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forsakenoathkeeper · 3 years

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I Am Alive (chapter 16/?)

Chapter 16: Sufficiently Healed

Deviant!Connor[RK800] x (fem!)Reader Rated M(18+) for canon-typical violence and gore, medical procedures, and graphic sexual content

Chapters: 1 • 2 • 3 • 4 • 5 • 6 • 7 • 8 • 9 • 10 • 11 • 12 • 13 • 14 • 15 • 16 • more coming soon

You can also read on AO3 & thank you for supporting me ♥

It was late when you returned to the apartment; however, you were too on edge to possibly be tired just yet. While you had replaced his thirium pump regulator, there was still some damage that needed to be addressed.

Connor had reluctantly let you patch his skin before taking Robert into the police station; however, a wound like that undoubtedly caused some internal damage that he decided not to disclose with you.

"Connor, please read me your diagnostic report," you asked him insistently.

He seemed conflicted for a second. "I told you I'm alright," he replied softly.

You eyed him suspiciously, intending to continue on about how you didn't believe him. However, surprisingly, Connor caved quickly.

"Minor membrane damage inside central chassis," he uttered lowly, like a scolded child.

"I won't look if you don't want me to," you offered gently.

"It's not that," he replied immediately, not wanting you to think he was untrusting of your abilities. It was quite the opposite, actually. "You did this all day. You deserve a break."

"But, you're Connor," you replied softly.

You touched his shoulders and gently nudged him, a gesture encouraging him to step back.

"I-uhm..." he uttered, following along with your gentle pushes until the back of his knees hit the couch. He sat down and you kept nudging at him until he lifted his legs, scooted back, and laid down across the couch, head falling onto the armrest.

"I never need a break from you," you added on as he finally got the hint and arranged himself across the couch comfortably.

You retreated briefly to rummage through your bag, seeking out a tool kit specifically for this. As you did, Connor shook his jacket and button-up shirt off, laying them across the back of the couch.

When you turned around and was met with bare, cream colored skin, you had to resist the urge to stare like an idiot. You had seen his nudity before; but, the assortment of freckles running down his torso never ceased to amaze you.

It didn't help that he had a muscular appearance to his chassis. Then, of course, there was that damn pube trail starting beneath his belly button and disappearing into his pants.

Connor really was unfairly attractive.

Brushing those thoughts aside, you set the toolkit down nearby and straddled Connor's thighs. It was intimate and you definitely did not do it like this with your other patients; but, it was easier to access his chassis this way, considering he was on a couch and not an operating table and you didn't have a chair that would set you at the right height.

Connor didn't seem perturbed by you mounting him, not that this was anything new. He looked up at you with nothing but trust reflecting in his brown eyes.

The android relaxed against the cushions and opened the skin layering on the front of his chassis. The shell of his unit parted down the middle from his sternum to his belly button. There were multiple pieces that made up either side of his chassis; but, for ease of access, they parted in two. The material was flexible, yet firm.

Connor seemed to be taking a second to relax, judging by the way he was clenching his jaw. Undoubtedly, this wasn't a pleasant feeling. His system was likely warning him that he was exposing sensitive components that were susceptible to damage.

You admired the design beneath his skin in silence. The membrane fibers that acted like muscle layers were laid out intricately over his abdomen, almost like the perfect drawing in a human anatomy textbook. His internal network layout was far more advanced than anything you had ever seen before. He had more fibrous connectors than the average android, more individual, artificial muscles.

"Oh, Connor," you hummed, not finding the strength to reach inside and touch him yet.

Connor looked up at you, brown eyes reflecting something quite innocent.

"I-I don't think I can..." you trailed off, intimidated by the sight of his insides.

Like all androids, wiring connected to the various internal parts and membranes, allowing for precise movements and artificial muscle controls. Thirium was flowing through the artificial muscles, painting them a magnificent blue hue that was glowing in an otherworldly light.

Connor had more connectors than the average android. His layout was more precise and detailed than any other android you had ever worked on before.

Up until this point, you had only worked on androids designed for yard work, child care, and the likes. Before Connor, you had never heard of an RK series. He was the only android you had come across designed for something... violent. Considering his purpose, it wasn't particularly surprising that his design was more advanced.

"You're just so... I've never seen this much detail before. The intricacy here is amazing, really. We should get a professional," you suggested.

"What?" he uttered lowly, like you had just said the most ridiculous thing. Your eyes shifted from his exposed membrane to his eyes. He looked... offended.

"-someone who knows what they're doing," you explained.

Connor's hands reached for you, cupping either of your elbows. He leaned up a little. "You know what you're doing," he said firmly, leaving no room for argument.

He was a little mad, you realized. You were prepared to rebuttal that, but Connor, catching that look in your eyes, continued, "I've seen the kind of damages you've repaired, and the way you handle androids. No one is better suited to take care of me."

The fierce look in his eyes made it clear this wasn't a discussion. He released your arms and slid back flat onto the couch. You gawked at him for a moment: intimidated, awestruck by his confidence in you.

"O-okay," you uttered weakly.

You reached for your tools before shimmying your body down so you could practically lay on him, and started working.

Membrane repairs were usually simple; however, in Connor's case, partially because his design was so unique, and partially because you were terrified of making a mistake, you took your sweet time. Connor didn't seem to mind. When you glanced up to check on him, his eyes were closed and his LED was a pleasant, blue hue.

Was he... enjoying this? You couldn't tell. But, his face looked peaceful.

Connor was beautiful, intricate blue muscles pulsating with thirium, the tissue firm and soft at the same time, strong and resilient. It was no wonder that he was so fast, so agile. He was designed to be an apex predator.

You lost track of time before you eventually sat upright and admired your work. Muscle tissues had been returned to their proper position, wrapped protective around his thirium regulator, wires carefully tucked back into their proper placements.

"Will you run a new diagnostic?" you asked him gently.

Connor nodded, his eyes still closed. "All readings are normal," he replied softly, sounding almost tired. You couldn't resist smiling at the sight. He looked so relaxed.

"Good," you hummed, carefully shimmying off his lap and rising to your feet. You set your tools down and groaned, rotating around to stretch your legs.

"Oof," you huffed as you stretched, trying to relax your aching back. Behind you, Connor closed his chassis carefully, until the seams relaxed and became unnoticeable.

He sat up to watch you, amused. "I'm not surprised to find your legs are sore. You were working for almost an hour."

"What!?" you shrieked. It definitely didn't feel like you had been going at it that long. You had been so worried about doing something wrong, about damaging him more than he already was.

"Are you sure I did alright?" you asked, sincere, turning around to face him.

Connor patted his abdomen, right where his thirium regulator rested beneath the surface. "The alignment feels more stable and... comfortable," he said with a confident smile. "I am sufficiently repaired."

You laughed softly. "But, are you sufficiently healed?"

His head tilted a little, brow quirking slightly. Androids were repaired, humans were healed; but, he doubted you meant it in that context.

You approached him and dropped down to your knees, pushing him back slightly. You ducked your head down and kissed the spot right above his belly button, where you had just repaired his membrane fibers.

You were smiling when you came back up and Connor looked intrigued.

"There. All better," you hummed innocently.

The android tilted his head slightly, briefly searching the internet to determine why you would do such an odd thing. After briefly viewing a couple answers, Connor felt strangely bashful and squirmed nervously where he was seated.

"'m gonna take a shower," you stated as you rose back to your feet.

Connor looked up at you with a silent question, his eyes warm and inviting and his lips curved into a faint smile.

"Would you like to join me?" you asked softly.

"Yes," he blurted without hesitation.

Together, you trotted over to the bathroom. You undressed as Connor prepared the shower, testing the temperature until he had it at the degree of warmth he thought you would like.

You were already nude and startled him when you reached around his waist from behind and started fiddling with his belt. You didn't touch his pants, but slid the leather through his belt loops and spun around to place it on the rack where he organized his collection.

Connor watched you curiously as he unceremoniously peeled his shoes and socks off before removing his pants and underwear. You ducked into the tiles and warm water before he could finish.

He was fast to come in behind you, startling a squeal out of you with how cold he was compared to the warm water. You caught the look of his proud smirk over your shoulder, before you shrugged him off your back, trying not to be too flustered by the proud erection he was sporting.

After you were sufficiently soaked, you rotated around carefully so that he could take his turn standing beneath the running water. It was almost hypnotizing, watching the droplets fall across his skin.

When androids activated their human skin, it felt undistinguishable from the real thing; however, there was no denying that water reacted a little differently to it. Perhaps, because their skin was so ungodly smooth, water just danced across the surface.

His hair, sopping wet, flopped over his forehead before he brushed it back with his hand. That unruly strand that touched his forehead and gave some deviance to his otherwise prim and proper cut was finally behaving, clung to the rest of his wet strands.

When Connor stepped out of the pouring water, you were quick to ask, "can I do it?" while reaching for the shampoo he used. As you brought the bottle in closer, you realized it was made specifically for android's synthetic hair fibers. Connor didn't respond verbally, but looked down at you eagerly.

You squeezed a small dollop into your palm, surprised to find it was more foamy than typical shampoo. As you lathered it between your hands, the cool, clean scent floated around the shower.

Connor tilted his head down as you reached for him. You weaved your fingers through his locks, impressed, as always, by how soft they were. You massaged your fingers into his scalp in a manner you hoped he would find enjoyable, down the back of his head to work the soap into the shorter hairs, careful not to catch on his ears. He must have enjoyed it, considering the way he sagged against you.

"Connor," you laughed softly.

You reached past him to rinse your hands off. The android tilted his head back to chase your hands and the water hit his head and sent the suds spewing down his back. His eyes were shut and he seemed relaxed. You let your hands return to his head to aid in rinsing the soap from his locks.

For a moment, you were mindful of not getting any in his eyes, until you remembered that his optics could handle a vast majority of cleaning agents and this would likely not cause any irritation. Still, you doubted he would want soap splashed in his face.

When his hair felt sufficiently rinsed out, Connor took hold of your waist and carefully pulled you around so that you traded places and was beneath the water again.

"You were getting cold," he observed, looking down at you sweetly. Water was clinging to his eyelashes and heavy droplets dripped from his sopping wet hair; however, he didn't seem to mind, or notice.

You smiled at him, feeling the warm water splash down your back. He looked in awe, staring at you, hair clinging to your skin, water droplets decorating your body. He tried not to stare at your nudity, doubting you would want that after what transpired today.

Wanting to return the favor, Connor reached for your shampoo. You couldn't help but giggle at the questioning glance he tossed you before pouring some into his palm. You fluttered your eyes shut when he reached for you.

He was gentler than you had been, careful to not get any on your face, mindful of how rough he was with his fingers. You felt him lean in closer, even though it wasn't required to reach you seeing that he had long arms and flexible digits.

After a minute or so, you leaned back to rinse it off and gently shrugged his hands away.

"I wanted to ask you," you began, voice distant over the sound of the running shower.

"When you asked me to stay here for my safety, was that a ploy to get me to move in?" you teased, eyes opening halfway through and watching Connor's gaze shift from curious to a deer in headlights.

"I wouldn't trick you like that," he protested softly.

You laughed quietly and his concerned expression relaxed.

"It's just," you continued. "I've been here a lot, and that's not fair to you. I'm pretty much squatting."

"It doesn't bother me," Connor retorted.

"I use more water than you. I use your heater. I'm running the stove more than you ever would," you carried on. "I should be paying rent."

"I don't require many human essentials," Connor said robotically. "My cost of living is significantly lower than yours. I don't require you to help pay my bills."

"But, they aren't just your bills if I'm here all the time," you retorted.

You rang out your hair and swapped places with the android again. You huffed out a laugh when he snatched the conditioner bottle out of your hand and, quite literally, took matters into his own hands.

"Please, Connor. I don't want to be a freeloader," you protested, eyes fluttering shut as he worked the conditioner through your hair with careful fingers.

"I don't see you that way," he uttered sincerely. You moaned softly when his palms smoothed over your skull and his fingers carefully worked the conditioner through your hair.

"I see me that way," you retorted grumpily.

"I don't mind paying for-"

"Well, I do," you interrupted him, a little harsher than intended.

He carefully removed his fingers from your hair and you opened your eyes to look at him intensely, hoping he realized this was important to your independence.

"I-... don't believe you make enough money to afford two places," Connor stated analytically, rinsing his hands in the flowing water. "So, it would only be logical for you to choose one over the other."

He handled surrendering rather well, you realized fondly.

"I like your place better. If you want me here?" you asked softly.

Connor was quick to answer before any doubt could blossom. "I do."

After you rinsed out your hair, Connor's bodywash followed: this time, something clearly designed for humans. Android's plastic skin didn't typically require a need for this sort of thing; but, you were pleased to see he had ignored this and treated himself. The bodywash had a masculine scent with a faint mint aroma that seemed oddly appropriate for his polished demeanor.

There was a perfectly good scrub brush right there; but, you ignored it, opting for your hands instead.

"Do you care if I smell like your body wash?" you asked as your hands smoothed over his shoulders and down his chest and over his stomach.

"I don't mind," Connor replied.

Your arms encircled his waist and you pulled him into an embrace, wet bodies smacking together. Connor seemed surprised, or perhaps unsettled by the sudden closeness, judging by the look he made. Your hands continued to spread the soap along his back, shamelessly enjoying the feel of his back muscles tensing beneath your touch.

"Sorry, is this bad?" you uttered, trying to make sense of his expression.

"No. I just didn't want to make you uncomfortable," he answered, struggling to keep his eyes focused on yours when he could feel your breasts smooshed against his chest, the soft expansion of your tummy and the heat radiating off your thighs.

It was obvious he was referring to the erection that he had been struggling to subdue ever since you undressed in front of him. Now, with the closeness, it was pinned between your bodies, smooshed against your inner thigh.

Connor looked embarrassed. "Sorry, I usually can control that better."

You shook your head rapidly. "I don't want you to control it," you whispered sharply.

The android tightened his lips, seemingly spurred on by your encouraging words.

"Does it bother you?" you asked, sincere, a little worried that he might have been uncomfortable.

"Is it not... demeaning?" the android asked softly.

"Why would it be demeaning?" you asked, tilting your head a little.

"It seems inappropriate after what happened today, and you didn't express a sexual interest to warrant this response," Connor explained, again in that very android-like way.

You huffed a little at him. "It's not like you tried to force yourself on me," you proclaimed, a little scold to your tone. "Should I be upset with you for being attracted to me?"

Connor's lips curved into a smile that was a little innocent despite the context of the discussion at hand.

"That is accurate, but-" the android began. "I-... Feel a little possessive at the moment."

Curiosity, excitement maybe, danced behind your eyes.

"You could have died today," you commented lowly. "Is that what has you on edge?"

"It is... a possibility," he drawled.

You were silent for a moment, rubbing soap all over him, not caring that a lot of it ended up all over you, too.

"...you were in danger," Connor confessed quietly, voice weak through the sound of the rushing water hitting the tiles. You couldn't help but feel enamored by those words. He was pent up and frustrated at the fear that he could have lost you today.

"For a second, I thought you were going to kill him," you stated softly, not sounding disgusted or angry, but perhaps worried.

"I thought so, too," Connor admitted, oddly not feeling scrutinized in your gaze. If anything, you seemed proud of him.

Connor wasn't quite sure if that was how he felt: proud. Part of him knew that he had to do what was best for androids and humans, so that they could create a better world together. He wanted to participate in Markus' vision; yet, when it came to you, he found himself second guessing those desires.

He would do whatever he had to do to keep you safe.

To accomplish his mission-

"Do you want to get out?" you asked softly, trying to rotate him around so he could wash off the soap. However, lost in his thoughts, Connor was standing there, stiff and unmovable. Eventually, he complied, traded places with you once more, and let the water wash the soap away.

Instead of answering your question, Connor was more concerned that perhaps you wanted to leave. "Is the steam making you dizzy?" he asked, concerned.

You shook your head with a smile. "No. It's just-... You seem-..." you trailed off, deciding against telling him what was on your mind, that he had kept his hands to himself despite admitting that he was pent up.

Captivated by him, you felt feral, longing for him to have you in the most intimate way humans were capable of. Connor was a sophisticated android, beautiful and strong, graceful and elegant. You felt as graceful as a flopping fish on dry land compared to him.

Of course, the android didn't see you that way. If he could sleep, if he could dream, you would be the woman that came to him in the dead of night.

You stepped out of the shower to retrieve a towel. Connor followed you to the shower exit, careless that he was dripping wet all over his bathroom tiles. Before you could get the towel wrapped around yourself, he gently cupped your arm and tugged you back in.

Your eyes, bright and confused, looked up at him, noticed the desperate look he was making, and dropped the towel on the floor. As soon as he had you back inside, he looked like he regretted that decision.

"I'm sorry-" he stammered.

"Connor, please-" you uttered, sounding suddenly like you were in so much agony. "-no more whiplash. Ok? Tell me what's on your mind."

"I want you," he confessed lowly, staring down at you with a desperately hungry look in his eyes.

His hands slid over your ribs, fingers curling over the outline of the bones with deep fascination. He unconsciously pinned you against the tiles, not too far from beneath the shower head, where water could sputter across your body. The android arched over you, patience waning.

Yes, please-

"Show me that you're alive, Connor," you breathed against his lips.

Finally - finally, he kissed you. You moaned shamelessly, arms weaving around his shoulders to drag him in closer. The android practically smooshed you against the tiles with his own body, trying to mold himself against you. His kisses were desperate, hungry, but somehow still managed to be soft.

He wasted little time before propping your leg on his waist and dipping his fingers into the heat between your thighs. Water was definitely not a suitable lubricant, and he wasn't too stupid to not be able to tell them apart. When he was met with your folds, the slippery substance couldn't be mistaken for anything but your natural slick.

He hadn't done anything and you were already dripping. He had been torturing himself with guilt while you had been as aroused as he was. The thought eased his troubled mind just a little.

The android trailed your nub for a brief second before pushing his longest digit into your cavern. You moaned against his mouth shamelessly. He gave you a second to breathe before shoving his tongue into your mouth. For a second, your eyes fluttered open and caught the sight of his closed eyes, tense eyebrows, and vibrant, crimson halo on his temple.

His tongue explored your mouth selfishly while he fingered you eagerly. His flexibility was a strong reminder he wasn't human, and you loved it. He thrust his digit aggressively, knuckles brushing against your folds, while his thumb pressed down on your bud, shifting with the movement of his digits.

Connor carefully maneuvered another finger inside and devoured the hiss that escaped your mouth. The stretch was brief, more so by the sudden intrusion than the extra girth. He was being a little more aggressive than necessary; but, you shamelessly loved every second of it.

When you started to pant desperately, he finally let go of your lips and trailed soft bites down your neck. You could hardly focus properly, pinned against the wall to ensure you wouldn't fall, overwhelmed by the delicious friction he was delivering to your cunt.

The android bent down and took a rosy nipple into his mouth, sucking on the bud in slow, but firm, successions that you would be able to feel strongly. You most certainly did, and arched your back, moaning and whimpering helplessly. Your hands gripped his shoulders for dear life.

You were shaking violently, feeling an orgasm approaching, but not quite there. It felt far away until Connor released your poor, abused nipple and leaned up, groaning a staticky moan into your throat when his erection brushed your thigh.

You weren't sure if it was his moan, the way he humped you slightly for just a second, or the fact that you wanted him inside you so fucking badly. Suddenly, you were coming, so hard that you screamed and startled yourself with how loud it sounded in the shower.

Connor was unwavering until you had rode out the wave and regained enough composure to reach down and wrap your fingers around his cock. He faltered and nearly collapsed on top of you at the sudden touch.

You stroked him a few times before letting go and pushing at him until he got off of you. He complied with the most adorable, disagreeing pout on his face. You almost wanted to smack him for daring to think you didn't want more - all of him, every fucking inch.

