter. And although time and again the dark-haired, sprite of a girl had dismissed his advances with an eye roll, she had still found something strangely charismatic and endearing about the overly confident newsboy. It had certainly helped that he had readily offered her compliments, detailing her beauty and singular charm, though she had only laughed at these flashy attempts to woo her, ending these interactions with a clearly resounding “no” each time. But even she could not deny the smile that began to grow on her lips when he would appear the very next day with more of the same.

Katherine’s mother and father had also taken quick notice of Jack's sudden interest in their eldest daughter, and had not been shy in showing their displeasure. There had been gentle “tuts” from her mother, Effie, in response to her strong-willed daughter’s spirited banter with the ragged-looking boy, and stern stares from her mustached father, Edward, at the sight of Jack loitering at or around their family pharmacy. But because of Katherine’s natural inclination toward independence, and her parent’s long-standing history of easy distractibility and poor supervision, Jack was allowed to pursue her with little to no real deterrence.

Katherine had of course noted her parent’s unease with Jack, and had added this as further evidence in support of her natural inclination to refuse him. But, as the weeks had gone by, she had found herself unable to stop thinking about him. And there he had been, day after day, not giving her a chance to forget. Thus, Jack Kelly eventually received the answer he had been seeking, unbeknownst to Mr. and Mrs. Moore, and a deal had been struck between he and Katherine. She had agreed to give the Manhattaner a few hours of her time, and in return, Jack would finally leave her be if she remained wholly unimpressed.

So on one cool fall day in early October, Jack had led the way to a restaurant named Tibby's, a gentlemanly manner in his air, as his arm had linked through Katherine’s somewhat skeptical limb and he had suavely opened the door for his lovely date.

"Ey, Katie, what doya wanna eat?"

Jack had boisterously smiled at the pretty green-eyed girl as he had posed his query, a hesitant smirk appearing on Katherine’s lips in turn.

She had cocked an eyebrow before coyly stating, “I thought I told you that I’m not fond of nicknames.” But upon noting his dismissive headshake, she had rolled her eyes and continued, “And I didn’t know you were planning on treating me to lunch. That is surprisingly thoughtful of you.”

His smile had been unwavering as he had replied, “Only the best for you, dollface.”

She had chuckled slightly to herself, musing, “I suppose I can stay for a short lunch. I am quite a fan of the roast beef here.”

“Roast beef it is then,” he had said, smirking back down at her. And upon walking up to the counter, he had quickly pulled some clanking change from his pockets to make their order.

Katherine had remained behind, somewhat unsure of herself, especially when she had suddenly noted the dozen or so pairs of eyes peering curiously at her from all corners of the room. They were all unfamiliar faces, though most looked as Jack did----with mismatched clothing and unkempt hair. Their stares were somewhat unnerving, but not completely unfriendly. So, Katherine had managed a small smile in response, nodding her head in salutation.

Yet after turning around to put her eyes back on Jack, the dark-haired girl found herself smacking face first into a shockingly solid form. She had quickly backed away, a look of slight annoyance on her face from the unexpected collision. But upon lifting her gaze to irritably confront the thoughtless soul at fault in their run-in, her mouth had closed of its own accord at the sight of the most beautiful eyes she had ever seen.

She noticed their striking cerulean hue, and the pride and strength that reflected in their seemingly bottomless depths. The boy's mouth was twisted harshly into a look of annoyance but quickly softened to a light scowl, revealing an even more attractive face. Katherine watched him eye her with curiosity, looking to her wide stare and then allowing his gaze to slowly take in the rest of her body. His more in-depth observation had secured an unexpected blush from the awe-struck girl, but before she had been able to speak, the handsome stranger had tipped his hat in her direction and muttered, “‘Scuse me.”

She had shaken her head, attempting to rid herself of the involuntary coma that had seemed to suddenly set in. And strangely her eyes had continued to follow his form as he had sat at a table by himself. Several "hellos" and "heyas" had been directed towards him, but he had merely tipped his cap at all of it, unaffected by the loudness and attention.

However, Katherine’s own attention had been taken again by Jack Kelly’s quick tap on her shoulder and swift moving arm around her waist as he had pulled her over to the very table the boy had settled at.

“Heya, Spot,” Jack had said, smiling good-naturedly as the boy, Spot, had looked up at the pair before him. He had nodded to Jack in salutation, then had turned his attention to Katherine, a smirk on his lips and a spark in his eyes.

"Why Jacky-boy, is this the girl you've been blabberin' about all these weeks? The one that won't give ya' the time a' day?"

Jack shook his head, shooting a sheepish look in Katherine’s direction and shrugging. But Katherine only rolled her eyes in response, sticking her hand out immediately toward Spot and saying, "I can speak for myself, thank you. My name is Katherine Moore. It’s a pleasure to meet you, Spot."

Spot’s eyes widened somewhat in surprise before he gently took her hand, pulsed it and murmured, “Most girls seem ta think so, dollface.”

Katherine had squinted in mild distaste as Spot and Jack had shared a knowing chuckle. The girl had found his cockiness abrasive and not at all humorous, a glare of growing contempt shining in her gaze. But before she had been able to say one challenging word in response, Spot’s eyes had turned quickly back to Jack as he had said, “Y’know, it took ya forever ta get 'er here, Jack. Ya might wanna make sure she stays…"

Spot's eyes had flashed to the chair Katherine had been standing next to, causing Jack to clumsily pull the seat out for her. And though she had immediately taken her place at the table-----thanking Jack for his politeness----Katherine had continued to stare perplexedly at the handsome stranger across from her, thrown by his unexpected gentlemanly reminder.

The three had sat there in thoughtful silence for several moments until their food had come. And then slowly, but surely they had settled into one another’s company for what was only a short while, but happened to be just long enough. Jack and Spot had waxed on about their various borough triumphs and struggles. But more importantly, Katherine had quietly, though capably, taken everything in---from the reverent stares that were shot out of all corners of the room toward the two leaders, to the striking blue gaze that repeatedly met her own.

What she did not see, however, was the covetous spark in those clear blue eyes that day. She had been unaware of the Brooklynite’s pleased smirk following her promise to accompany Jack to an upcoming vaudeville show, as well as the way that Spot had surveyed her every move as she had vacated the table to then leave the restaurant. But what had been of the utmost remarkability in those passing moments, was the swirling curiosity and budding investment that had immediately filled Spot Conlon, the King of Brooklyn himself, and his complete confoundment in the face of these rarely experienced emotions.

It had certainly been an interesting start to something that day, but what it was, not one of them could yet pinpoint. And if they had known how the events of the next four years would so naturally play out among them----as well as how involved they each would be within the larger, much more dangerous tragedy slowly encapsulating Katherine and her family----there might have been no one there in the end to pull the beautiful green-eyed girl out of the unabating fire that had all but swallowed her whole.

Some people that might be interested! :-) @garbagekannot @newspapersinyourshoess @cutesiewoojin

#Spot Conlon #hot spot #spot conlon fanfiction #Jack Kelly #Newsies #newsies 1992 #newsies fanfiction #newsies fandom #92sies #1992sies #jack kelly fanfiction #OC

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thedistantstorm · 4 years

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Dawning Delights 04: The Sounds of the Season

Summary: Hawthorne invites her newfound family in the Tower to experience a City-Style Dawning with the family that took her in years ago. The holiday is not without it’s charm, or aggravation, and certainly has plenty of surprises in store. A season-inspired, trope-tastic story about a family forged by something greater than blood, finding reasons to enjoy the season - and cherish each other. Main Post

Pairings: Hawthorne/Zavala, Sloane/Amanda, Devrim/Marc

Updated every Tuesday/Friday & both holiday eve and days for Christmas and New Years.

Something is different about the Tower. There’s usually some manner of ruckus, chaos, or conflict that puts the entirety of the wall on high alert, but this is nothing like that. Things are almost… tranquil. Guardians are running around as usual, but Zavala cannot discern any immediate threat or danger, only that there is a deviation beyond the decorations within the Tower proper.

He lingers a few minutes longer. Then, deciding not to press the issue, he heads to the Bazaar to speak with Ikora.

Upon his arrival to the other open air area of the Tower, he discovers that something seems off here, too. However, he’s distracted by Ikora’s presence beside Hawthorne, upon her ledge. Whatever they’re conversing about, it doesn’t seem to be serious. Suraya’s shoulders are back, not raised and uncomfortable.

He strides up the steps to the tiny ledge, together the three of them are very nearly crowded together.

“Ah,” Ikora hums, stepping into the doorway that leads up to an upper patio. “Good morning, Commander.”

“Hey,” Suraya says, far less formal. “What’s up?”

“Do you notice anything strange?” He asks them both.

“Oh, we have,” Ikora nods. “I’ve heard that infuriating about a hula hoop five times in the last two hours.”

“Song?”

Hawthorne gestures to a speaker woven seamlessly into the bits and baubles that decorate the Tower. “Holiday songs. Golden age ones. I don’t know who this ‘Alvin’ or his ‘Chipmunks’ are, but they’re a special kind of torture.”

“I agree.” Ikora waves a hand. “Perhaps if we send our fireteams out with this heinous assault to the senses our enemies would give up and leave the system.”

“I don’t think a song would-”

The Warlock Vanguard interrupts, her voice stern. “Just wait. You’ll understand it, I assure you.”