The shower had a small platform sticking out opposite from the entrance, clearly designed to be sat on like a bench. You stepped towards it and propped up one of your legs, knee on the tile, braced your palms across from you, and bent over, propping up on your toes on the one foot that was on the ground.

The android groaned approvingly and immediately covered your body with his. One of his arms came into view, sliding along the tiles on the wall in front of you. You were confused briefly until you felt him nudge you forward and your cheek came into contact with his skin instead of the cold tiles.

The water from above was pouring across his back and sending water spattering over you obnoxiously, not that you could find the willpower to care.

You heard the familiar sound of him spreading lubricant down his shaft and tried to arch up your behind as invitingly as you could, whimpering like a pathetic animal.

He didn't brace his hand on your hip, but reached around and cupped your cunt. His chest collided softly with your back and forced you to arch just a little more, until the angle was perfect and his tip hooked on your entrance. You were more than ready; yet, still, his size managed to force a whimper out of you.

He sheathed himself inside you and groaned low and staticky, beautiful mechanical noises. He was most of the way inside, thrusting shallowly a few times to let you adjust. You turned your head and bit at the skin on his forearm. That seemed to spur him on and Connor shifted his hips and filled you to the brim.

You moaned through your teeth, still latched onto his skin, enough of an encouraging sound for him to start moving properly. Wet, fleshy noises of skin slapping together echoed around the shower. Connor's fingers toyed with your pearl as he fucked you, displaying a sort of inhuman flexibility as he bent over you.

"Ohhh, Connor," you moaned against his skin before lapping your tongue against the spot you just tug your teeth into. It blossomed pale white briefly before fading back to his artificial, human skin tone. One of your hands was clinging awkwardly to his bicep while the other gripped the wrist that was curled between your thighs.

His hand against the tile was splayed, fingers bent and nails digging into the tile. Your pressed your cheek into his skin and huffed out a pathetic breath every time he slid back inside.

"-so beautiful," Connor breathed against the skin at the base of your spine. You whimpered when you felt the unique texture of his tongue as it lapped against the top vertebrae.

You wanted to arch into his touch, to tilt your head and expose more skin, so that his mouth could reach every part of you possible in this position. However, you were already struggling to keep yourself upright and didn't want to dare ruin this: the perfect drag of his cock at the angle that made you see stars.

You felt the android's forehead fall into the back of your neck and the heat of his exhaust against your skin as he let himself get lost in the moment. It was burning hot; everywhere he touched you was burning hot. His skin against your back and the tops of his thighs where they touched the backs of yours felt ungodly warm.

It occurred to you, then, that this was likely an unsafe combination: the heat from the water, the steam wafting about the shower, and his internal biocomponents heating as a response to external stimuli.

"W-wait, Connor," you urged, pushing back against him. His pace staggered, but he didn't immediately let you go. "Stop," you added on insistently, until he finally slipped out of you and backed up.

Hastily, you stood up and stepped over to the faucet, turned the water off and looked up at him with concern, cupping his cheeks.

"Are you overheating?" you asked, trying to make sense of the look in his eyes.

He seemed a little distant, not looking at you quite properly.

"Connor?" you insisted, a little louder than necessary.

He blinked as if startled by your voice.

"I-... a little," he admitted quietly.

"Oh, geez," you huffed. "Did you disable those warnings?" you scolded him lightly, taking him by the arm to guide him out of the shower. You ignored the chill when you stepped out and grabbed a towel to start drying him off.

"No," he lied as you plopped the towel on the top of his head and gently patted his hair. Before you could run it down his shoulders, he gently pushed your hands away and removed the towel from himself and wrapped it around you. You looked up at him with a harmless glare.

"I'll reenable them," he promised, looking at you fondly as he bundled you up.

"You better," you scolded him.

"I just-... didn't want my hardware limitations getting in the way," he commented lowly.

"Pssh," you hissed, delivering a gentle smack against his chest. "That's not a hardware limitation. Humans pass out from heat, too," you stated.

You retrieved another towel and flung it at the android. "It's called being alive," you added on. He caught the towel, but didn't seem particularly interested in drying himself off. You didn't miss the way he was staring at you, pleading eyes and lips parted slightly.

"Cool down a bit first," you teased, nudging at his hands until he got the message and started drying himself off.

You let the towel unravel from your body so you could dry the back of your neck and pat it gently through your hair. You heard a soft whoosh when Connor unceremoniously dropped his towel. As soon as you let go of your hair, he descended upon you.

You gasped when he backed you up against the sink, the cool marble pressing against your behind.

"I’m not going anywhere," you laughed, hands coming up beneath his arms, smoothing over the plains of his back.

Connor blinked away the hungry look in his eyes. "I'm sorry. I'm being too insistent," he apologized politely.

His cock, pinned between your bodies, was hard and throbbing. He seemed eager to continue, undoubtedly pent up and desperate for release. Your state wasn't much better, sticky and warm between your thighs, and not nearly satisfied.

"You're lucky I don't have work tomorrow," you surrendered with a sigh, though you had a warm and inviting smile on your face.

The grin on his face was charming and handsome, but hid something mischievous when he guided you to the bed. "You asked me if I was sufficiently healed," he started as he gently pushed you back onto the sheets, not the least bit concerned that you were still fairly wet. "I don't think I am."

You huffed out a laugh at his matter-of-fact tone. Your arms weaved over his shoulders when he arched over you. He intended to take your lips; however, you avoided his mouth and peppered kisses over his freckled face.

Your legs found their way around his hips. He nudged forward, teasingly brushing his length against your folds. Your head fell back into the sheets and you sighed at the sensation. He took that opportunity to steal the kisses you had denied him a second ago.

Somehow, you just knew, it was going to be a long night.

#connor x reader #deviant connor x reader #dbh fanfic #rk800 x reader #rk800 smut #connor smut

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maatryoshkaa · 4 years

Text

young god | chapter 14

chapters: | 1 | 2 | 3 | 4 | 5 | 6 | 7 | 8 | 9 | 10 | 11| 12 | 13 | 14 | 15 | 16 | epilogue |

word count: 5.7k

warnings: mild violence, foul language, dark themes and mental health.

description: Han Jisung’s overheard confession sends the precinct -- and the rest of Miroh Heights -- into chaos, forcing law enforcement, police, and citizens alike to choose sides. While he’s locked up, though -- making the acquaintance of a strangely familiar inmate along the way -- Jisung remains unaware of just what lengths some of the people around him are willing to go to in order to save his life.

watch the trailer here!

14| monsters and men.

The interrogation room held a chill that seeped deep into Jisung’s bones.

Across from him, the woman — prosecutor — that had been questioning him tapped her fingers on the table’s cold steel surface, her thinning lips the only indication of her growing impatience. They had been sitting for over an hour now — granted, there was no clock on the room’s bare walls, so Jisung could only guess — and he hadn’t spoken a single word.

“Staying silent isn’t going to help your case, you know,” the woman reminded him for what seemed like the thousandth time. She had curling brown hair and tired eyes — it seemed to Jisung like a recurring trait amongst law enforcement workers — and a thin line of a mouth.

She had been nice enough, reading him his rights and asking questions calmly, but Jisung just couldn’t will his lips to move. He’d been absently studying the handcuffs clasped tight around his wrists with his head bowed. Kang had grudgingly called in a physician to perform first aid on the numerous cuts on his body — including the shallow stab wound above his hip the blonde man had inflicted — and after spending hours in the cold interrogation rooms the sharp aches of pain had eventually grown numb. Every word they spoke to him sounded as if it were in another language, bouncing off before they reached his ears, as if Jisung was enclosed in a muddled, soundproof bubble.

They had brought in a psychologist, too, after he’d stayed silent for an hour — a stout man with watery blue eyes whose tone was too warm for Jisung’s liking.

“On a scale of 1-10, how are you feeling?”

“Can you tell me what’s going on in your head right now?”

“I’m here to help you, kiddo — cooperate with me a bit.”

But another hour dragged by, and so the prosecutor had returned.

Jisung’s mind kept wandering — to the sickly warm feeling of blood, your blood pooling onto his shaking hands, your blood drained face on the hospital cot, Chan’s feverish eyes as he’d held onto Jisung’s slack shoulders with a fatherlike sort of firmness.

Just as the woman let out a sigh of defeat, the metal door behind Jisung swung open with a screech. Behind his golden spectacles, Prosecutor Kang’s beady eyes darted from Jisung’s empty expression to the woman’s tired one and scowled.

“He’s still refusing to talk?”

The woman nodded. Jisung felt the weight of their stares boring into his head. Kang jerked his head towards the door and the woman stood to leave as the older prosecutor took her place across the table.

“You’re holding out longer than I thought.” When Jisung didn’t react, Kang continued with a smirk, “Though I suppose I would expect nothing less from a cold-blooded killer.”

Killer. The note of truth in the word stabbed through Jisung’s gut like a switchblade.

“Well, boy, you’re sly, I’ll give you that —” Kang narrowed his eyes, “But I’m warning you now, we’ve already gathered enough incriminating evidence. DNA from the crime scenes, CCTV footage — you’re only a couple of lab tests away from a guilty conviction, Han Jisung.”

He was lying, Jisung knew he was — lying to get him to panic and talk. Minho had long since erased all fingerprints and disposed of all evidence, after all. Jisung had watched him do it with his own eyes.

Scowling at Jisung’s silence, Kang stood suddenly and slammed his hands onto the metal table, sending the pad and pen skittering. He leaned in closer, his voice a rancid whisper. “Talk or not, you’re not going to be leaving police custody anytime soon. I’ve seen cases like yours. You look all—innocent—on the outside—” Kang’s eyes were almost pitying, his tone condescending— “But deep down, inside? You’re fucked up to the core, and you know it, too. You know you’re a defect of society — so why are you trying so hard to pretend that you’re normal?”

Jisung didn’t realise how tightly he had been gritting his jaw until it began to ache, his clenched fists shaking white. It was like Kang was pulling every fear Jisung had ever had out of the dark crevices of his mind, forcing them beneath the harsh, burning light.

“No matter.” Kang drew back, raising his eyebrows. “You’ll crack sooner or later—just like you always do, eh?” He took off his spectacles, wiping them with a cloth from his breast pocket without taking his eyes off of Jisung. “Like yesterday morning, no? Two men dead and three comatose. Not to mention the poor girl hanging onto her life by a thread as we speak—”

At this, Jisung’s eyes flickered upwards for the first time since they had detained him. The light above him was bright and seared at his retinas, but all he could focus on was Kang’s jeering face. The older prosecutor raised his eyebrows, a flash of triumph rippling across his features.

“You haven’t heard? Or did you simply not care? An innocent young woman, and a switchblade to her heart—” Kang clicked his tongue. “The surgery isn’t going well, I heard. She’ll be lucky if she’s able to stay in critical condit—”

Jisung stood up so quickly his handcuffs banged onto the corner of the table and sent a bruising pain through his wrists. He whirled towards the door, already mapping out the shortest route from the precinct to the hospital—but Kang was onto him, rough hands seizing him by the back of his shirt and pinning him painfully against the desk with an echoing bang. He could feel the stab wound reopen beneath the bandages, a shock of fresh pain in the numbingly cold room.

“—go,” Jisung gasped out, his cheekbone crushing against the smooth steel. “Let me — need to see her, make s-sure she’s okay—let me—”

Kang’s disbelieving bark of laughter sent chills down Jisung’s spine. Jisung knew he could overpower him if he tried—but what about the officers standing guard outside, the dozens patrolling the precinct? The thought of the life fading from your eyes was enough to make him want to throw up.

“No need to pretend you care, Mr. Han—save that energy for the rest of the trial, yes?” At that, Jisung heard the metal door screech open again, and two officers’ hands replaced Kang’s on either side of his shoulders.

The older prosecutor dusted off his hands, then fixed Jisung with a satisfied look. “You’ll be kept under custody until enough evidence has been gathered and processed to begin the trial.”

“Can I—see her? Please, you can—trail me, you can do whatever you want with me, I just—one moment—”

Kang cut him off. “You gave us nothing for nearly five hours. Even if you had, you have places to be, Mr. Han—the state prison, to be exact.” Seeing the confusion flash across Jisung’s whitened face, he continued with a savage glint in his beady eyes. “You’ll be a temporary inmate until you’re called for trial.” He glanced at his watch, then nodded at the officers, who began escorting Jisung from the room.

Behind him, Kang called slyly, “You’ll be cohabitating with the worst of the worst—or shall I say, your own type?” He could hear the smile in the prosecutor’s voice. “We’ll see how long you last.”

━━━━━━━━

The bus ride to the prison was strangely peaceful.

Jisung caught a glimpse of the clock before he took a seat at the back. 12:00. Dead midnight. The streets were cleared, and there were nearly no cars on the road—the aftereffects of the lockdown had likely sent the citizens in a state of paranoia. Because of me, Jisung thought numbly. Because of the Mass-Murderer of Miroh Heights. Besides two accompanying officers and the driver, the shuttle was empty.

No other inmates. Jisung was alone.

He had never really gotten used to the loneliness, though it had followed him his entire life. Each time it came back, it seemed more suffocating than the last. A voice in the back of his head told him that maybe this was how it was supposed to be. That maybe, for someone like him, he deserved nothing more.

The overwhelming feeling of emptiness began to numb his chest. Eventually the rocking motion of the bus pulled him into a cold wash of dreamless sleep. The last image he saw behind his drooping eyelids was your face.

━━━━━━━━

Jisung was woken two hours later, and they spent the early hours of the morning taking pictures and recording his information before he was given a change of clothes and finally escorted to a cell. Other inmates were waking up, some taking walks, but none spared him a second glance. They were all wearing the same stiff uniforms, with a number stamped on their breast pockets. Jisung almost laughed—for once, nobody cared who he was, who he might be. For once, he had nothing to hide.

The air smelled of dust and salt, and the inside of his mouth felt as if it had been stuffed with cotton. The prison guard motioned towards the last cell in the corridor, and Jisung stepped inside, watching the light in the room disappear as the heavy doors slammed shut behind him. As his eyes adjusted under what little patchy sunlight the barred windows let in, he realised with a start that there was another man in the cell.

“You planning to stand there for the rest of your sentence?” His voice took Jisung by surprise — it was mild, nonchalant — no hint of threats, hostility, or ulterior motives. Compared to the last forty-eight hours, it was like a breath of fresh air.

Jisung looked around the cell, not quite sure where he was supposed to go. The man chuckled and gestured across from him, and so Jisung awkwardly took a seat on the floor in front of him. The man was contemplating him with slightly raised eyebrows, and Jisung was beginning to get the feeling that somewhere, somehow, he’d seen his face before. His eyes had a familiar crescent lilt, and the corner of his lips were wide and upturned, making him look as though he were always smiling—fox-like features, but with none of the slyness. He was middle-aged, his thinning hair streaked with gray.

“You look like you could use a nap, son,” the man finally remarked, and Jisung subconsciously rubbed at his eyes. Son. Why did the word sound so strange to his ears? “What’s a kid like you doing in a place for monsters?”

Monsters. The old man certainly didn’t look like one. He looked like he could be someone’s uncle, professor, or father. He had said it lightly, almost as if he didn’t take it seriously, but the word still made Jisung’s heart sink. “Are you...a monster?” He finally asked, and the man laughed, but there was a sad edge to his voice.

“Well. That’s what they called me, ten years ago. You can make of that what you want, eh?”

Ten years ago. What had he done to earn such a long sentence? There was a brief silence, before Jisung felt compelled to speak again. It was as if the hours of silence had finally taken a toll on him now, and his tongue was beginning to burn with words and questions. “You don’t look like…”

“A monster?” The man raised an eyebrow. “Neither do you, son. But we’re both in here for a reason, no?”

“What’s yours?” Jisung was surprised at his own boldness — the man could turn on him any moment, after all. But he realised that he was already far beyond the point of caring whether or not he got hurt.

The man studied him for a long moment, and seemed to make a silent decision before finally speaking. “I...killed a man. I killed a man who had hurt someone dear to me.” He let out a deep sigh, and Jisung watched his face cloud over with memory. “A few said it was justified, but the prosecutor in charge was a stubborn one. Headstrong. The world of law is a cold one—killers are convicted without pardons, and murder is murder regardless of the circumstances.”

Jisung swallowed a painful lump in his throat, but his voice still came out sounding like he was being choked. “I killed people who...hurt someone I loved, too,” he murmured quietly. For a moment, he thought the old man hadn’t heard—his voice was nearly inaudible—but when Jisung lifted his gaze, he saw that the man was listening intently, warm brown eyes focused on his face. “B-but in the end, I...hurt the person I loved the most. Because I couldn’t...stop.”

The man sighed. “I know.”

This took him by surprise. Confused, Jisung followed his gaze to the corner of the cell, where there sat a stack of newspapers. The one on the very top had bold headlines that screamed, MASS ASSAULT AT LOCAL DINER. TWO DEAD, FOUR IN CRITICAL CONDITION. Just the black-and-white picture of Mia’s Diner on the cover sent a twist of nausea through his gut. “I’ve been following the case—the Miroh Heights Murders. It’s you, isn’t it?”

Jisung could only nod, exhaling shakily. “Unlike you, I...I deserve what they call me.”

They were silent for another couple of minutes, the man contemplating Jisung with that same, strangely familiar look in his eyes, and Jisung avoiding his gaze and staring at the dusty ground. He was already filled to the brim with self-loathing. The last thing Jisung needed was a convicted criminal looking at him in disgust, too—he didn’t think he would be able to take it.

Instead, the man simply said thoughtfully, “They can—and trust me, they always will—call you what they want. Whether or not you choose to believe it, though, that’s up to you. You know what I learned, son?” Jisung finally lifted his head to meet the man’s gaze, hesitant but curious. “The more you accept those words and let them explain your past, your actions — the longer you let their voices replace your own…the more those words end up becoming your truth. You know yourself better than they do.”

Jisung looked down bitterly. Did he? “You can’t — make those excuses for me. I’ve killed people, I’m a killer, I’m a monster—”

“Are you the monster they claim you’ve always been?” The old man interrupted gently. “Or are you forcing yourself into the mold of the monster they’re making you out to be?”

Jisung was silent. The sun had changed positions while they were talking, the glare in the cell softening into a golden glow. “Why are you telling me this?”

The man sighed, stretching. “I’ll be honest, I’m not too sure, myself. I haven’t talked this much in a while. I’ll say, though, boy, I’ve seen my fair share of monsters—been in here for ten years, and I’ll be in here for the rest of my life. You’re not one of ‘em. As a matter of fact, you remind me of...myself.”

Jisung looked over at the newspapers again. “Why were you following the case?”

“You need to find a hobby to keep yourself sane in here,” the old man scoffed. “I would usually say it’s out of boredom, but...not this time. I have a son,” he finally confessed, a softer note in his voice. He tilted his head, studying Jisung’s features thoughtfully. “He’s a few years younger than you. Just got into university, I heard. Miroh Heights. I worry...about how he’s doing.”

Jisung nodded, a sour taste in his mouth. Imagine living with the serial killer from your son’s campus. Suddenly, the lock clicked and the door swung open, revealing a guard. “Mealtime,” was all he said, and the old man stood.

Before they were escorted out, Jisung asked one last question. “What’s your— what should I call you?”

The old man thought for a moment, then smiled. “People in the town used to call me Old Yang.” He shrugged, a wistful look in his eyes. “Yang is fine.”

━━━━━━━━

Prosecutor Kang was in the middle of lighting a cigarette when Seungmin stepped outside the District 9 Precinct. The interrogations had just ended, and Seungmin had been told to stay behind and drive a couple of his higher-ups back to the law firm. Judging from the sour look on Kang’s already taut features, the questioning hadn’t gone well.

“Kim Seungmin,” Kang called by way of greeting, and Seungmin gave a curt nod. “As you may have heard, the serial killer — ah, the Han Jisung case, I should say—has been transferred to me.” When Seungmin forced himself to stay silent, Kang glanced over and gave him a clap on the back. “Now, now—don’t feel too ashamed, Kim. Everyone makes rookie mistakes. They may have assigned the wrong case to you, but rest assured — it’s in proper hands now.”