It's a catchy song from a dead religion. It takes two hours for him to hear the song on the Tower PA - apparently Ikora had sent Ophiuchus to intervene - but when he does, the strange, high-pitched quality of their voices is incredibly irritating. The melody is… something.

Before he knows it, it's stuck in his head.

Even his Ghost can't take it.

She appears before him, annoyed. "I'm going to see if Eva will turn this off. Or at least change it to something - anything else,” She says aloud, annoyed. “If we have to listen to this for the next two weeks, I don't know what I'll do."

He doesn't get a word in before she zips off, delicately drifting over the heads of officers and Guardians to seek out the celebration's mistress of ceremonies.

When she returns, he feels it. She does not linger in the physical realm.

"Apparently, the frames really like them."

"Like whom?" Zavala thinks back through their link.

"Those... chipmunks."

Zavala turns to look out over the City, and does his best to clear his mind. He has another hour before his lunch hour and the entirety of his afternoon are double booked with meetings and office appointments. Even with centuries of practice in meditation, he cannot seem to escape the abysmal melodies that play.

Across the way, Shaxx is shouting sharply, irked more than usual. Meanwhile, Arcite sways happily to the beat of a song about silver and gold that makes no sense.

He's nearly tuned it all out when:

"ARCITE, IF YOU SING THAT CHORUS ONE MORE TIME, I WILL THROW YOU OVER THE BLOODY RAILING!"

Zavala blinks his eyes away from the Core, white and shining in the distance. He knows that's an empty threat. Arcite is Shaxx's most trusted, unendingly loyal partner. But an outburst like that is bound to cause more harm than good for the Guardians in the Crucible, and, more importantly, Zavala needs to get him sorted out before-

"Nothing changes around here, I see," Comes a growl, further back. Shaxx falls silent, crossing his arms and scoffing.

"Arcite," Shaxx croons almost lovingly to the frame, "Forget I said anything. Sing, dance, enjoy the season." Quieter, he asks, "And see if you can't get the frame in charge of the PA system to play more of those offensive tracks with those squeaking rodents. I'm sure the old man will love them."

Zavala rubs his temples. He can already tell half of his afternoon will be mediating their squabbles. Between meetings in which he is also mediating other people's squabbles. At least his office does not have one of those speakers routed through it.

Suraya returns home late. Nothing of issue, just much to do, and not enough time in the day. He's already in bed, but the sound of the door opening is enough to put him on alert and set aside his crochet. Unlike her, he does know when to set aside his projects before he falls asleep.

He hears the sound of her footfalls, quiet, almost silent across the wood floor. She brushes her teeth, washes her face, and returns to the kitchen, pouring herself a glass of water. Then, he knows, she comes to the bedroom, quietly pushing open the door for fear of waking him on the off chance he's nodded off.

"Hey," She whispers, not needing to be loud.

"Hello." He pats the bed beside him and she begins shucking off her clothes.

When she's down to undergarments, she trades the top half for a shirt that doesn't belong to her and slips between the blankets he's peeled away to welcome her in. "So," She begins, grinning, "How much do you love me?"

He tsks. "That depends. How many laws have you broken?"

"None," She chimes brightly. "Changed woman." Her eyes search his. "Thought you knew that."

"Mmm," He hums indulgently. "And yet, when you ask me something like this, I can't help but wonder what fires I'll be putting out come first light."

"Again, none." He looks at her with the full weight of his gaze, every ounce Vanguard Commander. She doesn't back down, which comes as a relief. Instead, she yields, "I mean, the frames might be a little upset."

"The frames?"

She pushes herself against him, tucking her head against the pillow and looking up at him. He can see the exhaustion on her features from this angle. "I stopped by to see my dad. Grabbed an," She rolls her eyes but her lips quirk into a quick, tiny smile, "Alternative to what the frames have been playing all day. Should be just light enough to keep everyone from a murderous rampage, but also satisfy the frames and their very weird desire to hear bells jingling and whatnot."

"The frames can-"

She nods into his bare chest. "I also asked Ikora to help encrypt the files. They need her security clearance. I offered to add yours, but she's confident no one will get past her."

Suraya pushes his chest, and he rolls onto his back without protest. Despite her tiredness, she swings herself atop him. "So," She asks again, cheeky, "How much do you love me?"

Blue eyes meet hers intently. "You're incredible," He breathes, hands finding her hips. She tilts her head back, anticipating his response, but he flips them, letting her sink into the mattress. She does so bonelessly, eyes sinking shut and opening slowly a few seconds later. "Sleep."

"That doesn't answer my question."

"You know I love you," He rumbles, low and rough, pulling the duvet up and over her. He decides not to comment that she’d absolutely have acted outside of her jurisdiction and used his encryption codes if Ikora had decided it necessary.

"Mmm," She agrees, waiting for him to turn out the lights before scooching a little closer to him. "But how much?" She asks, her words slurring when he nudges his knees against the back of hers, pulling her against him in a loose, one-armed embrace.

"Enough to show my gratitude to you in the morning, Suraya."

"That's a lot," She decides.

He chuckles, soft and warm in her ear. "You have no idea."

"I need to speak with you," Zavala bids him early the next morning. The fires crackle and pop, creating a thick heat that warms Saladin's entire area. Beneath them, Shaxx is already yelling, though he stops to holler a hearty greeting to the Clan Stewardess as she heads to her post for the morning.

"About?" Saladin is curt, but it does not bother Zavala. He's used to things being nearly terse and rather business-like within the confines of the Tower. Though the Iron Lord holds no actual title of power in the City, he is treated as though he does.

"A matter for the holiday." He lowers his voice. "Suraya is having everyone over to her family's home."

Saladin's stern nature is unyielding. "And she wishes to invite me?"

"We both would," Zavala intones. "It's hardly a secret that we have been seeing each other."

"And we're to celebrate with her family.”

"Yes. A casual affair. Food, drink, and found family, as she calls it."

He strokes his chin once. "Hm. That's all?"

"Yes," Zavala agrees. "We aren't doing gifts or anything like that."

"And?"

Zavala muses, "Shaxx is invited, but Amanda has dedicated herself to keeping him in line."

Saladin's eyes narrow. "Anything else?"

"Not that I am aware of."

"You're sure?" Saladin's right eyebrow rises almost imperceptibly.

The Commander shakes his head. "It may get out of hand, I was told these things do," He supposes to his old mentor. "Please don't feel obligated to attend, we just wished to extend the invitation-"

"Obviously I'm going to attend," Saladin interjects. The Iron Lord resists the urge to roll his eyes. "Tell her I would be honored." He turns Zavala around with a wide palm, and Zavala straightens when a large arm bars across his upper back to usher him away. "Let's walk and talk, shall we?" Saladin's usual growl turns lower. "You're sure there's nothing else about this gathering I need to know?"

"I don't believe so."

"No surprises?"

Zavala turns his head to regard his mentor's face, his lips pursing for a second. "I am working on bringing Devrim home, as a surprise for Suraya, but that is a secret. No one knows."

Saladin hums. When they're further away from everyone, overlooking the mountains beyond the wall, he releases Zavala, tucking one fist into the other hand behind his back. The apple doesn’t fall far from the tree. His head tilts, waiting. "And?"

"And what?"

"Try again, and remember that I speak to Tyra quite frequently."

"Tyra?"

"Tyra Karn-"

Zavala waves a hand. "I know, I know, but-" He stops abruptly, falling still. Those earnest blue eyes are blown wide, glowing brighter in momentary panic.

"There it is," Saladin mutters in his usual growl.

"Devrim would not have told her," Zavala hastily replies.

"He didn't have to. You came looking for him." He doesn't quite smirk back at Zavala, but his gaze is amused. "You may as well waved a flag with your intentions on it."

"I was cautious," Zavala points out.

"Certainly," Saladin barks, "But she doesn't miss a trick." He thumps the other Titan once on the back. There is a passing silence, then, "Well? Explain yourself this instant!"

Zavala jumps, quick to make eye contact and collect his thoughts so that he can comply with the request.

He's nervous, Saladin realizes, but he cannot help himself. As Zavala begins outlining his plan (taking great care to confirm no one is around to overhear), Saladin graces him with the rarest of smiles, proud and true.

"This is what you want?" He asks his former charge, when he's finished. It's a loaded question, but Saladin knows Zavala would consider every angle, even the less pleasant ones of a decision like this. It cannot be taken lightly.

"Yes," Zavala’s reply is immediate. "More than I have wanted anything else." Thoughtful, but without hesitation. Zavala is sure to meet his eyes, to hold Saladin's scrutinous gaze.

The last of the Iron Lords nods. His arm comes around Zavala's back again, squeezing once before releasing. He allows himself to feel that bittersweet feeling, let it honey the gravel in his voice. "Then make it so."

Back to Main Fic Post

#destiny fanfiction #commander zavala #lord shaxx #ikora rey #lord saladin #suraya hawthorne #holiday carols #aka those really annoying songs that won't get out of your head #apparently the frames *love* them #shaxx hating saladin hatting shaxx (but not really)#destinydawningfanfic

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yourfaveisyanderematic · 5 years

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Fight or Flight

Hey, full disclosure: did not realize that second one was asking for HCs and not its own drabble. So I folded the two together into One Big One to make up for it.

Stress was a fact of life, as intrinsic to a person’s reality as breathing. Being able to work under stress—to make wise and timely decisions, to keep a cool head, to retain and recall crucial information—is a quality that anyone expecting to survive, much less make anything of themselves, must master. It stood to reason, therefore, that the childish tendency to freeze under pressure, to panic, to make impulsive decisions (or no decision at all) was a detriment and something to be outgrown as soon as possible. This was how it had been explained to you.

Knowing, of course, didn’t dispel the panicked fog in your head, or help you understand the stubbornly complicated problem in front of you. Black printed letters and numbers glared back at you from the crisp page, describing a concept you were supposed to understand but might as well have been in a foreign language. You felt your pen tremble in your hand.

“Don’t tell me you’ve already forgotten. We just reviewed this.”

You jumped. Fugo’s eyes hadn’t left his book, but the room was so silent that he could hear the absence of your writing even from where he was sitting. He idly turned a page. It was strange, thinking of him as relaxed, given how he was only a few minutes ago.

Your throat was so dry. You swallowed heavily, glancing at the glass of water just in arm’s reach. Condensation on its surface glistened invitingly, but you hesitated in reaching for it. Doing so required either putting your pen down (not an option), or…

Cold metal gleamed as you stared at the two knives stabbed into the table around your free hand. One for each mistake. You quietly, delicately raised your arm past them before leaning over to grip the glass.

The water was refreshing and cold, but more importantly it was a distraction. For a moment, you could focus on something other than the chemistry problem leering at you, or the knives counting how often you’d messed up, or…

You glanced over at Fugo and immediately regretted it. He had abandoned the book entirely and was now staring at you, his expression almost—but not quite—something you could call a glare.

“Entrance exams are timed, you know,” his voice was gentle but still somehow accusatory, “the amount of time you’ve wasted on this problem would have been much better spent on another question.”

Deep breaths. Deep breaths. The implied suggestion was to give up and move on, but something in your gut told you this was a trick.

“I can figure it out,” you replied evenly, “this isn’t the actual exam; I should make sure I can do the material rather than worry about rushing.”

His expression barely changed, but you could tell Fugo approved by the brief lightening in his gaze. He nodded, curt, and silence descended on the room once more as he waited expectantly for you to get back to work. You looked back at the page.

14mL of water (18.01g/mol) reacts with 3g of calcium, creating…

Damn it all, your eyes were already watering again.

When Fugo heard you were having trouble preparing for your university entrance exams and offered to help, you were elated. He was a prodigy, someone able to easily understand and master the material you struggled with so much, and he seemed like a good tutor…even if he did get violent with Narancia once or twice.

At first, everything seemed reasonable enough. He developed a strictly regimented schedule of what you needed to know when, and that turned into regulating your sleep schedule and mealtimes to maximize how much information you retained, and that turned into…needless to say, your life became studying. You ended up just staying at Fugo’s home to keep up with it all and ‘minimize distractions’. It was getting to the point where the only time you had alone was when you were either asleep or in the bathroom.

Not that it wasn’t worth it! You said you’d give anything to get accepted into your dream school, and with his help you were pretty confident about your chances. It’s just that Fugo was…

Intense. Aggressive. Violent, at times.

Scary.

He hadn’t hit you—you never would have tolerated something like that—but Fugo wasn’t exactly a patient teacher. His memory was perfect, and he only allowed a mistake to happen once. You were too intelligent to get things wrong the same way twice, he said.

It didn’t matter that you tended to freeze when stressed. This was just another flaw to be overcome if you had any intention of excelling, and you could do it with enough practice and enough pressure. It didn’t matter that it seemed impossible, he believed you could do it. You could do it, and therefore you had to.

If he pushed you enough, you would break through. You found yourself believing it, too, throwing yourself into your studies to please him just as much as you were doing it to pass the exam. You lowered your free hand, firmly situating it between the knives once more, and got to work. Fugo made a pleased hum as the scratching of your pen began once more.

“That’s very good. Keep moving, that’s all that’s important. You won’t solve the problem by freezing.” He flipped another page.

One of the numbers in this problem was superfluous. Was it one of the masses? The molarity of the product? Maybe…you looked at the possible answers and back at your math. How did you get this wrong last time?

“If you get them all correct, I think you’re due for a reward. We can go out somewhere for lunch, we haven’t done that in a while. After that we could see a movie, I’m fine with pushing your anatomy review—“ loud, erratic knocking reverberated through the house, cutting Fugo’s musing short. He looked at his watch with a frown.

“I hope that’s not a mission. What bad timing…stay here, I’ll see who it is.” He got to his feet, pausing by your table instead of moving directly to the door. You held your breath as he checked your work; not just because you were nervous, but because he rarely got this close and you could feel the warmth of his breath on your cheek. Glancing at his face to gauge a reaction was tempting, but he was already turning away, walking out the door and down the hall in quiet but quick strides.

“Remember to show more of your work. I want to see every step of your logic,” he called over his shoulder, and then disappeared from view.

He seemed pleased. That must have meant you were correct, or on your way there. You smiled to yourself and began working again, but paused as you finally gave proper thought to something that had been bothering you for a while now.

“What am I doing?” It was ridiculous how quickly you’d lost control of your life. Why was Fugo the one deciding when you were ready for a break, or whether you were doing well enough, or when it was time to go to bed? Why was Fugo the one deciding how far to push you and what you could handle?

Why was Fugo the one who decided when and how often you left his house?

The knocking—that evidence of another person, an intrusion into a world that only held you and him for weeks—was enough to embolden you. It was time to set some things straight, reign him in, remind Fugo that he was your tutor and not your owner. You got out of your chair, kicking yourself for wincing at the light scraping noise (why did it feel like you were doing something wrong?) and heading down the hall, wandering the turns and staircases that would take you to the front door, where Fugo had headed.

It was silent, here, silent enough that your footsteps sounded deafening even though you were doing your best to walk quietly. Your tutor had made several additions to the walls to accommodate your stay; you passed printouts of your schedule, reference sheets for various formulas and several charts of the human body so you could review as you walked from room to room. Even the quietness of the house was for your benefit. Fugo really had made you his one and only priority.

That was the problem, you realized as you approached the sound of a quiet but heated argument, he was too invested in this. You rounded the corner, finally entering the front hall. Fugo’s back was to you, and he had the door open wide enough to talk to but not enough for you to see who was on the other side.

“…from her in weeks. Even Buccellati’s getting worried, I can tell. What are you doing?” The visitor’s voice was shrill, boyish. Familiar. Narancia?

“Just because you never took your education seriously,” you could hear Fugo replying through gritted teeth, even from here, “doesn’t mean she has the same abysmal standards. This is an important time for her. Nothing can interrupt it.”

He had been keeping people away? It made sense, in a twisted kind of way, but the idea still made your stomach turn. You thought they just knew you’d been busy…

“At least let me see her, damn it! This is creepy.” You looked at Fugo’s hand, still on the door, and noticed with vague dread that he was clenching it hard enough to turn his knuckles white.

“Absolutely not. It’s clearly better to keep you away if you’re just going to be disruptive—“

Narancia must have rushed him, because you watched Fugo suddenly stumble back, flinging his arms forward to contain the other boy.

“Fuck you! Hey! Hey! Are you in there? Can you hear me?” Narancia yelled, forcing his head past Fugo’s arm. They struggled for a few seconds, and then he finally caught sight of you, still frozen in the hallway.

“What’s going on?! Hey, tell me!”

They’re fighting, they’re fighting. You had to stop them. Why couldn’t you move? You couldn’t even open your mouth for words to come out.

“Enough!”

Fugo moved again, leveraging his weight behind his arm and forcing Narancia back a step. He pulled back and struck a punishing blow, landing a direct hit on the other boy’s head with an almost unnatural force. You watched his head snap backwards before the rest of him followed, tumbling end over end down the stairs.

Narancia was only still for a moment. You were still running forward, on the verge of shouting his name, as he began to stand up, frantic concern replaced by a look of absolute murder. He took a step forward…and stopped. You collided with Fugo’s arm, thrown forward to prevent you from getting too close to the door, but Narancia didn’t come any closer, just pointed at Fugo accusingly.

“This isn’t over.”

“Yes, it is!” Fugo shouted, and you were finally able to see the fury that distorted his handsome features. “I don’t care if you’re on my team, Narancia, you try that again and I’ll kill you. That’s the only warning you’ll get!” It must have been unusually hot outside, because heat rose from the pavement in waves, warping your view of Narancia’s face. Blood was streaming down his chin—no doubt his nose was broken—and while his eyes were watering, you didn’t think it was from the pain.

He didn’t say anything more, though, just turned on his heel and stalked off. Fugo pulled you further away from the door, rougher than he’d ever been before, and slammed the door shut. He was holding your arm tightly enough that you were starting to lose sensation in your fingers, but loosened his grasp immediately when you tugged away from him and stepped away. He took several deep breaths, visibly shaking, but you didn’t dare try to touch him.

“…go back upstairs.” He said in a low growl, after the longest pause. It wasn’t a request, but you were too frightened to comply.

“I can’t.”

In the past, the glare he gave you would have scared you into immediate compliance. Now, however, things had changed. The naked reality of your situation prevented you from playing along any further.