“Is it?” Seungmin couldn’t help blurting, and instantly regretted it. Kang’s face darkened, and the older prosecutor turned to face Seungmin head on.

“Have something to say to me, Kim?”

Too much, Seungmin thought, except he could never get the proper words out of his mouth. They would bubble and foam on the tip of his tongue before his own anxiety and apprehension would push them back down hastily. “I’ve just — never understood the way you handled cases, sir.”

“Seungmin.” Kang took a short drag of his cigarette, then took a step closer. Seungmin could smell the bitter tobacco, mixed with mint, on his breath. “Allow me to share a word of advice. They won’t teach you this in law school.”

He took another drag, then continued. “Your job as a prosecutor is not to judge the defendant fairly.” When Seungmin opened his mouth in indignant protest, Kang cut him off. “If you want a smooth career...all you need to do is make sure you’re appealing to the right people. In other words, listen to what the public wants.” Kang jerked his chin; a couple of blocks down the street, the familiar flashing of police cruiser lights were illuminating Mia’s Diner. “Please the public; don’t waste a single damn about the defendant. You spent all your precious time worrying your little head over the killer’s motives, and now that we finally have him, you’re still worrying over the severity of his sentence. Murder is murder, Kim Seungmin, and actions speak louder than motives. You can show lenience towards a mass-murderer, or you can sweep his sorry past under the rug and bring closure to dozens of families. Which would make you a richer, more popular man?”

Seungmin grit his teeth, a sour taste flooding his mouth. “Is that how you got to where you are?” Everyone knew Kang was one of the most affluent prosecutors in the firm — no, in the entire city.

Kang only smiled, spectacled eyes flashing like a snake’s. “Think, boy. As far as anyone needs to be concerned, the cold-blooded killer is caught, peace is re-established, families are soothed, justice is served once again — and I come out the hero. You saw that boy’s wretched past. Even he can’t handle it. So why poke at wounds that aren’t meant to be reopened?”

Kang flicked his cigarette, not catching the way Seungmin was shaking with anger. “You think you’re being kind? Justice isn’t meant to be kind, Kim.” He shrugged. “Make up the easiest case to solve and do everyone a favour.”

Just then, the precinct’s glass doors slid open and a couple of prosecutors stepped out. Kang waved them over into one of the parked cars, Seungmin in the driver’s seat, and they sped off, leaving the parking lot eerily empty.

Yang Jeongin stepped out from the corner where he had been standing, concealed in the shadows, the confused nurse he had guilted into letting him “take a quick walk” trailing by his side.

“We best be going, sweetheart,” the old woman said worriedly, eyes darting nervously between Jeongin and the IV drip still connected to his arm. “Fresh air is good, but it’s best you don’t overexert yourself this soon.”

Jeongin nodded absently, and let her guide him back to the hospital while clutching his arm. He felt stronger, but his head was beginning to pound again.

He glanced down at his other hand, where he had been holding out the voice recorder, and pressed END RECORDING.

━━━━━━━━

“Hey, chin up, kiddo. Look at me.”

Even though Bang Chan was sitting on the other side of the plexiglass, Jisung couldn’t bring himself to meet his friend’s eyes. He heard the detective sigh.

“When the trial starts. Plead not guilty, you hear? I know what you’re thinking, but if you plead guilty, that Kang bastard is going to eat you alive.”

“I can’t.”

“Jisung—”

“I can’t, Chan. I’m not innocent. Shit, I — I can’t even remember half the murders they’re accusing me of, but I know my hands are bloody.”

“If you can’t remember, that factors into the investigation. A mental impairment, a handicap--” Chan was in detective mode, hands gesturing wildly as if he were moving his thoughts and theories through the air. “We need to find out why.”

“Woojin visited before you,” Jisung said in a dead tone. The police captain had been the most distressed Jisung had ever seen him, pacing the room with a locked jaw. It seemed to be a habit of his.

“Han Jisung, I’ve seen numerous murder cases before. This isn’t...right. Your sentence shouldn’t be as heavy as Kang’s making it out to be, but he’s removed both Chan and I from the investigation. We couldn’t gather more counter-evidence if we tried…” the captain looked up at him, his dark eyes troubled. “Unless you give it to us.”

The detective fell silent as Jisung repeated Woojin’s words. The younger boy’s voice was shaking with so much raw, unconcealed emotion Chan felt his own two hands clench into shaking fists. “And I won’t. So please, Chan—and tell this to Woojin, too—don’t throw away your reputations to save me. I...don’t deserve it.”

At this, Chan stood up abruptly, slamming his hands on the desk so hard the Plexiglass screen between them shook violently. “To hell with reputation. I’ve told you once, and I’ll tell you it all over again: Jisung, you don’t deserve the death penalty.”

Jisung got to his feet, too, staring his older friend down with shaking pupils. “I don’t want to hurt anything — anyone — for as long as I live. Never really have, although I can’t exactly tell them that, can I? It needs to stop. This—I—need to stop. This needs to end — and if a death penalty is the only way to do it, I’ll take it.”

Chan raked a hand through his unruly blond hair. “Take a lawyer at least, ‘sung, haven’t they told you you have the rights to one? Hell — do it for y/n. She needs you. She needs you to stay alive.”

At this, Jisung swallowed a painful laugh. “I think I’ve learned better than anyone that in order for her to live, I need to stay out of her life. For good. She is the reason why I need to do this, Chan.”

Before Chan could respond, the timer buzzed and the door clicked open, and Jisung was dragged out of the distressed detective’s sight again.

━━━━━━━━

Fire.

That was the first thought that flashed in your head, the first word accompanied by a twinge of searing pain that pulled you ever so slightly out of the murky darkness. You were burning up, an inferno that sapped all the energy from your veins and made you want to curl up and lose what little consciousness you had just regained.

There were tiny pinpricks of light poking through your vision now, and the fire was beginning to concentrate on one area in your chest. Your lungs were aching, trying to steal back the air that the fire was consuming and as your mouth pried itself open to catch your breath your eyes shot open and you were thrust into a world of blurry white and muffled sounds.

Blinking groggily, you began to register your surroundings — a familiar white, speckled ceiling, the rhythmic beeping of a heart machine. A pinch of wires attached to needles biting into your arm. And the awfully sore, burning throbbing underneath your left collarbone.

A nurse that had been replacing the IV fluid nearly dropped the sack when she saw your open eyes. “Sweetheart? Can you hear me? Blink twice if you can hear me.”

You blinked rapidly, and she gave a sigh of relief. “I’ll call the doctor, you sit tight, alright?”

She returned with an older woman who spoke so quickly you could barely catch her words. You were lucky they didn’t have to undergo open-heart surgery—the wound was deep, but missed a major artery in your heart by a thread. Instead, you had a punctured lung they had resected, which explained the burning ache in your left side. And you had been unconscious for nearly three weeks.

You had been unconscious for nearly—

“Three weeks?” You sat up suddenly and the nurse’s eyes bulged at your abrupt movement.

“You’d best not move too much if you don’t want to be unconscious for more,” she scolded. “You poor thing. Don’t you worry, though, sweetheart—that monster who attacked you’s supposed to stand trial soon. He’ll be paying for his sins in no time.”

Her words only hit you after a beat of silence.

Stand trial.

Pay for his sins.

Han Jisung.

The memories came back in a violent flood—you had been woken by an echoing crash from the living room and gone back to sleep briefly. By the time you had thought to go and check, Jisung had been long gone. After a chase down dead ends under a growing thunderstorm, you had followed the muffled sounds of pain and fighting all the way back to the back lot of Mia’s Diner, where the only boy you had ever loved had been kneeling like an avenging angel over five unmoving bodies.

You had called out his name like a shout into the void.

And when he finally heard you, there had been a flash of pain that sent you doubling over. You remembered the switchblade sticking out from your ribs, how it had felt like your body was no longer your own. And you remembered the last thing you had seen before you had slipped unconscious—Jisung’s horrified, tear-filled eyes.

You had wanted to say something to him then, but the words hadn’t made it past your lips. They had echoed in your head when you slipped away, and they came back to you now.

Don’t blame yourself.

Because it was me who chose to stay. To listen. To fall in love with you — each and every part of you, Han Jisung.

And somehow, I don’t regret a single choice I made.

Your fingers absently trailed to your side, where a thick layer of bandages rose beneath the hospital’s scrubs, and found your mind wandering to a memory of Felix and Hyunjin. It hadn’t been too long ago — a couple of semesters after the three of you had first met as freshmen.

“Complexes?” Felix had repeated, and you nodded.

“It was the topic for my psych lecture today. It’s a core part of your subconscious — shaped by perceptions, emotions, and memories. It can be a fear, or a belief, but it usually has a theme of some sort, and like all subconscious influences it affects the way that people act. You know, like an inferiority complex, or an Oedipus complex.”

Hyunjin snorted. “Felix definitely has an Oedipus complex. I’ve seen him call his crushes “mommy” one too many times.”

Felix smacked the taller boy, mouth falling open in protest. “It was a joke, bro!”

The barista had rolled his eyes, pulling a new bag of coffee beans from the shelf. “Jokes always stem from truth, my friend. Anyways, if we’re talking about complexes, you can’t deny that y/n has a hero complex.”

Felix had nodded rapidly at this, and you had raised an eyebrow. “Not that you want to be a hero or anything, but it’s like, you kinda want to save everyone, all the time. You can’t stand to see anyone suffering. I’ve never seen anyone more fitting — or less fitting, depends on how you look at it — to be a therapist.”

Hyunjin had made an amused sound of agreement before you could argue. “You remember that stray cat with a limp we found behind the shop in freshman year? She wouldn’t stop crying until we brought it to the vet. And the bird with the broken wing that crashed into the window upstairs—wouldn’t leave its side until it could fly again.” He shook his head, smiling at the indignant look on your face.

“Your complex extends to humans, too, you know,” Felix continued without missing a beat. “You walk home the little kids whose parents are at work during the winter because it gets dark early. That girl who used to get bullied by her classmates would come to Glow Cafe, every morning last semester, just to talk to you. The list goes on.” The blond journalist hummed thoughtfully. “Maybe we’ll make it a new segment in the paper: Good Samaritans of Miroh Heights.”

“Don’t you dare,” you had snapped playfully, “That sounds even more ridiculous than the damned Matchmaker of Miroh Heights.”

“You can’t save everyone, y/n,” Hyunjin had said, giving you a small, well-meaning smile. “Someone going into your field ought to know that, sooner or later. No matter how stubborn you are, no matter how much you want to.”

As if on cue, Minho’s words from the rooftop echoed in your head, sending a chill down your spine. There is little you can do for people who don’t want to be helped, y/n.

You gritted your teeth in defiance. To hell with it.

All you knew was that if there was something you were going to save, it was going to be Han Jisung’s life.

The nurse opened the curtains, letting bright beams of sunlight cast their warmth into the room. The light was blinding, but it felt good on your face nonetheless. Before she left the room, she turned to you. “Is there anything I can get you, sweetheart?”

You bit your lip. “Can I have my laptop?”

━━━━━━━━

Your paper was just as you remembered it — you had thought the rough draft was completed, save for a few points that needed tweaking and a few references you needed to track down and cite, but now you quickly scrolled to the bottom and deleted the entire conclusion. You had all the puzzle pieces in your hands — not just the voice recordings and notes from the final interviews, but you now had access to police statements (Chan and Woojin were one phone call away) and numerous newspaper articles. Now you knew which concepts to apply, now you had all the theories and evidence you needed.

This wasn’t just going to be a final paper.

You had to get it published as a formal case study.

By the time you had finalized your thesis and made the finishing touches, the moon was threatening to drop from inky night sky, the hues of dawn slashing through the velvet horizon. Your room was dim, but you could feel the city below — and the rest of the hospital outside your room — thrum with a sort of life, a neverending heartbeat. Your phone was still warm by your side, having made nonstop calls to whoever you could get ahold of that was working on Jisung’s case. You picked it up to make one last call.

You peeked at the clock. 5:02 A.M. “Rise and shine,” you muttered, and punched in the number.

He picked up on the seventh ring. “...ngh? Whuhsh hap’ningh?”

“Felix,” you breathed. You hadn’t realised how much you’d missed your best friend, and his familiar, groggy voice made you smile. “Felix, it’s me.”

You heard him sit bolt upright and choke before clearing his throat, fully awake now. “y/n? Holy shit, you — are you okay? I mean, what the hell, of course you’re not fucking okay — when did you wake up?”

“This morning,” you told him. “Look—”

“Y/n, I’m so sorry. I— I don’t even know what to say. If I could go back to the day I set up that stupid blind date —”

“I’d let you,” you interrupted him, and you heard him fall silent in confusion before you continued. “Listen, Felix. If you really want to make it up to me, check your email and read the paper I’m sending over.”

“You...want me to read over your psych paper?” There were a few beats of silence as the blond skimmed over the documents you had sent, and realisation dawned on him. “Y/n — these are — you mean —”

“Today’s Saturday. The weekly campus paper goes out on Monday. I need you to cover this story, ‘lix.”

You heard him swallow uneasily. “Shit, y/n, I—you realise these directly contradict the local press? They’ve been throwing up story after story about how Jisung’s a — a cold-blooded psychopath, and that lead prosecutor keeps egging them on. The campus newspaper is far bigger than your average school newsletter, heck, I’ve been bragging about it since before I joined, but…” he hesitated before saying the worry that had been tugging at the back of your mind. “Will it even stand a chance?”

You exhaled slowly. For a long moment, all you could hear was your pounding heartbeat, synchronised to the high-pitched beeping of the heart machine by your bed. “We won’t know unless we try.” Your voice faltered, giving into your own creeping anxiety. “What do you think?”

At that, you heard him let out a slow, decisive breath, and something changed in the blond’s voice — a grit and determination you always saw when Felix was working on a new story, setting his mind to a challenge — and it immediately gave you a newfound surge of confidence, a feeling of assuredness you hadn’t felt in a while.

“I think,” Felix began, and you could almost see the glint of determination flickering over his usually mischief-bright eyes, “It’s time to kick some prosecutor ass.”

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evakuality · 3 years

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Hanna, episode 7

1. It’s really interesting what they’re doing with Amira this whole season. It’s setting up to a whole lot of the stuff that happens in the later seasons really well. She suffers so many microaggressions all the time, and even here - she makes a joke about costumes parties and they all just swallow it. It’s a really vivid recognition all the way through of exactly how much Amira deals with on a daily basis. Considering we all know where this is leading, it’s difficult to watch, but also it’s good that they do this.

2. But oh yikes, this whole bunch of rumours swirling about Sam ‘making out’ with someone at the party is really well done. It’s pretty obvious that no-one genuinely knows - the only people who know what happened are Hanna and Sam (and ‘making out’ isn’t exactly how I’d describe it) so the rumours are all based on a love of gossip. Who knows how they started, but it’s obvious just how guilty Hanna feels. How awkward for her to be hearing this! Then her very very obvious ‘I have a boyfriend so it wasn't me!!’ move (very similar to Matteo’s in s3 in the discussion about homosexuality with Amira, which is illuminating - they both want to try to ‘prove’ something with these moves). Also, Kiki and her thing about Alex - it’s terrible how invested she is when it’s obvious that he’s being an asshole. The excuses she makes for him unfortunately ring true - this is exactly how people try to convince themselves of this sort of stuff. In reality it’s a shame the girls aren’t more forceful - they clearly want to say Kiki is being an idiot, but after Amira got shut down last time, it seems none of them is keen to be more explicit.

3. Ohhh poor Hanna. This thing has been eating at her and she had to tell someone about it. But choosing Matteo was NOT a good idea. I mean, we all know this is going badly (Snakesak is such an iconic take on the season that even if you forgot everything else, you’d remember that), but even without that, Matteo feels a bit more... I don’t know. Shifty? Somehow? There’s something really calculating in the way he examines her. Like, even without knowing what’s coming, there’s clearly something goin on in his head. With Isak it came out of the blue; he was set up much more supportive/innocent because they wanted the shock value when the reveal happened. But with Matteo there’s something different. I guess at least partly because most people watching would already know what’s coming so hiding it is less imperative. Hanna sees him as a friend and the only one she can tell, but it’s such a weird choice anyway (as it was in the original). He’s Jonas’s best friend. Like he says, why tell him? Even if he wasn’t a little snake, this is putting him in a really difficult place. Effectively this makes him choose between his best friend (who he’s kind of in love with even if she doesn’t know that) and his friend. Him choosing to let Jonas know wouldn’t be all that strange and it’s a big risk to take before she knows he sits in the ‘don’t tell’ camp. I am also baffled that they did this with other people in earshot. It could totally get out, even if this girl agrees she should keep quiet.

4. I really like this adaptation of the ‘claim’ Alex makes into ‘he told me I have a cute stomach’ instead of the hoodie thing in the original (though that works very well too). This way it’s much less overt and also it really plays into Kiki’s fears about her looks. We’ve seen small hints of her eating issues already, so this just adds to the weight of that. Specifically targeting a body part that girls can be sensitive about is clever - at first it can seem sweet, like he’s being so nice about something vulnerable, but then you can see he’s being very deliberate with that impression and it really hammers home the insecurities Kiki is already harbouring.

5. It’s a fascinating dynamic between all the girls in the argument about how Kiki should deal with Alex. I’m with Sam and Amira - stay above it and move on (tbh, Kiki should never have gone there in the first place, but she did so this is her current best option). But the fact that Mia is so strongly in favour of telling him he’s a dick is swaying Kiki. Of course, Mia is a strong person and from her it probably would feel empowered. But Kiki is, and always has been, far more innocent and vulnerable and sensitive. It doesn’t feel like (even without knowing where this goes) that this will go well for Kiki, and the fact that Mia doesn’t get that says a lot about her. I like this; it’s nice to see her not being quite right here - it sets her up for some growth as we move on. And super yikes when he tells Kiki to take a breath and she does. This, the importance she places on him, is exactly why this was a terrible idea, and why Mia’s encouragement was wrong. It’s easy for her - she’s not invested, and her failure to recognise the difference between her and Kiki is really important. And Alex is SUCH an asshole that this scene is so hard to watch. Kiki’s acting is superb in all these scenes and it’s so damn hard to watch her take in ‘you’re not worth it’ but as with the original, Mia’s ‘take down’ doesn’t land for me, probably because while Alex’s acting is far superior to William’s, there’s still a fundamental lack of caring about what she’s said. It doesn’t feel like saving face, but more a genuine lack of care. And this is why I really dislike this ‘William’ character; he doesn’t seem to care. I have said before that I’ve never watched Mia’s season because I cannot stand William in the original. So if I do watch I’ll be interested to see if they can make me like him better. So far, they’re not succeeding.

6. And just like that, we’re back to the soft, dreamy colours and shots of the start of the season. But there’s a harsher light coming in to some of the shots. particularly with Jonas and so it’s not comfortable. This is something on a precipice. The kissing is back and they’re reconnecting on that level, and it’s working again. The darkness is gone, but things are hovering still - that Sam stuff on her phone with Jonas in the background, slightly blurred but very overlit, adds to the sense of unease. You can feel something coming, even if it’s not obvious what that is.

7. Man this fight is so funny. I know I shouldn’t say that, and it’s a very serious moment for Hanna, but the slo-mo and the faces they make! And Amira’s moves! Kiki, full-on legs wrapped around this girl as they both collapse to the ground! Priceless. I do like the way the sound gradually fades out as Hanna’s realisation of what’s happening sets in. That’s really well done.