“I wasn’t asking.” Something—and you say that because it certainly wasn’t Fugo—grabbed you by the shoulder and pushed, sending you staggering back several paces. What the hell was going on?

You could hear your heart pounding in your ears now, and the stress made your breath come in quick and sharp gasps. Fear worked its fingers into your limbs threatening to paralyze you, but you forced yourself to move your legs, to stand taller and meet his gaze even if you knew he was stronger than you.

Keep moving, that’s all that’s important. You won’t solve the problem by freezing.

That thought occurred to you first, his words echoing in your head as Fugo took another step forward and grabbed you by the arm once more, pulling you along. The next thought that occurred to you was the fact that you were still holding your pen.

It was a beautiful thing, an expensive thing, given to you when you first started studying here. A fountain pen, with an elegant wood case and a razor-sharp nib that fit easily into your hand.

It sank just as easily, you found out now, into Fugo’s arm, the one that was holding you. He shouted, more from surprise than pain, and reflexively let go, allowing you to pull away from him and run. You bolted for the front door, wrenching it open, but stopped before you ran through.

The world had changed for you, in a way you hadn’t realized until now. The distortion you noticed earlier wasn’t because of the heat at all—it was actually quite cool today—but a strange, whitish-purple haze that shrouded the door and front steps. Your instincts screamed at you to halt, to get away from it, as the withered grass and melted corpse of an unlucky sparrow registered. You took a step back, but then remembered who was behind you and turned around. And froze.

“Oh my god, what is that?” you whispered.

It was tall, tall enough that you had to look up at it even from here. It moved in time with Fugo’s advance, strangely splotched skin fading in and out of view. It growled, a low ragged noise you were only registering now, even though something told you it had always been there and you just hadn’t noticed it before.

Fugo paused. Blood had already soaked that part of his jacket, and you watched droplets hit the linoleum as he pulled your pen out, holding it like some would a knife. He looked you up and down, considering your words.

“You can see it? Interesting. I knew you had promise, but I had no idea it would go this far…now I really have to make sure you reach your full potential.” He stalked forward.

You had nowhere to go. You didn’t understand what was happening, but the haze was still there, and something told you beyond a shadow of a doubt that going through it would kill you, as easily as it did that bird.

Given the look on his face, though, it looked like Fugo might kill you anyway.

“Since you can see my Stand, it should be easier to explain this to you.” Fugo took a deep breath. Even now, he was making an effort to speak to you calmly, but you still shrank back as he advanced.

“You have nowhere to go. If you keep trying to run from me, I can’t promise you’ll be able to attend school in the condition I’ll leave you in. I don’t care what kind of new ability you have, there’s no way you’ll win against me.”

He wouldn’t hesitate. You saw it in his eyes, in the advance of the monster next to him, relentless and unforgiving. Fugo was Death, and who could fight Death?

Panic screamed in the back of your head, but you weren’t frozen anymore. You stepped towards him, not in defiance but in compliance.

Submission.

“Okay.” your voice was a whisper. As if a switch had been flipped, Fugo’s face brightened, an expression that once made your pulse quicken. You flinched as he brought his arm close to you, but the monster didn’t move with him, just watched silently as he draped his arm around your shoulders and began leading you up the stairs.

#yandere x reader #yandere fugo #yandere jjba #my writing #full disclosure: I WAS going to kill Narancia #and chop off at least a hand of the S/O #and then I realized 'hey! You've done Risotto and Doppio and you've got a Cio on the way!'#maybe go easy on the gore this time you fucking weirdo!#AND SO I DID.#by me

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writerbyaccident · 5 years

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Puzzle of a Person Part Two (Yandere RiddlerxReader)

Request: Hi there! I loved The Riddler and Rubik’s cube reader, could you do a part 2? Maybe he decides to meet the reader in person when in an escape room (you know those real life interactive puzzles) and he purposely makes sure they are partners and he loves this interaction so much and loved how they work together.

Ask and ye shall receive ☺️

Part One

The Riddler sat on a bench just outside the escape room facility, pretending not to watch as you set up a time for just fifteen minutes from now. You had been to this place before, he knew, and you were trying to work your way through each room they had to offer. So far you had been able to solve each one, and he had watched you do so with pride. Thankfully, this establishment had security cameras set up inside of their escape rooms in case of an emergency, so he had been able to hack into them and watch as you worked through each one instead of simply waiting outside to see if you had won.

But as much as he loved watching you figure out these puzzles, he thought that it was high time that he assisted you. After all, he reasoned to himself, at a certain point the only way for you to continue to improve would be by working with someone smarter than you. Not that he meant that in a disparaging way, no, not at all! He loved you, loved you so much that he thought his heart would shatter under the weight, making you the only person worthy of his help. It was a simple fact, that was all. Ed was well aware that he was the smartest man in Gotham, so he certainly didn’t look down on you for not being at his level. Quite the contrary in fact, he thought quite a lot of you, as evidenced by the fact that he thought you worthy of his tutelage. You were much more intelligent than the average person, and perhaps even more importantly, you had a tenacity that he knew could be harnessed into something to behold. But in order for you to get to that point, you needed help, and he was the only one who could give it to you.

So as you handed over your money to the cashier and Ed read those lips of yours that he so longed to kiss, he waited impatiently for his opening. Finally, when it was just two minutes before your time, he entered the establishment, tugging on his newly dyed hair in nervousness. God, he couldn’t remember the last time he had felt like this; the things you did to him. Waiting by the front desk as the receptionist went to the back to let a group out of their room, Ed heard you begin to fidget. When the worker returned, you got up from your chair, moving to stand beside Ed with your phone in your hand. Ed forced himself to stare straight ahead, knowing that if he looked at you too soon he wouldn’t be able to stop himself from throwing his plan out the window. Instead, he contented himself with tapping his foot against the tiled floor, desperately trying to expel some of his nervous energy. As he waited, he heard you huff out a breath and smiled to himself, knowing exactly what was bothering you. After what felt like far too long, the receptionist finally returned to the front desk, looking at the two of you expectantly.

“This the other player for your game?” he asked you, typing something into the computer. You glanced at him apologetically, shaking your head.

“No,” you sighed, “it turns out that my friend isn’t coming.” At the sound of your voice so close to him, Ed forcibly pushed down his sudden desire to take you into his arms to somewhere far away from here, where he would be the only one to ever hear your voice again. No, he reminded himself, it’s not time yet. Instead, Ed simply looked over at you then, carefully schooling his satisfied glee into a mask of sympathy.

“Okay, so do you want to go in alone?” the worker inquired, already bored by the conversation.

“Um—” you began, clearly not thrilled with the idea but knowing that you wouldn’t be able to get a refund, and Ed took his chance.

“If you want,” he said kindly, trying to seem as nonthreatening as possible, “I could go in with you.” You gave him a quick once-over at his offer, the wheels in your head turning.

“Are you sure? You’re not waiting for anyone?”

“No, I was going to see if I could maybe go in with another group, but I guess it’s not very busy right now.”

“All right,” you answered, “let’s do this then.” As soon as you gave him your answer, Ed felt a sense of victory, relishing the sensation. Though, of course, he had already know that you would accept. In each of your previous times coming here, you had brought along at least one friend with you. Despite your intelligence and determination, Ed knew that you were actually somewhat insecure, meaning that you wouldn’t want to have to do this escape room alone if you could help it. Hopefully he’d soon be able to teach you that you didn’t need any of those so-called friends though, all you needed was him. So as the employee led you to your room, he tried his best not to rush in, not wanting his eagerness to get the best of him. The two of you listened carefully while the worker explained the rules and the premise of this particular room, and when he left, started searching the room for your starting point. While Ed obviously knew where the starting instructions were hidden, he pretended to look carefully, wanting to stretch out his time with you.

“Thanks for doing this,” you said sweetly, looking over at him from the opposite side of the room.

“No problem. Sorry your friend flaked on you.”

“Eh, it wasn’t her fault,” you sighed, “She was supposed to meet me here, but she couldn’t get her car to start.”

“Ah,” Ed said, hiding his knowing smile. “That sucks.”

“Yeah, but whatcha gonna do.” Nodding in understanding, Ed smiled at you in seeming compassion, a gesture that you returned, almost causing him stumble over his own feet. He was able to catch himself though, and instead, he lifted up the chessboard that was resting on the room’s corner table, flipping it over to reveal the first clue. You walked over to him, reading the clue that was written there: What must take a bow before it can speak?

“Hmmm,” you mused, looking around the room, “what do you think it could be?”

“I’m not sure.”

“What about a rocking chair?” At your guess, the Riddler turned towards you with confusion written on his face. “You know, cause when it rocks back and forth, it’s like it’s bowing, which makes it squeak.”

“Oh,” he responded, slightly impressed by your reasoning. “But it doesn’t necessarily squeak every time.”

“True,” you conceded. The two of you went back and forth for a few minutes, proposing multiple objects.

“Does it have to be an object?” Ed questioned, wondering if the people who made the room might have been angling towards a concept, like a thank you perhaps.

“I think so; it’s gotta be somewhere that they could put the next clue, right?” you mused frustratingly, lips pursued in concentration, causing Ed to smile at just how invested you were. “Wait, what if—what if it’s a different form of the word?”

“What do you mean?” Ed asked you, genuinely curious as to where you were going with this.

“What if it’s not the verb, but the noun? As in, like, bow and arrow.” Ed couldn’t help himself, he laughed in response to your idea. Not because it was foolish, but because it was so simple. After all of his years masterminding schemes in Gotham, his riddles had been growing only more and more complicated in his desperation to defeat the bat. It seemed that he had become stuck in that mindset though, missing what was right in front of him. In that moment, he realized that it might not just be you who needed him, but also he who needed you. You saw things from a different perspective than him, something that could open up a whole new world of possibilities. This just proves it, he thought to himself, we’re the only ones worthy of each other.

“Like a violin,” he answered. From there, you two found the violin, moving onto the next clue. The rest of the game went fairly quickly, both of you bouncing ideas off of each other until you escaped the room in record time. As you walked out of the facility, chatting about your victory, Ed steeled himself to make his next move. It was almost funny, how he could be so confident when it came to intellectual challenges, yet you made him so nervous.

“This was fun,” you told him, giving him a warm smile.

“Yes, it was. Maybe—maybe we could do it again sometime?”

“Yeah, I’d like that.” Before he knew it, the two of you exchanged phones, and you left, promising to text him soon. As he watched you walk away, Ed became all the more glad that he had prevented your usual partner from coming today, it was clear that they had only been holding you back.

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cryptid-jack · 5 years

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((Who doesn’t need a little Simon/young!Hank merfolk AU in their life?)) “You came.”

Hank paused and looked up from where he’d seated himself on a rock to roll up the hem of his pants in time to see Simon haul himself up out of the surf onto a similar rock a few yards out into the water. The merman swept his long blue tail through the water as he made himself comfortable while Hank dropped his gaze so he could unlace his boots and discard them and his socks on the sand nearby.

“’Course I did,” the man said with a frown as he stood and waded out into the chill water, barely registering its harsh bite against his warm skin. “You were bein’ even more cryptic than usual, which is impressive, considering,” Hank pointed out unhappily as he reached the merman’s perch, but did not move to climb onto it himself. He’d probably regret it in a few minutes when his feet went totally numb.

A small smile tugged at Simon’s lips at the fisherman’s grumbling. Had he really known him less than three months? Sometimes the merman felt as though he’d known Hank Anderson for a lifetime, and sometimes like he didn’t know him at all. He’d thought he’d had Hank figured out within days of arriving in the small seaside town; gruff, introverted, and cold… Well, Simon hadn’t been wrong about Hank being gruff and introverted, but gradually he had come to realize he was anything but cold. He tried to pretend he was, for reasons that had taken Simon some time determine, but in reality he was a warm, caring man that would go out of his way to help someone in need, stranger or not. He’d complain the entire time, of course, but he’d still do it.

Simon hadn’t been able to see that until after he’d saved the fisherman when he’d gone overboard during a bad storm, of course. They hadn’t been on good terms before that point; in fact, Hank had been outright suspicious of him, but the merman could hardly blame him, and he hadn’t let the man’s hostility stop him from saving his life.

He’d only been in town for two weeks at that point, sticking to the story that he had amnesia and thus no memory of where he’d come from before Markus had found him washed up on the beach. It’d been a lie, of course, and Hank could tell, though the truth of the matter was far wilder than anything he could have guessed.

While merfolk generally kept to themselves down in the depths of the sea, Simon had always been fascinated by the surface, and during one of his frequent trips to the coast, he had become smitten with a handsome musician performing at the pier. He’d taken to watching Markus any time he was beside the water, and it hadn’t been long before he’d been head over fins for the human with his beautiful voice and kind ways.

It’d been foolhardy to seek out the witch that lived in the sea caves along the shore, but Simon had heard she sometimes helped people and he had grown desperate for a chance to be with the man he’d fallen in love with. Her price for the magic he wanted was paltry, seafloor trinkets found easily by a merman, but the price of the magic itself had been significantly steeper. He would be mute so long as he remained in human form, and his every step an agony, like striding across a bed of needles. More importantly, though, the magic would last for only three months, and if he had not received true love’s kiss by then… he would die.

Simon had paid the price gladly, certain of his success in spite of the obstacles.  Oh what a fool he had been.

Markus had found Simon on the beach during his morning jog, taken him back to town and even found himself a place to stay until he could get his bearings and remember where he had come from. His friend Josh had an extra room over his bookshop and the man had been kind enough to let him work in exchange for some under the table pay and a place to stay. Simon had been delighted, inundated in so many new things to see and learn, people to meet, friends to make…

It didn’t take him long to realize he had made a grave error, however. Markus, it turned out, already had someone he loved, and while he became close friends with with Simon, his heart belonged to North, and nothing the merman tried could begin to sway it.

“Sorry,” Simon mused with a soft huff and a melancholy smile that intensified Hank’s worry rather than eased it.

“What’s going on?” the fisherman asked with a frown as he studied the merman’s face, tracing its familiar lines and trying to catch his eyes as though he might read the truth in their depths. Hank tried not to think too hard about the way his chest ached when Simon smiled like that; the sorrow in his blue gaze was like a blade that slid between his ribs and directly into his heart. It was an expression he’d been wearing more and more of late, and the fisherman was convinced it was slowly killing him.

Markus, Hank thought, was an idiot. Not that North wasn’t a nice girl; they suited one another, really, but Simon…

Alright, so maybe Hank was, in fact, the idiot in this scenario. He was the one that had fallen in love with a merman already in love with someone else, after all. Simon had literally put his life on the line for a chance to be with Markus, of course he’d never look look twice at someone like Hank.

Knowing it was all for naught didn’t stop the way his heart skipped a beat every time Simon smiled at him, though. It didn’t stop him from coveting the fact that he was the only one that knew the merman’s secret, that he’d been willing to risk himself to save Hank when he’d gone overboard that stormy night almost three months ago. He was the only person that got to see Simon like this, in his natural form; achingly beautiful in the rosy light of the setting sun and looking at him and only him.

He’d do anything Simon asked of him; it was a truth that frightened Hank sometimes, drove the air from his lungs and left him aching with a need he couldn’t put words to. It had been a terrifying realization when he’d first had it, but at the same time he trusted the merman enough to know he would never take advantage of Hank’s weakness, which only made the fisherman love him more.

“I-” Simon began, then stopped as he finally lifted his gaze to meet Hank’s, struggling to speak. The concern on the man’s face made the merman’s stomach twist and his throat tighten and it took everything in him to finally say, “My time’s almost up, Hank. I just… I wanted-”

What did he want?

Not to be alone in his final moments, of course, but he could have gone anywhere, been with anyone. He could have left town for the sea and gone back home before meeting his inevitable end.

Mostly, he thought, he wanted to not be in love with Hank.

It’d all seemed so simple when he’d first arrived. Find Markus, make the musician fall in love with him, get his kiss, then live happily ever after. Things had been anything but simple from minute one, though. First, it turned out Markus was already in love with someone else, and no amount of Simon’s charm could lure the man into anything more than friendship. And then, when Simon had been at his lowest, he had rescued Hank and in the process earned himself an unexpected confidant and friend. Someone who knew the truth of his identity, someone he could speak to freely while in his natural form, someone who gifted him earnest advice and even did his best to turn Markus’ attention his way. It had been to no avail, of course, but Simon had appreciated the gesture, even as it slowly began to chafe.

As weeks passed, Simon thought of Markus less and Hank more. Making the gruff fisherman smile was a triumph, and his laugh never failed to send a pleasant warmth racing through the merman. He wasn’t sure quite when it was he had fallen in love with Hank Anderson, but he knew as he looked at him now, standing beside him without a care for the ice cold water ebbing around his calves, that there could never be anyone else. Not anymore.

It wasn’t fair, Simon thought as tears pricked at the corners of his eyes and the air rushed from his chest. It wasn’t fair that he’d sold his life for a chance to be with Markus when what he wanted more than anything was to spend the rest of his days with Hank.

Something was terribly wrong, and Hank felt his veins turn to ice even as he asked, “What’s wrong?”

Simon was quiet for a long moment, but eventually, the merman began to explain the nature of the magic that allowed him to shift between his natural and human forms. He dropped his eyes only a few words in, unable to look at Hank as the truth finally came pouring out of him, and by the time he was finished, his gaze was locked, unseeing, on the distant horizon.

The fisherman stood frozen in place, mind reeling at the immensity of a situation so much more complicated and dire than he had ever realized.

“How long do you have?” he finally asked, voice rough, words seeming to catch in his throat on their way past his lips. The whole world felt as though it were careening wildly around him, the gentle sigh of the incoming tide suddenly a deafening roar in his ears.

Somehow, though, he didn’t have any trouble hearing Simon when the merman quietly admitted, “Sunrise,” and finally looked at him once more.

“Sunrise,” Hank repeated numbly. “If Markus doesn’t kiss you by sunrise, you’re going to die?”

A stupid question. Why couldn’t he stop parroting what Simon had already told him? Something important stirred beneath the panic rising in him, though, and Hank latched onto it like a lifeline.

“Yes,” Simon replied softly. “I asked you to be here because I… I guess I didn’t want to be alone,” he admitted and managed to choke out a sad laugh as his tears broke free and spilled down his sea damp cheeks.

“No,” Hank said abruptly, and Simon blinked up at him in confusion to find the man looking at him with curious intensity.