8. What a change from the earlier moment when Hanna woke with Jonas and they had their sweet little moment. Now we’re fairly tight in on her face as she keeps trying to get hold of him. It sucks a lot, and you can sense the anxiety and worry she’s feeling. Also, I do understand why she feels the way she does about all this, and why she leans on Matteo. Unlike earlier, here it makes sense for her to rely on Jonas’s best friend. He’s the one who has the best line in to Jonas when he’s staying so distant from Hanna. But wow his advice is truly shitty. On the surface it seems sensible, both times. Nah don’t tell him; it’ll only hurt him. Nah leave him be; he needs time and space. But in both instances it’s the complete opposite of how she should be acting. And in both cases, Matteo knows Jonas, he knows what he’s like and how he’ll act. This is so calculated. And he’s still in a space where he has little to lose. He feels like he can still ride the ‘hey I had their best interests at heart’ line and get out of it. I always felt like Isak was more opportunistic in his lying; saying and doing things in the moment. Whereas this really does feel like Matteo has thought it through more - that’s some difference in the way the two characters are presented and acted. But I like that it’s different, and his little hint of a smaile when she collapses on him - Isak seemed a lot more genuinely wrapped up in Eva and his face seemed more overwhelmed. But Matteo really seems to know what he’s doing. Also - sound mixing in this scene: top notch. I love that you can hear every swallow, every breath, every step, movement etc. It really heightens the tension right up til she gets Jonas’s ‘don’t call me’ text.

9. I said it before and I’ll say it again, Leonie’s savage pleasure in Hanna’s troubles is a real reflection on her - and not a good one. I really do get that she’s hurt, but this is vicious and she’s being awful! And Kiki - ugh, just be quiet child. Calling other girls sluts is pretty shitty.

10. I really like that Eva’s mother morphs into Hanna’s father. There’s a difference in this dynamic that builds on that difference. Eva and her mother seem closer, even while her mother isn’t around much. Hanna’s father just feels more absent emotionally, so these moments where he tries to be a dad fail because of that. It’s obvious that he cares for her and that he’s trying, but equally obvious that he just doesn’t know what she needs or how to approach her. Not that Eva’s mother was much better, but it was still a different sort of distance.

anyway, this is suuuuper long because so much happened in this episode. It’s packed with a lot of stuff and while some stuff is starting to resolve, there’s so much that’s hanging over their heads still. I like this one a lot, but I think it could have done with a little bit of breathing room. Maybe that one episode where it felt like things were waiting to happen could have picked up some of this heavy lifting. But either way, this one has a lot going for it and really does set us up for what’s coming in the next few.

#druck #og druck #hanna episode 7 #this one also got reallly long

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fangirlstarot · 3 years

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SIX OF PENTACLES Everything You Give Comes Back Around

On the surface level, this card shows give and take, gifts, donations and charity. The giving and receiving that exists between the have's and the have not's. As a pentacles card, this might mean money, but it could also mean resources such as time, energy, experience, ect. It's a hopeful card overall-- hope that we may find a benefactor in our time of need, hope that we can have enough to gift our excess to those less fortunate, hope that society has come far enough that social welfare may be there to fill the gaps so no one may fall.

On a deeper level, the Six of Pentacles card really opened my eyes to the beauty of the numerology and symbology that exists within the tarot. If we look into the images on the Rider Waite's 6 of Pentacles, we can see how the story becomes one of karma, give and take and the blessings of the adage, "To give is to receive and to receive is to give."

Take the number 6 for instance. Sixes in tarot numerology mean harmony, communication and cooperation. They are the start of the healing and solutions to what plague us in the darkest times of the 5s (which are the direct middle of each suit, those darkest times we will experience on our journey directly between beginning [aces] and completion [10s]). Sixes create the solutions, help us get back our balance and move us away from strife to adaptability and healthy change. After coming out of a difficult situation like the poverty shown in the 5 of Pentacles, this card offers hope that we may make it to the rest of the story and find peace in that 9 of Pentacles and 10 of Pentacles. And that peace could very well come from a rebalancing of wealth, redistribution of resources and community that supports each other when we need help and love.

That rebalancing is shown very apparently in the scale of justice that the merchant on this card is holding in his hand. It's the very same that is pictured on the Justice card in the Major Arcana. This scale represents equity, fairness, equality, karma and things ultimately being balanced in a correct and positive manner. This merchant is not just giving charity for the sake of some haughty attitude that he gets to hold over these beggars, but because this is justice. It's not right for one person to have an excess. This merchant is not the miser seen in the 4 of Pentacles, he's not royalty who has never worked for money neither. He's someone who could very well be in the same position of these beggars if the market prices changed at any time in the future. One bad crop for the merchant would be the only thing it would take to equalize the different social statuses.

In fact, there is a lot of symbolism here that points to the beggars and the merchant being one and the same. This is the only card in the tarot deck that shows two different social statuses on the same card, pointing to the fact that they are very much linked. The figures on the card are all part of the same cycle, they all blend together as one. There is no difference between them, it is an endless cycle that continues to balance as people climb up and down the social ladder. What support you may be able to offer someone someday, you might need the next. One card, one cycle, one society, all supporting and helping under the guide of social welfare. This is the grand balancing out of karma, what you put out into the world is going to come back to you at some point down the line.

This card goes into the economic theory of how when you distribute wealth it actually creates more wealth. That's a big part of what is stimulating the economy with these stimulus checks at the moment in our current political climate. When the rich miser (someone like in the 4 of pentacles) hoards all his wealth, the economy is not stimulated. But when someone like the merchant here comes along to dispense the extra, it actually creates growth and makes sure that the economy flourishes.

Since the beggars have nothing to offer currently, the merchant could be providing aid out of the goodness of his heart, however as a merchant, he's very likely to see that wealth come back to him when the beggars buy what he is selling. What we put out comes back to us ten fold.

Also, let's look at the symbolism of the colors that the merchant wears for a second. The white (innocence, spiritual purity) and blue (piety, wisdom, religion), show that he's not doing this in a haughty way nor maliciously. He was gifted with a good heart and therefore the community was blessed with kindness. The hand signal the merchant makes is also very important-- it's the same hand signal as hierophant - representing the spiritual side of giving, blessing, philanthropy, kindness.

Another number that shows up here is four with the four pieces of gold he offers the beggar. Four in tarot stands for stability and structure. This charity is not going to just throw the beggar breadcrumbs that might topple him later but will provide him with that structure and stability he needs in order to make it through to a point where he might be able to support someone else.

This card is very much about paying it forward, supporting the community and the power of kindness in times of trouble. It shows that there is so much spirituality we can gain when we help those who are the most hopeless and that by giving we can only, in turn, help ourselves. For my version of this card, I wanted to really capture the cyclical nature of giving and show people who have benefitted the most from their philanthropy and seem to have learned that lifting everyone up is the way to lift themselves up as well.

::Who's Who On This Card::

1. MrBeast from the Mr Beast YouTube Channel (Jimmy “MrBeast” Donaldson made a name for himself on YouTube by giving away more than a million dollars to strangers and friends in bouts of random donations. His whole model is completely cyclical-- the more money he randomly gives away, the more people want to click on it, the more money he makes, the more he can give away and the more of a name he makes for himself, it's actually kind of a fascinating economic model which shows the power of giving to receive)

2. Androcles and The Lion (In this old folktale, Androcles bravely take a spliter from the lion's paw, only to later end up a slave in the Roman Colosseum who is going to be fed to the lions, the same lion he once helped-- proving that the people you meet going up are going to be the same ones you meet going down and how much karma and good will can save you in the end)

3. Trevor McKinney in Pay It Forward (the kid in this movie wants to make a better world, so he envisions a plan where he will help three people and then they'll help three more people and the love and kindness will grow exponentially until everyone gets to live in a better world someday)

4. Angel (from "I'll Cover You" scene in RENT -- with lines like, "Live in my house, I'll be your shelter/Just pay me back/With 1, 000 kisses" because what we give from a place of love comes back to us in more love with this card)

5. Jane Goodall (She spent her whole life working and caring for chimpanzees... and ended up worth $10 million dollars)

6. "What's Mine Is Yours" song/scene from All Dogs Go to Heaven (https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=-g710mN4YNw -- "Whether you're the boss/Or someone's pet/The more you give/The more you're gonna get")

#six of pentacles #minor arcana #tarot #tarot cards #MrBeast #androcles #pay it forward #RENT #jane goodall #All Dogs Go To Heaven

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petri808 · 4 years

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1 | 2 | 3 | 4 | 5 | 6 | 7 | 8 | 9 | 10 | 11 | 12 | 13 | 14 | 15 | 16 | 17 | 18 | 19 | 20 | 21 22 | 23 | 24

thank you so much for your patience with this late chapter! I had some frustrating family drama pop up so I wasn't able to finish it until today. Enjoy!

“Lucy, Lucy, Lucy!” Levy plops onto the couch next to her friend. She grabs the blondes arm and shakes it. “Omg you won’t believe what happened today at school!”

“What? What? The teacher you hate croaked?”

“Pfft, I wish. No! I met Natsu’s roommate! Well, technically I’ve known the guy for like a year from school, we were lab partners, remember Gray, I think I mentioned him, anyways, yeah, he totally gave me all the details I wanted to know!”

But at the name Natsu, Lucy frowns and sits back. “Lev, you know I just wanna move on from this...”

“Just hear me out, I promise it’ll be worth it.” She leans in, “trust me.”

Lucy rolls her eyes. “Okay, fine. Spill. What did Gray have to say?”

“So... starting with that Touka chick. Everything Natsu said was true. You’re not the first girl she’s harassed over him, in fact he offered to contact the other girl if you’d like to ask the person yourself.”

“That’s not necessary, I believe it.”

“He also confirmed that the profiles you saw on Ig are fake and how she’s been stalking him for a couple years now.”

“So Gray’s just his roommate?”

“No, he said they’ve been friends since middle school, so he knows Natsu well.”

“Anything else?”

“The stuff he told you about his family are true. Um, he works at a place called Yousei Mart, and that he’s an idiot but a good guy that is just really naive sometimes. The more he talked, the more I remembered him mentioning his roommate before. Like venting about stuff. Anyway, he said Natsu’s been completely distressed over all this and he thinks you should give his friend a second chance. I think so too, Lu, cause I believed him that Natsu’s a great guy and this whole Touka business is just unfortunate.”

The blonde pulls her legs up onto the couch, wraps her arms around them and rests her chin on her knees, thinking about everything she’d learned. Did she really want to deal with the baggage? What if Touka continues to harass her or them? It would be unfortunate to lose a guy like Natsu, because he really did seem like one of the good guys. She pulls up the memories of him on the train when he’d cornered her... ‘he was really devastated...’ and to do what he’d done, the amount of time he spent chasing and waiting for her, he must really like her to go that far.

“Well, Lu? What do you think?”

She’d definitely be using a higher standard to judge him, so he’ll need to be very convincing to gain her trust a second time, but, “I guess it couldn’t hurt to give him another chance.”

“Then there’s just one last thing for you to do.”

“Ugh,” she groans, “call him.” Lucy picks up her phone and dials Natsu’s number, but he doesn’t pick up. So, she hangs up without leaving a message. She made the first call, now it was his turn to respond if he wanted a second chance.

Approximately thirty minutes later an out-of-breath Natsu is on the phone. “Sorry Lucy! I was in class and the teacher is a real dick about cellphones.” He’d literally run out the room the second the lecture was over to call her back.

“It’s fine, I thought that might be the case.”

“Did you wanna talk to me about something?”

“Yeah, first have you spoken to your roommate at all today?”

“Um... no, why is something wrong with him?”

“Well, in that case...” she pauses and takes a deep breath. “So, turns out your roommate and my roommate have a class together, actually have had several, so they know each other and today they talked about us.”

“Really...” guess he’ll be calling Gray after this phone call!

“Look, bottom line is I believe my friend and since she believes your roommate about you and that girl... I’ll give you another chance. But remember! It’s not because I trust you yet it’s because I trust them.”

“I’ll take it! I understand totally and I promise I’ll do anything to prove to you that you can trust me.”

“I mean, I’m not sure how, but...”

“Um...” Natsu thinks fast, “are you busy right now?”

“Now? Um, not really...”

“I gotta run or I’ll be late for work, but can you meet me at Yousei Mart near Haramachi park as soon as you can?”

“Why?”

“Please?? I’ll buy you dinner too for coming.”

‘Ugh...’ “Okay, I’ll get ready and head over.”

“Thank you!! I’m just really happy you’re giving me a chance Lucy. Okay, I’ll see you soon!”

Lucy hangs up the phone and lets her roommate know she was heading out to see Natsu. The location he’d asked her to go to was several blocks away and takes her 20 minutes to get there. So, as she walked, she did her best to keep her cool. Half of her was thrilled to try again while the other half still apprehensive. Natsu had sounded so excited too, she could almost picture the man doing a victory dance the moment they’d ended the phone call. But where was this place that he wanted her to go to? She knew it was like a convenience store, maybe that’s where he works? Must be if he’d said he needed to get to work and still wanted to see her.

“Irasshaimase!” Lucy hears as she enters the store. A bit odd for a convenience store, but welcoming, nonetheless. She’s greeted by an employee, a red headed woman.

“May I help you find anything?”

“Actually, I’m here to see Natsu. He asked me to come.”

“Oh! You must be Lucy! Please, follow me,” the woman gestures, “he’s in the back working on inventory. My name is Erza by the way and we’ve heard a lot about you.”

“Really?” Hopefully nothing bad...

“Oh, yes. The pretty blonde he met on a train. The guy can’t shut up about you,” Erza laughs. “It was just weird, well new because we’ve never seen him so excited over a girl before.”

Lucy blushes from the compliment. “How long have you worked with Natsu?”

“Hmm, four years, I think. He started when he was still in high school, but I’ve been here a little longer.” They reach the back area and find Natsu hunched over some boxes tagging items. “Here he is, Natsu, your friend Lucy is here.”

“It’s okay for me to be back here?”

“I don’t see why not,” the woman shrugs. “We’re a pretty tight-knit crew here, like a family, so it’s also pretty lax how things are run.”

“Oh. Okay, thank you Erza.”

“You’re welcome. Stay as long as you like.”

Once the woman goes back to the front, Lucy turns to Natsu who was waiting patiently. “Well, I’m here. What did you want me to see?”

“That was part of it,” he smiles. “You said you didn’t know if you could trust me, so what could be better than introducing you to people who know me best. And people like Erza, she’s got no problem telling it like she sees it. If I was an asshole, she would have been the first to tell you to run away.”

“Yeah, she mentioned you’ve been co-workers for a few years. She seems nice, but I can see what you mean cause she looks tough too.”

Natsu laughs, “that’s an understatement. Oh! Come with me,” he grabs her hand and pulls her along, “gramps is still in the office, so you should meet him!”

“Gramps?”

“He’s the owner. Real name’s Makarov but he tells us to call him Gramps. He really is like a grandfather figure to us. Gave me a job at 17 and I’ve loved every minutes being here!”

She follows along, allowing him to hold her hand. Lucy couldn’t lie that his larger hand was nice and warm, and it felt snug and secure together. ‘Stick to your guns woman!’ She chides herself in an effort to fight the emotions bubbling to the surface. What was it about this man’s damn smile that made her heart thump!

Natsu knocks on the doorframe before going in. “Gramps! There someone I want you to meet.”

The older make looks up from his paperwork. “What is it brat, I’m busy here.”

“Be nice old man, this is that girl Lucy I told you about.”

“Oh... the elusive Lucy you’ve sold your soul for.” He snickers. “Welcome, my dear, it’s nice to finally meet the woman who wrangle our Natsu.”

“W-Wrangle?” She sputters. “I’m not sure what you’re talking about. We barely had one date.”

“I’ve known this kid for a few years and he’s never so much as looked at a woman. I thought he was gay for the longest time till you came along.” He grins. “And by the looks of you, he lucked into a good one.”

The blush on Lucy’s face increases. “I don’t know about that. I mean I’m nothing special.”

“Lucy,” Makarov leans into his desk, “may I call you Lucy?” Once she nods, he continues. “Never sell yourself short if someone gives you a compliment. Take it from this old geezer, when a man is willing to give you his heart, that means you’re pretty special in their eyes.”

She had nothing else to say against such logic. “Thank you, gramps.”

“You’re very welcome,” he smiles. “Now get out, I have work to do.”

For a few more hours, Lucy hangs out with Natsu in the back while he works, and as promised, he buys her a bento dinner from the restaurant next door. Throughout the evening, his co-worker Erza and one more named Mira drops by to check on them or add to the conversation. She learned a lot about him from them because they were not shy about embarrassing the man. It was hilarious!

But best of all, Mira is the sister of the girl who was harassed by Touka. According to the woman, Touka had started off with the same tactics when she’d thought Natsu was seeing her sister Lisanna. Showing up, trying to talk to her, coming off all sweet and innocent. But Lisanna had a boyfriend who eventually scared the girl off. With Mira’s help, Lucy could finally be confident that Natsu had been telling the truth all along.

When the store closes, Natsu insists on walking Lucy home due to the late hour. He pays for them to take the train to make it a faster and safer trip. So, once settled in their seats, she sighs and turns to him. “I believe you now,” her voice is kept soft and low from the other travelers. “You were telling me the truth.”

It was like a wave of relief washes over him, but in that moment, it wasn’t time for an I told you so, so he just grins. “Movie date next?”

#nalu #nalu au #Natsu dragneel #Lucy heartfilia #nalu fan fiction #nalu fan fic #Natsu x lucy #strangers on a train #ch 12 #fairytail

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twentiethcenturymoviesandtv · 4 years

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12 Angry Men: The Story

At first, the story of 12 Angry Men seems straightforward, to-the-point, and pretty darn boring.

A jury consisting of twelve men (most of them middle class, middle age, and white) are locked into a jury room on a stiflingly hot day to determine the fate of a boy (lower class, young, and Puerto Rican) who allegedly stabbed his father to death with a switchblade knife. Once locked into the room, eleven out of twelve decide instantly that the boy is guilty, but one, Juror #8, (Henry Fonda) isn’t so certain. The film then follows Juror #8’s attempts to go through the information presented in court in order to figure out what really happened.

Like I said, it could be considered boring, if that’s all you consider. But as it turns out, just like the case in the film there’s a bit more to it than what appears on the surface. Let’s take a look.

12 Angry Men opens with one of two sequences that do not take place within the jury room. A camera pans over the outside of the Manhattan’s Court of General Sessions, meandering through corridors and staircases, before making its way to our destination: room 228. There, a tired sounding judge orders the beginning of the jury deliberation process after a six-day-long trial, “a long and complex case of murder in the first degree”. He sends our jury off with these final, sobering words:

“If there’s a reasonable doubt in your minds as to the guilt of the accused, a reasonable doubt, then you must bring me a verdict of not guilty. If however, there is no reasonable doubt, then you must in good conscience find the accused guilty. However you decide, your verdict must be unanimous. In the event that you find the accused guilty, the bench will not entertain a recommendation for mercy. The death sentence is mandatory in this case. You are faced with a grave responsibility. Thank you, gentlemen.”

It is now that the audience, for the first and only time, gets a look at the defendant: a wide-eyed, terrified looking Puerto Rican boy from the slums, who helplessly watches the jury march off to decide his fate.

The jury (and camera) moves to the jury room, where we will spend almost the entire rest of the film. It is the hottest day of the year, and the men are clearly already agitated, removing jackets, lighting cigarettes, and complaining. The door behind them is locked, and the twelve men talk amongst themselves for a few moments. Notably, Juror #3 remarks that this is an open-and-shut case, Juror #7 is anxious to leave to get to a baseball game he has tickets for, and Juror #10 has this to say:

“It’s pretty tough to figure, isn’t it? A kid kills his father. Bing! Just like that…It’s the element…I’m telling ya, they let those kids run wild up there. Well, maybe it serves ‘em right.”

Meanwhile, Juror #8 stands at the window, saying nothing.

Juror #1 calls for a preliminary vote, and the men take their seats (arranged by number) around the table. Juror #1 calls for those who vote not guilty, and, some (Jurors #1, 3, 4, 7, and 12) quickly raise their hands, while Jurors #2, 5, 6, 11 and 9 do so more slowly. One lone man raises his hand for not-guilty: Juror #8.