“What?” the merman asked. The thought that Hank might not want to be with him in his last moments, that he might not want to have to witness his death occurred to him and Simon was suddenly struck with the realization that he’d been terribly selfish in his request. “I’m sorry, you don’t have to stay,” he began, heart aching more than ever, only to be cut off again when the fisherman grabbed him unexpectedly by the shoulders.

“That’s not what that witch said, was it?” Hank asked, voice low and fervent as he searched Simon’s confused eyes with his own. “What were her exact words, Simon?” he demanded and gave the baffled merman a gentle shake, as if to jar the truth from him by force.

“She said I had to get true love’s kiss by sunrise of the third full moon,” Simon stammered, heart jumping behind his breastbone when his words brought something like hope to Hank’s eyes. The merman opened his mouth to say something else, but whatever it was dropped right out of his head as the man shifted forward to rest one knee against the rock Simon perched on, bringing him in closer than ever. Thought of anything but how warm the man’s skin was against his fled altogether when Hank shifted his calloused hands from Simon’s shoulders upwards to cradle the merman’s face. Simon’s eyes fluttered shut in pure bliss as the sheer heat of them, breath coming quick and shallow at this unexpected shift in the energy between them.

He wondered briefly if he had already died and found that merfolk did indeed go to heaven, because if there was a heaven, Simon was completely convinced it felt like Hank’s hands on him as the fisherman leaned in, nose scant inches away from his own. The merman could feel the heat radiating off the man and he reached out instinctively to rest his hands on Hank’s hips.

Before Simon could consider what he might do next, Hank said, “Kiss me.” The merman’s eyes flew open in shock at the words, heart pounding behind his ribs as he registered that Hank really was as close as he’d suspected. The barest shift on either of their part would send them crashing together…

“What?” Simon gasped, feeling like a broken record now, though he couldn’t have asked anything else if his life had depended on it.

“Kiss me,” Hank repeated, a little more self conscious this time, though just as emphatic. Simon’s eyes were wide with surprise, but he hadn’t recoiled in horror at the suggestion, so the fisherman continued, “the witch just said you had to get ‘true love’s kiss’, right?” Simon nodded dumbly, unable to speak but hanging on Hank’s every word. “Well I… I love you,” Hank said, cheeks flushing at the admission but, riding high on a desperate, wild hope that he might be enough to save the merman’s life, he managed to add, “-truly. I don’t know if it counts if it’s just me… I know I’m not who you want; I’m not Markus, but it’s worth a try, right?”

Simon’s grip on Hank’s hips tightened reflexively, hands fisting in the thick wool of his sweater as the immensity of the man’s words settled over him.

He loved him. Hank loved him. He loved him and he wanted to kiss him and- A quiet sob escaped Simon and a fresh wave of tears spilled over his cheeks as the emotion welling up within him became to big to contain.

“Hey, hey don’t cry, it’s okay,” Hank said, voice gentle but verging on panic as he wiped away Simon’s tears with his thumbs. “You don’t have to if you don’t want to, I just thought-”

Laughter interrupted the merman’s crying, though didn’t stop it as he admitted, “No, I’m just…” He managed to smile at Hank then, and continued, “I’m such an idiot.”

“Listen, you’re a lot of things, idiot is not one of them,” Hank insisted, torn painfully between hope and fear in the face of the merman’s smile.

Simon shook his head and used his hold on Hank’s sweater to pull him in closer, making the fisherman’s eyes go wide as he said, “You don’t have to flatter me, Hank. I am. I’ve been so blind… but I guess that’s just something being in love does to a person.” He smiled shyly and admitted, “I was so busy falling in love with you I didn’t even notice you’d fallen in love with me.”

The words felt like lightning racing up Hank’s spine, sharp and clear and beautiful as they left him stunned and staring down at the merman. Finally he sucked in a breath and laughed, “Well, that makes two of us, I guess.” Simon’s smile widened and tilted his chin under Hank’s hands where they lingered along the merman’s jaw in silent invitation. Nervous energy humming under his skin at the tiny gesture, Hank hesitated for a moment then carefully, reverently even, closed the distance between them to press a kiss to Simon’s lips.

They were cool and soft under his own, and Hank could feel a shudder ripple through the merman before Simon pulled him in closer, taking their kiss from tender to passionate in the span of a breath. The intensity of it dragged a groan of bliss from the fisherman, his only coherent thought that they were not anywhere near close enough for his liking; a sentiment Simon clearly shared as he slid his hands up under Hank’s shirt. His cool, slick touch made Hank gasp and shift forward as Simon parted his lips and welcomed him inside, though before they got any further, both men were reminded of just how precarious their positions were when they suddenly found themselves tumbling backwards into the waves.

The water was only a few feet deep, but it was more than enough to submerge both of them and send Hank bobbing back to the surface with a ragged gasp. Simon was immediately at his side, supporting him so he didn’t topple and go under again, arms sliding around Hank and dragging him in close. “I’ve got you,” he reassured the man with a chuckle.

Hank wiped water from his face with a hand then raked his fingers back through his sodden curls so he could see, soaked sweater hanging off his muscular frame as he twisted so he and Simon were face-to-face. “Did it work?” he asked, and to Simon’s embarrassment it took him a moment to realize what he was asking.

Heart jumping in his chest at the moment of truth, Simon twisted in the water and revealed… a tail.

The merman’s stomach dropped sickeningly at the sight of the blue appendage as it broke the surface of the water and he realized their gamble had not payed off. He was still a merman.

Beside him, Hank swore vehemently and slapped the water, furious. Not at Simon, but at himself. He wasn’t good enough to break the spell and now Simon would die in a few hours time and-

The fisherman let out a voiceless cry of pain and fury at the unfairness of it all, then turned to Simon, regret and sorrow written clear on the sharp lines of his face. “I’m sorry,” he said. “I really thought I-”

Simon shushed him gently, and rather than rail against the unfairness of his fate, reached out to Hank and pulled him in for another kiss. It was gentle and sweet and it stole Hank’s breath away, leaving him gasping and weak under the blissful onslaught.

“It’s alright,” Simon murmured gently against his lips, then pulled back and traced his fingers along Hank’s jaw, smiling softly as he continued, “It’s not your fault.”

Hank searched the other man’s face for any hint of blame, but found none, though he wished he had. It would, he thought as he leaned forward to press his face into the crook of Simon’s neck, be easier if the merman hated him for his failure. Trembling under the weight of his own inadequacy, the fisherman slipped his arms around Simon, unwilling to let him go.

The merman pressed a kiss to the crown of Hank’s curls and held him for a time before being forced to recall the man’s more fragile human nature. “We should get you out of the water. You’ll catch your death this time of year,” he murmured gently. Hank tried to resist, but Simon firmly, if reluctantly, disentangled himself from the man’s hold and gently pushed him back towards the shore. “I’ll change too, we’ll sit on the beach and make a fire,” he said and finally Hank nodded in silent agreement.

When he went to stand up, however, he fell over, feeling as though his legs had become tangled together while sitting there in the water. “I think my legs went numb,” he said and spit a mouthful of seawater as Simon looked on with concern.

“Here, I’ll change and drag you in,” Simon began, but Hank immediately waved him off, not wanting the merman to go through the additional struggle of carrying something heavy when just walking was painful enough for him in human form.

“No, I got it, I’ll just-” the fisherman twisted in place, intent on lifting his legs so he could see if they had indeed become tangled in seaweed, but instead of a pair of long, muscular legs… a dark, silvery tail broke the surface.

They both stared at it in mute disbelief for a long moment until Hank dropped what should have been his legs beneath the water again. He took a breath, then lifted them once more and was, again, met with the sight of an unfamiliar fish tail quite similar to Simon’s aside from the color.

“You’re seeing this, right?” he asked the merman, his own gaze locked on the tail. Simon nodded and Hank said, “Oh, good.” Silence stretched between them again and finally Hank asked, “Am I a fucking merman?”

“I think so,” Simon answered and finally tore his eyes from Hank’s new appendage to look at his face once more. “Are you okay? Does it hurt?”

The fisherman (fish man?) turned to regard him in turn and blinked as he finally seemed to shake off his initial shock. “I think I’m fine,” he answered and moved his tail again. “Doesn’t hurt, anyways,” he mused, then turned his attention back towards Simon, and asked, “Do you… think it worked after all?” in a hopeful tone. Simon looked confused by the question, so he clarified, “Do you think you’re safe?”

“I- oh!” the merman said as he realized what Hank was asking. “I don’t know,” he admitted uncertainly. He didn’t feel any different, but then he hadn’t felt different besides and overriding sense of dread about his impending doom before the kiss either. “I’m not sure we’ll be able to know for sure until sunrise,” he speculated with a frown.

Hank nodded absently, but something inside him knew that everything was going to be just fine. Well, he was a merman and he wasn’t entirely sure that was fine, but… it certainly wasn’t not fine. “So we’ve got a few hours to burn then?” he remarked as the last of the sun sank below the horizon, leaving the both of them illuminated by only the moon where it hung high overhead.

“I suppose we do,” Simon said and felt a sudden onslaught of butterflies overtake his belly when something in Hank’s gaze shifted and a crooked smile pulled at the man’s mouth for the first time that evening.

“Well then,” the former fisherman murmured as he reached out and gently pulled the other merman towards him. “I can think of a few ways to pass them, I think.”

Simon’s breath hitched as Hank drew him in against his chest, and he didn’t hesitate to slip his arms up and around the man’s neck where his fingers could tangle in the thick, wet curls of his hair. “Oh?” he said and tilted his chin up once more, pulse jumping as Hank’s hands roved down the length of his pale back to settle on his hips. “I suppose a little insurance wouldn’t hurt.”

“Nope,” Hank said. “Always did say that anything worth doing is worth doing well,” he teased with a low chuckle that Simon quickly silenced with another kiss.

#detroit become human #dbh #sihank #dbh simon #long post #hank anderson #dbh merfolk au

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obsessedwithbbandsuju · 4 years

Text

Growing Pains | Part 1

It never got any better.

Pairing: Lee Hyukjae (Eunhyuk)/Son Taeyeon

Warnings: Boring-ass cliches, probably

___

sshi: a Korean honorific used when the speaker is relatively unfamiliar with the object of their words, usually regardless of age

seonsaengnim: literally translates to teacher, but can be used to refer to someone considerably older than the speaker who has his/her respect or works in the same industry

sunbaenim: a word used by a junior to refer to a senior in the industry

oppa: a term used by a female to refer to a male, older than her, that she is close to

___

It never got any better.

Before her, Hyukjae had always believed that you could recover from breakups, no matter how painful they were. No matter how much you loved a person, he’d believed that it was possible to get over them, one day. You just had to try, and that belief of his had only been reinforced by experience. He’d had a few girlfriends, he’d loved all of them, and things had ended eventually with all of them. It hurt at first, of course. It hurt badly, the constant and stark realization that she was no longer a part of his life, that he could no longer talk to her again, hold her hand again, kiss her again. Sometimes he sat in numb silence, staring at the wall in a dazed stupor. Sometimes he cried; full, trembling sobs, burying his face in his hands and ruing the times he hadn’t treated her in the way she deserved to be treated. Sometimes he found himself smiling without mirth, thinking of the fond times they had shared with a bitter taste in his mind and tears stinging at his eyes.

But he always recovered eventually. Some recoveries took longer than others, but by the end, he was always back to himself as he was before his previous girlfriend, except with more cherished memories in his heart that he might muse over one day when he was old and stiff. It was a painful cycle, but not a pointless one, and Hyukjae never came out regretting that he’d dated any of them. They’d all done things for him in their own way, made him grow in one fashion or another, and in the end, he was always better off for it.

Hyukjae thought this time would be the same, too. He fought through the hollowness over and over, reminding himself over and over that it would fade someday, like it always did. He wiped his eyes off after the crying again and again, repeating that the pain was temporary. He gritted his teeth and endured every single of the emptying pangs in his chest at the jarring thought that he would never be able to hold her again. Even when the pain didn’t dissipate, several months later, Hyukjae had dismissed his worries. Son Taeyeon had been the woman he was probably the most serious about so far, after all. He had proposed to her, and she’d accepted; they had been engaged for over a year, before things started … crumbling. She had been such a precious, major part of his life for so long that he thought, of course, of course, it would be this difficult to get over her. But he would. Eventually.

But months became a year, then a year and a half, and still, the longing didn’t lessen in the slightest. Hyukjae still woke up sometimes, groggy and disoriented, reaching over next to him on the mattress to pull Taeyeon against him. Then the realization that she wasn’t there, that they had broken up long ago, would crash over him and he would be cruelly jolted to full consciousness, feeling unfilled and vacant. He still found his mind drifting to her and wondering where she was, how she was doing now. He saw her on TV, of course, but it wasn’t the same, nowhere even close. She was out of his reach, and more than that, she looked lively and confident as she always had.

Did she even remember their times together? Did she even care anymore? Everything he saw, everything he heard, everything he read, seemed to be indicating that she didn’t. That she had moved on. Hyukjae knew it was unhealthy, he knew it shouldn’t be like this, but the thought, the possibility, that she had really gotten over him, it shook him. It made him feel betrayed, no matter how ridiculous and irrational and practically hypocritical his emotions were. How could she just … be okay after the way they had broken up? How could she simply go on with her life after everything that had passed between them? Everything they had been to each other? Hyukjae knew, he really did, that he had no right to say anything, since he was constantly trying to get over her, reminding himself that she was part of a past he needed to erase, but still. Still.

He couldn’t forget her. It didn’t get any better. It was like there was a hole in his life where Taeyeon had been, a hole that was refusing to close. No matter how hard Hyukjae tried, no matter what he did to cheer himself up or help himself get over her, he couldn’t do it. He – his thoughts, his emotions, his life, it seemed – always came back to her.

And then an idea seized him.

It was an idiotic idea, frankly. It made him look like a complete bumbling, clueless fool, so cliché and overdone and ridiculous that it wasn’t even something that some people might consider romantic anymore. But in his state, Hyukjae thought … well, he didn’t think, really. He still wasn’t even sure what exactly his idea was when he realized this particular day was free of schedules, bought a bouquet of larkspur flowers (Taeyeon’s favorite), drove to her apartment complex, and now found himself pacing in front of the gates of the two buildings, wondering if she was home and just how he was going to convince her to come out to see him, her ex, even if she was.

Taeyeon lived in Hanwha Galleria Foret (had moved after their breakup, according to Heechul-hyung), and if not for the circumstances under which he was here, Hyukjae would have marveled at the sheer scope of the twin complexes rising into the sky. It had obviously been built to show off the wealth it required to own an apartment here, but more importantly, Hyukjae knew it was a high-security building, for the number of top celebrities that lived in it (G-Dragon-sshi, Kim Soohyun-sshi, even Lee Sooman-seonsaengnim, to name a few). Thanks to that, he didn’t have any worries about anyone spotting him and creating rumors, but now he was here after an hour-long drive with no idea what to do next. It wasn’t like he could simply walk in.

Only then did his stupidity catch up to him. What was he doing here? With flowers? Trying to win Taeyeon back? Trying to get her to take pity on him? Trying to express that he still missed her and loved her? What was the point of all this? And how was he even going to see her if he turned up so abruptly? Taeyeon was a busy person, and there was a high likelihood that she wasn’t home – in which case, he’d just wasted car gas and a good portion of his free day.

But what if Taeyeon was home? What if he somehow could talk to her face-to-face? What was he even going to do?

The thought almost made Hyukjae turn on his heel and run back to his car to drive home – almost. But when he thought of his apartment, dreary and empty and full of only more past memories of his time with Taeyeon, he didn’t want to go back. Home – home offered him nothing good, and rather than just giving up here with nothing accomplished, nothing even attempted, he wanted to do something, even if it all turned out pointless in the end. Then maybe, he thought, just maybe, it would feel better, if only because he tried. If he didn’t even do that, he would never know what might have been if he did.

If he backed out now, Hyukjae was sure he would regret it forever.

And so, he continued to linger aimlessly in front of the apartments, adjusting the mask on his face from time to time so he could breathe more properly. He took a seat on the bench near the gate, his legs bouncing up and down from nerves and impatience. Then he got back up, paced for a few minutes, clutching the bouquet in his hands. And then he sat back down, carefully placing the flowers on the bench next to him and staring up at the sky, trying to calm himself down. It was chilly, but Hyukjae realized he was sweating. He continuously took out his phone and put it away again, wondering if he should try to contact Taeyeon. It would be sensible, since at least then he had a chance at knowing if she was even home. But what if she’d deleted his number? Or blocked it? It wouldn’t be unusual after the way they’d broken up …

“Eunhyuk-sunbaenim …? Excuse me, aren’t you Eunhyuk-sunbaenim?”

Startled at the sound of his stage name, and even more caught off guard by the title sunbaenim, Hyukjae looked up from his spot on the bench, where he’d been staring ponderously at his phone. The face staring down at him in surprise was one that took him barely a second to recognize, even though it was his first time seeing it completely bare. It was hard for anyone in Korea, and especially for someone in the entertainment industry, to not recognize G-Dragon, after all.

But Hyukjae blinked. Despite knowing who was in front of him, it was a bit of a surreal experience. He’d seen GD here and there, of course; music broadcasts, performances, variety shows, and on television, but he’d never spoken to Bigbang’s leader one-on-one in person. Especially not in such a casual setting. GD looked nothing more than normal, his face free of cosmetics, his hair tucked into a cap, dressed in a winter coat, baggy jeans, and boots.

Somehow, the unreal feeling of seeing such a popular star looking so casual wasn’t completely unfamiliar. Hyukjae struggled for a second, trying to remember why he’d experienced it before.

Then he realized it was because he’d felt it often when he was dating Taeyeon, at least in the earlier weeks of their relationship. She was a phenomenally successful star, too, but off-camera, she hardly ever wore makeup, and her sense of fashion was simple and casual, similar to GD at the moment.

Hyukjae fought a grimace at the pang in his stomach, incited by the unintentional memory of his early relationship with Taeyeon. It had been nice then, he thought with what should have been fondness, but had soured to bitterness given their circumstances.

Awkward, but still nice. He’d been nervous, terrified of messing up and upsetting her, awestruck at the prospect that he was dating her in itself, but the butterflies in his stomach and the thumping of his heart had been strangely pleasant.