Interestingly, Juror #8 is not fully convinced that the boy on trial is innocent, unlike many instances of the Rogue Juror used afterwards. What he is convinced of is that this is a serious case, with a serious charge, with a grim penalty. He calls for a discussion, going over the evidence. Juror #3 disagrees:

“The kid’s a dangerous killer, you could see it…He stabbed his own father, four inches into the chest. They proved it a dozen different ways in court, would you like me to list them for ya?”

Juror #8 is not dissuaded, and calmly replies:

“It’s not easy to raise my hand and send a boy off to die without talking about it first…We’re talking about somebody’s life here. We can’t decide in five minutes. Supposin’ we’re wrong.”

Juror #7 is unmoved, claiming his opinion won’t change, no matter how long they talk. Despite the resistance, Juror #8 moves on with his discussion, pointing out the defendant’s upbringing and background.

“Look, this kid’s been kicked around all of his life. You know, born in a slum. Mother dead since he was nine. He lived for a year and a half in an orphanage when his father was serving a jail term for forgery. That’s not a very happy beginning. He’s a wild, angry kid, and that’s all he’s ever been. And you know why, because he’s been hit on the head by somebody once a day, every day. He’s had a pretty miserable eighteen years. I just think we owe him a few words, that’s all.”

Juror #10 argues:

“I don’t mind telling you this, mister. We don’t owe him a thing. He got a fair trial, didn’t he? What do you think that trial cost? He’s lucky he got it. You know what I mean? Now look, we’re all grown-ups in here. We heard the facts, didn’t we? You’re not gonna tell me that we’re supposed to believe this kid, knowing what he is. Listen, I’ve lived among them all my life. You can’t believe a word they say. You know that. I mean, they’re born liars.”

Another voice enters the scene, Juror #9, with a biting reply:

“Only an ignorant man can believe that…Do you think you were born with a monopoly on the truth?”

Within only a few moments, already we’ve established quite a lot. The belligerence of Jurors #3 and #10, as well as their bias, Juror #8’s thoughtful, honest nature, and Juror #9’s reasonableness and willingness to stand up for people. Add to that Juror #7’s impatience to leave, and you’ve already got a bit of character to go on to understand what’s going on. As the film progresses, the case unfolds, and we learn more about it, as well as learning more about the characters within, making the plot, although it never leaves the jury room, feel like it is moving.

Juror #12 suggests that they go around the table, giving each juror a chance to explain his standpoint in an effort to convince #8 of the defendant’s guilt. One by one, the jurors bring up their evidence, and to each, Juror #8 has questions that render the arguments a little more doubtful than they would seem to be on the surface.

Juror #2 doesn’t really have any evidence to bring, meekly stating that he thought he was guilty, it seemed obvious. No one can prove that he didn’t do it, after all. Juror #3, however, has more to say on the subject, citing an eyewitness testimony of an old man who lived in the apartment below where the killing took place. According to the witness, he heard a fight, and the voice of the boy crying out: “I’m gonna kill you!” and the sound of a body hitting the floor. The old man ran to the door in time to see the boy run down the stairs. Furthermore, the boy’s alibi (being at the movies) seems flimsy, as he was not able to remember the names of the films he saw, or any of the actors in them. On top of that, there is another eyewitness testimony: a woman in the building across from them saw it happen through the passing cars of an el-train that ran between the buildings. These, Juror #3 declares, are facts.

Other jurors give their reasons, or lack thereof: Juror 5 doesn’t comment, Juror #6 thinks the motive is evidence, and Juror #7 brings up the boy’s violent history, including knife-fighting.

This sparks something for Juror #3, who cites his history with his own son, explaining that kids these days don’t have any respect. He tells a story about how, when his son was nine years old, he ran away from a fight, humiliating Juror #3. He resolved to ‘make a man’ out of his son, and according to him, he did. When his son was 15, he punched Juror #3 in the jaw. It has been three years since the two have seen each other.

Other jurors add their reasons, including the boy’s background in the slums. This line of reasoning upsets Juror #5, who, he explains, was also raised in the slums. Okay, fine, so his background isn’t enough, his upbringing flimsy evidence at best….what about the knife?

The knife (wiped of fingerprints) found in the body of the father was a very unique switchblade. The boy bought a knife matching its description on the night of the murder, and claimed it fell through a hole in his pocket on the way to the movies. A knife that unique surely must be evidence-

Juror #8 pulls out a knife of his own, an exact match to the one found in the body, and sticks it in the table for all to see (which is not legal in a real legal scenario, but this is a movie). Someone, he explains, could have bought an identical knife, and killed the father with it while the boy was at the movies.

“It’s possible,” he says.

“But not very probable!” Juror #4 counters.

Seeing that this is going nowhere fast, Juror #8 says this:

“I’m gonna call for another vote. I want you eleven men to vote by secret written ballot. I’ll abstain. If there are eleven votes for guilty, I won’t stand alone. We’ll take in a guilty verdict to the judge right now. But if anyone votes not guilty, we stay here and talk it out.”

They count up the eleven votes. Ten guilty, one not-guilty. Juror #9 has switched sides.

Looking again at the eyewitness accounts, Juror #8 theorizes that, with the train passing by the exact time of the murder, it would be impossible to hear voices and a body hitting the floor upstairs. Furthermore, he determines that it would be equally impossible for an old man with a limp to make it to the door to see the boy go down the stairs in the amount of time that he said it did. (Again, not legal in a jury, but it’s a movie.) Juror #9 speculates that it is possible that the old man did not lie, rather convinced himself that he saw it in excitement about having 15 Minutes of Fame in his old age.

Juror #5, swayed, switches his vote to not-guilty. The debate goes on.

Juror #11 is now starting to think, asking questions of his own: If the boy killed his father, why return home three hours later?

To get the knife, the explanation goes.

If the defendant had a clear enough head to wipe his fingerprints from the knife and go back to get it, how was he in such a panic that he left it in the body in the first place?

Juror #11 switches his vote. It’s now 8 to 4, and still hot as all get out, and they’re all still in a claustrophobic room with a broken fan. Juror #3, aggravated from the beginning, flips out.

“Assumed? Brother, I’ve seen all kinds of dishonesty in my day, but this little display takes the cake. You all come in here with your hearts bleeding all over the floor about slum kids and injustice. You listen to some fairy tales. Suddenly, you start getting through to some of these old ladies. Well, you’re not getting through to me. I’ve had enough. What’s the matter with you guys? You all know he’s guilty. He’s got to burn. You’re letting him slip through our fingers.”

Interesting statement from a supposedly unbiased jury member. This doesn’t go uncommented on, as Juror #8 snaps back:

“Slip through our fingers? Are you his executioner?”

“I’m one of ‘em.”

“Perhaps you’d like to pull the switch.”

“For this kid? You bet I would.”

After another brief exchange, Juror #3 lunges at Juror #8, screaming: “I’ll kill you!” an eerie echo of the supposed words of the boy. This further cements Juror #8’s point: we say stuff like “I’ll kill you” all the time, without meaning, or thinking about it.

Jurors #2 and #6 switch sides. It’s 6-6, all tied up.

Outside, it starts raining. The broken fan starts working. The discussion turns to the boy’s alibi.

Juror #4 points out that the boy could not remember the names of the films he saw, or anyone in them. Juror #8 counters by turning the question around and asking him to recall details of a trip to the movies a few days prior. When Juror #4 cannot give a full, definitive answer, Juror #8 also addresses the fact that when the boy was first asked what the names of the films were, he was in his apartment, cornered by the police, with his father’s body still in the apartment. In other words, the kid was possibly too stressed and frazzled to remember.

Juror #2 brings up the stab wound itself, saying that it was a downward stab wound, and asked how that would be possible, as the father was over six feet tall, and the boy was only 5’7. Juror #3 stands up, taking the knife and, in a tense display, demonstrates on Juror #8 how this could be done, by gripping the knife overhand.

Juror #5 steps up with an argument. He, as he mentioned earlier, was raised in the slums, and he’s seen knife-fights before. Nobody who knew what they were doing would hold a switchblade overhand. It can’t open that way. The boy had been in knife fights before, and it’s unlikely that he would have made such a rookie mistake.

Another voted is called. It’s 9-3, Not Guilty.

Juror #10, enraged, stands up and begins to rant:

“You’re not gonna tell me you believe that phony story about losing the knife, and that business about being at the movies. Look, you know how these people lie. It’s born in them…They don’t know what the truth is. And let me tell ya, they don’t need any real big reason to kill someone either. No, sir. They get drunk. Ah, they’re real big drinkers, all of 'em. You know that. And bang, someone’s lying in the gutter. Well, nobody’s blamin’ 'em for it, that’s the way they are, by nature, you know what I mean? Violent!…Human life don’t mean as much to them as it does to us. Look, they’re lushing it up and fighting all the time, and if somebody gets killed, so somebody gets killed - they don’t care. Oh sure, there are some good things about 'em, too. Look, I’m the first one to say that. I’ve known a couple who are okay, but that’s the exception, you know what I mean? Most of them, it’s like they have no feelings. They can do anything. What’s going on here? I’m tryin’ to tell ya. You’re making a big mistake, you people. This kid is a liar. I know it. I know all about them. Listen to me, they’re no good. There’s not a one of 'em who’s any good….This kid on trial here…well, don’t you know about them? There’s a danger here. These people are dangerous. They’re wild. Listen. Listen to me.”

One by one, the other jurors turn their backs on him and his racially prejudiced tirade, until, subdued, he goes to sit by himself in a corner with nothing else to say.

Juror #8 makes another impassioned speech:

“I don’t really know what the truth is. I don’t suppose anybody will ever really know. Nine of us now seem to feel that the defendant is innocent, but we’re just gambling on probabilities. We may be wrong. We may be trying to let a guilty man go free, I don’t know. Nobody really can, but we have a reasonable doubt and that’s something that’s very valuable in our system. No jury can declare a man guilty unless it’s sure. We nine can’t understand how you three are still so sure.”

Juror #4 brings up the woman’s testimony from across the street. He is quickly shot down by Juror #9’s sharp eyes: the woman had marks on her nose from glasses, suggesting that she wore them often. People who wear glasses do not sleep with them on (as someone who wears glasses, I can confirm). She was in bed at the time of the killing, happening to look out her window at around midnight to see the murder through the passing cars of an el-train, about six seconds of time total, in the dark, not wearing her glasses.

Juror #4 changes his vote, as does Juror #10. It’s 11-1, Not Guilty. This time, Juror #3 is the lone holdout. He goes on a tirade as well, ranting about having all of the facts, all of the evidence on his side, and as he pulls out his wallet to prove it, a picture falls out: one of his and his son.

In a burst of realization that his anger is not directed towards the defendant, but rather his own son, Juror #4 breaks down, and the final vote is called: unanimous, Not Guilty.

Juror #1 knocks on the door and tells the guard that they’re ready to give their verdict. The men file out, Juror #8 staying behind a moment to hand #3 his jacket.

Once outside the courthouse, Juror #9 and Juror #8 exchange names and smiles. Juror #9, McCardle, says ‘so long’, and heads off. Juror #8, Davis, walks down the courthouse steps, and disappears out of shot.

The end.

For being just over an hour and a half with only three settings, the film seems like there is a lot more to it than one would think. We don’t even learn most of the juror’s names, and yet they seem like fully developed characters, and we feel the satisfaction of justice well served.

Or do we?

One of the most interesting things about this movie is that neither the jury, nor the audience, ever finds out if the boy is guilty, or not. Only that there is reasonable doubt. By the same token, there is plenty of evidence to convict him. Even Juror #8 admits that he does not know if the boy is innocent, or guilty, and it’s left to the audience, as it was left to the jury, to make up our own minds about it.

Sobering, isn’t it?

As for me? I don’t know. Maybe he’s guilty. Maybe he isn’t. That doesn’t change the thrust of the movie.

The idea of the movie, the point of it, is that we have this system for a reason, and by showing us an assortment of the type of people who can end up on a jury, we are called to think about, and respect, our duty to our legal system. We don’t want to be Juror #7, switching sides based on how fast he thinks they can get out so he can get to his ball game, or Juror #10, who allowed his hatred to cloud his reason, or Juror #3, who didn’t realize that he was trying to punish his own son based on his anger, instead of the actual defendant based on reason. We want to take this seriously, like #9 and 11. We want to know, want to believe, that in the end, there is a truth, and justice will prevail.

We want to be the Hero, Juror #8, on his Hero’s Journey for the truth.

Another thing we don’t know is what happens to each juror after the movie is over. The film takes place over the span of one day. We have no way of knowing if this affects anyone, if Juror #7 learns to be more cognizant of things around him, if Juror #10 turns from his racist views, or if Juror #3 reconciles with his son. We just don’t know. The film is full of ambiguity, and in that, it feels bitterly real, even if it isn’t realistic.

In that respect, the film makes quite an impact. It stays with you. It makes you think.

And the audience is the better for it.

Thanks so much for reading! If you enjoyed it, please stay tuned to join us for the remainder of our study of 12 Angry Men. Don’t forget that my ask box is always open. Thank you guys so much for reading, and I’ll see you all in the next article!

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oh-im-dying · 4 years

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If I haven't asked already I'd love to see the answers to all the questions for the obey me mc questions!

HI! I’M SO SORRY I TOOK FOREVER TO ANSWER YOU. I finished answering the questions so long ago, but I wanted to wait until after I introduced Eden and Atlas first!

The original questions can be found here!

I’ll be answering the questions for BOTH of my OCs, so if you’re a little lost on the basic idea behind these two, go here!

THIS IS SUPERRRR LONG, SO ALL THE ANSWERS ARE UNDER THE CUT. THE ANSWERS ARE A LITTLE WORDY I’M SORRY-

1. Which of the Boys are they the most like? Eden’s similar to Levi in terms of what they’re interested in. She’s a weeb, and takes anime super seriously (to the point where she body-slammed Diavolo upon meeting him because he brought her down to the Devildom while she was in the middle of an anime episode). Personality wise though, she’s a mix of Satan, Belphie, and Mammon. She’s very cynical and hates most things, but most of it’s a facade as she learns to deal with her feelings. She can be sweet and caring, but only after she opens up to someone.

Atlas is your stereotypical otome game MC. Like Beel, she’s sweet and caring, and like Asmo, she’s pretty and enthusiastic. She’s adventurous and curious like Mammon too. But she’s not all that she seems to be on the surface.

2. Which of the Boys are they the least like? Asmo, probably. Eden hates being open about feelings, and generally dislikes getting all touchy feely with others. She’s not that big on fashion either. She likes wearing whatever’s comfortable. Asmo nearly had a stroke when she revealed that she didn't know what an exfoliator was.

Atlas is the opposite of Lucifer. He’s calm, collected, and responsible. While Atlas is good at keeping her grades up and tries to be a leader, she’s clumsy and ditzy. If a puppy were to become a person, that’s Atlas.

3. Who does your MC date? [If multiple, what order do they start dating each one?] Eden...has a lot to sort out. But, once everything’s said and done, she’ll probably be with Mammon, since he’s the only one (with how my plot’s going right now) that can see through her tough persona and reach out to her.

Atlas, being the person who was actually meant to be in the Devildom (Eden wasn’t going to be there, had Atlas not grabbed onto her), naturally draws the attention of the brothers. Her seemingly sweet and caring personality makes it almost impossible for them to hate her, and she very quickly gains their love and affection. But I don’t plan on having her date any of them. She’s...an interesting character because she likes the attention and love, but doesn’t return any of it.

4. How does your MC Sleep? [On their side, on their back, with a partner, etc., in PJs, etc.] Eden sleeps in an oversized hoodie and shorts. She doesn’t sleep a lot, since she’s usually up binging anime and lives off of coffee (I’m convinced she has caffeine in her blood), but when she DOES sleep, she sleeps like the dead. Nothing can wake her up. She can’t sleep unless she has something next to her, but since she hates people (at least initially), she usually has a pillow or something by her side.

Atlas sleeps like a starfish. Sprawled out and taking over the entire bed. Eden loves having sleepovers with her, but will NOT share a bed, since she’ll wake up with Atlas’s knee lodged in her face or something.

5. If you were to pick one song — and only one song — to describe your MC, what would it be and why? Eden: Handle With Care by RUNN Atlas: I couldn't really find a song that would suit how... intricate Atlas' character is, but for how others see her initially: Classic by MKTO

6. Did they come from a religious family/culture? Do they practice a religion? Neither of them practice any religion. But Eden’s name is meant to reference the Garden of Eden, so her story will have a few references here and there about the garden (nothing too detailed though).

7. What do they think about the whole angel/demon stuff? Eden’s not all that phased by it. She has the stereotypical Gen-Z attitude of “I can’t tell the waitress that she got my order wrong, but I can and WILL bodyslam a demon”. (unrelated note: she HAS body slammed Diavolo before). So she’s not bothered by the idea of being around angels and demons. She’s more angry that she’s been dragged down to hell without dying. Eden comes from a long line of witches too, so she's heard about angels and demons for a while.

Atlas though… Atlas is ‘terrified’ once she lands in the Devildom. She’s a “sweet babey” that loves doing all things innocent and good in the world, and one day she’s in Hell. Surrounded by demons. She’s not happy about it at all… But as soon as she hears it’s an exchange program and that she isn’t in any danger at the moment, her attitude switches immediately...

8. What’s your MC’s relationship with their family? Eden lives with her mom. Her mom's a relatively sweet woman, and while being a witch, tries her hardest to keep Eden away from using any. Eden and her mom have a cute relationship. They annoy one another sometimes, but overall, they care about eachother a lot. Her dad's alive. It's just that in a magical mishap with his own mother (Eden's grandma), he was turned into a frog and now lives in their livingroom in a little tank. Eden, however, has no idea that the frog is her father and thought that "Dad" was just a really weird name for the amphibian.

Atlas seems to live a perfect life. She has both parents, and being the only child, has been babied since day one. Of course, that's just what the public sees her family as.

9. What are your MC’s chances of survival if they got lost in the levels of Devildom that take you to the surface [aka the layers of Hell]? Eden’s basically a human compass. She can find her way around anywhere. BUT, there are days where she’s either overwhelmed or super out of it and will get lost. She won’t stay lost for too long, but when she is, she’ll probably start a fight with every dang demon that comes near her. Will she win? ….probably not. But she's sure as hell taking a couple of them down with her.

Atlas can get lost in her own neighborhood. If she gets lost by herself in the layers of Hell, she’s hopeless. Very much dead. BUT. The brothers and Eden all adore her (annoyingly), so they’ll find her, no matter what.

10. Is your MC jealous/upset about not being able to use magic? Do they learn? Eden comes from a family of witches. She has the ability to use magic, but since her mom's been hiding the fact that she's a witch, Eden never believed in it. She didn't think that witches existed at all, so when she eventually finds out, she doesn't have any control over her powers.

Atlas technically can’t use magic, but she’s not that upset about not being able to use it. SPOILER FOR LESSON 16: Atlas is, however, the “true” MC, so she’s the descendent of Lilith. So she's just like the in game MC in not being able to use magic like Solomon, but having a lot of power.

11. What was your MC’s first impression of the demon boys? Atlas’s initial reaction to everyone is the same: “Wow you’re good looking”

Lucifer “Why is he so TALL” After arriving to the Devildom alongside Atlas, Eden ends up body slamming Diavolo for getting near them. Lucifer does NOT like that, and tries to kill her. Diavolo, however, thought that Eden was just giving him a really weird hug, so he stopped Lucifer from turning her into soot. Diavolo actually ends up finding Eden interesting and spends more and more time with her.

Mammon “This smug little piece of sh-” Mammon and Eden’s personalities clash a lot in the beginning. They don’t get along, and Mammon liked Atlas better at the start because she was sweet and kind to him.

Leviathan “Ah yes, a man of culture.” Weeb gang. Need I say more?