It dawned on him that GD was still staring at him expectantly, waiting for an answer. Slightly embarrassed, Hyukjae nodded. “Yes,” he muttered, painfully conscious of how strange he must look to the other idol, pacing in front of the gate of the apartment complex in this chilly weather with a bunch of flowers in his hand. “Yes, that’s me.”

GD hesitated, the puzzlement in his eyes plain to see. I can’t blame him, Hyukjae reflected bitterly. I probably look ridiculous.

“This might be none of my business, but … what are you doing here, sunbaenim?”

Hyukjae looked at the ground, wondering how he was going to answer that. As he fished for words trying to explain his senseless actions and situation, a revelation struck him like a lightning bolt. His eyes widened, and he let out an almost inaudible gasp. If he could convince GD to cooperate …

Which likely wouldn’t be easy, Hyukjae realized, scoffing at himself for letting himself get the impression otherwise. He didn’t know GD personally, but Taeyeon talked fondly about Bigbang’s leader, and it was no secret how close they were to each other. It wasn’t hard to see why: they met when they were young, they were in the same agency, they were both leaders of their respective groups, a position that came with considerable burdens. And from what he’d seen of GD on television, his affection for Taeyeon was obvious as well, from the way he looked at her to his comfortable attitude around her to their understated and touchy interactions on camera.

They seemed just like siblings, and Hyukjae knew that if he had a younger sister, he wouldn’t be happy with a person that broke up with her the way he broke up with Taeyeon. GD was being polite now, but if he was aware of Hyukjae’s history with Taeyeon (and there was no way he couldn’t be, not when they were so close), Hyukjae wouldn’t fault the other idol for wanting to punch him.

There was no way he could convince GD to cooperate. None at all. And yet … Hyukjae had to try. He had to.

“Jiyong-sshi?”

“Yes, sunbaenim?” Jiyong looked surprised at the question in response to his question, and Hyukjae felt a tad apologetic. But really, he was too swept up in his mounting desperation to voice his feeling sorry.

“If it’s not too much trouble, can you ask Taeyeon if she can meet me?”

Now the other idol looked outright startled, and frankly, Hyukjae couldn’t find it in himself to be the least bit surprised. Jiyong, no doubt, was shocked at his implied admission of wanting to see Taeyeon after the hurtful way that they went on their separate paths. And Hyukjae didn’t blame him. He didn’t blame Jiyong, not even when he saw anger flickering to life in his eyes.

“I can’t do that, sunbaenim.”

Nor could Hyukjae fault that reaction. In fact, he might have thanked Jiyong for being as calm with his refusal as he was, because Hyukjae was sure if it were him, he would have punched the offending male right in the nose.

Jiyong’s gaze flickered to the bouquet in Hyukjae’s lap, clearly putting two and two together in a flash. He was an intelligent man, Hyukjae knew – Taeyeon wouldn’t be so close to him if he wasn’t. And his suspicion was confirmed when the other idol’s eyes traveled up and down his body once, as if contemplating what to do with him. Jiyong wasn’t pleased with his request; Hyukjae could tell. In fact, he was sure that it was only thanks to the other idol’s naturally calm temperament that he wasn’t beginning to raise his voice.

But he couldn’t give up. He wouldn’t. Not even if the other man (understandably) really punched him.

“Please,” he begged, knowing how desperate he sounded, not caring at all. “Please, I need to see her. I need to talk to her.”

Jiyong took a deep breath and looked away, but Hyukjae could clearly see that it wasn’t because he was wavering. It was a look away that was a blatant attempt to calm himself down, to stop himself from exploding at the source of his frustration – which happened to be Hyukjae himself.

Again, he couldn’t find it in himself to fault Jiyong in the slightest.

“Sunbaenim,” Jiyong said, his voice tight. “Are you asking me to help you meet Taeyeon, knowing what you did to her?”

His junior’s straightforward question caught Hyukjae slightly off guard. What he had done? He … he did know – of course he did. He was more than aware of what he did to Taeyeon. He’d pushed her away, treated her coldly, shunned her without reason. She was always a calm person by nature, rarely one to let her emotions get the better of her and add to the volatility of the situation. They had argued during their time dating, of course, like any normal couple, but he could barely recall any instance that she had become riled up enough to raise her voice. He remembered her getting upset, naturally, but she would always handle her frustration with remarkable tact and calm. It was something Hyukjae admired about her, her self-control. Her self-control that remained almost unwavering, even after their relationship began to fall apart. Even after he… began to ruin everything.

Hyukjae had always felt like she treated him too well, had always marveled at how lucky he was to have her, when he had had her, but now, in hindsight, he couldn’t deny that he was outright ashamed of how good she had been to him. And how unfairly he had repaid her for her patience and devotion with him.

Of course he knew what he did to Taeyeon. And yet here he was, begging her close friend to help him meet her again. This is so laughable.

“Yeah,” he muttered, hanging his head and unable to look Jiyong in the eye. “I am.”

The other idol stood silent for about thirty seconds, and it took those thirty seconds for Hyukjae to gather the nerve to look up at him. When he did, the frustrated hatred simmering in Jiyong’s gaze startled him. He expected Bigbang’s leader to dislike him, even hate him, but why did he look like he was restraining himself, trying to stop something from escaping his mouth?

“I won’t help you, sunbaenim.” The leader of Bigbang’s voice was tense with displeasure. “With all due respect, please leave Taeyeon be. You’ve done enough to her.”

The harshness of the reply caught Hyukjae off guard again; Jiyong had always seemed to be a rather shy person, not at all like the almost larger-than-life G-Dragon that was his stage persona. But of course, he knew, he was probably pushing the limits of the other idol’s patience.

He couldn’t say he hadn’t expected as much. Jiyong sounded firm, sure, confident, and on top of that, Hyukjae could tell as clear as day that the other idol was angry with him. He had a right to be. And Hyukjae – he had never counted himself as the stubborn type, and neither had the people around him – but this time, just this once, he couldn’t budge. No matter how impossible it felt like it would be to convince Jiyong.

“Jiyong-sshi, please. Just this once. Please.” Hyukjae was prepared to get on his knees and beg if he had to. “I need to see her. I’ll regret it forever if I don’t.” It would have been humiliating, pleading with someone he didn’t know like this when said someone was so clearly unwilling to listen, but Hyukjae was past caring at this point. He had to do this.

One more chance. Just one more.

“Oppa, who are you talking to?”

Jiyong spun around at the sound of the very familiar voice, and Hyukjae’s eyes flickered to its source as well. His heart skipped a beat – or more accurately, about ten, and he stiffened, caught off guard by the sudden turn of events.

Because Son Taeyeon was making her way down the sidewalk. She looked as beautiful as Hyukjae remembered her, large brown eyes glinting in the bright light, pink lips smooth and stark against her alabaster skin, black hair tied into a hasty ponytail, a few strands escaping to flutter about her face by the slight wind caused by her momentum. She was bundled up in a black winter coat that sleekly outlined her slender figure, blue jeans, and a pair of brown winter boots.

“Taeyeon,” Jiyong sounded a tad bit frantic, no doubt not happy that his friend had walked across her ex-boyfriend. At the same time, though, he didn’t try to block her or usher her away, and for that, Hyukjae was grateful. Even when Taeyeon’s eyes landed on him and she stopped in her tracks, a blank expression settling on her face, stifling any hint of emotion.

A few seconds of awkward silence passed, and Hyukjae swore that Taeyeon did it on purpose to unnerve him. Jiyong didn’t say anything, just stepped away from the bench and watched Taeyeon resignedly, like he was unsure about the situation but deciding to leave it up to his friend to decide what to do.

“What are you doing here?” Taeyeon’s entire demeanor was calm, which was both surprising and unsurprising at the same time. Surprising because the way that they split hadn’t been pretty, and Taeyeon had walked out the door of their shared apartment, slamming it behind her. Unsurprising because that was the one time he’d ever seen her lose her temper like that, and usually when arguments struck, she talked curtly and mildly, voicing her displeasure with her words but not with her volume.

“I…” Despite having badgered Jiyong so insistently to help him see Taeyeon, when actually faced with his ex-girlfriend, Hyukjae found that he was somewhat at a loss for words. “I needed to see you.”

Next to the bench, Jiyong-sshi let out a frustrated breath through his nose, but he remained silent and kept his eyes on Taeyeon, who kept her eyes on Hyukjae. He couldn’t get a hint of what she was thinking – her face remained carefully neutral and she studied him as if deciding he was worth her time. It wasn’t a pleasant feeling to be appraised like that, but Hyukjae knew better than anyone that he deserved it. The fact that Taeyeon was even bothering to look his way again was more than he could have dared hope for. This was nothing – just as long as he could talk to her, this was nothing. “Please,” he added softly.

She inspected him for a moment longer before turning to Jiyong. “Jiyong-oppa,” she said, “I’m really sorry, but can we delay for a little bit?”

Bigbang’s leader glanced back at Hyukjae, the misgivings on his mind obvious, and Hyukjae, for the millionth time, found himself unable to hold it against the other idol. “Are you sure?” Bigbang’s leader asked, his voice laced with protective concern.

“I’m not,” Taeyeon replied, never taking her eyes off of Hyukjae. “But I’ll give you a chance. Come on.”

#super junior #super junior scenarios #eunhyuk #lee hyukjae #eunhyuk scenarios #my writing

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