Satan “...I don’t trust you.” Satan is similar to Eden when it comes to dangerous smiles and being cunning. Eden recognizes this and doesn’t trust him.

Asmo “Go to horny jail.” Eden and Asmo are pretty different from one another. But they don’t quite hate one another, surprisingly. Just not sure how to interact with one another.

Beelzebub “He better not come near my candy.” Eden has this thing where she constantly has candy. She almost always has a lollipop, since she can’t focus well without a sweet. So her utmost priority lies with hiding her candy stash from Beel. Will it work? Eh, not really.

Belphegor “Damn bitch you live like this?” First time meeting him was in the attic, after Eden and Atlas made it up the stairs without Lucifer knowing. Atlas is full of pity for him, but Eden’s shook that he’s been in the attic for so long without going nuts.

Diavolo “Don’t come near me or I’ll flip you.” I don’t really need to say anything else. Eden body slammed the Demon Prince 3 minutes after landing in the Devildom. Diavolo finds her interesting though, since it's the first time he's met someone that's talked to him without thinking about his role as the future king of the Devildom.

Barbatos “What’s going on with your bangs.” Eden doesn’t trust Barbatos either, but they both naturally seem to avoid provoking the other. So they only ever see one another whenever Diavolo is talking to Eden. Eden wants to know what’s up with his bangs though.

12. First impression of the Angels & Solomon? Simeon “He reminds me of someone…” Eden has “guardians” from both the Devildom and the Celestial Realm. Almost like a guardian angel, except there’s one angel and one demon. She hasn’t met with them in a long time though, and has almost completely forgotten about them. Simeon's sweet yet somewhat confusing personality reminds her of the guardian angel.

Luke “He’s so loud...and for what-” Eden thinks Luke’s like a chihuahua. Small, loud, and annoying.

Solomon “THIS MOTHERFUCKER DROPPED MY CORNDOG.” They first met in the human world, when Eden was at the mall with Atlas. Solomon and Eden bumped into one another, and Eden ended up dropping her corndog. She’s been petty and angry over her lost corndog for years. Solomon, naturally, remembers none of this.

13. What is a skill your MC has that the Boys would be surprised by? They would be shocked to see that Eden has really good aim. She’s great at hitting things from a far distance. Though, they don’t realize that from guns or anything like that. No, they realize this when Eden slips off her shoe and manages to chuck it at Mammon successfully from the opposite side of the dining room.

Atlas can play the harp really well.

14. Do they own a secret place for their most prized possessions? Eden hides her sweets in several spots in her room. She hides smaller candies in pockets, shelves, and drawers. Lollipops are more important to her, so she hides them in [ Eden has requested this information remain top secret ].

Atlas is… crafty. She doesn’t hide things often, but when she does, it’s almost like the item vanished.

15. What’s the most important thing they own? Eden: She protects her lollipops with her life, but the most important thing she owns is a polaroid of her and Atlas, taken after they had first become friends back when they were 5. Atlas: Atlas values everything. She doesn't have one single item that she holds above others. She lives life just loving everything.

16. Do they eat the strange demon food? There’s a good chance that eating the demon food might kill humans. Eden, knowing this, has no problems trying to eat anything. The brothers have to go through a lot of trouble to keep her away from anything poisonous/bad for humans. Satan needs to do a lot of research on humans for this. Not that any of them would be too phased by her dying. It's more because Diavolo likes hanging out with Eden and it would be a disaster to tell him that she died.

Atlas… doesn’t need to worry much. The brothers pamper her and try their hardest to make sure she only eats things that are safe for her to have.

17. What’s their favourite part of being in Devildom? Eden’s just vibing. She likes the lack of sun though.

Atlas likes everything. She finds anything new interesting and exciting.

18. What does your MC miss most about the human world? Eden doesn’t miss the human world. But she doesn’t want to be in the Devildom either. She’s just there.

Atlas sees all of this as an adventure and takes it enthusiastically. She’s happy in the Devildom, but she misses being able to feel the sun on her face.

19. What does MC spend most of their time doing/with who? Eden spends the majority of her time with Levi, playing games or watching anime. He teaches her about TSL, and she teaches him about Seven Deadly Sins. They’ve definitely played Mystic Messenger and DDLC together.

Atlas...is always surrounded by everyone. She radiates “main character” energy. Even Eden thinks Atlas is the main character of her (Eden's) life. Atlas is always with one of the brothers. But overall, Atlas and Eden have spent the most time together. They’re childhood friends, after all.

20. How does MC wear the RAD uniform? [If they do.] Eden barely wears it. She wasn’t supposed to be in the Devildom anyway, so there wasn't a uniform prepared for her. So, she took online classes with Levi for a while. But even after getting the uniform, she manages to forget to wear it at least 3 times a week. She usually ends up calling Mammon to help grab it for her, only to be turned down. Mammon will then get a shoe to the face whenever she sees him.

Atlas is the model student. She works hard, and never forgets her uniform. She "tries her hardest" to wear the RAD uniform correctly, but she usually ends up buttoning it up wrong somehow. Either the brothers or Eden need to help her out every morning.

#obey me #obey me shall we date #obey me masters #obey me jp #obey me mc #obey me oc #oc #my oc #the garden of fucking things up #asks

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worldcakecakecake · 4 years

Text

Feliciano and the King of Hearts

Chosen by the gods as the Queen of Hearts from the moment of birth, we follow Feliciano’s story as he grows into royal life, learns to rule, go against age old customs, and his relationship with his husband to be, the King of Hearts.

Chapter 1 I Chapter 2 I Chapter 3 I Chapter 4 I Chapter 5 I Chapter 6I Chapter 7 I Chapter 8 IChapter 9I Chapter 10I Chapter 11I Chapter 12 I Chapter 13 I Chapter 14 I Chapter 15 I Chapter 16 I Chapter 17 I Chapter 18 I Chapter 19I Chapter 20 I Chapter 21 I Chapter 22 I Chapter 23 I Chapter 24 I Chapter 25 I Chapter 26 I Chapter 27 I Chapter 28I Chapter 29 I Chapter 30 I Chapter 31 I Chapter 32 I Chapter 33 I Chapter 34 I Chapter 35 I Chapter 36 I Chapter 37I chapter 38 I Chapter 39 I Chapter 40 I Chapter 41 I Chapter 42 I Chapter 43 I Chapter 44 I Chapter 45 I Chapter 46I Chapter 47 I Chapter 48 I Chapter 49 I Chapter 50 I Chapter 51 I Chapter 52 I Chapter 53 I Chapter 54 I Chapter 55 I Chapter 56 I Chapter 57 I Chapter 58 I Chapter 59 I Chapter 60I Chapter 61 I Chapter 62 I Chapter 63 I Chapter 64 I Chapter 65 I Chapter 66 I Chapter 67 I Chapter 68 I Chapter 69 I Chapter 70 I Chapter 71 I Chapter 72 I Chapter 73 I Chapter 74 I Chapter 75

Chapter 76

The next two days somehow blurred to Feliciano. He felt like he had been stuck in the same place…when he had only been there for perhaps only an hour, breathing and hoping this ease could bring hm an answer. He laid his feet upon the surface of this canal, sometimes starring off into the blur of this other island. It was the German one they had told him several times, boats occasionally coming here to pick up anyone who wanted a visitor…yet the last few times he had denied the passage still trying to think, trying to piece as time passed.

Yes, it darkened and lightened here in the usual day and night cycle, the night a splendorous one of black, purple, blue and infinite of stars that sparkled elegantly on the waters. One lived here like any other regular life, with the same pass times and leisure, easy to forget that they were dead and only waiting for a mourning to pass so they could enter the third realm. Everyone reverted to the colors of their life, only glistening, and brightening, for, as someone had told him, you have shed your magic and your spirit can shine straight anew. But indeed, since all your magic was drained in the first realm, you had no power here, but it didn’t disturb from the utter peace and felicity. People went on, Feliciano wondering if they had forgotten they once could possess such force.

For some reason he had kept his own magic…but he preferred keeping it hidden. He didn’t know what it meant, how the people would react to it and what the angels would say. So, he settled to himself that if he had to use it, then small things that can fit in the palm of his hand.

The angels only came when new people entered or when they had to pick someone to lead them in their entrance to the third realm. He never saw the full process, he would only see as the angel would come to someone, talk, lead them deep into the most darkened street in the town, disappear between and that person never came back. They always went alone, no matter the family household they made in their time in the island.

They had established these families to make the settling easier, to have a group to count on and spend your time until you were called. Feliciano had found it with a group that called themselves Galdi, the one to which the little boy he had met belonged to.

His name was Timoteo…only five years old when he passed. He was from Ragusa, at the south of the peninsula and thus very far from Barga. He had been heavily sick with an immune problem that he suffered from since birth. The youngest of three siblings, his parents working with the governance of the town. The four of them had tried hard to deal with his disease, but the war cut the route of medicines and the healers that helped. His eldest sister left to fight in the war, the sadness taking the largest toll that eventually led him here.

When Feliciano had heard the story, he broke and put on himself more blame for the occurrence of the war, so many times apologizing and wishing he could grant the boy his life back. Timoteo forgave him, smiling and mentioning how he suffered no pain, in a wonderful place with just as great people and had even met the Queen of Hearts.

Yet it didn’t heal the fault, it still added to the weigh of what he was supposed to do. This tension always lay with him, grasping as he did now the edges of his seat as he forced himself more the words he had gotten to.

The four stances…could be so many things. Care, Devotion, Empathy, Belief, Force, Magic, Openness, Knowledge…and on and on with countless of words that piled and yet none shone out to him as the intended. He needed a way to make them clear, so when he worked on showing it…he wouldn’t be doing the wrong one.

Okay, um… Intent, Loyalty, Calculation, Anger…he spun on words, twisting them around himself, hoping they could show.

Wish, Leadership, Serenity, Force…another sigh in his anguish, just as Timoteo took the sitting right next to him, by now knowing Feliciano’s concentrations on this, remaining silent, gazing up to him wondering if perhaps this time he had something. He knew Feliciano had given up when he moved his gaze away from the waters, up to the distance that gave him the next coming island.

“I asked Giancarlo if he had any ideas this morning, and he suggested you asked Augusta.”

Oh…if only it was that easy. “Augusta won’t answer me…” he tried to control his exasperation, no worth being shown to a child.

“She lives within you…shouldn’t she…shouldn’t she help you.”

Feliciano rolled his eyes and wished he could tell her that as well. “Timoteo…she might want me to learn it myself. After all, I’m Queen, I should know this by nature…yet I don’t…she might also be disappointed because so.”

“No…maybe she’s just making a game,” he had thought like the child he was and Feliciano chuckled and blessed that he was there with him.

“Wouldn’t that be fun?” He raised his legs to himself, now taking a break, thoughtful and only one person in his mind, his gaze now more intent than ever on that specific canal that connected. Timoteo knew…and he waited and even expected Feliciano’s decree to row forward…yet silence continued between them.

“Why haven’t you gone to the German island yet?” He asked, slow as to not cause any more distress…he could tell Feliciano was hesitant. “King Ludwig is supposed to be there…right? Maybe he can help you.”

“Yes…he is supposed to be there…but…” he sighed and saddened like he could melt to the floor in it. “It was as the angels said…if he were here then they would have known…a message should have arrived there of my presence… if Ludwig would have heard it…he would have come as quick as possible…but it’s been two days and there’s been nothing of him.”

“…the angels suggested you could still check,” he wanted to believe.

“I could but…I’m afraid of what I can find out…you know the real story of Augusta and Romulus don’t you?”

He nodded excitedly, attentive, and glowing ready to hear the tale all over again.

“When Romulus passed by Khaos’s hand…he didn’t come here…for the longest time Augusta thought he had completely disappeared…lost and truly left without a chance to see him again…” what dreadful things, what misery…he shouldn’t be telling this to a child…yet Timoteo continued to gaze up to him with big innocent eyes, unperturbed by the words.

“And you’re worried that the same thing has happened.”

And the very words he had been thinking, not daring to say out loud, were whisked into the air by the young boy. “…he…was killed by Khaos…I doubt he would be so merciful.” And he turned away, not wanting the island to give him false hopes.

Yet despite how everything seemed so unlikely…Timoteo wanted to keep that hope. “I can go with you if you want, so no matter what you find…I’ll try to help you and…we can figure something out.” He didn’t know what…but he wanted to keep Feliciano faithful to the chance of seeing Ludwig again…even if it meant not in the Interludes…even when there wasn’t a single way.

Feliciano sighed, straightened up and there was intention in the way he gazed that made Timoteo know they were meant to take the next coming boat.

The Queen realized that the boy had truth in discovering more of what this could be. No matter what he would find out…he was sure it would not stop him from searching a way.

The sailor who was in the boat that transported Feliciano and Timoteo couldn’t stop stuttering his words, wouldn’t stop bowing…or staring intensively at the Heartian Queen. Feliciano giggled and tried to give him as much ease as he could on the journey…a half hour one with a lot to witness in these waters as they crossed.

Despite how these boats could hold the weight of bringing about twelve spirits, only one person rowed, their oars the only thing in this realm that trespassed the water reflection under them to push. From what Feliciano had learned, these rowers were not angels, but spirits who had lived themselves long ago, had passed all four realms, lived with the Aces and were granted this job once there. They either wished it or it was given as a sort of punishment for wrong doings they did in their past life. They were knowledgeable in the map of this world, their rower pointing and naming the other islands they witnessed from afar. But each soul was limited specific routes, and this one in particular could not go further to the islands they couldn’t see or the ones from other kingdoms.

With each paddle forward, Feliciano became heavier, his expression more fallen, the sailor and even Timoteo distracted in the conversations of other passengers to really notice. The island began to come clearer, with building of stone and wood that showed the clear artistry unique to the German province. It was a mix of old and new, of city and country, and it reminded Feliciano of one of the inner streets of Berlin. The beauty made him blissfully forgetful, ignorant to a crowd of people that were surely awaiting friends or even loved ones. The surprise was soon quickly spread as they witnessed him. The usual whispers Feliciano had now been used to arose, but he didn’t bother to listen or give attention at first. He rose out of the boat, helping Timoteo to stand at his closeness, making sure they were both well suited in their arrival before Feliciano could turn to the crowd…taking a deep breath and preparing himself for the answer he would get.

“Greetings,” he started and continued in German, “despite how it might seem, I am not really dead.” He went on with the usual information of his journey until all could understand the circumstances to not create a massive panic.

“We understand well, your majesty. But why come to our island?” A man had wondered for all.

“I…” and here it would come, his voice coming into a shake, gripping his hands, and biting his lips from not showing more this weakness. “I’m looking for my husband.”

Startlement, all exchanging confused glances, then searching between one another, wondering if simply they had missed him.

“King Ludwig?”

“Yes, is he here? If so, then please, take me to him! I have to see him!” He begged, his eyes watered now, a reaction the men and women moved back from…not understanding what to do, what to say. Timoteo took a stronger hold of his hand, easing him, reminding to be patient and attentive.

“Your majesty, we know our dear king was taken…but…”

“We…believe he’s already in the third or fourth realm…maybe with the Aces…” one tried to alight.

“No…it doesn’t make sense. With the amount of time Ludwig has been dead…he should be here…I know he should be here…” Feliciano insisted, thinking they were only hiding him, ready to dash forward and look for himself.

“Your majesty!” One woman told the loudest, taking well his attention as she stood high and mighty in the crowd, understanding well…Feliciano could tell that currently she has been the longest there, perhaps only hours to be chosen for her path to the third realm. “Ludwig is not here…and he hasn’t been here…” harsh words, enunciated and sure that Feliciano had no way to denying. The tears fell and his breath began to hitch.

“Emilie, be reasonable, perhaps-” one tried to alight.

“I’ve long been here…and no king has come…and none of the people I was with at the beginning mentioned such a presence.”

Timoteo’s heart hurt for Feliciano, who now began to shake in his hold, and he looked up to him vastly worried. Even with his grasp, Feliciano looked lost, ready to suffocate at the harshness his breathing increased in.

He should have expected this…he shouldn’t be surprised, it shouldn’t be suffocating him like this.

“Not here…not here…” Feliciano repeated in anguish.

But he did have hope…his heart truly believed he would be there so everything could be the same as it was…but now…no…such a chance was never to occur again…Ludwg suffered the same faith as Romulus…he was gone…he was gone…gone…gone…

“I’m so sorry, your majesty…we would love to know what’s going on also and help…but…there’s nothing we can do…” someone tried to come close to give whatever comforts, but no matter, Feliciano began to loose focus, sweating from the harshness it took to breathe.

“Feliciano…Feliciano?” Timoteo tried to call, but it was like he was slowly disappearing from his vision.

So many began to try and call for him, but he gave none an answer as his breath overcame everything else.

Roderich was surprised he could run this fast, could even let his legs raise him as he went across that ruined expanse. He was heavily bruised, blood coated his armor, yet he still managed some force to keep up with the other two.

“Ready?” An Oralee called, reminding him of the mission.

“We’re even!” a Whitean joined.

Yes, the three of them were perfectly aligned, amazingly so as the ground crumbled underneath them, as ribbons of darkness danced about them, the feet of Khaos menacing ever closer with stomps that could have swallowed them all to be forgotten. But no…they were determined that this wouldn’t be their end. With grimaces, with pain in every single one of their bones, they extended their hands in a perfect balance, a beam like rope being formed. They began to move apart, expanding the distance, sometimes wobbling as one jumped or dived to avoid a ribbon. Soon enough they had what they wanted, a perfect space, the three moving until it was targeted like a large bow.

“Fire!” Roderich shouted and they released just as they would an arrow, a field running up, the end a large shard that fell and pierced into Khaos. A scream, chilling and painful to hear, especially being this near. The monster began to bend in a nearing to the ground, to fall. The three smiled at achieving this, one of the rare times, but it was quickly vanished when they noticed it was ready to fall on them. From their awe, they had to dash at whatever space they could find.

The ribbons were coming at them fiercer, messed, and dangerous without control. They didn’t think it would be possible to pass through, closing their eyes and expecting the soon taking. But then came the insisting voice, along with the call that was unique of a specific kind of deer bread for the use of war as this. They were tall, imposing, fast and with antlers capable of taking many to death at a time.

“Come on! Come on! Come on!” Came the shout of the Jack of Diamonds, ushering them forward to him, all taking a grasp of the animal, safe and secure before it hasted away to the safest ground they could reach, the top of a mountain that they made their center of operations and health when it was not moving and possible. João was there to greet them, pen and scroll in his hand ready to write the next commands and messages.

“It worked…” the Oralee told, trying to catch her breath, “…but I don’t know how much time it gives us.”

“We got him to fall…it’s more than what we hoped for,” João told them in gratitude.

“We can’t waste anymore time. Hurry with the next part! There are still some towns here that need to be evacuated!” Vash reminded them all, with his deer, heading over to continue helping these people. The others went ahead, only João and Roderich remained, both to stare at both sides of the view they had.

The side were Khaos was wallowing in was filled with darkness, once such greet greens and rivers now in greys, smoke and only but cracked earth. Only some soldiers remained to fend and attack as continuous, preparing, swallowed and surely tearful with fear and mourning for their land. Roderich especially hurt…seeing his kingdom driven to this, a weeping he needed to hide…not now when there was still much to do, with Khaos still undefeated.

They turned to the other side, these mountains doing well to hide the towns and even city in the distance that needed to be hurried out and emptied this instant. What gave them more panic was the fact that they could see the Spadian border from here, flags raised and armies ready to begin the defense and attack they had planned…what they had called new people for, begged for new plans and weapons.

“Go and join the rest with the help in evacuating whose left, I’ll stay here and send messages if anything else happens,” João suggested, hiding his own turmoil by focusing on the writing he had to do.

João would be alone then…something that didn’t sit well with Roderich. Now they needed to be together, to help and aid…

”Roderich!” He turned to see Elisa, ruined and panic in her eyes, “some people won’t leave unless it is by your command. You have to hurry! They believe that you’ll manage everything, and their towns won’t be destroyed!”

Roderich decided on hurrying instead, only being able to send João luck.

“Khaos is right at Spade’s doorsteps!” Louis announced the contents.

“I’m writing the commands to begin and act!” Arthur exasperated, not liking to be reminded.

In this array, in this action and load of continuous working, Elizabeta couldn’t bring herself to go on, heavily bended on her desk, trying to hide her expression of dread. Currently, Kandake was the only one that could grant her comfort, a hand soothing on her back, telling her a mantra to keep breathing.

“All of Clubs is destroyed…everything is gone…” Elizabeta went on to whimper and mourn over the loss of her kingdom, under her reports on how every single province had suffered a darkened poison, all her population left without a home, runaways in other kingdoms she didn’t know could last and the rest…dead…gone, a pain adding and only sinking her more in this position. Others could only stare, not knowing what reach they could make at such a happening…one that would surely befall on them.

Aldrich sighed and turned from all to stare back at the pool…hoping for some new hope from Feliciano’s body, still suspended and drifted…no changes. It had only been a couple of days since they began mourning…they shouldn’t be expecting anything for the coming weeks. Pookie was the only one that sat and took watching next to him, patient and still for his master’s return. Aldrich gripped the latest letter that arrived…not finding it in him to read aloud and worsen the air.

As the Spadian border was spotted and was ready for the onslaught…the Hearts border was preparing itself for the same faith.

Herakles walked the line all the time, one end to the other, sometimes using ferries, even serpents that lived in these waters and offered their help. He wanted to believe it stood powerful, everybody armored, ordered in precision, men and women from different parts of Hearts…even other Kingdoms, ready to face off this monster.

A particular shout made many gasp out of order, for Herakles to see the shake clear in many of their eyes, their grips tightening around their weapons, some making clear sound. Over in the distance, a haze yet still on those hills of Clubs, above it all stood the rage of Destro, the armies there dealing what they could in their battle, the shines of their spell alighting the darkness of this monster. They were all small, like nothing…none of this was working.

Soon…once the monster could take his passage through the mountains, it would cross the sea, blacken it and then it would be a battle of their responsibility. It would touch ground in Hearts for the first time and begin its ever approach on Berlin.

“Feliciano…Feliciano!” All it took was just the right shout, to make his vision clear again, to halt his breathes enough so they could slowly settle at their usual pace. “Remember… we’ll figure something out…we’ll find a way…” The boy seemed to lead him back into place, back into his position, into realizing where he was, to the plans…to thinking. Feliciano gave a half smile, turning to the others to nod and make his way elsewhere in the town…somewhere where they could be alone to think…and realize what it was they should do next. They chose a forgotten corner where no one came to bother them, the water reaching at the steps there, Feliciano meeting for that same relax, that sign to head into his mind and let words wander again. It was also a moment to truly let his breaths go back to their usual rhythm…and to try and forget about the scene he just created. He looked back, noticing that the crowds went to focusing on other things, on those who came new here…Feliciano intended to apologize once it was time to leave.

“If he’s not here…then, he’s not really dead,” Timoteo alighted, sure and positive.

Feliciano couldn’t join in it…for his mind only repeated that he was gone, out of a reach that they couldn’t hold to anymore. “Timoteo, I know you want to help…and I know you want to believe that Ludwig is out there…but it’s just-”

“What happened to Romulus?”

It was so sudden that Feliciano took some time to settle on the new question. He thought to all the stories, all the readings, new and old…that letter Ludwig had received from him…that tearful confession on the past field long ago. “Augusta had thought he was gone…”

“But she kept hope didn’t she! What was it that she thought that she desperately tried to believe in? The reason she hid her own importance, erased from history all together.”

“Because…she thought Romulus’s soul was still alive somehow…even if not in the Interludes…and if it was given enough attention it could come back…” Slowly the mechanics in his mind started to turn, started to fall in their place to give it more thought. The letter…the letter. “She was…partially right. Romulus’s spirit did survive…it was just…Khaos kept it…he tainted it with darkness and gave it to the Beilschmidt line to pass through…like Augusta was passing through mine…” he stood as it came clearer in his mind like water. “Like Khaos, like me…Ludwig was going to go through his own surge…he was going to…” His mind headed in that darkness, the one he had learned from Ludwig, to understand, to read out the answer, like runes, like monsters, screaming and avenging in nightmares, now in their world come to life. “Khaos…captured him…tainted him…” He paced in anguish as the reality became surer, trying to escape, seeing if perhaps there was something he missed. When there was really nothing else…he suddenly stopped and froze at what it meant. “He was…” he shook, he saw, right before him as if ready to swallow him all. “I know…oh no…I know…”

Timoteo came up and tried to reach him, “what? What is it?”

Feliciano turned, horror in his eyes, “I know what happened to Ludwig…I know where he is.”

#Feliciano and the King of Hearts #fatkoh #f&tkoh #gerita #gerita fanfiction #gerita fanfic #gerita fic

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justimajin · 5 years

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Catching a Case of the Doctor Blues ⌠Part 15⌡

⇢ Pairing: Taehyung x Reader

⇢ Genre: Fluff, Comedy, Angst

↳ (4.1k) Doctor/Surgeon AU, Enemies to Lovers AU

⇢ Summary: When asked about Dr. Kim, a string of beautifully aligned words are ready spew from your lips. You could possibly go on and on about how his wonderful stubbornness wasn’t similar to talking to a brick wall, or how his observation skills were especially great in preparing your blood vessels for a drastic rupture or even how one gracious stare of his nearly had you on the verge of ripping your essential documents in half. But it seems that, perhaps, there was a lot more to Dr. Kim then what meets the eye…

⇢ Warnings: ^~^

⇢ Moodboard Prologue Part 1 Part 2 Part 3 Part 4 Part 5 Part 6 Part 7 Part 8 Part 9 Part 10 Part 11 Part 12 Part 13 Part 14

⇢ Updates every Tuesday - next update

The poor piece of brick wall directly in front of you is the target of your agony today when you continuously contemplate burying your face into it and screaming for the whole entire world to hear. The thought, although as wonderful it sounds, is dismissed the moment you hear the familiar rubber wheels turn to your place and you’re left with only taking a deep exhale for any form of comfort in that single moment.

For you were going to head out today.

No, it wasn’t for work.

No, it wasn’t for spending a day out with a friend.

You were going on a date.

The moment the word is even spoken inside your mind you feel like its weight is similar to an anchor. You know you shouldn’t be this terrified of the idea, but the specific person that requested this day with you is what has you feeling like you must just combust.

The fact that Dr. Kim, your long term co-worker and recently turned friend, has expressed interest in you is the reason causing your reaction.

But Dr. Kim has already come to terms with his own feelings and the terrifying part in all this for you now is...

Do you feel the same way?

A honk sounds out and your thoughts float away, turning to see your ride was conveniently parked outside. You’re forced to caste away all the anxious voices ringing inside your head that this was a bad idea when you get closer to his car.

Upon getting closer, you notice that he’s dressed in his typical Gucci attire– a brown ruffled turtle-neck paired with dark jeans. A long black trench coat covers him from the cold outside and it feels like there’s something incredibly off about him, but it right then that it falls onto you like a boulder striking its target.

H-His glasses…

You’ve never noticed how intense his eyes actually are, always covered behind the shards of glass and sealed away. They’re almost feline-like, having a subtle dark glint in them but curved to uttermost perfection.

If someone told you right in that moment that the man before you was a doctor and not a model, you would have straight up laughed into their face.

Although the change is different, it’s certainty not nice for you as your mind goes into a frenzy from seeing him like this. Your heart is furiously thumping against your chest and you quickly break any eye-contact once you slip into your seat.

“Dr. L/N?” He asks when he begins turning onto the road. You hum in response and he eyes you oddly, “I’m not one to judge anyone’s personal hobby, but why were you staring at a wall?”

You’re left speechless for a moment and he bursts out laughing, in which you jolt back at even hearing him produce such a sound.

You’ve heard Dr. Kim laugh before, but his laughter was always restrained in such a matter that you had to carefully listen in otherwise you would lose glimpses of it easily. However, hearing it now, a full loud vibrant laugh that sounds like pure music to your ears, you wonder why he was never laughing like this. Perhaps it was because of the work environment you were in or perhaps it was because he simply didn’t like to laugh.

Or perhaps he had forgotten how to.

He glances over at you, white pearls all out in a ginormous grin and you can almost feel your heart stopping at the amount of ecstasy he radiates, “Relax Dr. L/N.” He coaxes, a knowing smile on him and your eyes widen, “I’m not bringing you with me because I want you to be scared.”

“I’m not scared…” You mumble, meekly letting out the white lie.

He raises a brow, stretching his arm over and you flinch, “Not scared?” He questions again and your already cursing at yourself for reacting in such a way.

“It’s just…” You sigh, “This was so sudden.”

“I know, but think of it as just getting the chance to go somewhere on your day off.”

Phew, thankfully he didn’t call it a da-

“But it is a date.” He chuckles to himself when your flustered with the word’s usage.

“You really see me in that way?”

It’s hard to consider he would be even interested in you, after all your occupation never left you anytime to think about relationships.

He hums, “You just never noticed.”

You blink your eyes, his words echoing inside in your mind when the car comes to an abrupt halt. You glance over at where exactly you were and suddenly you’re left in a state of pure awe when the delicate pink petals flutter down onto his car.

You turn around with surprise written over your features and he smiles before gesturing you to get out of the car.

Multiple trees are lined up in the park and are decorated with the blossoms as the breeze gently causes them to cascade down onto you. The ground is nowhere to be seen, completely drenched with the petals and your feet are instantly submerged when you attempt to walk forward.

It’s magnificent.

On the inside, you had continuously wondered if you would ever get the opportunity to witness the precious memory engraved from your childhood, but now the gratitude endlessly flows at you when you attempt to quickly blink away the sparks of water being to collect.

A tender smile is on your lips, “How did you find this?” You whisper to the doctor slowly trailing behind you as he watches you with amusement.

He deeply inhales, “It took a while, but I eventually found out that Seoul did have some secret spots for cherry blossoms.” He carefully treads through the piles of blossoms, “They have there own festivals too but none of them are going to be any time soon, so I thought I bring you here myself instead.”

“It’s…incredible.” You breathe out, “They seem just like the ones I would have seen as a kid.” The petals flutter down onto the base of your hands and a small giggle escapes from you from the smooth, fluffy texture tickling your skin.

He doesn’t respond however, somber eyes latching on you when the laughter bubbling out of you is too recognizable. Other individuals watching the blossoms emerge from behind you and he’s left with sole silence when a pair of children, a boy and a girl, are seen innocently playing with the collected piles on the ground.

“V stop!” You’re being attacked by cherry blossoms from every corner, the mischievous young boy not backing down. Another wave of them heads straight for you and you begin to find your tied up hair messy with the petals.

He’s laughing at the mere sight, watching you get buried within the pink residue and seemingly camouflaging yourself within it. A hand pulls out from the mess, grabbing onto his small one instantly and dragging him inside with a snicker.

His small protests are trampled upon the abundance of petals and you soon attack him back with the flourish collected in your hands. He throws them back as well; laughter being mixed in with the petals when all he can see is you.

Your laughter, your happiness.

He never wants to leave his friend ever alone again.

The image distorts, retracting instantly at the thought and suddenly the boy is left in the field of petals alone, lost eyes searching for his dear friend.

“Dr. Kim?”

He’s snapped back into reality, blinking when the children are seen running off elsewhere with their blossom adventures and he remains planted on the surface of the ground.

He turns around to see you, brows furrowed and head tilted at how he suddenly spaced out when you were talking to him but he brushes it all off. He raises his hand, gently caressing one of your cheeks in it and you’re taken back from the warmth reflecting off of his eyes, “Dr. L/N.” His voice is laced within a gentle, comfortable tone and it immediately grabs your attention.

He moves his hand away from your cheek, reaching down to hold both of your hands within his, “I brought you here,” He looks up, eyes tracing the full branches above you two, “because I wanted an answer from you.”

“An answer?” Your voice comes out too low, his words not registering within you.

“Dr. L/N,” He bites at his lip, eyes trained on the ground before they lift up to bore into your own and the look he gives you is enough to snatch your breath away, “I’m in love with you.”

For a moment, everything around you freezes over. The fluttering cherry blossoms silently fall down, the breeze in the background doesn’t feel as cool anymore and the laughter of the children subdues. The thumping of your own heart halts and you feel like you’ve lost all will to breathe anymore.

You continue to look at him, watching his eyes carefully trace around your features for any reaction, but you remain stuck in the same place.

“W-what?” You manage to croak out when a soft smile still remains on him.

“I’m in love with you.” He whispers it out so affectionately and that’s when it actually sinks in.

Your heart rate now dramatically accelerates and your thoughts are blurred at the simple use of the words Dr. Kim retaliates to you. It feels like a huge weight has dropped onto your shoulders. “I-I..” You want to muster up some courage to give him a response and yet the words seem to dissolve the moment you try to utter them.

“You don’t have to say it back.” You glance at him surprised but flinch when you notice the distraught emerging in his eyes from your delayed response.

It isn’t simple though. Especially when you haven’t come into term with your own feelings.

But you have eyes. You can see that he cares for you when you come into work and a helpful dose of caffeine is settled there for you. You can see that he cares for you when he handles some of your work so you can rest for a moment. You can see he cares for you within your mixed banters and how he’s willing to help if you ever need him.

You can see he cares when he brought you here, knowing how much you wanted to see the cherry blossoms.

He deserves an answer from you.

“D-Dr. Kim.” You begin, voice attempting to become firmer, “I’m not sure how exactly I feel.” It’s an honest answer. “I have seen you as a friend, ever since we started working together, but…” You sigh, looking directly at him, “I know I have these feelings for you that are probably more than what I would have for just a friend.”

His disappointed eyes flicker immediately and you smile. It was extremely difficult to come to terms with this uneasy answer from you but when Dr. Kim had requested for you to come with him, you had started investing into how you even felt about him. Especially when the ‘date’ word kept coming up into use.

But he isn’t just a friend. You don’t have the same feelings you would have for someone like Yoongi or Jimin, individuals that you consider to be close allies. It isn’t enough to explain the booming curiosity that dwells inside of you when you catch a subtle glance at the man and are stuck in the pursuit of interest to know what was exactly going on inside his mind. It isn’t enough to explain how you subconsciously want to be near him, drawn to the fact that a simple smile from him had you bursting into waves of amazement.

“And…” You sigh, “Seeing you as a friend after this is going to be hard.” A light chuckles passes through your lips and he smiles.

Lacing your fingers with his own, he leans down so that your foreheads are touching, “Then will you still stay with me?”

“As a f-friend?” You stutter, the heat still being evident on your cheeks.

He shakes his head, strands of his brown hair softly brushing against your forehead, “More than that.”

You bite your lip, still contemplating about everything, but he continues to gaze in your eyes and you wonder being with him wouldn’t be something truly so horrible. In fact, looking back at his eyes now just makes you feel like you’re doing something right, that staying with him...was right.

You take a deep breath, finally landing on an answer, “I'll stay with you.” You reach out to squeeze his hands and he smiles.

“You should know that I won’t let you go away so easily...” His words instantly bring a deep red flush onto you and he lightly chuckles at the appearance of it.

The sweet smile and the deep blush never once leaves your features.

Becoming a couple shouldn’t be so taxing. After all, if you have feelings for someone than staying by their side should be quite simple if anything.

But that is definitely not the case for you.

You assume its because the transition of seeing Dr. Kim from an extremely negative light to a now glorified positive light was an intense change, for the doctor was your sole source of complete hatred to which now he’s…

You can’t even explain it.

You can’t explain how every time he shows his face in your shared office, small butterflies start blooming from the pit of your stomach to how when he talks to you, all you can do is not panic about how his eyes are tenderly gazing at you.

It is too taxing, having to deal with seeing someone you care about but needing to keep it behind the curtains so you can conduct yourself in the same professional manner you have always done.

And here is where the tricky part dips in as well.

You and Dr. Kim had agreed that for the sake of your careers, no one in the hospital is know about your new relationship. It would be completely disastrous to control all the potential commotion and so it was decided to maintain a certain level of distance from each other at all times during work.

Although this system isn’t at all flawed, it arises many instances where even the mere brushing of your hands has you almost screaming, to the point where you begin to ponder if this relationship was so good to have in the workplace.

A wonderful instance of this can be today for example – a fine bright, early morning in the hospital as you are currently organizing the notes you had scribbled down for Namjoon in his absence. He has luckily returned, releasing you and Dr. Kim from the confines of his office and allowing you to get back into the same routine you had initially established.

However it feels strange not seeing Dr. Kim around you constantly and you dare even say that you missed working alongside him.

But this isn’t enough to stop said doctor, especially when he uses any possible opportunity to interact with you.

As you’re waiting for Namjoon to arrive at the office, you start placing down the papers on his desk for him to go over. In the midst of this process, the door opens and closes, causing you to assume Namjoon has returned.

You smile, “Namjoon I-“ Your words instantly die out once you see the familiar patch of blonde hair at the door with some papers in his hand. He strolls over to where you are standing and smiles.

“I wasn’t expecting to see you here.” He places his own notes on the table and you’re already subtly tinting pink.

There was another particular issue you were also dealing with and that was attempting to get used to the fact that you were in this relationship with Dr. Kim. Every single time you seem him, the professional exterior you have dissipates and suddenly you’re freaking out.

Everything was moving too fast...and you weren’t being able to keep up.

You shake the horrible thought in your head but can’t help and wonder how this was going to affect your work if you’re constantly left in a flustered state.

“Are you alright?” He slips his fingers in between yours and the simple action is already causing you accelerated panic, your breath quickening and eyes darting everywhere.

You frantically nod, letting go of his hand and abruptly rushing out the office when the blood rushes to your face all too fast.

However, Dr. Kim is incredibly observant.

He watches your back disappear from his sight when a frown sits on his lips at your abrupt actions.

An idea suddenly sparks inside his head and a smile tugs at the corner of his lips.

“Psst.”

The sound reaches no one’s ears, left floating in the air.

“Pssttt.”

Still no response.

“PSSSST!”

The doe boy’s eyes light up, glancing at the door, “Are you calling me Dr. Park?”

Jimin wants to face-palm at the question, “Yes! Now get over here, will you?!”

Jungkook frowns, but obliges when he rises up from his seat, “Did you need something?”

Jimin shakes his head, gesturing for the young intern to follow him as he walks. Jungkook simply follows, confused at his superior actions until his eyes finally land on a familiar office.

“Why are we at Namjoon’s office?” The boy innocently asks but Jimin plants a finger to his lips, hushing him down.

“Just watch.” Jungkook still remains confused and he turns to see what the commotion is about. The office seems to be void of anyone until he sees you stepping inside with some papers.

The entire action is natural. And he doesn’t see the big deal.

Then Dr. Kim also enters, with roughly the same amount of documents in hand.

Again, completely normal.

“Dr. Park, what are you-“ Jimin shushes him down again, still pointing towards the office.

A couple of minutes pass by, no one opting to leave the office. If the two of you did indeed have documents then you would have been out in a jiffy without having to do much. But times still goes by slowly and then finally the door creaks open.

With a flustered you, covering your face as you quickly exit the office.

Jungkook’s eyes enlarge, especially when the second doctor appears and seems to be in a reasonably good mood as he mindlessly smiles to himself before leaving.

The whole situation dies down and Jungkook turns to look at his doctor counterpart when the engines in his mind start to turn. “Did you see that?” Jimin whispers.

Jungkook nods, “I don’t know. Maybe they were arguing and Dr. Kim won…?”

“No!” Jimin exclaims, “Clearly there’s something going on between them!”

“Dr. L/N and Dr. Kim?” Jungkook frowns yet Jimin furiously nods.

“I’m sure of it!”

“I don’t know….” Jungkook mumbles, “I think we should just leave them alone.”

“Oh Kookie,” He places an arm around his intern, “It’s at moments like this where you run towards the scandalous situation, not away from it.”

Jimin quickly gestures for the intern to follow and he hesitantly listens.

Your mind is bubbling with too many thoughts of a particular person and there’s no switch that you can use to shut it all down when you try to work. Although being in this relationship is remarkable, you wish you could control the way you would absolutely crumble around Dr. Kim and at how your professionalism gets tossed outside the window.

You need to get a hold of yourself.

The door behind you creaks and you suspect Jin has probably arrived but once again, you are proven wrong.

“Dr. Kim?” You’re not alarmed at seeing him, but more so how he quietly closes the door and then locks it before facing you.

“Are you feeling alright?” He question but his voice is neither low nor gentle, the voice you are trying to get used to, instead sounding prickling when he sends you a piercing gaze.

“Y-Yes.” You hate how you always manage to stutter around him.

“Thank god.” He scoffs and you raise an eyebrow at that, “I wouldn’t want you to get sick again, after the disaster that was trying to take care of you.”

Your jaw drops at that and you wonder if you heard him right, but then a clear layer of arrogance starts to emit from him and you’re baffled at seeing it emerge after so long, “Excuse me?”

“You know what I’m talking about.” He walks closer to you, a confident stride in his steps as he narrows his eyes at you, “Who even acts like that when they’re sick?”

You don’t understand why he’s bringing this up now, but you suppose that the feelings must have been deeply rooted inside him and are flourishing out in the moment. “…are you implying the day you had visited me?”

“Of course I’m implying that day.” He huffs out, “When I wanted to check up on you and you were acting like a complete lunatic.”

A cord instantly snaps, “A lunatic!? I was sick!”

“You know, most people don’t jump around and act crazy when they’re sick. Be grateful I even stayed to make you soup.” His words are slicing through the air like a knife and you are boiling on the inside.

Sarcasm falls into your voice when it aggregates and increases in volume, “My gosh you made soup for me.” You walk closer to him until you’re directly staring into his eyes, “Thank you so much for being considerate!”

“And besides,” Your teeth grit as you hold your tall stance, “it was cold.”

“Then why did you eat it?” He taunts.

“Because I was hungry! And you decided that apparently it was okay to stay for the night.”

“You were the one to drag me inside!”

You’re practically yelling at this point but you don’t even care, “YOU COULD HAVE REFUSED!”

“YOU DRAGGED ME INSIDE.” His eyes are suddenly lit with fire, “YOU SPILLED TEA ON ME.” The last part causes his features to scrunch up, “YOU EVEN SNEEZED ON ME!” He roars out. “DO YOU EVEN KNOW HOW EXPENSIVE MY SHIRT WAS?!”

“WELL MAYBE YOU SHOULDN’T HAVE COME IN THE FIRST PLACE!”

“MAYBE I SHOULDN’T HAVE!”

You are fuming; veins filled with adrenaline as your face is coloured with a violent shade of red. He’s the same way as you are and the atmosphere dips into a clean cut silence when no one speaks.

You are completely at loss with what is exactly going on, but you receive a split indication when a smile tugs on him.

“Do you feel better?” His voice is back to the way it usually is now with you – gentle. However, you can’t seem to brush off the aggressive tone he was using just a couple of minutes ago.

“What…?” You question.

“Are you feeling better now?” He briefly chuckles, “Less nervous?”

Your face falls and he walks towards you, carefully holding your hand as the anger is still reigning high on you. “I make you nervous…don’t I?”

Your eyes widen.

He had noticed?

“I-I..”

A wistful sigh escapes from him, “If this is going at a pace that you don’t like, then feel free to just yell at me every once in a while.” He smiles, “Go back to the good old days if its too much.”

“I’m sorry...” You whisper and he’s startled for a moment, before shaking his head.

“Don’t be, it’s okay to be ner-“

“Not about that.” You look down in shame, “Your shirt…”

Immediately he frowns, but it fades away. “Don’t be concerned about that either.”

“Is that why you went to go do laundry?” He grimaces but nods.

You raise a suspicious eyebrow, “Was this really calming my nerves?” You inch closer to him, “Or were you just trying to get back at me for that day?”

A smirk flashes out from him, “Both.”

You roll your eyes but can’t stop the small smile that decorates your lips. To be honest, yelling at him makes you feel a lot better than attempting to return his affectionate gestures but you hope that in time you can get used to it.

He reaches out to unlock the door and tugs on it, but suddenly two familiar faces come tumbling out with panicked looks.

“U-Uh…we were just t-talking outside!” Jimin exclaims as the young intern attempts to bury his red face within the seams of his coat.

You and Dr. Kim glance at each other for a split second, before the both of you are left doubling over when the laughter bubbles out.

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whiskynottea · 5 years

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An Interruption in the 1st Law of Thermodynamics.

Chapter 1, Chapter 2, Chapter 3, Chapter 4, Chapter 5, Chapter 6, Chapter 7, Chapter 8, Chapter 9, Chapter 10, Chapter 11, Chapter 12, Chapter 13, Chapter 14, Chapter 15, Chapter 16, Chapter 17, Chapter 18, Chapter 19, Chapter 20, Chapter 21, Chapter 22, Chapter 23, Chapter 24, Chapter 25, Chapter 26, Chapter 27, Chapter 28, Chapter 29, Chapter 30, Chapter 31, Chapter 32, Chapter 33, Chapter 34, Chapter 35, Chapter 36, Chapter 37, Chapter 38, Chapter 39, Chapter 40, Chapter 41, Chapter 42, Chapter 43, Chapter 44, Chapter 45, Chapter 46, Chapter 47, Chapter 48, Chapter 49, Chapter 50, Chapter 51 Chapter 52, Chapter 53

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Beta-d, as always, by @theministerskat! Thank you, love!

Chapter 54. Counting Days

There is a subtle feeling of trespassing, wrapping itself around your heart and squeezing lightly, when you step into someone’s empty bedroom. A feeling strong enough to make your breath come slow and heavy, your feet tread with caution, not to disturb the spirit of the absent owner. As if your own body marks you as an intruder and tries to make your presence subtle, even though your rebel hands leave invisible fingerprints on every surface, proof of a long-lost innocence.

I was sitting on Jamie’s bed, looking around, feeling the emotions rising in my chest.

I was in his room. His bed, his books, his posters on the walls.

And yet, I wasn’t home.

This couldn’t be home without him. It couldn’t be home without his clothes neatly hanging in the closet. The air felt empty of laughter, the sheets immaculate and wrinkless underneath my fingers. No one would whisper dreams and stories to me when I’d lay down at night.

“Are ye going to sit there all day, lost in your ominous thoughts?” Jenny’s stern voice came from the door, and I turned to look at her without knowing the answer to her question, or how she had deduced the nature of my thoughts.

I hadn’t seen Jamie in months, and though I always missed him, I had never felt his absence drive into me like a knife through my chest. Never, until the moment I entered his room and realized I would be sleeping in his bed without his breath on my neck, without his arms around me. It didn’t feel right.

“Claire!” Jenny’s voice pulled me out of my thoughts once more. “Stop it! I’m not letting you stay here, with that morose look on your face, staring at Jamie’s stuff.” She looked at me through narrowed eyes, both hands fixed on her hips. “The best Fraser is here, anyway,” she added with a light shrug and a wink. “No?”

“Your Da, you mean?” I teased her, and couldn’t stop my smirk as I saw both her eyebrows rise.

“I should leave you here, crying over the shirts Jamie left behind.” She wore a smug grin and tilted her head towards the stairs. “Come! I’ve made tea.”

“Oh yeah, I forgot how tea is a synonym for panacea.”

She stopped just outside the room and turned to look at me, squaring her shoulders. “What kind of Englishwoman are you?” she challenged me with mock offence.

Avoiding her sharp glance, I rose and walked to the door. One Fraser was always better than none. And even though I felt like curling up in Jamie’s room and being miserable, arguing with Jenny Fraser required more energy than I had.

Sleeping in Jamie’s bed without him was not as horrible as I had thought. We talked every night until I fell asleep, and I carried his voice with me in my dreams. It was enough to make me wake with a smile on my face.

Days raced by, as they always did when I stayed at Lallybroch. Between texting and calling Jamie, studying to be prepared for medical school, reading classic literature with Jenny, and choosing between her endless versions of labels for Lallider -- the Lallybroch cider she and Ian had made over the previous months -- there was hardly any time to think about how quickly the days were passing.

I had missed Jenny. Her warm smile when she listened to my stories from Zambia, her crude tone when she decided I had talked with Jamie enough and it was time for us to go for drinks, her loud laughter when she had more than two pints, and the hugs she gave me every time she suspected I might be feeling lonely.

When I was a little girl, I always tried to imagine how my life would be if I had siblings. Someone to talk to late at night, someone to conspire with when Lamb couldn’t hear us, someone to hold my hand when I was afraid. Someone who would be there, and I wouldn’t be alone.

Jenny and I might not build fortresses or climb trees together, but I had found my sister in her. And I knew she would be there for me, no matter what happened between her brother and me.

Not that I planned to let anything ruin my relationship with Jamie. Now that we could call each other every day, his only complaint was that we were all together at Lallybroch, and he alone in Ann Arbor. Alone as a figure of speech, because he was never really by himself, what with John, Hector, and the other members of the swim team going out or gathering at their dorm. He still proclaimed that we shouldn’t have fun without him though, and kept sending pouty faces every time I sent him selfies from our nights out in Inverness. At the end of the night, however, when I saw his eyes smiling at me through the screen, we would count down the days together until his return to Scotland.

As Jamie’s arrival approached, I started researching destinations in Scotland, wanting to spend a few days alone with him. I had been almost sure he’d be as excited as I was when I proposed the idea of a road trip to the north, without plans or itinerary, when I got Jamie’s text rejecting my idea.

Scot: You haven’t had enough of Scotland already, Sassenach?

Sassenach: I’ve never been to the North Coast! I saw pictures and there are so many places to visit! Jenny told me you traveled there with your parents, when you were children. Do you remember anything?

Scot: It was green.

Sassenach: 🙄

Scot: Okay, yes, I remember. Wide beaches, the ocean, rivers running down emerald hills, Highland coos. That’s all.

Sassenach: Well, that sounds GREAT! It’s enough for me!

Scot: Not for me. It will be tiring. And I doubt we’ll find rooms to stay.

Sassenach: FFS

“Well, that’s a twisted face, if I’ve ever seen one,” Jenny remarked as she came to sit on the bench next to me, a sheen of sweat appearing on her forehead from the shining sun.

I huffed. “It’s your brother, you know. The beginning of all evil in my life.”

Jenny laughed, blue eyes crinkling with mirth. “What did he do, now?”

“I suggested we travel for a few days, go to the North Coast. But he doesn’t want to.”

“Oh.” Jenny averted her eyes, looking far at the hills hiding the horizon. “He must have missed Lallybroch. Not that he’ll ever admit it.”

“Yes, that’s what I thought, too,” I agreed, then took in her rosy cheeks and short breaths. “And where have you been?”

“Wi’ Ian,” she replied, simply, and I wiggled my eyebrows suggestively.

“We were examining the trees at the orchard, if you need to know,” she exclaimed indignantly.

“Oh, I’m sure you did.”

Jenny pursed her lips ready to reply when my phone buzzed with a picture of Jamie sending kisses, probably feeling guilty for turning down my suggestion of a week of summer holidays alone.

“So how are things between you?” Jenny bumped into my shoulder with hers, wisely changing the subject as she turned her eyes away from my phone. “With the distance and everything?” A playful smile was on her lips, but her eyes were serious, inquisitive.

“It’s… Okay.” I took a moment before I continued, my fingers trailing on the bluebells of my necklace. I had replied to the same question hundreds of times, but I couldn’t give a superficial answer to Jenny. “It’s not okay, actually,” I chuckled nervously, feeling self-conscious all of a sudden. I rubbed my hands together, interlinked the fingers to keep them from moving, then crossed my legs before I untangled them again. “But we make do,” I asserted, nodding to myself.

Jenny studied me, then made a strange noise in her throat. “I haven’t seen ye fight. Do ye? Did you get distant?” she asked, now straddling the bench to look straight at me.

“No, no. Nothing of the sort. It’s just… I miss him, you know? I want to share things with him and he’s not here. So I end up texting him and sending pictures with the most trivial things. He does the same.”

Jenny nodded, frowning. “It’s working, though.” She smirked, her gaze falling on my phone again. “Ye may seem ridiculous, and trust me ye do, but ye have kept your lives together even though you’re not in the same place.”

“I guess so.” I gave her a timid smile. “I know that sending him a picture of my meal is stupid, but then he sends me his and I feel connected to him, somehow. It’s not like eating lunch together as we did at school, but it’s something.”

Jenny nodded, and we kept silent for a long while.

“You know,” she started, running her fingers through her sleek black hair and fixing them up into a ponytail. “After Christmas, when Jamie and I came back at Lallybroch with Ian, I went through this phase when I all I could think was, ‘That’s it. That is all I’ll ever have.’ I was with Ian, whom I knew my whole life, and we would go to uni together and I would always be with him. And it scared me, realizing that.”

I turned to look at her, this girl that never stopped surprising me. I had been in Edinburgh back then, and I would never have imagined Jenny having second thoughts about Ian.

“I mean…” she continued, rushing to explain when she saw my confusion. “I grew up in a small place and Ian had always been there. I don’t remember myself without Ian around. We were kids when we got together, that summer when he kissed me, and it had felt like the most natural thing in the world. Then, I saw you and Jamie getting separated by an ocean I wondered what my life would be if I wasn’t with Ian. If I would be the same person, if I would be different. If I would study abroad, not having Ian to keep me in Edinburgh.”

“Did you want to?” I asked. “Did you want to leave Scotland?”

Jenny sighed, and a soft smile curled her lips up. “No, not really. It didn’t take me long to realize I am the person I want to be when I am with Ian. He smooths my edges. He makes me laugh. He understands me even when I don’t understand myself. I grew up with him and I know now that I want to grow old with him. To live with him by my side. To share the journey.”

I nodded, smiling as I took in the beauty of her conviction. “Sometimes I wonder whether things would be easier if I hadn’t met Jamie when I did,” I confessed as the sun dove lower, kissing the top of the hills. “If I met him after university, after we’d done all we needed to do. Maybe everything would flow then, and we would be together without the distance between us.”

“But if so, you might have never met him.”

“I know,” I agreed, seeing how pointless that route of thought was. “And that’s why I don’t regret having to live through this. Because I have him, right? I still have him, even though he’s miles away.” Tears welled up in my eyes and rolled down my cheeks, and I felt Jenny’s arms around me, pulling me closer to her. I hadn’t told a soul about these thoughts. Not even Jamie. I cried harder.

“Ye have him and he has you. You went to bloody Zambia and the two of you stayed together. You’re strong, Claire.” She ran her hands against my back, her words as soothing as her caress.

“I know. It’s not rational, this fear that I’ll lose him. We talk every day, we share everything.”

“You love each other, silly! That’s enough.”

“We do,” I admitted, brushing tears away.

“I won’t let him hurt you. And I won’t let you hurt him, okay?” Jenny kissed my cheek as if to emphasize the love in her words. “I promise. I’m the wise one, after all.”

“Right,” I laughed, and hugged her tight.

Three weeks at Lallybroch were more than I had initially planned, but they still weren’t enough. A sunny Sunday morning, however, I kissed Jenny, hugged Ian and Brian, and took the train back to Edinburgh. Lamb would start his sabbatical a few weeks after I left for Oxford, and we wanted to spend time together before Jamie returned from the States.

It felt like our days in Egypt, when the two of us had stayed home drinking tea and Lamb filled my imagination with stories of broken artefacts that made his eyes glint with excitement, revealing ancient civilizations and Gods who lost their power when people found new ones to grant their wishes. Those quiet afternoons when he’d tried to show me the internal need humans have to be remembered, the necessity to leave something behind, stronger than flesh and bones. But now I was the one telling the stories, and they were not tales of the past. I was sharing stories of the present, of people who were living and breathing the same moment we did, but Lamb would only meet through my eyes. I talked about their lives, their families, our differences and similarities, of the way they changed who I was and made me a better person. Of the way I might have affected them, too. Lamb was the best audience I could ever ask for, his proud smile and kind eyes filling my heart with joy.

When Lamb wasn’t at home, I found myself strolling around in the city. Edinburgh was different in summer, its streets full of cheerful tourists wandering, standing to listen the bagpipers on the streets or heading towards the castle and the palace. Some days I let my feet take me wherever they would, only to find that I subconsciously visited the places I walked to with Jamie. More than once I ended up at Calton Hill, watching the city with my hair dancing on the breeze, and I could almost feel Jamie’s long fingers tucking the errant curls behind my ear, his hand lingering on my neck as he leaned in for a kiss. And some days, when the sun hit my face long enough, I could almost feel his smile -- warm, full and gentle. As if pieces of our soul were interwoven with this place, making it ours no matter how far apart our bodies were. As if my brain refused to take in the surrounding without conjuring memories of him.

I was sitting on our bench at Calton Hill when Jamie sent a picture of his sleepy face, right after he’d woken. The text came seconds later.

Scot: One. More. Day.

Sassenach: Less than 24 hours!

The following morning, 22 hours after I’d left Calton Hill, I was waiting with my luggage at arrivals, ready to go back to Lallybroch. It required a humongous amount of strength to stop cracking my knuckles and keep my legs from bouncing.

His flight had arrived ten minutes ago. People came rushing by me, tourists looking for the information desk, Scots searching for their families and friends.

I thought I would count the days, the months, I had been away from him while waiting. I didn’t -- couldn’t. My mind was blank, as though primed to create new memories.

And then, as I thought my heart would give way from overworking, I spotted him. Tall, red curls falling against his forehead, blue eyes looking around -- searching for me.

My gaze met his and I started walking towards him before I realized it. It was different than our first reunion. I had felt consumed by his presence, then. We had kissed with all the desperation and elation of our passion. Now I wanted to hold him, to get lost in him, to feel his heart beating as I lay my head against his chest.

I didn’t know how long we were hugging for after I crashed against him. How long we were kissing, after his lips found mine. How long we kept still in each others arms, reluctant to let go as if someone would pull us apart. Finally, I took a step back and smiled at the grin lighting his face.

“Come on,” I said, taking his hand in mine and reaching for my luggage with the other. “We have a train to catch.” It was exactly what he’d said to me, when I arrived in Detroit.

His grin grew wider. “I don’t think so, Sassenach.”

“What do you mean?” I asked, frowning, as I turned back to look at him.

“Well,” he blushed. I hadn’t seen Jamie blush in a long while. He ran a hand through his curls and smiled again. “The first time I texted you --”

“Can’t we talk about this on the train? We’re going to be late!” I interrupted him, and he sighed theatrically.

“No. Now listen, will you?”

I looked at him through narrowed eyes but didn’t speak again.

“As I was saying, the first time I texted you, you told me that your favorite food is mushroom risotto, and then ye promised ye would escape with me. First destination…” He squeezed my hand in his, looking at me expectantly.

“Paris,” I whispered, recalling our conversation almost two years ago, and watched him pull out two plane tickets from his backpack.

“Paris,” he confirmed, waving the tickets in the limited space between us. “A week, just the two of us.”

I gasped. If I had any air left in my lungs I was sure it would leave my body in a scream. Instead, I stood there, stupefied, looking at him.

“We’re going to Paris?” I asked, at last, stupidly.

“We are, babe. We’re leaving in two hours.”

Before he could say one more word, I took his face in my hands and kissed him. It wasn’t an easy kiss, given that my mouth would not comply since I couldn’t stop grinning.

Chapter 55

#thermodynamics #the first law of thermodynamics #jamie x claire #high school AU #college AU #outlander fanfic #outlander fanfiction #jenny and claire

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